Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Hazbin Hotel’s dining room was loud this morning—all the good signs, really.

Laughter, bickering, the occasional clatter of silverware against plates—chaotic, but lively. Angel Dust was dramatically recounting a story from one of his club performances to mainly Husk, while Crymini and Emberlynn were trading playful insults over which of the patrons were the worst in his tale. 

Niffty, for once, instead of zipping between the table and kitchen like a hyperactive blur—refilling plates and refolding napkins that no one had actually unfolded—was enjoying a ‘peaceful’ moment with her own bad boy… Baxter. 

God knows how the two of them finally stepped into the next stage of their romantic relationship, but here they are.

It was a normal morning.

Well, mostly.

At least, it had been, until Lilith glanced up from her croissant and noticed Lucifer had yet to take a single bite of his breakfast.

She frowned slightly. 

The Queen was about to call out to her ex-husband, still her best friend, when she stopped herself and instead glanced at the Archangel’s spouse.

Across from her, she was relieved to see that Alastor had also noticed the odd behavior, his crimson gaze shifting to his mate’s plate of untouched pancakes. His ever-present grin remained, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something observant, calculating.

“Something wrong with the pancakes, mon cher?” he asked, voice light and meant not to gain others’ attention, while his eyes watched closely.

Lucifer didn’t even look up, just continued glaring at his plate like it had personally offended him.

Alastor tilted his head.

“Would you like more sprinkles?” he tried again, ears flopping a bit in intrigue. “Perhaps a bit more of the caramelized apple?”

That got a response—barely.

Lucifer hummed softly, frowning at the offer like it was a threat rather than an option. Then, his gaze finally flickered away from his plate—only to land on Alastor’s.

More specifically, the sizzling meat lover’s skillet—filled with sausage, bacon, ham, and steak, all mixed with eggs and melted cheese—in front of him.

“…Can I have that?”

Alastor blinked.

Lilith quirked a brow.

No one else had been paying much attention until now, but that—that caught a few ears.

Husk paused mid-bite. Emily’s stirring hand froze as she tried to steal a glance without turning her head, Just slowly lowered her tea cup with a half-horrified, half-mystified expression.

Alastor, however, only chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“My, my, what an unexpected request,” he mused, tapping a clawed finger against his cheek. “I do apologize, dearest, but I’m afraid this particular dish is made from sinner’s meat.”

Lucifer frowned. “So?”

Alastor raised a brow. “So? What do you mean, ‘so?’”

By now, their conversation had garnered some turning heads—or, well, secret glances. After all, it was always fascinating around the Pride couple. It was especially interesting when the two bickered and got all heated, yet it always ended with them making up by the time breakfast was over. That, or everyone ended up discovering new things about two of the most dangerous beings in all of Pride.

“I am an angel,” with a shrug, Lucifer said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything. “It’s not cannibalism.”

The entire table flinched.

Yeah, well, having their absolute leader grow curious—and who knows, maybe even develop an addiction to the taste of his people’s very flesh—miiiiiiight not be the kind of fascination anyone wanted to witness this morning. 

Or ever, really.

That sounds like a proper disaster just waiting to happen.

After all, if Lucifer ended up seeing sinners as livestock, wouldn’t they be fucked???

Angel Dust visibly winced, nearly choking on his drink. Niffty arched a brow, clearly intrigued by the sudden turn of events, while Baxter froze mid-pour as he refilled her glass, his face paling at the implication—clearly smart enough to envision the catastrophic future awaiting Hell if Lucifer actually developed a taste for demon meat.

Or, well... was this going to be his first taste of a demon’s flesh, actually?

Lilith would say yes—much to her knowledge… but who else would know?

Alastor, meanwhile, simply leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm.

“Be that as it may, my dear,” he hummed smoothly, “if you’d like meat for breakfast, I can prepare something else for you! A lovely venison dish, perhaps? Something fresh —” his grin widened, teeth glinting, “—maybe a bit of deer?”

“No,” Lucifer’s pout deepened. “I want that one,” he insisted, nodding pointedly at Alastor’s plate.

Alastor leaned forward slightly, searching his mate’s face.

Something was… different.

His Lucifer was picky, yes, but he’d never once expressed interest in cannibal cuisine before. Quite the opposite, actually. He is repulsed by it. So… what’s this?

“…Are you sure?” Alastor asked, voice softer now.

Lucifer didn’t answer.

Instead, he simply scowled at his pancakes, then muttered, “Never mind,” and poked at them again, silent and clearly sulking.

A strange tension settled over the table.

With a quiet clearing of her throat, Emily made a valiant effort to restart a conversation with Husk—despite not having spoken to him earlier—who sighed but obliged, clearly not wanting to know more, let alone be involved in this particular couple’s dispute.

Angel Dust let out a low whistle, leaning over to Emberlynn and whispering, “Damn. He’s got a craving.”

“I heard that this has happened before—do you think this one’s gonna be like back then?” she giggled, ‘expertly’ hiding it behind her hand. “To think I get to experience this firsthand…! How blessed~”

Crymini shot them a look. “Guys… don’t make it worse, honestly.”

That being said, she just knew a betting pool would be created as soon as they were away from the couple in question.

Meanwhile, Alastor observed his devil for another long moment before sighing dramatically. “Very well,” he mused, straightening up. “I suppose there is a way to test it.”

Lucifer’s deer ears perked slightly, but he didn’t look up just yet.

Alastor grabbed his fork, smoothly cutting into one of the scrambled eggs on his plate. “We begin with the egg,” he declared, lifting a bite to Lucifer’s lips. “If you can handle this already-contaminated portion, and the taste is acceptable, then we shall progress—to the moose meat.”

Lucifer’s eyes finally flickered up, watching him cautiously.

“And then,” Alastor added with a dramatic flourish, “if all is well… we shall attempt the actual sinner’s meat. Would that suffice, mon amour?”

The entire table was staring now, varying expressions of amusement, intrigue, and absolute horror on their faces.

Lucifer, however, simply considered this for a moment before, finally, he smiled sweetly. “Only if you’re feeding me~”

That was his only warning.

Alastor barely had time to react before a blur of white and pink in dust of gold slithered over his shoulders. A split second later, a familiar weight settled onto his lap as Lucifer poofed back into his presentable form—still stubbornly keeping the deer-like features he had been sporting since Alastor’s rut ended three days ago. The devil’s teeth gleamed under the dining room’s lighting, his boot kicked playfully as he stretched, and his tail wags with obvious amusement.

Alastor, unfazed by his antics by now merely arched a brow as he peered down at his mischievous mate. “Did you really pull all of these stunts just because you wanted to be fed?” His tone was one of fond exasperation, the corner of his lips twitching.

Lucifer just smirked, reclining against Alastor’s chest like he belonged there—because, well, he did. “ And guilt trip you into accepting me on your lap willingly.” He chuckled, eyes glinting with playful cunning. “I do have to admit, though, your plate smells particularly enticing today. Perhaps you do have taste, darling~”

Alastor barked out a laugh, sharp and delighted. “Ha! Now I’m not sure if I’d rather have you agreeing with my palette or not.”

Lucifer’s grin widened as he tapped a clawed finger against his chin in mock thought. “Oh hush now, Bambi, and feed me.”

Alastor rolled his eyes but humored him anyway, stabbing a fork into a bite of egg before offering it up. Lucifer accepted it without hesitation, chewing slowly, savoring—though his expression remained neutral.

“Well?” Alastor prompted.

Lucifer merely shrugged. “Tastes like egg.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “That is what it is, yes.”

A knowing glint danced in Lucifer’s gaze before he casually dropped, “Honestly, you’re making a big deal out of this. It’s not the first time I’ve tasted it, you know.”

That got Alastor’s full attention. He tilted his head, intrigued. “Oh? You’ve had my kind of delicacy in the past, mon roi~?”

“Well, uh, no. Not like that,” Lucifer hummed. “I mean, while I don’t exactly eat them, I do cook for you, no? Sometimes I have to sample the food—especially on new menus. Quality control. Or has that slipped your mind?”

“Hmm, that is true, I suppose.”

The devil licked a stray bit of yolk from his lips, watching his lover’s reaction through his lashes. “But now that I think about it, I don’t feel the… shudder? I mean, usually, I have to spit it out—no offense.”

“None taken. My exquisite palate was not meant for everyone~” Alastor replied, for once not debating—he didn’t want Lucifer to do something he genuinely disliked, after all. But the Devil wasn’t listening to his dramatics. Lucifer seemed to be thinking about something—probably lamenting over his own words.

“Strange.”

Alastor’s gaze laced with curiosity. “Is it?”

Lucifer simply shrugged again, reaching for the fork in Alastor’s hand and guiding it toward the next piece on his plate—the moose meat.

The Devil hummed thoughtfully as he chewed, his jaw working with a bit more effort than usual. He tilted his head, flicking an ear as he swallowed. “Oddly enough… this is actually pleasant?” He glanced at the moose meat in mild intrigue before taking another careful bite, rolling the flavor over his tongue. “Now that I think about it, it’s richer, a little gamey, but it has a depth to it. Though, honestly, it could be more tender.” He huffed, setting his fork down. “You really should marinate this meat in pineapple or something, Bambi. More fruit essence for you too~!”

Seated behind him, Alastor chuckled, his crimson eyes alight with amusement. “Marinate my perfectly prepared moose in pineapple? Why would I dishonor my hunt like that?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, excuse me for liking my meat not to be a workout for my jaw.” He scoffed but then smirked. “I suppose it’s not my plate to finish.”

Alastor merely grinned as he speared another bite and brought it to Lucifer’s lips in silent invitation. Lucifer, indulging in the attention, took the next piece without hesitation. The table had gone unusually quiet, but neither of them noticed—too absorbed in their little ritual.

That was until Lucifer’s eyes widened, pupils dilating ever so slightly as he let the flavor settle. He blinked, surprised.

“…It’s good??” His voice carried a note of disbelief, as if the realization itself startled him.

“Isn’t it~?” If he was shocked, Alastor did not show it, merely looking proud that Lucifer did not blatantly say ‘ew’ like he half expected his mischievous mate would.

No one, however, was expecting Lucifer to get all detailed with it.

“I mean, it’s—too raw, but not bad. And it would have been better if you dried the blood a bit more? Still, the way it melts in the mouth, the juices give it some spicy taste, the—”

A high-pitched shriek cut him off.

“W-Wait, Dad?! ”

Along with Lue and Ale who looked like they’re ready to attack whoever the fuck caused that loudness, Lucifer jolted, his shoulders tensing as his gaze snapped toward the source of the voice. Emily was staring at him, eyes wide in shock, hands half-raised like she wasn’t sure whether to reach out or back away.

Lucifer blinked, caught off guard. “W-what?”

Emily stumbled over her words, expression flickering between nervousness and outright disbelief. “You—you just said—You seriously enjoyed it? ”

The table collectively sucked in a breath. A few patrons—sinners as they are—exchanged uneasy glances, while others were outright gawking.

Alastor, ever the unshakable one, leaned back in his chair, unbothered. “Oh, come now,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s not as if he’s going to start eating people raw and alive like I do.”

Then, turning to his mate, he tilted his head and flashed a too-wide grin. “Are you~?”

Lucifer flinched. Sharply.

“I—n-no?! Of course not!” His voice cracked slightly at the end, eyes darting around at the many, many pairs of eyes suddenly focused on him.

A mistake. He just committed a mistake, a King like himself should have never made.

Lucifer immediately shook his head, eyes wide as he raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Listen, I’m not going to start eating living people! That’s—that’s not happening, alright? I was just… curious! That’s all!” His voice came out a little too fast, a little too high-pitched, as if he were trying to smooth over something far worse. “I won't be repeating this ever again—ever. So, really, there’s nothing to be worried about.”

The table went dead silent for a second longer before another collective exhale of relief washed over the group.

Lucifer felt a strange sting in his chest at that.

The relief they all had—his own daughter, even—was like a silent confirmation that he had, in fact, done something truly forbidden. Something that made even demons nervous.

…Perhaps it was.

But instead of sitting in that feeling, he forced a small, sheepish chuckle and pushed himself off Alastor’s lap, moving back to his own seat. The shift was smooth, casual, like nothing had happened, like he wasn’t just feeling like he might’ve crossed a line he never even realized existed.

Perhaps he should be glad that at least Charlie wasn’t around to criticize him either—His Father knows he wouldn’t be able to take that blow.

Still, he kept up the act. Flashing a light smile, he glanced at his spouse and offered, “Thank you for the experience, dear. But I should really finish my own meal and stop interrupting yours.”

Alastor tilted his head, grinning. “Oh, nonsense! It was quite the delightful sight! I’d be more than happy to indulge you further, should your curiosity ever strike again~” He winked, his tone thick with teasing.

Lucifer huffed a small laugh, rolling his eyes. “Sure, sure.” He shook his head fondly, then picked up his fork and knife before stabbing into a large chunk of pancake. With almost exaggerated effort, he shoved the entire piece into his mouth, chewing in a way that was probably meant to seem lighthearted but…

Something felt off.

Alastor’s lingering gaze sharpened slightly, noticing the shift, but before he could say anything—

Lucifer stilled… before forcing himself to continue. Keeping the illusion that he is fine. He is normal. No one needs to worry about their King starting anything chaotic. Not in this department. 

But, of course, luck was not on his side. When did it ever?

It started subtle. A small switch in his posture. A slight tremor in his hand as he lifted his next bite. His ears gave the barest twitch.

Then came the color.

Alastor saw it first—the way Lucifer’s alabaster skin slowly, steadily lost its luster, giving way to an unnatural pallor. Green tinged the edges of his face, creeping in like an unwelcome sickness.

Yet, Lucifer clenched his jaw and kept eating.

Even as the more he swallowed, the more forced his movements became.

Gradually, Alastor’s smirk faltered as he finally put his own utensils down and called out when the fork in Lucifer’s hand wobbled.

“...Luce?”

Lilith, across the table, also frowned, finally noticing the abnormality. “Lucifer, are you o—?”

Before she could finish, Lucifer lurched forward with a sharp gag.

A shuddering breath left him, one hand flying to his stomach as he abruptly shoved his chair back, scraping against the floor with a grating screech—his magic crackling in short, erratic bursts.

Then—He disappeared.

Just poof. Gone in a flash of warped energy, not bothering to say where he was going.

All that remained was his half-eaten plate of pancakes… and the lingering sound of his strangled gag still echoing in the stunned silence.

Alastor barely wasted a second before standing. His gaze flicked toward the door, sharp, knowing.

There was only one place Lucifer would’ve gone.

And with the way he had gagged before vanishing, Alastor had no doubt that he’d find his little mate in the Apple Tower, violently emptying his stomach.

The sound of retching echoed sharply against the cold tile walls.

Lucifer’s shrunken form hunched over the toilet, arms wrapped tightly around the ceramic, his fingers digging into the chilled surface as his body violently rejected everything inside him. His stomach twisted, wrenching another painful heave from his throat, leaving his lips burning, his eyes stinging.

Tears—hot and unbidden—welled at the corners of his eyes, slipping down his face as he gasped in a shuddering breath. It hurt. Not just the force of it, not just the acrid sting in his mouth, but the overwhelming feeling of it all.

He didn’t even know why he was crying.

Or maybe he did.

Maybe it wasn’t just the physical sickness, but the mess of it all.

The morning had started off fine. A bit odd, sure, but he was used to oddity. He could handle oddity.

But then it spiraled.

And now here he was, trembling over a toilet, feeling like a pathetic mess.

A familiar warmth pressed against his back. Lucifer barely had time to react before Alastor’s long fingers gently combed through his hair, carefully pushing damp strands away from his sweat-slicked face.

“Shhh, there we go, little mate…” Alastor’s voice was a soft hum, his usual dramatics subdued as he rubbed slow, soothing circles between Lucifer’s shoulder blades. “Let it out, I’ve got you.”

Lucifer let out another weak gag, but his stomach had little left to give. He coughed, breath hitching as he trembled, his entire body feeling utterly spent.

Alastor stayed. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions—just remained a steady presence, grounding and patient.

Finally, Lucifer sagged against the toilet, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His grip on the porcelain loosened, though his fingers still twitched from exhaustion.

“Done?” Alastor asked after a moment, brushing his knuckles lightly against Lucifer’s cheek.

Lucifer swallowed, then nodded. “...Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Wordlessly, Alastor helped him to his feet, guiding him toward the sink with an arm firmly around his waist. Lucifer let himself lean into the touch, too drained to do much else.

He turned on the tap, grabbing his toothbrush with trembling hands. The familiar motions of brushing his teeth—of rinsing, of spitting out the lingering acid—were almost meditative. By the time he was done, his breathing had evened out, though his body still felt sluggish.

Alastor huffed behind him, exasperated but affectionate, a familiar grin pulling at his lips. “Honestly, mon cœur~ you didn’t need to let the others get to you so much. Who cares what they think of my meal? Even if you gave it one star, I'd hunt them instead of you.”

Lucifer stilled.

Then, slowly, he turned to face his fiancé’, his expression drawn tight. “Oh, um… It’s not that,” he murmured, voice strained.

No?

Alastor’s ears flicked, intrigued, but he said nothing—just watching, waiting.

Lucifer’s fingers curled around the edge of the sink. “It was the sugar.”

Alastor blinked. “The sugar?”

Lucifer exhaled shakily. “It was just… too sweet.” His tail flicked, betraying his frustration. “I already didn’t want to eat the damn pancakes.”

He hasn’t been looking at the sweet the same way ever since he ate it together with the cultists, actually, back on Earth. Knowing that his favorite meal had turned into a worshipped routine by those fuckers—the sheep that Eve leads. Yeah, how can he look at the damned fluffy snack as something decent anymore?

But, like, he didn’t want to assume his own distaste. So he didn’t tell Alastor about it just yet. He just has been avoiding pancakes and asking for matching food to romanticize their time together further.

After all, didn’t he eat the fruits and muffins just normally? No ruckus. Clearly, the problem is in the pancakes—or, to be precise, his tainted view on the food, right?

Right.

Damn, he’ll mourn for that. Not now, though.

For now, conversations.

Lucifer huffed in exasperation, “But yeah, as you know, everyone was watching. They were expecting me to finish it, and after all that mess I caused—” 

He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I knew I needed to do something normal.”

He let out a hollow chuckle, but it lacked any real humor. “Except I couldn’t even do that. Damn.” His voice cracked, something raw bleeding into the words. “I couldn’t even finish a fucking sweet breakfast without making a scene.”

Alastor frowned slightly, his amusement fading into something softer. “Luce…”

Lucifer shook his head, looking away. “And now here we are.” His arms wrapped around himself, as if trying to hold himself together.

Alastor was quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully, he stepped forward, slipping his arms around Lucifer’s shoulders, leaning down a bit due to the Devil’s compromised height—more than normal, he would have teased the other on better days—and pulling him close.

Lucifer stiffened slightly—but only for a moment—before his body yielded, sinking into the warmth of his fiancé’s embrace.

Alastor pressed a slow kiss against his temple, murmuring against his skin. “Mon cher,” His voice was soft yet firm. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to them. Not even to me.”

Lucifer let out a shaky breath. “I know that,” he muttered, but his fingers gripped Alastor’s vest a little tighter.

Alastor chuckled, the sound lilting knowingly. “Do you?”

Lucifer didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he could.

Because deep down, some part of him still wanted to believe that if he just tried hard enough, if he just acted the part, he could convince everyone—convince himself—that he was fine. That nothing was wrong.

That he wasn’t still standing at the edge of something vast and unknown, afraid to fall.

Alastor sighed, then leaned down, resting his forehead against Lucifer’s. “No more forcing yourself, alright? If you don’t want something, you don’t have to eat it. Even if the whole damn room is staring at you. Just come up with lies or, better yet, tell me about it. We can always create delightful chaos over the situation~ The Devil and his Cruel Consort—isn’t a little bit of chaos every passing moment even more expected?”

Lucifer stared. Blinked. Before then chuckling. Because yeah, that does sound like them more. 

Then, finally, he gave a small nod. “Makes sense, I suppose. Next time, the dining table would catch on fire instead.”

“Magnificent!” Alastor grinned with all teeth, though still held some warmth reserved for his darling devil as he pressed another kiss to the crown of those golden locks.

The Devil held onto his lover for a long moment, breathing in the familiar warmth of earth and vanilla with a hint of death— the scent that just profoundly the cannibal. It was grounding—soothing, even. But eventually, he let out a slow exhale and pulled back slightly, though his hands lingered against Alastor’s lapel.

“You should go,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual. “Handle the crowd, make sure the hotel doesn’t implode in my absence. Only we can be the cause of that~”

Alastor’s brow quirked, amusement flickering in his crimson gaze, but his fingers didn’t loosen from where they now rested at Lucifer’s hips. “Are you sure , mon cœur? You seem quite cozy like this.”

Lucifer huffed, rolling his eyes. “I am cozy. And I will call for you again. But… anyway. Not right now.” He offered a small smile. 

“I just need a moment to breathe. To think.” He then gestured with a bit of his own flair returning, “And also, just to be clear, I’m not inviting sleep. So, fuck off with that idea.”

Alastor studied him for a beat, his gaze sharp and searching. Then, with an understanding hum, he nodded. “Very well~” But before he pulled away, his fingers tilted Lucifer’s chin up, and he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his snout.

Lucifer sighed at the contact, his eyelids fluttering shut as warmth spread from the spot where Alastor’s lips touched. Then, as Alastor finally straightened, Lucifer took a step back, reluctantly letting his arms fall to his sides.

“On one condition,” Alastor said suddenly, his tone light, but his eyes serious. “You let one of my Whispies stay with you.”

Lucifer blinked, taken aback for a moment. “I—” He hesitated, actually wanting some time for himself, but then sighed as he considered all aspects, both his mental state and Alastor’s. Rubbing his temples, he agreed. “Actually, yeah, that’s fair. I suppose I don’t want to get too lonely.”

Alastor smirked at his begrudging acceptance. “Good. Then that’s our arrangement.”

Lucifer gave him one last hug—brief but firm—before finally letting him go. 

“Won’t you blame your blasphemous meal and perhaps a hint of my own stress for the cause of my departure, caro?”

Alastor gave him a parting wink before striding toward the door. “Consider it done, mon roi~!” With one final glance back, as if to ensure Lucifer wouldn’t disappear the moment he left, he finally stepped out.

The second the door shut behind him, Lucifer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

His gaze shifted toward the hissing, floating Whispie that lingered in the air, flickering like a patient little warden. He offered it a small, tired smile before murmuring, “Alright, little one. Let’s get comfortable.”

With slow, sluggish movements, he made his way toward the bed, pulling the blankets back before slipping under their weight. “Surround me,” he ordered softly.

The Whispie chirped in response, and in an instant, the room was filled with a flurry of motion. Spare blankets lifted from their folded stacks, plushies floated out from the cabinet, and before long, Lucifer found himself buried in an absurd yet oddly comforting nest of softness.

“Hell yeah, now we’re talking…” The warmth, the weight, the closeness of it all—he needed this.

He curled in on himself, tucking his limbs closer as he sank deeper into the cocoon of plush and fabric. One hand pressed to his stomach, fingers splayed across the smooth expanse as if seeking reassurance.

He wasn’t dying, he told himself. Not this time.

His core was stable. His light was steady, if dim. His magic could still go for a raid or two.

The nausea… the exhaustion—It’s just the stress.

Probably.

Still, it unsettled him. The last time he’d felt this wrong, he had nearly—No. No, not again. Not now.

He took a deep breath, rubbing slow, absent circles against his stomach. ‘Fuck you—err, me!’ Lucifer huffed bemusedly as he cursed his own vessel for, once again, behaving like either a brat or a cat.

Alastor would be back soon. He just had to be patient.

In the meantime, Whispie let out a quiet trill, hovering closer as if sensing his unease. It nudged another blanket over his shoulders, tucking it gently around him.

Lucifer let out a shaky chuckle. “Thank you, Whispie~ Won’t you be a darling and turn on the radio too? And grabs me warm water to soak myself in?”

A mock salute, and soon the shadowy being zipped around to fulfill its task, while a copy of itself stayed in place.

The Devil just snickered as he beckoned the being so he could pat it on his lap. His furry babies weren’t here after all—not at the moment—so this purring shadow would just have to ‘make do.’ 

He closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth, the softness, the safety of it all.

‘Just a little rest.’

Just until Alastor returned.

‘This is wasting time, though…’ Lucifer exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tapping against his arm as he sat cocooned in blankets. The warmth around him should’ve been comforting—it should’ve lulled him into restful silence like Alastor wanted.

But no.

He didn’t want to just sit here and do nothing.

His fingers twitched.

He needed something to focus on. Something to keep his mind from spiraling into the sickening void of his own thoughts.

He’s just fighting off nausea, after all. He could still do something and make himself useful, especially since he refused to sleep.

But what could he do?

He hummed to himself, ‘I suppose I could go on autopilot and work on my paperwork?’

That was a safe enough option. A predictable task.

He hadn’t done that in a while.

A long while.

‘Actually…?’

When was the last time he even looked at his paperwork?

A week?

Two?

A month?

His stomach turned—not from nausea this time, but from sheer horror.

Three. It’s been three months.

“Oh, gosh,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. The sheer amount that must have piled up in that time… He had spent centuries drowning in mountains of bureaucracy—missing even a day could double his workload.

Three months?

He was so fucked.

“Cole,” he called, his voice sharp.

The cherubic sheep-like attendant Alastor had so generously let him order around appeared promptly, nervously fluttering into the room. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty?”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck happened to your stuttering? I thought you lost that ages ago—” He cut himself off with a sigh.

No. No need to get nitpicky over the littlest shit. It was annoying, sure, but everything was annoying right now.

“Try not to stutter too much,” he huffed, waving a hand. “But anyway—” He didn’t even let Collin respond. “Bring me my bed table and half of my pending paperwork—the ones that actually need my attention. Organize them by urgency. The rest can wait. And don’t forget my quill and ink.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the little lamb, to his credit, quickly scurried off, eager to obey, though his nervousness was still apparent.

Whispie, however? Oh, they had Opinions.

The wraith uncoiled from Lucifer’s lap, its smoky form bursting into sharp, frantic gestures—signing with so much force that it was practically rapping in protest.

Lucifer’s lips twitched.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “Would you rather I sit here in silence and spiral, or do something predictable and monotone?”

That made Whispie hesitate. Their movements stuttered, flickering between defiance and reluctant understanding.

Lucifer chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

“Just put the hot compress on me,” he said, leaning back into his pillows. “And—hell, I don’t know—maybe massage me while you’re at it?” He snickered, tapping his own temple. “I’ll handle this—keeping myself occupied.”

However, Whispie did not look amused. Their protests continued, their smoky hands signing sharp warnings about how Lucifer was pushing himself too hard, how he needed to rest, how— Lucifer should be told what to do.

The Devil’s irritation snapped.

A dangerous thing to imply.

Lucifer’s smirk dropped, his crimson eyes flashing dangerously. In a blink, his power flared—a pulse of gold and red—and a shimmering shackle of divine light coiled around his wrist, trailing to a matching one at Whispie’s throat.

“Watch it, darling~” he purred, bared teeth glinting dangerously. “I am not in a good mood.”

Power pulsed through the air, sharp and electric. “Best yip yip to your master and stay quiet—or I might actually do something that would leave Alastor weak as fuck.”

A low, guttural sound—not quite a growl, but close enough—rumbled in his throat.

Whispie immediately backed down, their form dimming in submission.

Lucifer rolled his shoulders with satisfaction. Good.

The whole display seemed to startle Collin, who had just returned carrying a stack of papers.

…Wait.

Just a stack?

Lucifer blinked, his earlier frustration momentarily giving way to confusion as he released Whispie from the shackles that soon dissolved just as fast it was recreated.

“I said half, didn’t I?” His tone darkened again, his eyes narrowing at Collin with a sharp, scrutinizing edge. “Are you disobeying me too?”

The sheer weight of his displeasure could’ve killed if he had wanted it to.

Collin, poor thing, immediately buckled under the pressure. “I-I-It is half, Your Majesty! J-Just half! One extra paper, b-but that means the other half is less one paper, b-because the c-count is odd! I-I-I’m sorry!!!”

Lucifer barely heard the nervous babbling, his focus entirely on the stack in front of him.

This was half?

That didn’t make sense.

Three months of neglect, and he was expecting—no, bracing—for towers upon towers of bureaucratic hell.

Yet all he got was this?

His confusion must’ve shown, because Collin hesitated before nervously explaining, “D-During your absence, T-The Queen and my M-Master already sorted and handled most of it, Your Majesty. T-These are just the ones that only you can do, per Master’s words. The ones that absolutely need your approval and thoughts.”

Lucifer blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“Oh.” He stared at the papers, then back at the Cherub.

A slow, incredulous smile began creeping onto his face.

“Huh,” he mused. “That’s…” He didn’t finish the sentence, simply gesturing for Collin to proceed with setting up his table.

As the papers were arranged, his irritation slowly began to ebb, replaced by something else.

Something pleased.

Something calm.

The shift was stark—just moments ago, he had been a livid storm of frustration, snapping at anyone and anything in his path.

Now?

His smirk curled just a little wider, a small hum escaping his lips as he reached for his quill.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought.

Soon enough, the scratch of quill against parchment filled the air, steady and rhythmic.

Lucifer had long since fallen into the familiar routine of paperwork, his irritation from earlier gradually fading into cold efficiency. His hand moved almost on autopilot—signing, reading, stamping, occasionally jotting down notes.

The nausea, however, was an unwelcome presence.

Every so often, he would pause, pressing the back of his hand against his lips as his stomach churned unpleasantly. His eyelids fluttered shut, his breathing slow and measured as he waited for the sensation to pass.

Then, with a deep exhale, he continued.

There was a strange comfort in the monotony of it all. Paperwork required focus but not chaotic thought—it kept his mind occupied without letting it wander too much. Page after page, his quill danced across the documents, ink staining the parchment in elegant strokes. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the door creaked open.

Lucifer barely glanced up, but the shift in energy told him who it was before he even needed to look.

Alastor had returned.

The Radio Demon stood in the doorway, crimson eyes narrowing as his lips curled into a thin line. His gaze flickered from Lucifer to the papers stacked neatly beside him.

Lucifer knew exactly what was coming.

The scolding. The dramatics. The "You should be resting, dearest!" speech.

But just as Alastor opened his mouth—

FWMPH!

Black, shadowy hands lunged from the darkness, wrapping multiple times around Alastor’s mouth like a mass of writhing tendrils.

“MM?!”

His muffled noise of surprise was nothing compared to the sheer betrayal in his eyes as he whipped his head toward the culprit.

Whispie.

His own wraith.

The shadowy being held fast, actively silencing its own master.

Alastor blinked, stunned, before turning an accusatory glare at Lucifer—who merely smirked, not even pausing in his work.

“Good boy~” he purred in approval.

Whispie visibly preened at the praise, but Alastor wasn’t fooled—he could see the sheepishness in the wraith’s form.

A clear contrast from how it had been scolded earlier. Though, obviously, the overlord wouldn't know.

Alastor exhaled sharply through his nose, looking pointedly at the wraith.

“‘What is going on?’” he asked, his voice curious.

Whispie tightened its grip in warning before responding in its signature eerie, slithering tone. “‘Do not disssturb him. He isss very mad. Sssmiley fake. Do NOT poke around.’”

Alastor stilled, his expression unreadable.

That… was actually alarming.

Because from where he was standing, Lucifer looked calm. Serene, even.

Yes, there was the occasional small frown of concentration as he read—but there was no outward sign of rage.

And yet, Whispie was warning him as if Lucifer was seething.

After a long moment, Alastor gave a small nod.

Only then did Whispie reluctantly release its hold, the shadowy hands slinking back into the void.

Alastor dusted off his coat with an exaggerated huff before walking toward the bed, his usual grin returning. He didn’t say anything—he merely sat at the edge, one leg folded onto the mattress, the other dangling off the side.

Casually, he leaned his shoulder against Lucifer’s, watching for a reaction.

He half-expected Lucifer to shove him away, to grumble about being crowded while working.

Instead—A pulse of warmth.

Lucifer’s magic curled around him like invisible ribbons, a silent beckoning—before tugging him closer.

Alastor barely had time to adjust before Lucifer shifted, leaning fully against his shoulder.

Alastor blinked.

Well then.

Taking this as a good sign, he reached for the radio that had been playing faintly in the background. With a flick of his wrist, the station switched—static briefly crackling before a more soothing, ambient melody took over. Something smooth. Pleasant. Less intrusive.

Almost immediately, Lucifer relaxed further, his shoulders loosening.

“…Thank you,” he murmured softly.

Alastor hummed in response, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

And just like that, the room fell into quiet harmony.

The final document was signed with a decisive stroke, the ink still glistening as Lucifer set the quill down with an exhale.

“Cole,” he called, voice smooth but undeniably commanding.

The cherubic assistant perked up immediately, wings fluttering in anticipation. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Take these away, sort them accordingly,” Lucifer instructed, gesturing lazily to the neatly stacked paperwork. “Then zip off. I don’t need you hovering.”

Collin nodded so fervently it was a wonder his head didn’t fall off. “Understood, Your Majesty!”

With that, the little cherub snatched up the documents and promptly vanished in a flurry of golden light.

Lucifer sighed in relief, sinking further against Alastor. The shift was enough for the damp compress towel draped over his neck to slide off and plop onto the sheets. He didn’t even glance at it, nor did he bother fixing his posture.

Alastor, naturally, took the liberty of tidying up the rest. He gathered the scattered quills, resealed the ink bottles, wiped away stray drops of ink from the desk’s surface—all while Lucifer remained comfortably slouched against him.

Then, in a tone as smooth as his radio waves, Alastor asked, “Would you like something more savory to make up for breakfast, dearest? I happen to have some pasta ready~”

Lucifer hummed in consideration.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he murmured, “Add some sinner’s meat to it.”

A pause.

Alastor arched a brow, his expression shifting into something distinctly amused.

Lucifer caught the look and exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly. “I guess I do kinda like the taste.” He leaned his cheek against Alastor’s shoulder. “Don’t have it too raw, though. Cook it at the same level as always.”

Alastor let out a rich chuckle, the sound curling in the air like a velvet ribbon. “Oh-ho~! What a pleasant surprise!”

Without missing a beat, he snapped his fingers, summoning another cherub—this one named Keenie. “Be dear and fetch His Majesty’s request. Sinner’s meat, cooked until near well done, over pasta.”

Keenie, not even bothering to question anything, simply bowed and flitted away to fulfill the order.

Meanwhile, Alastor draped an arm around Lucifer’s shoulders, fingers slipping into his soft golden hair. With slow, deliberate motions, he combed through the strands, his nails lightly scratching against Lucifer’s scalp in a soothing rhythm.

Lucifer sighed again, but this time in quiet pleasure, eyes half-lidded as he allowed himself to bask in the touch.

Once Keenie left the room, Alastor spoke again, voice dropping to something more intimate. “Has the nausea passed, then?”

Lucifer shook his head, though he didn’t pull away from the gentle ministrations. “No. But I have cravings now, and I really just want to eat in peace.”

Alastor grinned, ever the indulgent one. “Well then, I shall personally ensure you get precisely that~”

By the time Keenie returned, the dish was served exactly as requested—steaming pasta with tender slices of sinner’s meat, expertly prepared.

Lucifer took one look at it and, to Alastor’s delight, seemed genuinely eager.

With an exaggerated flourish, Alastor picked up a fork, twirling a portion of the pasta before lifting it to Lucifer’s lips.

“Open wide~”

Lucifer rolled his eyes but obeyed, letting Alastor feed him.

The moment the flavors hit his tongue, he hummed in satisfaction, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing.

As Lucifer continued to eat, Alastor took the opportunity to give a brief report. “As per your request, the table has been informed. Everything is handled. Emilia looked positively trying to say ‘I told you so’ without trying to sound rude, it was actually quite adorable.”

Lucifer nodded, seemingly pleased with expectant news.

“Oh, also,” Alastor added, his grin widening. “Your dear Queen left you a message.”

Lucifer raised a brow. “yes?”

Alastor’s voice took on a mocking, lilting tone as he mimicked Lilith’s words. “‘Perhaps next time, experiments should be done in smaller doses?’”

Lucifer blinked—then let out a surprised chuckle. “Of course she would say that.”

Alastor’s amusement deepened. “And here you are, eating more of the said ‘experimental’ dish~”

Lucifer sighed through a small smile. “Gosh. The others would flip if they knew, wouldn’t they?”

Alastor made a dramatic, exaggerated expression—one hand to his chest, eyes wide with mock horror. “Gasp! The Devil Himself, developing a taste for sinner’s flesh?!”

Then, with a sharp-toothed grin, he leaned in.

“Welcome to the cannibal world, dear~”

Lucifer let out a snort, shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“Caro, I’m not even a demon. I’m a fallen angel. Different breed.” he muttered between bites. “But I suppose, I did ‘consume’ those exorcists’ lights. So—”

Alastor laughed, delighting in every second of this.

But most of all, he was simply glad—glad to see Lucifer finally eating in peace, glad to see him indulging in something without guilt, glad to see him calm.

And, of course, he would always be the one to indulge him.

Chapter Text

But of course, Peace and Lucifer Morningstar did not get along all that well.

This was, of course, a well-known fact.

Still, some part of him had dared to hope—hope that this meeting could be handled smoothly, efficiently, and most of all, without his direct involvement.

Clearly, he was mistaken.

The grand hall of Wrath’s Citadel was filled with voices—sharp, prideful, and increasingly antagonistic. Today’s urgent meeting was supposedly about governance over a newly emptied woodland space in the Wrath Ring, an issue that, on its own, was trivial. Yet, as Lucifer sat at the head of the table, he quickly realized that the real matter at hand was something far less dignified.

Seated beside him—as Lucifer insisted it to be—Alastor remained perfectly composed in his seat, his usual grin settled in place, though his crimson eyes flickered with interest at the spectacle unfolding before them. To Lucifer’s right, Satan—the Sin of Wrath himself—was barely hiding his growing irritation, arms crossed as his fingers dug into his own biceps. Roo, his consort, merely observed with an unimpressed stare.

And yet, despite the presence of Wrath’s own rulers, the two Goetian dukes bickering before them, Abigor and Haborym, seemed utterly incapable of settling their grievances.

“I have led countless battles in Wrath’s name! My expertise in combat and territorial strategy is unmatched ,” Abigor declared, his wings flaring as his golden-plated gauntlet slammed against the table. “Who better to oversee this land’s future development than I?”

“Expertise in combat?” Haborym scoffed, his forked tongue flicking out with disdain. “What good is that when the land in question is no longer a battlefield? I have ensured stability in Wrath’s more—shall we say— profitable ventures. If there is to be prosperity, surely I am the more fitting choice!”

Lucifer closed his eyes briefly, inhaling slowly.

This is ridiculous.

They weren’t debating governance anymore.

This was nothing more than two prideful, power-hungry aristocrats trying to outmaneuver each other, and frankly, it was pathetic.

He flicked his gaze toward Beleth, the Goetian King of Wrath, expecting him to intervene— he was the one responsible for these two, after all. But Beleth merely watched, clearly weighing his options, but still too hesitant to act.

Lucifer’s fingers twitched.

He then glanced toward Satan, expecting him to shut this down, but the Sin of Wrath seemed more interested in watching the two fools tear each other apart, a deep scowl on his face but no real movement to interfere.

‘So it’s left to me, then.’

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, his irritation building—and made even worse now that his stomach churned, as if in disapproval of all the shit he was currently suffering through—before exhaling through his teeth.

The bickering continued, words cutting sharper as the tension in the room thickened—until something began to shift .

The air turned heavy .

Not in an explosive way.

No, it was far worse.

The weight of it crept in slowly, like unseen chains wrapping around each being in the room, pressing down, suffocating. It wasn’t sudden, nor violent, but rather a silent and inescapable pressure .

Abigor and Haborym, still mid-argument, faltered.

Their words grew strained, their breath short, their voices thinner as though they had to force each syllable past something immense . Their bodies tensed as they struggled to push against the weight settling over them, but no matter how they adjusted their stance, the sensation only deepened .

It was suffocating.

Unrelenting.

And then, the realization set in.

The source of this pressure—the silent storm that had been brewing at the head of the table—was none other than the Devil himself.

Lucifer sat upon his throne, still as stone, his expression unreadable.

His power did not lash out in fury. It did not explode in wrath.

Instead, it pressed down , like an inevitable force of nature, a gravity beyond comprehension.

The torches in the room dimmed ever so slightly. The very foundation of the citadel seemed to groan under the weight of his presence.

Abigor and Haborym, once bold and uncompromising, now looked as though they were struggling to breathe .

Then, Lucifer moved.

Not a grand gesture. Not a flare of magic.

Just the slow, deliberate motion of turning his head, golden irises landing on the present King of Goetian with a heat that could burn a soul to cinders.

“Bethel.”

Beleth stiffened as the pressure that followed nearly choked him alive. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty…?”

Lucifer’s voice, when it came, was deceptively quiet—coiled, sharp, venomous .

“You should be handling your own court better.”

Beleth didn’t dare to look away.

“This,” Lucifer gestured to the two struggling dukes with nothing more than a flick of his fingers, “should not be requiring Satan’s audience, let alone mine .” His voice dipped lower, the weight of his words punctuated with barely concealed scorn. 

“In the past? Sure . Somehow, I still had all the patience in the world to guide you all with baby-fucking-steps. But now?” He paused. Then tilted his head, studying Beleth with open disdain. “Actually, how long have you been a King, Blehet?”

The Goetian swallowed, hesitated—but under Lucifer’s unwavering stare, he finally answered.

“…Five millennia.”

Lucifer scoffed. Pathetic.

“If that long,” he drawled, “and yet you can’t solve something like this on your own—” His fingers flexed slightly on the armrest, his power humming beneath his skin. “—take off your crown.”

Silence.

Lucifer’s smile was cold .

“I’ll find someone else more suitable.”

Beleth visibly flinched but said nothing.

Lucifer then turned to Satan, his molten gaze locking onto the Sin of Wrath.

“And you.” His tone was razor-sharp. “Next time, don’t let Goetians in your realm make light of my presence.” He gestured to the two pathetic dukes still struggling to recover from his unrelenting pressure. “Because clearly, they are—if they dare to bicker like brats in front of me.”

Satan tensed, startled by the sheer bite in Lucifer’s voice.

Even Roo, ever unbothered, blinked in mild surprise.

Still, the Sin of Wrath held Lucifer’s gaze and gave a single, sharp nod. His deep voice was gruff but respectful. “I shall strive to do better next time, Your Majesty.”

The Wrath couple said nothing more—but Lucifer didn’t miss the way they both looked… awed .

Not in fear.

Not in caution.

But in the way warriors admired something truly ferocious .

They didn't comment on it, of course. They knew better than to feed Lucifer’s temper any further.

For a long moment, the room was silent.

The weight of Lucifer’s presence lingered—until finally, he exhaled, rubbing his temple in exhaustion. “Satanas, I’m leaving the brats in your hands. If you decide to slice their necks, be my guest. Just submit the report on time.” He then stood up, followed by Alastor, who moved to escort the weary King.

The court, of course, rose and bowed to him as etiquette demanded, which also served as Satan’s silent acknowledgment.

As soon as they stepped out the door, Damien awaited them, though he was visibly surprised to find himself escorting his zio and his consort earlier than expected, especially when the meeting didn’t seem to be over. The hardened look on Lucifer’s face, however, made it clear that he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

Yet still, Alastor, ever the opportunist, chuckled once they were out of earshot, slicing through the tension like a knife through butter with a single whisper. “Now that was entertaining~”

Lucifer shot him a flat look.

Alastor merely grinned wider.

That exasperated angel honestly just wanted to leave the place already. 

“Damien, did you have a car ready for us, or—?” Lucifer’s voice low as his crimson gaze shifting to his nephew instead of acknowledging his ever-mischievous consort.

Alastor, of course, caught the subtlety in Lucifer’s avoidance, but he also felt the slight squeeze of the Devil’s arm around his own—a silent demand. Come closer.

And so he did.

The demon leaned in without a word, his presence now flush against Lucifer’s side, as though they were merely indulging in casual intimacy rather than departing from a nearly catastrophic political meeting.

Damien, standing near the doorway, straightened at being addressed. Normally, the young hybrid was bright, confident, polite to a fault—but right now, there was clear nervousness in his expression.

Lucifer was, by all accounts, tender when it came to children—he always had been, despite his reputation. And well, Damien was his favorite nephew.

They both knew that.

Which was why Damien took a moment before answering, cautious yet steady.

“Yes, Zio. The car will be arriving by the time we reach the front doors.”

Lucifer nodded, satisfied.

However, Damien—clever as he was—took the opportunity to ask, “Did the meeting go that badly? You left first.”

Lucifer sighed.

A deep, bone-weary sigh.

And yet, as they walked, his expression softened slightly. He reached a hand toward Damien, a silent gesture of familiarity.

The hybrid immediately understood, ducking his head just a little to accommodate Lucifer’s shorter frame.

Lucifer patted his nephew’s head as they made their way toward the grand entrance of Wrath’s Citadel.

“Well,” Lucifer drawled, amusement laced in his tone, “sometimes adults are ridiculous.”

Damien hummed in agreement.

Lucifer smirked, fingers tapping lightly against his nephew’s hair. “And I left before I could murder someone and have two avians as dinner—or maybe three.”

The casual, almost wistful delivery of such a statement had Damien sweating just a little.

Meanwhile, Alastor chuckled, clearly entertained.

Still, they continued their walk, Lucifer shifting the conversation with a smoother, more pleasant tone.

“How have you been, little one? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

Damien brightened at the question. “I’ve been more active in helping my father with governing Wrath. He’s been training me on matters of state, and I’ve also earned a standing among Mom's soldiers.”

Lucifer hummed in approval, genuinely pleased. “That’s good. You always did have a strong sense of duty.”

But then, something shifted.

Both Alastor and Damien noticed it at the same time.

Lucifer’s steps began to slow, his posture ever so slightly tense. His usually fluid movement became more deliberate, his expression unreadable.

Then, he stopped .

His breath hitched, one hand pressing against his forehead as his frown deepened.

“Lucifer?” Alastor’s voice was smooth, but the concern was there.

The Devil exhaled sharply before waving a dismissive hand. “I’m fine.” A pause. “Just… a bit dizzy. Probably lingering stress.”

Despite his words, Alastor didn’t move his gaze away, watching him intently.

Lucifer, however, tilted his head toward Damien, forcing a wry smile. “Anyway, I swear, you somehow sound more put together than those so-called adults in that room.”

Damien chuckled at that, shaking his head. “That might be the case, but, I am a young adult now, Zio. Just like Charlie.”

Lucifer’s smile widened, turning playful. “No,” he declared with mock stubbornness.

The hybrid blinked. “What?”

Lucifer, now resuming his slow but steady pace, continued with exaggerated insistence. “No. You’re still a baby. Both of you~”

Damien groaned in exasperation, but the amusement was evident in his voice. “Zio Lucifer, seriously —”

“Nope. Baby.”

Alastor snickered beside them, watching the exchange with clear delight as the three of them finally neared the front entrance.

The Devil may have been exhausted.

But at the very least, he was leaving Wrath’s court without a pile of corpses in his wake.

A rare victory.

The moment Lucifer entered the car, the mask did not falter. Not immediately.

He slid inside with his usual grace, smoothing out the lapels of his coat as he settled into the plush leather seat. A quiet sigh left him, but nothing in his expression betrayed any true distress.

Alastor followed shortly after, stepping into the vehicle and shutting the door behind him with a deliberate click. The interior was dimly lit, the hum of the engine purring softly beneath them as the driver took his cue to start moving.

For a few moments, it was silent.

Just the two of them in the backseat. The divider in between stopped the driver from seeing the couple.

However, as soon as the vehicle rolled forward, Lucifer broke .

He exhaled, long and weary, before shifting closer to Alastor, resting his forehead against the demon’s shoulder. His body sagged against him, the weight of exhaustion pressing down, and in a barely audible mumble, he whispered:

“Al… my head… hurts.”

Alastor’s grin barely flickered, but his entire demeanor shifted.

The tension in Lucifer’s voice, the quiet rasp, the way his frame had lost its composure—it was all so telling .

And then came the cold sweat.

The warmth of Lucifer’s skin quickly became clammy, his breathing uneven as the aftershocks of withheld pain caught up with him.

Alastor could feel it.

Lucifer had been holding back earlier. That much was obvious.

But for how long ?

Keeping his usual composed facade, Alastor merely chuckled, lifting a hand to idly brush gloved fingers through Lucifer’s golden hair, the movement soothing yet casual.

“Perhaps we should delay our little meet-up with Carmilla, hm? What's a day or two, after all?” he mused, keeping his voice light, as if it were an afterthought.

Lucifer shook his head weakly. “No… she rarely calls for me unless it’s necessary. I told her long ago, if it wasn’t important, not to waste my time. She wouldn’t break my trust now.”

His voice was soft, but firm.

Even in this state, his priorities remained intact. Work.

However, after a moment, he hesitated. His body tensed, a hand pressing against his temple, the other, around his abdomen as he let out a low grunt.

“…But if possible,” he murmured, quieter now, “perhaps push it… to a couple of hours?”

Alastor frowned slightly, tilting his head as Lucifer’s breath grew more uneven.

“I feel nauseous again,” Lucifer admitted with an irritated sigh, fingers clenching against his side. His other hand now gripped at the seat’s fabric, frustration laced in his tone. “Tch. Maybe we should just… portal.”

His head dipped slightly as another wave of discomfort hit him. “The car’s motion… only makes it worse…”

That was all Alastor needed to hear.

Without another word, he reached into the fabric of space, twisting reality with the ease of a man pulling aside a curtain.

A rift shimmered open.

A portal.

Before warping them, Alastor, ever the meticulous one, left a neatly folded note on the backseat—a short, polite message explaining their sudden disappearance, along with a generous sum of shut-up money for the driver’s trouble.

And with that, in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The portal spat them out into a secluded corner of the castle—one of the many hidden passageways that only few knew existed. The air here was cool, the atmosphere dim and undisturbed.

The moment Lucifer’s boots touched the polished floors, he wavered.

Alastor caught him.

“Ah, ah, careful now,” Alastor hummed, keeping an arm firmly around Lucifer’s waist. “Wouldn’t want our beloved King collapsing so ungracefully on the floor, now would we?”

Lucifer groaned but didn’t resist.

He hated this.

He hated feeling weak.

But for now… he allowed Alastor to support him, leaning against him more than he’d like to admit as they made their way deeper into the castle, likely toward their bedroom. It didn’t take long before Alastor decided that walking wasn’t worth it for Lucifer and gently began to carry him.

The Devil didn’t protest; in fact, he let out a soft grunt with a hint of gratitude in his tone, focusing on breathing slowly to push past the discomfort.

Alastor guided Lucifer towards the bed with gentle persistence, though Lucifer was quick to refuse lying down completely.

“No.” His voice was sharp, though weakened by exhaustion. “Makes my stomach feel worse.”

Alastor hummed, barely fazed, and instead maneuvered the fallen angel into a more comfortable position, propping him up against a mountain of plush pillows. Lucifer let himself be arranged like an expensive porcelain doll, albeit a rather grumpy one.

“There, there,” Alastor purred as he fluffed the last pillow behind Lucifer’s head. “A nest fit for a royalty, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucifer merely sighed, pressing his fingers against his temple before muttering, “I feel like I’ve eaten something Bee carelessly made, convinced it was edible—while also simultaneously suffering blood loss.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his stomach in slow, methodical circles. “I feel anemic and food-poisoned at the same time.”

Alastor quirked a brow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “And before I so graciously offer my theories, is it safe to assume that you don’t know why this is happening, mon roi?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes but nodded. “Gimme your thoughts.”

“Well then,” Alastor drawled, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. “Could it be, perhaps, the sinner’s meat?”

Lucifer blinked.

“You did throw up the first time, even if it was delayed,” Alastor continued, ever the logical one. “You blamed the sugar then, but this time, you hardly had any sweets. The only consistent thing between both meals was… that.”

Lucifer frowned but didn’t argue, merely nodding in acknowledgment. “You know what? A possibility ,” he admitted, exhaling as he continued rubbing at his stomach.

A few moments of silence passed.

Then, a low, dry chuckle.

“Who would have thought that an angel really should not be eating a demon?”

Alastor let out an amused hum, eyes crinkling at the edges. “At least your sense of humor is intact, your Highness~”

Lucifer sighed. “ At the very least , yes.”

Alastor took that as a win. For now, he was simply trying to help his partner through the chaos his own vessel had dragged him into.  

Thankfully, the Devil’s torment did cease over time.

With Lucifer's headache gradually fading, that left only the nausea as the primary tormentor.

Alastor, being Alastor, wasn’t the type to coo or coddle—but he was the type to take matters into his own hands in a way that suited his particular brand of affection.

“Let’s see if we can ease that discomfort a little, hm?”

Without waiting for permission, he reached out, warm fingers ghosting over Lucifer’s abdomen. The fallen angel barely flinched, already too exhausted to be stubborn.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Lucifer muttered with a teasing snicker, though the edge in his voice was dulled.

“Oh, perish the thought~” Alastor grinned, though his touch remained careful, deliberate. He pressed his palm lightly against Lucifer’s stomach, tracing slow, soothing circles—mimicking the way Lucifer had been rubbing at it himself, only more precise, more rhythmic.

Lucifer exhaled, eyelids fluttering as he leaned further into the pillows.

Encouraged, Alastor applied a bit more pressure, kneading gently. “How’s that?”

Lucifer let out a slow breath through his nose, his body unconsciously relaxing under the ministrations. The nausea was still there, but somehow, this helped keep it from worsening.

“…Not bad,” he admitted.

“Ah, a glowing review,” Alastor chuckled, continuing his slow, methodical motions. “You know, dear, if you are reacting to the meat, then I must say—what a tragic irony. After all, wasn’t it you who said ‘It’s not cannibalism, I’m not a demon’ ?”

Lucifer let out a low groan—not from nausea this time, but from sheer exasperation .

Alastor only grinned wider.

Well, the Devil, not wanting to be bested, then quipped back, "I guess technically taking you in via ‘my lower lips’ or sucking you off didn't count as eating out a demon~" He snickered, enjoying his lover’s reaction.

Alastor’s smug grin instantly faltered at Lucifer’s absolutely filthy retort.

His eye twitched. His shadows bristled. He growled lowly, crimson eyes narrowing as a rare shade of flustered heat dusted his cheeks.

“You are incorrigible ,” Alastor hissed, though the corners of his lips twitched into something begrudgingly entertained.

Lucifer, the smug bastard that he was, smirked, clearly pleased with himself—until, abruptly, his body stiffened. His breath hitched, and before he could relish his victory further, a sharp cramp twisted through his gut like a vengeful serpent.

His entire form curled in on itself, arms wrapping tightly around his abdomen as if trying to physically contain the pain. The sensation was wrong —like something inside him was twisting in a way it absolutely should not . The sheer discomfort of it had his nausea lurching again, leaving him swallowing down bile.

Alastor instantly noticed the shift, amusement gone in a blink.

“Luce?” His voice lost its playful lilt, replaced with something firm, concerned. “Hey, mon amour—”

He reached for him, only for Lucifer to tense even more, shuddering through slow, deliberate breaths as he ignored him entirely.

A shiver ran through Lucifer’s form, his body instinctively reacting to the internal distress. With a barely muttered curse, he forced his own shapeshifting magic inward, adjusting— realigning —his insides to ease the unnatural cramping.

Damn it, why is that blasted thing cramping?!

It took a moment—seconds that felt like hours —before the pain finally dulled, though it left behind a sickly exhaustion that weighed heavy on his limbs. His body slumped forward, forehead pressing against Alastor’s shoulder once more. His breath was shaky but steadying.

Alastor, though still visibly tense, allowed it. His arm instinctively wrapped around Lucifer’s back, fingers splayed in a way that was both possessive and grounding.

A beat passed.

“I'm calling Belphegor,” Alastor finally muttered, voice holding that firm you-have-no-say-in-this tone.

Lucifer let out a breathless chuckle, albeit weakly. “Mm… no to a doctor , dear.”

Alastor scowled, “Fine. I'll do it then.”

Lucifer hummed in tease, “Not a doctor, caro.”

“Oh, no, I’m worse ,” Alastor purred darkly, tightening his hold just slightly. “I care .”

Lucifer chuckled but nodded anyway. "Well, if you can, why not now? Prescribe me meds too, if possible. No fucking painkillers work for me in Hell... so, yep. Good fucking luck~"

Alastor clicked his tongue, irritation flickering in his expression—not at Lucifer, but at the circumstance. "Right. Nothing works perfectly on you," he murmured, half exasperated, half amused. “Still, should I not be calling Bel, mon amour? Why? ”

Because if Lucifer wished for that, surely his Devil would be the one taking the initiative. But his angel mentioned nothing about her, which meant either he didn’t remember the possibility—most unlikely—or he didn’t believe Bel could provide any real solution. To Alastor’s guess, the latter hit the bullseye closer, since Lucifer had already mentioned how Hellish pills were, at best, only tolerably effective.

Lucifer huffed out a tired chuckle, his head still resting against Alastor’s shoulder. “I really don’t want to expose my other conditions to her, actually. And besides, other than controlling my hormones, I don’t think Bel can do much for me. I mean, yes, there are the sleeping pills and calming meds, but when it comes to physical issues? She can spot injuries and tend to them with basic first aid, but you know…” He sighed. “I’m an archangel-turned-devil. Did you really expect common Hellborne pain relief to do anything?”

“Not the common ones, no. Otherwise, you’d likely already have them in your cabinet,” Alastor admitted, his shadows shifting restlessly around them. “But I am hardly common, now am I?”

“Hmm~ ‘s that so?” Those black eyebrows arched high, corners of lips curling up, “What exactly are you suggesting right now?”

The demon stared at him with a shrug. “If you’re outright refusing Belphegor for multiple reasons—including secrecy —then I should remind you that I once pulled a shard of an angelic blade from your chest. So…” He trailed off, knowing well that his partner was more than capable of filling in the blank.

“That was a physical injury, though,” Lucifer mused, tilting his head. “But I suppose, sure.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “You want to take a look? I know you’ve dabbled in medical texts. Let’s see if, by some miracle, you’re actually capable of that, Bambi~”

Alastor nodded, acknowledging the truth. “May I, then?”

Lucifer hummed softly, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Sure, I guess. Careful though~”

With that, he extended his power outward, letting dark tendrils slither toward Lucifer, searching—analyzing. On the surface, he found nothing; his shadows couldn’t detect anything amiss. Or at least, nothing obvious. Perhaps he needed to go deeper? Well, Lucifer had already consented, hadn’t he?

So, deeper he went, searching for any—

SMACK!

Alastor barely had time to react before a hand landed right on his face, palm flat against his nose with a force just shy of a slapstick comedy act.

His shadows immediately recoiled. His whole body froze.

Lucifer, eyes shut, face pinched in discomfort, muttered, " That feels disturbing."

Alastor blinked. Once. Twice. Then he snorted, amusement quickly overriding the momentary surprise. " Disturbing ?"

"Yes." Lucifer peeled his hand away, letting it flop against his lap. "Like having a colony of spiders crawl into my skin and whisper sweet nothings into my veins before taking a bite, nibbling at my core." He shuddered. "I’d rather get punched in the gut—let’s not do that anymore. Like. Ever. "

Alastor gave a dramatic sigh, hand resting against his own chest. "You wound me, dearest."

“Oh, shut up,” Lucifer breathed out, shifting slightly against Alastor’s shoulder, his fingers absently curling into the fabric of his lover’s coat. “I mean, at least it’s nothing… urgent? I’m not feeling weakness gnawing at my strength or magic.”

Alastor’s fingers idly traced patterns along Lucifer’s spine, his expression contemplative. “So, just on your vessel?”

Lucifer gave a slow nod, rolling his shoulders as if testing the strain. “Hmm hmm. Just discomfort.”

Alastor hummed, his tone light but laced with knowing amusement. “Ah, a fleeting ache for one so grand~ Hardly worth fretting over, no?”

Lucifer groaned dramatically, tilting his head back with an exasperated sigh. “I fucking sure hope so???”

Alastor huffed a small laugh, his grip tightening just slightly as he pulled Lucifer in closer, rubbing slow, reassuring circles along his back. In the end, there really wasn’t much else they could do for now. Rest was the only real option, whether Lucifer liked it or not.

And, well, obviously, he didn’t like that option.

Not when he already had a mountain of responsibilities piled onto his plate—enough to make his head throb just from remembering his schedule.

The fallen archangel exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. He couldn’t even begin to figure out why his own body was rebelling against him this time.

Alastor, not particularly fond of seeing his darling in unnecessary pain, quipped with a possible solution.

“…Maybe you should call your sister.”

Lucifer blinked. “My sister?”

“Gabriel,” Alastor clarified. “If you have no faith that Bel can help, and since I certainly can’t do anything even with my power, then maybe you need to call her.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes with a huff. “And let Heaven know that I’m suffering from shitty indigestion?”

Alastor pressed his lips into a thin line. “If that were truly the case, I doubt you’d be reacting this much, mon ange. Your pain tolerance is as messed up as one can get—your scale’s broken beyond repair. I really don’t think a sharp pain that had you doubled over is some ‘mere mortal’ kind of indigestion, even if it is.”

Lucifer huffed again, waving him off. “It’s fine. It’ll pass. I don’t need to owe a debt to any of Heaven’s members.”

Alastor wanted to argue that now wasn’t the time to be so petty about their ‘roles.’ Siblings were siblings, weren’t they? And knowing the archangels, they’d be more than willing to help their dear brother. But, of course, Lucifer was far too stubborn to admit he needed help.

But sure .

He supposed, his angel could still talk back… So maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe .

“Okay, fine. Not Gabriel, then. How about Michael? He seems like the type to keep your secrets, even if it gets him in trouble afterward.” Alastor tried again.

This time, Lucifer frowned slightly. “And why exactly do I need to do that?”

“To unload your stress, perhaps?” Alastor shrugged, leaning against the armrest with a casual air. “If you’re so insistent that it’s nothing, then maybe it’s all stemming from your mind. We all know how your spiraling tends to turn… physical.”

It was only half a bluff, but miraculously, Lucifer actually hummed in contemplation.

“I mean… He did say he’d be the first to know if anything was wrong with me,” Lucifer muttered, his fingers tapping idly against the fabric of his coat. “So, actually, the absence of his frantic worrying is a good sign, isn’t it? Why break the record?”

Alastor saw an opportunity and seized it.

“If that’s the case, why don’t we actually call him as an indicator?” he suggested, tilting his head and tapping a claw to his lips. “You don’t need to ask for help, but at least we can gauge your condition from his reaction.”

Lucifer blinked, considering. “Like… if he acts oddly, then something is actually wrong?”

“Exactly.”

“Huh.” Lucifer mulled over the thought before sighing, finally agreeing to Alastor’s plan. “I guess… Well, I mean, I can use that as an excuse for the delay in meeting with Carmilla too, so…”

Alastor smirked, pulling him just a little closer. “See? Practicality at its finest.”

Lucifer hummed, surrendering to being held by Alastor, before then grunbling,  "Fuck, I think I really need a nap… might be my best bet to escape this, actually."

Alastor was trying his damnest not to frown at that.

At this point, he knew Lucifer well—better than most—after all. Sleep was his usual means of recovery, much like food helped replenish energy. 

Unfortunately, having sleep for Lucifer also meant dealing with the invisible demons .

"It would be lovely," Alastor agreed, his voice gentle but firm. "If your mind cooperates, that is."

Lucifer scoffed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "That’s the problem, isn’t it?" He exhaled sharply, irritation laced beneath his exhaustion. "I can rest my body, but my mind will just find new ways to be an asshole."

Alastor hummed in consideration, his fingers tapping lightly against Lucifer’s arm. "What if I helped?"

Lucifer cracked one eye open. "How?"

Alastor tilted his head, a sly smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. "Physical relaxation. Perhaps a massage—some extra care. Tail, wings… sensitive areas. You’d still sleep, but at least I could ensure you dream of me instead of whatever horrors your mind usually insists on replaying."

Lucifer blinked. Stared.

Then he laughed—a surprised, breathy chuckle that made his shoulders shake slightly. "You? Massaging me? Al, you can barely tolerate—"

"I can tolerate that . I have been, and I can always try even without your charm. But only when it comes to you," Alastor corrected smoothly. "Besides, I’d rather have you sleep peacefully—or be disturbed by fantasies of me —than wake up looking like you just crawled out of a battlefield."

Lucifer opened his mouth, hesitated. Then scoffed again. "I could just drag you into my dreamscape, you know."

"Maybe you could," Alastor agreed easily even though he didn’t know of that ability before this very confession. "But you won’t. Because you’re already exhausted, and that would take more effort than it’s worth."

Lucifer clicked his tongue, annoyed at the accuracy of that statement. "I don’t like how you’re toying with my feelings like this~"

"I prefer to call it irrefutable logic on necessity," Alastor said with a sharp grin. “Besides, mon cher, I know you still crave my affections in that department. Wouldn’t you be winning by accepting this deal?”

Lucifer grumbled something unintelligible, shifting slightly against Alastor’s chest. He hated agreeing to this, but after a long pause, he let out a heavy sigh.

" Fine. Do whatever you want."

Alastor’s grin widened wickedly.

Lucifer cracked an eye open, already sensing it. "Within reason, Al. Don’t make me actually force you into anything."

"Of course, my dear~" Alastor chuckled, already adjusting his position.

Lucifer closed his eyes again, letting himself relax. He trusted Alastor—if there was anyone he could let his guard down around, it was him. Even if this whole situation felt wildly out of character for them both.

Well. If nothing else, it would certainly be interesting.

Chapter Text

When Lucifer reached out to his twin via text, asking if he was available, the response came back immediately .

Too fast.

Lucifer frowned at his screen, a flicker of unease creeping down his spine. Michael, despite being a worrywart of the highest caliber, usually took longer to respond—most of the time, because he was busy. But now? His twin was answering almost as if he had been waiting for Lucifer to contact him.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Alastor, perched at the bedside, noted the shift in his angel’s expression. His crimson eyes flickered with curiosity before he casually reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. "Relax, my dear," he murmured smoothly. "If he’s available, that simply makes things easier. You’re already feeling better, aren’t you? The sleep helped, and the nausea is mostly gone, you said?” 

He smiled, trying to reduce his angel’s panic, “Well, perhaps this is just your brother's usual dramatics. After all, he does have what Emberlynn told me is a ‘brother complex.’ So, maybe it meant nothing?"

“No, it’s the opposite, actually,” Lucifer sighed, rolling his eyes. "That’s precisely why I’m worried, Al. If Michael is too easy to reach, it’s either because Heaven is crumbling, or he thinks I am—Ah, hells. Why the fuck did I agree to your schemes again? Now I'm getting anxious too on top of my already piling stress!"

Alastor chuckled, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he wordlessly slipped out of the screen’s view, retreating to a shadowed corner of the room, arms folded neatly behind his back. He didn’t plan to be involved with the call itself—If Michael thought Lucifer was alone, he’d speak more freely, without the added weight of performing for an audience. But of course, he would be nearby in case his partner called.

Lucifer exhaled, flexing his fingers once before initiating the call. 

The screen blinked once—twice—before stabilizing, and then, after nearly two months apart, two identical faces finally came face-to-face once more.

Michael’s reaction was immediate .

"Brother! Oh gosh, I’m glad you look—wait, you’re in bed?! You’re not okay then—oh, heavens!"

The sheer panic in Michael’s voice made Lucifer’s stomach twist.

That was… not a good start.

‘Shit. Does this mean he felt something?’ Lucifer’s fingers twitched in reflex, but he quickly masked his discomfort with an easy, amused grin.

"Damn, brother dearest , calm the fuck down." He chuckled, letting out a slow, lazy exhale as he reclined against the pillows. "I’m mostly in bed because Alastor told me to. You know how he gets. But anyway—what’s with the panic, huh? You’re making me nervous now, Mickey~" His tone lilted playfully, but his eyes were sharp. "Is there something I need to know?"

Michael’s brows furrowed. "What do you mean, ‘what’s with the panic’?! Azzy told us he met you and had to punish you for interfering with his work! Why did you even do that??? And more importantly, you didn’t answer any of my messages afterwards! You think I wouldn’t be worried???"

Lucifer blinked.

Oh.

Yeahhhh… He had been taking a mini vacation, basically, tired of life’s bullshit— recuperating . With that, he had also been ignoring his phone calls and messages, except for those coming from the Sins and Lilith.

He had also completely forgotten about his little encounter with Azrael. It had been one disaster among many, and honestly? It hadn’t even cracked the top three worst things to happen that day—or that week.

But clearly, to Michael, it was a big deal. And, um, maybe it is. Maybe. 

Lucifer tilted his head, watching his twin closely. "Huh. So that’s what this is about?" His lips curled slightly. "Didn’t realize you were that concerned about me, Mickey~"

Michael ignored that jab entirely, his expression unusually serious. "I mean, I don’t feel those... disturbing feelings anymore, at least?" he admitted, voice quieter now, tinged with uncertainty. "You know… The ones I felt last time we talked. But I don’t even know if that’s a good or bad sign!"

Lucifer’s brows lifted slightly.

‘Disturbing feelings…?’

Oh. Right.

His shrinking light problem.

His body had been dangerously unstable back then, his celestial core in conflict with his demonic essence—too much strain, too much imbalance. But that issue had been dealt with. Not entirely fixed, but at least stabilized, thanks to Charlie and The Speaker.

And judging from Michael’s reaction…

‘He doesn’t know.’

That was excellent news.

If Michael was only concerned about what Azrael had done, that meant the Heavenly Court hadn’t been informed of the true nature of Lucifer’s recent struggles. Michael also didn’t seem to sense that anything was additionally wrong with him. So, he supposed, that meant Lucifer was in the safe zone.

For now.

Well then, time to sell it~!

Lucifer’s expression shifted, slipping into something more mock-sheepish. He scratched the back of his head, letting out a theatrical sigh. "Ah, yeah, about that… " He gave a small, wry chuckle. "It was just a trip to Earth gone wrong, you can say."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Lucifer—"

"Look, I’d explain, but it’s honestly stupid. Too many happenstances that don’t make sense. Just know that it was ridiculous enough to feel like a fever dream. Like, I didn’t even mean to interrupt anything. I was there to check something else when I crashed the scene," Lucifer waved a hand dismissively before seamlessly shifting gears. 

"As for not answering your chat, well, things in Hell have been so hectic lately, I didn’t even have time to deal with that bitch Sera’s embassy summons. Couldn’t be around to meet Galim either. And clearly, I definitely haven’t had the time to check my phone every five seconds like you seem to think I do."

Michael looked distinctly unimpressed. "Is that so…?"

"If you’re still worried, here—" Lucifer suddenly sat up straighter and grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it up to expose his bare torso.

"All healed~" he sing-songed, flashing a sharp grin. "No magic involved. Honest!"

Michael stared, his blue eyes immediately scanning over Lucifer’s skin, looking for any sign of lingering wounds.

There were none.

Lucifer kept his expression easy and relaxed, even spreading his arms slightly as if to say, See? Perfectly fine.

Michael didn’t look entirely convinced. But he also didn’t immediately call bullshit, which meant the distraction was working.

Lucifer’s grin widened. 

“I… suppose you’re not lying.”

Michael’s voice was still laced with skepticism, but his shoulders lost some of their earlier tension.

“‘Course not~ Why would I~?” Lucifer grinned, the very picture of innocence.

Michael immediately shot him a glare. “No. Actually, this is suspicious.”

“Is it~?”

Michael’s frown deepened, his keen eyes narrowing. Lucifer could practically see the gears in his brother’s head turning, sniffing out something that wasn’t there. “You don’t… usually tell me things like this straight up—something is happening.” His voice dipped with scrutiny. 

“Luci… why did you really ask for a call with me?”

Lucifer, however, was far more relaxed now. Perhaps everything that had been happening—the nausea, the cramping, the general betrayal of his vessel—was just a string of unfortunate coincidences, after all. Just his body being a complete and utter asshole . 

If Michael, the one sibling most in tune with him, wasn’t sensing anything worse, then maybe he could finally stop worrying.

Well. If that was the case, then there was no reason not to go through with the B plan.

“Brownie points.” 

Michael blinked. “…Brownie points? For what?”

Lucifer just chuckled.

“For Al, actually,” he mused, running a hand through his hair. “Who has been a tremendous help getting me through all of that—including insisting I rest in our nest before my next meeting.”

Michael’s expression twisted slightly at the word nest , but he said nothing. Well, Lucifer did look like he’s resting in one—was Alastor the one preparing that?

“I’m supposed to be napping right now, actually,” Lucifer continued, stretching lazily against his pillows. “But, y’know—not too keen on greeting nightmares, so here I am, with a question. Or… asking for a blessing? I don’t know yet how things would roll, so, for now, I guess, I just wanted to talk to you, brother.”

Michael’s brow furrowed slightly, but the worry in his face softened. Lucifer might have looked a little sheepish, but there was no trace of distress.

“…Okay?” He exhaled. “About Alastor, I reckon?”

Lucifer hummed in confirmation, making himself more comfortable against the pillows.

“Right… a blessing, you said—about…?”

“Well, I think I’ve been ‘dying’ way too many times lately,” The Devil mused, only half-joking. “Not exactly dying , but y’know. Collapsing. From exhaustion, from Azzy’s wounds, and so forth.” He waved a hand dismissively.

Michael did not look amused at that summary, but he let Lucifer continue.

“I feel like… well, I can’t wait any longer, brother… I want to get married to him.”

Michael stilled.

Lucifer’s voice had softened just a fraction, carrying something real beneath the usual theatrics.

“Well—nothing big. No grand wedding just yet , not while the realm is still suffering,” Lucifer went on, tone casual, but his fingers fidgeted slightly with the fabric of his sheets. “But—” He hesitated, glancing aside as if feeling a little too exposed. “If I get married—even if it’s just on paper first—would you be our first witness?”

Michael’s reaction was instantaneous .

His wings fluffed up in shock, his eyes went huge, and a tiny, utterly disbelieving gasp escaped him.

“Oh, Luci…”

The worry lines on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by something so pure and unfiltered that Lucifer had to stop himself from physically recoiling.

Joy.

Michael was radiating joy.

“N-Not Charlie? Or Lilith?” Michael stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “M-Me? Really?”

Lucifer, despite himself, found his own expression softening into something more genuine. He chuckled, a little amused at how quickly Michael had turned from suspicious watchdog to excitable ‘little’ brother.

“Yeah, well, both of them already support me and Al,” he admitted, then smirked, his tone taking a more mischievous edge. “And I kinda wanna see your pouty face when I kiss my groom~ Definitely why. ”

Michael immediately pouted.

Lucifer cackled.

Michael quickly shook it off. “Doesn’t matter! You still want me there—and yes! Absolutely yes! Just tell me when, and I’ll clear up my schedule ASAP!”

Lucifer couldn’t help himself but smile hearing that.

For a moment—just a fleeting second—he didn’t see Michael, the composed Archangel General. Instead, he saw Leroy , their younger brother, beaming with absolute delight.

Something warm curled in his chest.

“…Cool, cool, cool, cool.” Lucifer exhaled, his lips quirking. “Gosh. Didn’t think my impromptu call would actually bring me good news. I was half expecting my blood pressure to spike again somehow, because, y’know… you don’t exactly look like you’re okay with me being with Al.”

Michael’s expression flickered.

There was a pause.

Then, with a huff, Michael crossed his arms.

“I mean… if it makes you feel better , I wasn’t exactly thrilled about any of your past wives either.”

Lucifer’s brow arched.

Michael glanced aside, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I just… I don’t think anyone is good enough for you, Luci. I never have. But…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s your life. And if you’re happy, and you’re actually cared for as you deserved, then my own feelings shouldn’t matter.” He hesitated, then muttered, “…Just think of it as me being vigilant of your well-being, I suppose.”

Lucifer stared at him for a beat.

Then, slowly, he grinned.

“Awww~” He tilted his head playfully. “Oh, Mickey, are you volunteering to be The Devil’s very own guardian angel, now~?” He drawled, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And here I thought that little protection program of mine had been scrapped.”

Michael’s wings twitched in irritation as he huffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, shut up, you.”

Lucifer cackled.

But then, with a lazy stretch, he tilted his head curiously. “Anyway, that’s out of the way—why aren’t you on Earth, hmm? Shouldn’t you be working around this time? It honestly shocked me when you said that you can have a call with me right now.”

Michael’s expression faltered. His earlier enthusiasm dimmed just a little, uncertainty flickering in his gaze.

“I, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to say .”

Lucifer’s brow arched. “Oh?”

Michael hesitated. Then, exhaling, he muttered, “But I suppose I can give a veeeeery rough answer.”

That definitely caught Lucifer’s attention. He leaned in slightly, intrigue sparking in his crimson eyes. “Do tell, brother dearest.”

Michael exhaled again, his wings shifting slightly as he lowered his voice.

“A rogue angel is causing problems on Earth,” he admitted. “And, well… coincidentally, around the same time, Azzy saw you down there, and, um, well… Sera and the Archangels have been discussing whether or not you’re involved in all this mess, and if that was the case, what should be our next step.”

Lucifer paused.

A rogue angel— was he talking about Eve…?

His smirk faded just a fraction, fingers lightly drumming against the fabric of his sheets as he feigned ignorance. “Angels can stay on Earth without returning to Heaven’s light? Is that what you're implying?”

Michael grimaced.

“Well, um, only the ones who have… privileges?”

“Like us?”

Michael hummed but did not elaborate.

“It’s not any of our siblings, right?”

“No. But please don't ask me further, Luci—I mean, I already shouldn't be telling you any of this from the start anyway.”

Michael's pleading look was actually rather pitiful, and for once, Lucifer gave in.

It’s not like he didn’t know what was going on anyway..

“Right. So that’s where this is going.” Lucifer kneaded his temple. “Let me guess—Sera is pushing for yet another strike on Hell? As punishment? Y’know, because of course she is?” The Devil scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Yet, surprisingly enough, the answer he heard in turn was: “…No.”

Lucifer blinked.

Michael actually looked a little uncomfortable now, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “Actually, for once, that bitch is insisting that the fight strictly stays on Earth.”

Lucifer stared at him.

He tilted his head.

Then squinted.

“…What? Why? ”

Michael shrugged, his expression a mix of confusion and reluctant acceptance.

“Maybe she thinks Heaven isn’t ready yet,” he said. “Considering Hell is still standing tall even without your direct interference. Putting aside that Galim has a personal mission that did not directly involve them joining the fray of killing your residents, that is still an Archangel deployed to Hell, you know? And Hell still manages to defend itself just fine without the personal appearance of its King.”

Lucifer hummed, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his chin.

“…Or maybe she’s finally realized she has bigger problems than me. I mean, isn’t it about time for the realization sets in?”

Michael snorted. “Wouldn’t bet on that.”

Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head.

Michael sighed. “Anyway, just warning you—another summons might be coming your way soon. So, uh… look forward to that, I suppose?”

Lucifer groaned, flopping back dramatically against the pillows. “Ugh. Fantastic. As if getting grilled by my own realm wasn’t enough—another opportunity to get yelled at by a bitch who needs an exorcism for her ego. Yaaaaay~! ”

Michael coughed, poorly disguising a laugh.

Lucifer peered at him from the pillows, one eye half-lidded. “Lemme guess, you’re gonna try to be part of the delegation?”

The warrior nodded. “If I can, yes. But if not, one of our siblings will still be there to accompany Sera—assuming the planned meeting doesn’t turn into a full-scale summit between both realms’ delegates, that is.”

The King nearly groaned. “And I suppose…” he drawled, “even if I tell you here and now, with full confidence, that I had nothing to do with whatever shitstorm is happening on Earth, my words are worth nothing, huh?”

Michael smiled apologetically.

Lucifer let out an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“When I said I was half expecting my blood pressure to spike during this call,” he grumbled, “this was not what I meant.”

Michael coughed again, failing to suppress his amusement.

Lucifer scoffed, “Seriously. Why can’t you punks just leave Hell alone? For goodness’ sake.”

Michael smirked. “Oh? Since when does Lucifer Morningstar care about ‘goodness’?”

Lucifer gave him an utterly deadpan look.

 “…I hope your next mission sends you straight into a shit-covered battlefield.”

Michael just grinned. “Let’s just hope that your prayer doesn’t backfire by having me assigned to Hell, brother.”

And Lucifer, despite himself, snickered.

“Well, we can only hope for the best for now, I suppose,” Lucifer sighed, rubbing his temple. “And you’re heading for the meeting soon?”

Michael hummed with a nod, shifting in his seat. “Unfortunately. Though I’d love to chat with you more, Luci—can you stop ignoring my texts already ???”

The Devil chuckled. “Oh, I’ll see what I can do, but literally—no promises~”

Michael exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “ Fine. I guess I’ll see you next time then, brother? Oh, and don’t forget to inform me about being your witness, okay? Don’t get my hopes up just to drop me down now!”

Lucifer mused, his voice light, “Of course, of course~ I’ll talk to you another time, Mickey. See ya~!”

With a few parting waves, the screen finally turned off, leaving the room in relative silence.

A silence that was quickly shattered.

“Well,” Alastor finally spoke from his corner, stepping back into Lucifer’s line of sight. “That’s a lot to process.”

Lucifer exhaled, rubbing at his jaw as he let his body sink deeper into the pillows.

Alastor, ever perceptive, tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Is he talking about… your poor excuse of an ex, mon roi?”

Lucifer didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he hummed, deceptively calm, his fingers tapping against the ruined pillow in his lap. But beneath that mask of serene indifference —his crimson eyes burned with seething wrath .

“…Next time I see her,” he murmured, voice dipping low , dangerously smooth, “I’m going straight for the kill.”

His body trembled slightly, but not from fear. Fury radiated from him in thick, suffocating waves, his hands twitching as he dug his claws deeper into the fabric of the pillow—claws that weren’t entirely his anymore.

His demonic form shimmered at the edges of his skin, flickering in and out like a living, breathing shadow. His wings curled inward, his tail lashing once, twice—his grip on the pillow tightening to the point where it started smoking under his touch.

Because, of course .

Of course she wasn’t done ruining his life.

Not only had she violated him—tainted his mind, chipped away at his sense of safety, twisted his own preferences until they felt like foreign shackles—but now? Now there was a possible full-scale, all-realms war brewing above his head, and why? 

Because of her?

Because of that fucking parasite?

Lucifer barely even noticed the way his power began curling through the air like ink bleeding into water. He barely noticed the way the room reacted to him, how the temperature dropped while the walls themselves seemed to shudder under the weight of his rage.

He was too busy breathing through it.

Too busy drowning in it.

Too busy holding it together—if only barely.

And then—

A voice.

Not intrusive.

Not soothing in the traditional sense.

Just… present.

“If I were you,” Alastor mused from where he stood, hands in his pockets, his voice curiously even, “I wouldn’t waste my time imagining her death.”

Lucifer didn’t react right away. His grip on the pillow didn’t ease, his claws still digging deep enough to tear through stuffing.

But he was listening.

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “It’s rather unproductive, don’t you think?” He gestured lazily with a hand. “You’re strangling cotton instead of her throat. If you ask me, that seems like an insult to the rage you’re feeling.”

Lucifer’s breath hitched.

Not because he was being told to calm down.

But because he wasn’t.

Alastor wasn’t trying to smother the fire—wasn’t trying to placate him with gentle words or false comforts. He wasn’t telling him to breathe or let it go or move on.

He was acknowledging it.

Letting it exist.

Letting him exist in it.

Alastor, in his own way, was allowing Lucifer to feel it—letting him sit in the full weight of his fury without guilt, without restraint, without interruption.

It was…

…It was grounding.

Lucifer slowly exhaled through his nose, his claws flexing once, twice—before he finally released what remained of the pillow, its shredded remains falling limply against the bed.

“…Tch.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

Still pissed. Still seething. But no longer feeling like he was going to tear the whole room apart.

Alastor watched him for a moment longer before offering a casual, almost charming smile. “You know, mon cher,” he said smoothly, stepping forward at a deliberate pace, “if you truly want to channel that rage into something productive… we could always sharpen your claws properly.”

Lucifer glanced up at him, tilting his head.

Alastor’s smile widened.

“After all,” he purred, “I do believe I’ve had some experience in disposing of bodies.”

Lucifer blinked—then, after a pause, his lips curled into something sharp, something almost wicked . “By eating them, hmm?” he drawled, eyes flicking toward Alastor with a teasing glint.

Alastor chuckled, his grin widening. “Oh, mon cher, you know my fridge is overflowing now with varieties you offered me~”

Lucifer snorted, shaking his head. “What a shame.”

“Though,” Alastor continued smoothly, tilting his head, “while the spy in the hotel has already been taken care of, the web of Eve’s little herd in Hell is still being investigated by dear Vassago.” His crimson eyes gleamed. “And well… if you happened to be in the mood for a detour—we could always pay a visit before Carmilla? See if there are any demons in need of eradication.”

He said it so casually. As if he were suggesting a pleasant outing.

Lucifer hummed, considering it, his claws still flexing idly as the lingering rage simmered just beneath his skin. Then, finally, he nodded.

“Public execution,” he mused, lips curling into something dangerous. “Yes. I can definitely redirect my irritation to them instead.”

It wasn’t her , but it was something.

Lucifer exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, pressing at his temples as he breathed in—slowly, deliberately—before releasing the tension from his shoulders. His form finally settled, his wings tucking neatly into place as the raw edges of his fury dulled into something manageable.

“…Hells,” he muttered, voice lower now, almost irritated at himself. “I feel like my emotions are just all over the place right now.”

Alastor snorted. “Well, when you’re surrounded by idiots and assholes, unfortunately—that’s the consequence.”

Lucifer let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting his head toward him. “Hmm. Do you count yourself in that, darling?”

Alastor merely shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he let out a snicker.

“Am I, now~?”

Lucifer scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re definitely in the asshole category, I suppose.” He smirked. “But at least—even if you are an idiot—you’re my idiot~”

Alastor let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand to his chest as if wounded. “How romantic,” he drawled, rolling his eyes.

Lucifer just snickered, stretching his limbs before getting out of the bed. “Oh, come on now. I’d like us to visit that parrot before midday is upon us.”

The Overlord only grinned in return, striding next to his King.

The streets of Hell were never truly quiet , but this morning had an unusual air of calm.

That should have been a sign.

Lucifer and Alastor walked side by side, on their way to one of Alastor’s contractee’s establishments. Vassago had been summoned, and, much to Lucifer’s mild surprise, had responded promptly, saying he’d be at the meeting point as fast his feet could carry. At least someone in this realm still had a sense of duty.

All the while, to give the parrot some time and spare him some grace, Lucifer decided that going to the restaurant on foot might be for the best. He also wished to see the state of the Pride Ring with his own eyes after all—which, unsurprisingly, was awful as always. 

Good, he supposed.

Having his fingers effortlessly intertwined with Alastor’s, Lucifer found himself slipping into a rare moment of ease. His awareness dulled, not in ignorance but in trust, allowing his lover to guide him without resistance. His crimson eyes, half-lidded in satisfaction, lazily scanned their surroundings—the ever-chaotic streets of Hell, bustling with its usual brand of madness.

To any outsider, the scene might have seemed downright apocalyptic—sinners fighting, fires crackling in the distance, echoes of laughter and screams mixing in the air. But to Lucifer, it was nothing more than mundane . Almost peaceful, actually.

And, more importantly, Alastor was handling everything for him .

It’s nice!

“For once, things are going smoothly,” he mused aloud.

Alastor hummed in agreement, his other hand holding his mic, just as Lucifer carried his apple cane, a familiar grin stretched across his lips. “Indeed! Almost suspiciously so, wouldn’t you say, mon roi?”

The moment those words left his mouth, a sneering voice rang through the street.

“Look at this mutt, all obedient by the Devil’s side. How’s it feel, Radio Demon? Being a glorified lap dog now?”

Lucifer sighed. “ Ah. There it is.” He mumbled with almost a pout. “Al, you jinxed us…” 

Alastor, however, merely tilted his head. Not out of offense, not out of anger—but out of sheer, morbid curiosity .

It was always fascinating, the amount of people in Hell who lacked even a basic sense of self-preservation .

A group of sinners—idiots, truly , because no other explanation made sense—stood smugly at the corner of the street, watching them with sneers stretched across their decaying faces. Their leader, some washed-up, half-rotten gangster with an overinflated ego, tilted his head as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“You used to be scary, y’know,” another one piped up, his voice dripping with mock pity. “But now? Hah. You’re just Hell’s most famous pet .”

That… ouch.

No, no, Lucifer was not wincing because of the idiot’s words, but because, before he could even blink, the first scream cut through the air.

Alastor hadn’t moved —at least, not in any way a mortal could comprehend. His shadows had sprung to life, weaving through the streets like a nest of vipers, devouring the nearest idiot before the others even realized what was happening.

There was no build-up, no dramatic monologue, no warning .

Just one moment they were standing there—whole and breathing—and the next, one of them was gone . Erased. Not even dust left behind.

“Curious,” he mused. “You’d think they’d at least hesitate .”

“Idiots rarely do,” Lucifer replied with a smirk.

One would assume that would be the end of it.

One would be wrong .

Because, somehow, somehow , another voice piped up from the side.

“Oh, come on. That’s it? A little disappearing act? Guess you really have gone soft.”

Lucifer actually stopped walking this time.

Not out of concern— no, that would have been ridiculous. Out of sheer, unfiltered disbelief. Did he really just hear that right?

Alastor slowly turned, red eyes glinting in wicked delight.

“Oh?” he drawled, voice syrupy sweet. “Your kind is still here?”

The sinner puffed up his chest, clearly mistaking Alastor’s amusement for weakness. “Damn right I am! The great Radio Demon ? Hah! More like—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Mostly because his own spine twisted backward with an audible snap .

Lucifer watched as the body crumpled, expression unreadable. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he muttered, “How many do you think we’ll get before we reach our destination?”

Alastor grinned. “Let’s take bets! I say at least ten.”

Lucifer hummed in thought. “I’ll say fifteen. Cowards tends to come in big groupie after all.”

“Bold!”

Not five seconds later—

“You think you’re scary, Radio Demon ? Please, you’re nothing but—”

Gone.

Lucifer didn’t even turn his head. “Three.”

Alastor snickered. “Oh, this is fun.”

And so it continued.

One after another.

“You’re just a glorified—” Erased.

“Hah! What, afraid to—” Gone.

“This is Hell! You think—” Shadows swallowed him whole.

It got to the point where even Lucifer rolled his eyes, exhaling in pure exasperation before muttering under his breath, “Do they respawn faster now or something? Why are they even doing thi— I’m literally right here . Do sinners have no respect left???”

Alastor chuckled, his grin sharp as he effortlessly dispatched another unfortunate soul. “I believe they are part of your fan club, mon roi~ Loving you , disliking me . And judging by their rather uninspired choice of words, they must be fresh sinners. Which means—”

“Likely, Eve’s lambs,” Lucifer finished, voice flat with grim certainty.

Alastor almost shot his partner a sympathetic glance, though technically, he was the one being ambushed. 

“And they opted to ‘fight’ with words, I presume, because challenging us with actual power is futile at best?”

The Overlord cackled, dark amusement lacing his tone. “I must say, their blind devotion is almost admirable—if not completely asinine—considering they willingly accept a second death even after watching it come straight for them.”

Lucifer sighed, his fraying patience and constant interruptions pressing down on him. Still, he tried to match his lover’s bemusement with a faint, crooked smile. “Well then, walk closer, Bambi. Let’s infuriate their dear master even more, shall we~?”

“What a charmingly pleasant idea, sire~!” Alastor purred, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. Without hesitation, the two linked arms, stepping even closer together. The simple contact worked wonders on Lucifer’s fraying temper, soothing the sinister storm of his volatile emotions as his lover’s calming presence anchored him, even amidst the chaos of Hell’s ever-persistent fools.

By the time they reached their destination, the ground was littered with remnants of Alastor’s very brief patience. The air still sizzled with residual energy, and the streets, for the first time in a long while, were silent .

Alastor clapped his hands together, looking very pleased with himself. “Seventeen! Looks like I lost the bet.”

Lucifer smirked. “Damn right you did.”

Alastor hummed. “I suppose I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment , then.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with for me, caro~” the Devil mused, his voice laced with playful anticipation.

“Even without our little bet, though,” he added with a lazy grin, “that was quite entertaining.”

Alastor chuckled, brushing away some nonexistent dust from his sleeve with exaggerated elegance. “Wasn’t it? And here I was, worried that our walk would be dreadfully mundane.”

Lucifer arched a brow, lips twitching into a smirk. “When has it ever been, when the two of us are involved?”

The radio demon snorted in bemusement, eyes gleaming with fond mischief. “Darling, that’s precisely why I chose you in the first place. Trouble may follow us like a curse, but entertainment always lurks around our very own delightful magnet for chaos~”

A low, amused huff escaped Lucifer’s lips before he gave Alastor’s stomach a half-hearted smack with his cane, earning an even louder cackle from his lover in response.

Then, with Alastor’s subtle influence—and let’s be honest, that dangerous mischievous charm of his was hard to resist —the two of them were soon redirected to a secluded VIP lounge, the perfect little haven where they would wait for the illustrious Parrot Goetia to arrive. 

Plush velvet seating, dim lighting casting dramatic shadows, and just enough privacy to keep curious eyes at bay—it was exactly the kind of setting Lucifer could stretch out in comfort while Alastor reveled in the exclusivity.

Once they were seated, the pair placed their orders, and much to Alastor’s genuine surprise, Lucifer—of all people—chose black coffee. Black coffee. Just like him.

It was practically sacrilegious. The Devil, willingly forgoing his usual sugar-laden concoctions? The horror.

“Avoiding sugar, are we?” Alastor arched a brow as the waitress sauntered away with their order, his lips twitching with amusement.

Lucifer merely hummed in response, unbothered by the scrutiny. With a lazy motion, he plucked his hat off his head and set it on the table before stretching, his body languid like a spoiled cat awakening from a nap. Then, without a second thought, he nuzzled himself against Alastor, his head coming to rest against his lover’s arm. The way he burrowed in—seemingly molding himself against Alastor’s side—was entirely too endearing for the so-called King of Hell.

The seating arrangements only added to the effect. With the establishment using floor cushions and a low table instead of chairs, the space felt far more intimate—cozy, even. Lucifer savored it, exhaling softly as he settled in deeper.

“Not exactly,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I just… want it.”

Alastor’s smirk widened. “I thought you despised black coffee.”

Another lazy hum from Lucifer, as if the mere thought of past opinions bored him now. “I mean, I hated you and demon’s meat once upon a time too, now didn’t I?”

“Touché, mon cher~”

“Hmm, hmm… now, pamper your King as you should, sinner~”

Alastor rolled his eyes, amused by how quickly his partner could shift from his commanding presence to an utterly pliant and demanding significant other in the most adorable way.

With a tender smile—one reserved only for Lucifer—Alastor reached out, obeying, his fingers ghosting along the Devil’s hairline, brushing back the silken strands with a gentleness that contrasted his usual sharp demeanor. His thumb traced idle patterns along Lucifer’s temple, and the subtle purr that escaped Lucifer’s lips was so faint, so quiet, that anyone else might’ve missed it.

“Oh, mon roi, truly, you are the most spoiled creature in Hell,” Alastor teased softly, though the warmth in his tone betrayed any real bite. His fingers trailed down to stroke the curve of Lucifer’s jaw, feather-light and affectionate, before moving to his nape, kneading the tense muscles there with just the right amount of pressure.

Lucifer melted further into him, the faintest of smiles playing on his lips, eyes still shut. “Mmm… whatever do you mean? If I were truly spoiled , I wouldn’t be here; instead, we’d be in our castle, just us wasting hours until we got sick of each other.”

“Will you ever, actually?” Alastor purred back, his other hand now tracing lazy circles along Lucifer’s shoulder. “Especially when I indulge you like this~?”

The Devil merely hummed in agreement to the ridiculousness of that, the sound turning into a soft, unmistakable purr that vibrated against Alastor’s side, making the Overlord’s grin stretch even wider.

He leaned down slightly, pressing the faintest kiss to Lucifer’s temple, his fingers still working their magic along his beloved’s tense neck and shoulders.

The soft click of the door opening went unnoticed by Lucifer, too lost in the ministrations of his doting partner. The waitress returned with their drinks and snacks, her professional smile faltering for just a moment as she took in the sight before her—the King of Hell, famed for his cold ruthlessness, snuggled up to the equally fearsome Radio Demon, eyes closed, purring softly like a pampered kitten as the Overlord carded his fingers through his hair with such adoration.

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she tried— oh, how she tried —not to stare, but her eyes kept flicking back to them, betraying her amusement and fondness at the unexpected display of tenderness. 

She carefully placed the tray down, but the moment she lifted her gaze again, she was met with Alastor’s sharp crimson eyes and an arched brow that silently questioned her audacity.

Then came the grin.

Sharp teeth bared, wicked and knowing, flashing just long enough to send an unmistakable message. The waitress froze, eyes wide, and in a flurry of hurried movements, she left the room with barely a whisper, the door clicking shut behind her.

Lucifer, oblivious to it all, let out another soft purr, nuzzling even closer into Alastor’s side. “Mmm… why’d you stop?”

“Perish the thought,” Alastor chuckled, resuming his gentle caresses. “I wouldn’t dare.”

And with that, the King of Hell drifted into a rare moment of peace, completely unbothered by the world, spoiled rotten by the one demon who knew exactly how to tame him.

Chapter Text

A soft knock echoed through the dimly lit room, drawing Alastor’s gaze away from the book he wasn’t truly reading. His fingers idly threaded through Lucifer’s golden locks, the gentle motion steady and unhurried. The Devil lay curled against him, his head resting on Alastor’s lap, chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm—deep in much-needed slumber.

The door cracked open just enough for Vassago to peek in, his dark, keen eyes scanning the room with quiet calculation.

“Mr. Radio Demon,” he greeted smoothly, his accent curling through the words like silk over steel. "Lo siento, I was under the assumption that His Majesty would be present?" he asked as he spotted Lucifer’s iconic top hat by the table, but the Devil himself couldn’t be seen.

Alastor’s grin stretched, a glimmer of mischief flickering in his crimson eyes. “Oh, indeed, dear Vassago. His Majesty is right here.”

Vassago’s brows knit together, a flicker of confusion passing over his features. His sharp gaze darted around the room, searching for Lucifer’s usual commanding presence. But the space remained still, void of the King's striking figure.

Only Lucifer’s hat, essentially his crown , that Goetian could identify.

Then, a sound—soft, steady breathing. Not Alastor’s.

His eyes lowered, and there, nestled in the Overlord’s lap like a slumbering feline, lay Lucifer. His golden hair spilled over Alastor’s legs, his frame relaxed in rare, unguarded peace, even though his expression was hidden as he faced the demon’s torso.

Vassago’s lips parted slightly in realization, but before he could speak, Alastor’s smile sharpened, his crimson gaze pinning him with knowing amusement. “Took you long enough,” he hummed, voice dripping with playful reproach. “His Majesty decided to take a well-deserved rest while waiting.”

That Goetian inhaled sharply, his shoulders drawing back as he lowered his head in immediate deference. “Mis disculpas sinceras, señor,” he murmured, voice hushed, laced with respect. “The details were… scattered. It took time to gather them all.”

Straightening, he hesitated for a beat before carefully choosing his next words. “Would it be permissible to share my findings with you alone, Mr. Radio Demon? His Majesty deserves his rest. I do not wish to disturb him.”

Something flickered in Alastor’s gaze—approval, amusement, something in between. His grin, already sharp, turned positively razor-edged.

“Smart man,” he purred. Then, leaning forward slightly, he added, “Had you dared to suggest waking him… well,” a dark chuckle rolled from his throat, smooth as honey yet carrying the promise of something far less sweet, “I daresay you’d be short a few feathers.”

Vassago stiffened, a near-imperceptible shudder running through him before he dipped his head in swift acknowledgment. “Entendido, señor.”

Satisfied, Alastor gestured to the space opposite him, the movement fluid, unhurried, yet absolute.

“Please, take a seat,” he mused, all velvet and daggers. “Let’s hear what you’ve found.”

Vassago obeyed immediately, his posture perfectly measured—composed, but not relaxed—as he began to relay his carefully gathered information to the King’s consort and Principal Aide.

Once Vassago sat across from Alastor, the plates of snacks and two half empty coffee cups were put aside, and soon, an array of documents soon spread before them, each meticulously marked with notes and symbols. 

“My sincerest apologies once more for the delay, Señor Radio Demon.” He cleared his throat softly as he began, “I’ve compiled as much as I could, but given that His Majesty gave me until Saturday, the data is still being updated as we speak. What I’ve found, however, is… concerning, to say the least.”

Alastor tilted his head back slightly, gazing down at the Goetian with an air of amused authority. Lucifer, still fast asleep in his lap, remained undisturbed as Alastor’s lips curled into a small, tight smile.

“Oh, do enlighten me.”

Vassago nodded, his sharp eyes glinting with a mix of frustration and concern.

“The network of sinners and Hellborn demons involved in spying on His Majesty is far more extensive than we anticipated. I’ve identified key individuals who serve as the main conduits between Hell and 'The Supreme Leader.'” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle as he opened a specific page in one of the folders for Alastor to check. “This network is vast, Señor. I wasn’t sure if His Majesty would have already anticipated this…”

Alastor's grin faltered for a moment, his crimson eyes narrowing. “How extensive are we talking?”

Vassago laid out several marked profiles. “These individuals are only the tip of the iceberg. They’ve managed to operate under our noses for centuries. The most alarming part is that they have a couple of lower-ranking demons, imps, and hellhounds alike under their belt, and… loyal? Some of them are loyal, some of them are bound by chains. And because of these unassuming pawns, they managed to even steal His Majesty’s butterfly—while it was supposedly in Stolas’ possession. A Goetian prince, no less?” 

That parrot shook his head in exasperation upon this tangled mess, “They were loyal to Stolas, but somehow more loyal to their belief. Which, well, given that the end of the line is His Majesty, I suppose the hierarchy is technically correct, albeit twisted.”

Alastor's eyes flickered with a dangerous light. “Quite bold of them,” he mused darkly.

“En efecto, Señor.” Vassago replied. “This organization appears to be old. I haven’t pinpointed exactly when they were founded, but they began making themselves known and spreading their beliefs around two centuries ago.”

Alastor blinked, the timeline clicking into place in his mind.

“Two hundred years ago?” he echoed softly, a flicker of realization crossing his features.

“Yes, Señor. Approximately around that time,” Vassago confirmed.

Alastor’s grin returned, but it was sharper now, more calculating. ‘That’s just around the time Charlie was born,’ he thought to himself, scanning the records with a newfound intensity.

Vassago continued, “The cultists have been meticulous in relaying information between Hell and the mortal planes. Their methods are elaborate, almost ritualistic. A chain unbroken, yet identities are kept sacred, making missing links inevitable. They even use initials or code names, relaying messages via letters that burn not long after being opened, and such.”

Alastor’s mind raced as he pieced it together though his thoughts lingered at the timeline itself. 

Could Eve’s obsession with Charlie—with Lucifer’s child regardless of the mother—have started with this organization? Jealousy because Lilith managed to achieve something more in her relationship with Lucifer than Eve ever could before their one-sided separation by Heaven?

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Tell me more.”

Vassago bowed his head slightly, diving deeper into his report as Lucifer slept on, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around him. Or, well, for a while that is.

Lucifer stirred awake with a soft grunt, his lashes fluttering open as he shifted to sit up. Alastor greeted him softly, his tone gentle, while Vassago halted his report mid-sentence, lowering his head slightly in reverence.

Rubbing his eyes with an elegant, yet weary grace, Lucifer’s voice—still laced with the remnants of sleep—cut through the quiet, “Al? How long have I been asleep?”

“Approximately forty-five minutes,” Alastor responded smoothly, though there was a glint of amusement in his crimson eyes.

A faint huff escaped Lucifer’s lips, irritation barely concealed as he drawled, “Where the hell is that damned parrot?”

Alastor chuckled softly. “Mon roi, Vassago is here. To your left.”

Lucifer blinked, his gaze slowly drifting to the side where, indeed, Vassago seated, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. Instinctively, a soft ‘poof’ accompanied the immediate restoration of Lucifer’s regal appearance—pristine attire, golden locks perfectly in place. His glare sharpened toward Alastor, silently demanding, How dare you not wake me up?

Alastor, ever the picture of nonchalance, raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk playful yet unrepentant. “‘I’ve tried,’” he responded through their mind link, the mental tone filled with teasing affection. He did try... just not too hard.

Lucifer sighed internally, pinching the bridge of his nose. “‘I’ll deal with you later.’”

Clearing his throat, the faintest dusting of gold still lingering on his cheeks from unspoken embarrassment, Lucifer straightened his posture, effortlessly slipping back into the commanding presence only a King could wield. His gaze, sharp and discerning, settled upon Vassago like a blade poised at the throat.

“Proceed,” he intoned, his voice smooth yet firm. “I’ll patch up what I’ve missed in my own time.”

Vassago bowed deeply, his tone laced with the utmost respect. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for keeping you waiting.”

Lucifer’s lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, nor a smirk, but something that carried the weight of expectation. “Hmm, hmm. If your report is to my satisfaction, you shall be pardoned.”

His expression remained unreadable, an abyss of calculated thought. Not a flicker of reaction, not a single wasted movement betrayed his inner musings. Every shift of his fingers, every subtle nod, reinforced his unshakable authority—a King not to be questioned, only obeyed.

The mere weight of his attention made it clear: this was a King who, even after waking, commanded every soul in the room with ease. Vassago continued, and Lucifer’s gaze, keen and unrelenting, bore into him, ensuring not a single detail would be missed.

And, oh, did the damn parrot exceed expectations.

Vassago was eloquent—so much so that Lucifer felt he hardly needed to ask Alastor for details on what he had missed during his sleep. The Goetian expertly referenced his sources, weaving together fragments of information with a precision that left no gaps.

And the sheer weight of that information was unsettling.

Lucifer found himself pinned into silence, his mind a churning storm as the gears clicked into place. Connections formed—threads interwoven into a tapestry that had lurked beneath his notice for far too long.

Lucifer’s eyes shimmered, molten gold flickering like embers as his fractured halo reemerged, casting a faint, ethereal glow. 

Lucifer missed how Alastor gestured to Vassago to be silent—and how the Parrot obeyed immediately, without question. He simply watched, fascinated, realizing that he was witnessing something Paimon had only ever bragged about in the past, back when he was still Vassago’s mentor.

Within the labyrinth of his mind, delicate threads of thought wove together into an intricate, seamless web, each connection sparking with silent revelation.

‘Eve’s minions had already infiltrated Hell. Woven neatly. Dormant. Hiding.’

Then, two centuries ago, they had started to stir—quiet, careful, avoiding ripples, moving within the shadows.

Nine years ago—almost ten now—they grew bolder, recruiting Hellborns.

“...Nine years ago.” He mumbled.

That was around the time Lilith betrayed him. The time he was forced to remain within the castle.

But now, they were truly beginning to bare their fangs—it started two to three years ago. And what event marked that shift?

What was significant about that particular moment?

The establishment of the Hazbin Hotel? 

Was it because the newly rebuilt Hotel belonged to Charlie? No… There had been no shift when the original Happy Hotel was introduced.

Then was it… his own return after seven years of hiding?

“...Or was it something else entirely?”

And then there were the angelic supplies Eve possessed. How had she obtained them? She was now labeled a rogue angel by Heaven. Was someone helping her?

During his call with Michael, Lucifer had learned that while Adam and Eve had indeed been granted entry into Heaven as promised, Eve had refused to remain in Eden. Some had expected her to fall to Hell—she had spoken often of how she was done with her "obligations" and finally free to be with the one she chose. A clear reference to him , though she had never uttered his name.

But instead of Hell, she had chosen Earth.

Why?

Attachment to humanity? To her so-called sons and daughters? No… unlikely. Eve had made it very clear—she wanted nothing to do with Adam’s children.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed.

Wait.

Obligations.

Michael had recounted her words verbatim, and that word stood out like a branding iron against his mind.

She had spoken of obligations —a word laced with resentment.

Was she shackled?

But she had eaten the Forbidden Fruit.

Shouldn’t that have granted her free will?

Humanity had it. So why didn’t she?

Lucifer inhaled sharply.

Something more powerful than that—

“Divine Punishment…?”

His fingers twitched as a creeping sense of realization unfurled within him.

If Eve had been divinely punished to obey—what did that entail?

Normally, he wouldn’t care. But if that was what had truly driven her to complete madness, then it suddenly mattered a great deal.

She had openly expressed hatred for her role as the Mother of Humanity. Not necessarily because she had despised motherhood itself, but because—

She had wanted children with him instead.

A sharp exhale. His thoughts twisted into an inevitable conclusion.

She resented Adam.

And if she had resented him… why?

‘Denied free will.’

‘Obligations.’

‘Hatred toward the mate Heaven had chosen for her.’

Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat.

Eve was forced to submit to Adam…?

“Was that it?”

His eyes widened as the realization struck him like a divine lightning bolt.

And when Adam had died for the second time— permanently .

That was what had freed her.

That was why she had chosen to remain on Earth. Because if she went to Heaven, Adam would still be there. Both in Eden and in the higher ranks of Heaven, where he now served as the General of the Exorcist Army.

Wait. The Exorcist Army… when was it actually created?

The official deal had been proposed when Charlie was ten, but Lucifer wouldn’t put it past Sera—or The Heavenly court itself—to have planned the extermination long before, simply biding their time for a solid excuse.

And those angelic chains Eve had used? The drugs?

Where had she obtained them?

They were Heavenly in origin.

Lucifer’s lips parted slightly as an unsettling thought clawed at his mind.

Had Heaven supplied them to her?

Not as allies— no .

But as tools once used against her.

Did Adam still own her, even after death? Even after they both had passed the threshold of mortality? Had he still managed to shackle her, to keep her bound to him in ways unseen—perhaps even behind Heaven’s back? The very thought sent a slow, creeping chill down Lucifer’s spine.

Heaven’s golden boy. The first man. The first tyrant.

Lucifer knew Adam— knew the kind of self-righteous filth that had been crafted into his very being. And if he had been given even a shred of power over Eve, would he have used it? Would he have continued to twist that celestial leash around her throat, ensuring she could never truly slip free?

Of course, he would.

Lucifer could almost see it—Adam’s smug, sanctimonious grin as he pulled the strings from the shadows, Heaven none the wiser, their so-called divine justice turning a blind eye. Because why would they care? Why would they intervene?

How deep did the chains sink into her bones?

And if Adam could do that then how far did his reach extend? Could he move freely between realms, slipping through the cracks of Heaven and Earth like a parasite, watching, waiting?

Lucifer’s breath hitched, but he forced himself to exhale.

“No... Not now. Focus.”

He redirected his thoughts, forcing his focus back to the immediate horror—the drugs. The chains. The things Eve had dared to use on him .

If those chains had once bound her, if those drugs had once controlled her… then she knew their power intimately. She had felt them sink into her, tighten around her, strip her of autonomy. She knew the weight, the taste, the slow-burning suffocation of losing herself.

She knew.

That was why she knew exactly how to use them.

That was why she had been so certain they would work on him.

Lucifer sat frozen, his mind stuttered in shock before it spun faster than he could keep up. 

The weight of his own thoughts pressed down on him— too much, too fast, too many connections forming all at once. He could barely breathe around the revelation, the understanding that clawed at him with merciless hands.

The room blurred. His vision flickered black at the edges, his thoughts spiraling into an abyss of realization, of truths that clicked together with terrifying precision. He barely registered the way his fingers twitched, his shoulders sagging—the way the world tilted—

—until a firm grip steadied him.

Alastor.

A sharp inhale—Lucifer blinked rapidly, his mind snapping back into place like a whip. The brief darkness in his vision receded, his senses rushing back in all at once.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Vassago had noticed.

Lucifer clenched his jaw, forcing himself to straighten. He exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders back as he willed the weakness away. His fingers curled against his lap, nails pressing against his palms in silent reprimand. Behave.

A slow inhale. A deliberate exhale.

Then, his sharp gaze settled on Vassago, his voice smooth, controlled. “If that concludes your report, then by Saturday, I expect more news. Something worthwhile.” His tone was firm, brokering no argument. “For now, you may go, Vargas— Vassago . Good job.”

Vassago bowed slightly, ever respectful. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but Lucifer caught it —that lingering trace of observation, of concern, perhaps. But wisely, the Goetian did not comment.

The door shut behind him with a soft click .

Finally alone.

Lucifer let out a long, slow breath, his posture loosening only slightly as his fingers found his temple. The tension thrummed through him, a dull ache blooming behind his eyes. He barely flinched when Alastor’s presence shifted closer, lingering at his side. “Are you alright, dear?”

Lucifer let out a breathy chuckle, one that lacked any real amusement. “I think I finally know what’s going on,” he murmured, voice strained with the weight of his realization. 

Alastor hummed, keen eyes flickering over him. “Headache?”

A slow nod. “A nasty one,” Lucifer admitted. He let out a steadying breath, lowering his hand to his lap. “I need to write this down. If I don’t, my own stress will consume me.”

Alastor studied him for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Then don’t hold back.” His voice was firm yet gentle. “Let it flow, mon ange. Embrace it.”

Lucifer sighed, then shut his eyes, surrendering to his nature. His wings shuddered faintly before his grace pulsed outward, shifting something in the air. A scroll materialized before him, unfurling in a golden shimmer, waiting— begging —to be filled.

And so, he wrote.

His hand moved with calculated precision, ancient symbols spilling onto the parchment in elegant, celestial script. Thoughts that had once threatened to drown him now found form in ink, pouring from his mind onto the page, easing the relentless storm within.

Alastor watched in silence, keeping his distance but staying close enough—a quiet reassurance that he was there. As always.

Minutes passed, the room filled only with the soft scratch of quill against parchment.

And slowly, as Lucifer’s findings took shape before him, his mind began to quiet. Yet, at the same time, the more evidence he wrote down, the more convinced he became that his theory was the truth.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, the weight of his thoughts finally settling as his angelic form shimmered down, the golden glow retreating beneath his skin. The scroll, now safely sealed, disappeared into a spatial fold with a flick of his fingers.

Before he could fully process the relief washing over him, Alastor moved—silent as a shadow—wrapping his arms around Lucifer from behind in a firm, grounding embrace. A reward. A reassurance.

Lucifer accepted it easily, sighing as he leaned back into the warmth, his tension melting away.

“Feeling better?” Alastor murmured, his voice low and steady against Lucifer’s ear.

“Yes,” Lucifer admitted, and for once, it wasn’t a lie. He let out a soft breath, the last of the stress ebbing from his body.

For a moment, there was only silence between them, comfortable and still. Then—mischief flickered in Lucifer’s crimson eyes.

Without warning, his hand slipped down, fingers ghosting teasingly over Alastor’s abdomen.

Alastor flinched, his entire body tensing, a faint flush of red creeping up his neck. “What—are you doing ?” he hissed, glaring down at the hand that had dared to wander.

Lucifer chuckled, low and amused. “Oh, nothing~” he purred, letting his fingers trail ever so slightly. “I just think I have a bit of baby fever now.”

Alastor shuddered at the implication, crimson eyes widening slightly before narrowing in sharp suspicion. “Lucifer,” he warned, voice dipping into something dangerously close to a growl.

But Lucifer only laughed, his grin all too pleased. “What~?”

“Where is this even coming from…?”

“Not out of blue, I assure you~ but explanation is a hassle” Lucifer mused, “Besides, I handled your rut so well, yet you’re not willing to carry my child in return? How rude .”

Alastor’s entire body stiffened , his fingers twitching as if debating whether to strangle Lucifer or shove him into another dimension. His glare darkened. “You insufferable little—”

Lucifer only leaned back further with a laugh, tilting his head just enough to glance at Alastor with that look , the one that meant trouble. “Ah, but you know,” he continued, voice dripping with feigned innocence, “I did impregnate Lilith once. A sinner.”

Alastor shuddered again, the sheer horror flashing across his face delicious . Without hesitation, he moved to shove Lucifer away—

Lucifer cackled , barely keeping himself upright. “I’m joking , I’m joking!” he relented between laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I know you wouldn’t like that. Besides, it’s not like one can get pregnant from taking it from the back~”

Alastor’s eye twitched. Then, in a swift, decisive move—he pinched Lucifer’s cheek. Hard.

“Ow, ow, ow—Al, come on —” Lucifer whined, his previous laughter turning into a halfhearted struggle. He waved his hands in surrender once more. “Fine, I’ll stop!”

Only then did Alastor release him, crossing his arms with a huff.

Lucifer rubbed his cheek with a pout before his expression softened, the humor in his eyes dimming into something more wistful. Quietly, he murmured, “Still… in all seriousness, I do feel saddened that I can’t have ‘yours’.”

Alastor glanced at him, cautious now, but Lucifer wasn’t teasing anymore.

“They’d be such a wonderful little fawn,” he mused, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “No worries, though. It’s all just… wishful thinking. Funny how my distress suddenly leads me to this oddly longing feeling—anyway, I’ll tell you later once we’re back at the castle. Who knows if the walls grow ears too, not just eyes~”

Silence lingered between them for a beat too long afterward.

Alastor didn’t respond. But his hand, subtle as ever, found its way back to Lucifer’s wrist, squeezing it just once.

Lucifer felt it. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The moment they stepped outside, they felt it.

A swarm of demons lingered in the streets, their twisted, hungry gazes locked onto them. There was no subtlety in their presence—no attempt to mask their intent. They wanted to be seen. They wanted Alastor to know they were waiting for him.

A planned ambush.

Lucifer and Alastor both knew it the moment they laid eyes on the gathering filth before them.

A low chuckle escaped Alastor’s lips, his grin sharpening into something deadly . His pupils dilated with anticipation as he tilted his head, a ripple of static cracking through the air. “Well, I suppose I could have a little appetizer before our scheduled lunch~”

And with that, his form began to shift .

A twisted symphony of distorted frequencies hummed from his body as his limbs stretched, his frame warping into his true eldritch self. His antlers splintered, his many eyes blinked in chaotic rhythm, and his grin— his manic, razor-sharp grin —widened beyond what should have been physically possible.

The demons flinched. Some stepped back instinctively. But none of them fled.

They thought they were ready.

But—

“Alastor.”

Lucifer’s voice, cutting through the air like a knife.

Just one word. His name. One command .

Alastor’s darkened eyes flickered toward him, a deep growl curling from his throat. He didn’t change back just yet, but he hesitated .

Lucifer turned on his heels, exhaling slowly, as if the very existence of these wretched creatures was an inconvenience he could barely be bothered to acknowledge. “We need somewhere else to be,” he said coolly. “Let’s not waste our time with this bullshit.”

A blatant dismissal.

Alastor twitched, the air around him crackling with the urge to retaliate—not against Lucifer, never against him anymore, but against the swarm of vermin that had the audacity to stand before him.

This didn't look good for his reputation. He had already promised these bastards a gruesome end, and now he was meant to just— walk away ?

His fingers twitched. He wanted to argue.

But Lucifer gave him no options.

A single snap of fingers, and—

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

A symphony of shattering bones.

Screams—wet, agonized—ripped through the air as the demons began to break . Twisting, contorting in grotesque angles, their bodies betrayed them in ways that should have been impossible. Limbs snapping backward, rib cages imploding , skulls caving in with sickening pops.

And then— flames.

Angelic fire, slow and merciless, began to lick at their flesh, searing through muscle and bone alike.

This was no ordinary incineration.

It was deliberate .

It consumed them—bit into them—worse than any cannibal could elicit pain from live feasting. Their shrieks turned raw, desperate. Their bodies trembled, twitching as they felt themselves erode, knowing there was no escape.

Still they dared to call out to their beloved angel, begging for salvation.

Lucifer didn’t even watch, his red eyes devoid of sympathy.

“Lesser mouths to feed,” he muttered, his voice drained of emotion, as if he had simply swept aside some dust rather than wiped out an entire swarm of rogue denizens with a single thought.

Silence followed. The once-crowded street was empty now, save for the lingering embers of divine punishment.

Lucifer turned slightly, his gaze resting on Alastor, sharp and unwavering. “Al,” he said, tone laced with finality. “Let’s go.”

A warning .

One last glance—one that said, if you defy me on this, don’t bother following me at all.

Alastor didn’t move for a beat. His eldritch form flickered, his instincts battling against the call of destruction he had been so eager to indulge in.

But then—he relented.

His form receded, his monstrous features folding back into his usual appearance, his grin unwavering but silent.

With a hum, he finally fell into step beside Lucifer, casting one last look at the still-smoldering corpses. “Tsk, tsk,” he mused, voice lilting with faux disappointment. “And here I thought I’d at least get to play a little~”

Lucifer scoffed but didn’t slow his pace.

“Next time,” he growled, “ When I told you we’re going, you listen. ”

‘What?’

Alastor had seen many things in his time, but this —this was unexpected.

Lucifer, in all his celestial glory, choosing a shortcut was normal. It wasn’t that he was incapable of absolute annihilation, after all. But usually , especially after they get together, when Alastor was clearly ‘occupied’, he would step aside—unless, of course, priorities took precedence.

But no.

This time, he refused to let Alastor handle it, refusing to let him so much as lift a finger.

And in doing so, the devil also basically told his demon everything he needed to know.

It was only a matter of whether the Overlord would listen and obey or choose to defy him.

Alastor scrunched his face for a moment, but it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to slip back into his dapper self—his sharp, monstrous edges folding neatly into a pristine, gentlemanly form. With calculated ease, he dusted off his suit, straightened his tie, and, without hesitation, reached for Lucifer’s hand.

Fine. 

It’s alright.

He’ll play along for now.

Lucifer was clearly a ticking bomb, and one wrong move—who knew if his King would do something he’d later regret?

So yes, he was letting the devil himself escort him out of the carnage, taking the role of the pacifist instead of the defender now. While everyone watched.

His grip on Lucifer’s hand was light, unassuming, but present . Alastor could feel the heat still radiating off Lucifer’s body, feel the barely-contained celestial wrath humming beneath his skin.

Alastor was not a fool, so, while his smile didn’t waver, he did not press. He simply walked beside Lucifer, matching his King's pace, his confident grin in place. To any onlookers, he seemed unbothered—unshaken by the violent spectacle they had just left behind.

But then, a voice—wry and self-aware—slipped into his mind.

"’Are you… not going to ask?’"

Alastor flicked a glance toward his partner, "’Well, Are you ready to speak, mon cher? I’m always ready to listen,’" he answered smoothly through their link.

Lucifer hesitated as though just realizing how rude he was. "’I… don’t know. But it’s odd that you didn’t question.’"

Alastor let out a quiet, amused hum. "’Oh, I will. But you seemed like you needed time—perhaps to collect yourself, or perhaps to second-guess~?’" His teasing lilt was light, but his following words held reassurance. "’All is good, mon ange—Startling, and a bit annoying, but we’re fine. And besides, didn’t we seek Vassago with intent of seeking some victims to channel your anger into?’"

Lucifer exhaled through his nose. "’True…’"

A pause.

A long enough one that Alastor recognized what it meant.

Lucifer wanted to be asked.

So Alastor indulged him, his voice slipping into the link once more—this time a bit louder and firm.

“‘I suppose you're no longer one button away from blasting off~’” he started easily. “‘Do tell then, mon amour, what has irritated you so much?’”

Lucifer paused. Just for a moment. A hesitation in his stride.

But then, he resumed walking, looking away from him.

Alastor remained calm, but his crimson eyes sharpened slightly.

"Your Majesty?"

The shift in tone was subtle but deliberate—respectful, meant to gain his attention.

It worked.

Lucifer pursed his lips, as though dismayed at the formal call, but—slowly—turned to look at him. His expression was distant, calculating. But beneath the sharp lines of his face, there was something else. Something raw.

“…You’ll laugh,” he muttered.

Alastor blinked. And then tilted his head.

"Try me."

Because if Lucifer had snapped this violently—even intervened in Alastor’s affairs, which he never did to respect his lover—then surely, surely there was something deeper at play.

"What was it, mon ange?" He pressed a bit when Lucifer stalled again.

Lucifer’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression flickering between defiance and reluctant obedience.

But then—finally—he gave in… with a touch of embarrassment.

“They… smell. ”

Alastor blinked. “…They smell? ”

Lucifer let out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, I can’t explain it well. I recognize some of them from Vassago’s records—I knew they needed to be eliminated. I should have just let you handle it. But they just stank .” His nose scrunched. “Couldn’t stand them. And I sure as Hell didn’t want you smelling like them either.”

Alastor raised a brow, mirth tainting his tone. “Their body odor offended you that much?”

“No, not that.” Lucifer waved a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t something physical. Not sulfur, not rot, not even their god-awful cologne choices.” He chuckled with a sigh, though irritation flared in his eyes. “Maybe I was smelling intent? I don’t know. It just oozed out of them, and you smell too nice to be tainted. I know it doesn’t make sense if it was intangible from the start, but—”

“Wait, intent?” Alastor’s smirk wavered for the first time, his curiosity piqued. “Since when can you do that?”

Lucifer crossed his arms. “Hell if I know. My senses have sharpened since… hmm, two days ago? But like, considering Beelzebub literally evolved after I renamed her, maybe this is just some dormant trait kicking in. I mean, technically, it felt like an extension of my ability to detect lies, so it’s not entirely new.” He scowled. “Don’t know why it decided to wake up now, but I wasn’t about to sit there and suffer through it. Trash of Hell is meant to be burned.”

As if to emphasize his point, a flicker of flame curled from his nostrils as he huffed.

Alastor let out a deep chuckle—not mocking, but genuinely entertained. There was relief in his eyes, too, his tension from earlier unraveling—at least Lucifer did in fact have a reason although odd. 

“Well, His Majesty’s decree is final, after all~ Trash of Hell they are~!”

Lucifer chortled, shaking his head. At least Alastor wasn’t offended by the possessiveness that had driven him to act.

“…Sorry if I was a bit too territorial, caro . ” His tone was softer now, sincere despite the casual way he spoke. “Feel free to reprimand me if I ever go too far.”

Alastor merely hummed in response, but his actions spoke louder—pressing closer as they walked, their bodies brushing together in an unmistakably familiar way. “But of course, Luce~” 

“ ‘Though perhaps your newfound possessiveness is simply a lingering effect of helping with my rut~? You know, because you wanted to mark me too?’”

Lucifer blinked. 

“Huh.”

Wait.

“You… think so?”

Alastor let out a light, amused tune. “Perhaps so. Technically speaking, I was the one all over you, so maybe this is your way of retaliating~? Keeping things fair~? Wasn’t that always your way, mon cher?”

Lucifer almost stopped walking entirely.

“…Huh.” His brows furrowed as he actually considered it.

That does sound logical.

It wasn’t in Lucifer’s nature to be bested easily—sure, he had let Alastor dominate him for a week nonstop , but just because he had consented didn’t mean his pride hadn’t been bristling under it.

And before that, they’d been separated for almost two months, right?

Yeah. His devilish side was probably roaring for payback in some subconscious way.

“Well,” he drawled, tilting his head, “if that is the case, would you indulge me, Al?”

He flicked a slow, curious glance at his partner.

Alastor, the little shit , simply prolonged his humming, deliberately stretching the silence.

But Lucifer caught the side glance. The glint of amusement. The way his sharp grin curled with wicked delight.

Oh, you smug bastard.

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in mock exasperation. Fine.

That was Alastor’s way of saying yes —but in his own way, at his own pace, in a way that would undoubtedly leave Lucifer with something to suffer through.

Which was fair , really.

After all, Lucifer did the same to him.

Lucifer exhaled sharply, "Maybe I should imprint more marks on you. Or you on me. Perhaps both. ” His eyes flickering between irritation and something far more dangerous as he sensed more idiots approaching despite his earlier display of power.

“‘Maybe we should just start making it obvious? Like… I don’t know. A formal broadcast through Hell? Showing off our relationship .’” His voice dripped with venomous sarcasm, yet there was a tangible edge to it. “"I'm getting sick of people thinking they can dictate my choices— our options.’"

Alastor merely chuckled, sharp and knowing. "My~ Broadcast, hmm? Won't you make Vox do the honor on our wedding day then, mon roi~? A bold, brazen declaration to your beloved realm~"

Lucifer turned to him with a wicked smirk. "Oho? Torturing your little stalker with the best entertainment there is? Why wait until our wedding?"

Alastor's grin stretched, eyes gleaming with mirth. "I suppose you do have a point there, Your Majesty~ I do wish to make as many people suffer from us as possible."

And oh, they knew they were being watched.

After all, by now, Alastor had been silently swatting cultist insects from their path, while Lucifer had been weaving his own magic, erasing digital eyes and severing unseen strings. 

Meddlers, infuriating on both sides.

Lucifer arched a brow, voice a seductive purr as a thought crossed his mind. "Then, won't you start by leaning down, caro?"

Alastor quirked a brow. "Hmm?"

"’More eyes lay ahead, approaching.’" Lucifer murmured in their link before speaking aloud, "Well, cerbiatto, won’t you let us be the front page news on tomorrow's headline~?"

A low chuckle. Amused, indulgent. Alastor did not mind playing along—not as much as he once had been.

"’Kinda wanted your rage too, though~’" the Devil admitted through their bond, voice thick with sweet indulgence. "’Not gonna lie, you looked absolutely delicious when you were about to rip those idiots apart earlier. How I regret stealing your prey from you, my sweet buck~’"

Alastor snarled—Then moved.

A blur—grabbing Lucifer by the front of his coat, slamming him against the nearest wall with a force that made the very structure tremble. Though of course, a little rough housing isn't enough to cause any damage on Lucifer.

Still.

Gasps. Whispers. The Hellish eyes scattered along the buildings widened in shock. Alastor felt the cameras tuning in, the gazes of spectators locking onto them with breathless anticipation.

But he paid them no mind.

Because Lucifer was looking at him.

Smoldering ruby-red eyes locked onto his own, glimmering with an intoxicating pull. Alastor wasn't even sure if Lucifer was using his charm or if it was simply his presence alone—his profanity, his power, his sheer, undeniable existence.

Lucifer's hand lifted, fingers tracing over the neon stitches threading Alastor’s mouth, reverent.

"Such a view," the Devil purred, gaze alight with something dangerously affectionate. "And here I thought I was God’s favorite~"

Alastor tensed.

God’s favorite? Him?

Funny.

Or perhaps... not.

Because if, out of all the creatures across Heaven, Hell, and Earth, he was the one who got to keep the Morningstar—was allowed to be with Heaven’s most beloved son—then yes.

He was the luckiest soul in all of existence.

And that was all it took.

A growl rumbled deep in Alastor’s throat as he seized Lucifer’s lips in a bruising, possessive kiss—giving his angel everything he had asked for. And just as easily, the Devil melted into it, yet his power roared, spilling out like golden wildfire—elegant, yet sinister. His divine butterflies erupted from his form, fluttering with eerie grace before descending upon their prey.

Every demon marked by Vassago—Lucifer had memorized each one of them. And under his direct order, his golden butterflies went for a hunt, chasing after those cultists that had been spotted and convicted... every. single. one. of them. Whether they were part of the swarm coming after the Pride couple at the moment or merely on their list— they fell. 

Only one was pardoned completely.

Crymini.

Merely because she was now under Alastor’s shackles, after Lilith’s discretion. 

But everyone else? None were spared.

Some dropped instantly, bodies writhing as divine poison ate away at their flesh. Others were paralyzed, frozen in place as if their very souls had been chained.

Punished by the very angel whom they worshipped.

Lucifer could only hope that Vassago and his minions would know what to do, and moved to collect what remained of the paralyzed prey that would be scattered all over their infernal realm.

Meanwhile, Alastor’s shadows raged.

They struck with brutal precision, blackened tendrils tearing through demons who dared even think about interfering their intimate moment. Defending their spot like his life depended on it. Some morons were swallowed whole, devoured by eldritch darkness; others were flayed, their screams choked off before they could fully sound.

All of it—this sheer, merciless display of power—while Lucifer and Alastor were tangled together in a breathtaking display of possession, obsession, territory.

Alastor’s hands roamed—one gripping Lucifer’s waist, the other cradling the back of his head, fingers curling possessively in golden hair. A silent declaration: mine.

Lucifer smirked against his lips before biting down, sharp enough to draw just the barest taste of blood. Alastor groaned at the tangy taste of his own, before following Lucifer’s example with a rougher edge—and ended up tasting something… sweet. 

Lucifer’s blood had always been so sweet. 

And it seemed his angel adored that attention, if his crackling power was anything to go by.

Alastor’s own power seemed to reflect the demon's excitement. Soaring and claiming more victims with wicked glee.

The onlookers gawked, trembling at the display.

A statement had been made.

Lucifer Morningstar and Alastor the Radio Demon were not to be questioned.

Not their power.

Not their choices.

And certainly not their claim on each other.

By the time the execution was over—when the last body had fallen, when the air was thick with the scent of death and burnt flesh—Alastor found himself staring at his King.

Lucifer stood before him, flustered yet radiant, confidence crackling through his being like the golden flames still licking at the corners of his power. And as much as Alastor reveled in the destruction they had wrought, this —this sight—was what truly arrested him.

A mess of bruised lips and electric satisfaction, of divine regality and lingering vulnerability.

And if Alastor could see it so plainly, he had no doubt Lucifer could see the same in him.

He could still feel it—his lover’s iron grip still seared against his body, the phantom burn of nails and the intoxicating imprint of Lucifer’s fangs on his lips, raw and territorial. But when he caught the faintest flicker of golden—his angel’s automatic healing was already working, miniscule of light flickering faintly across his skin, threatening to erase every last mark of their battle. 

Lucifer tensed, his power instinctively reaching out to halt the process—to force the bruises to remain, to make sure every trace of Alastor’s touch stayed just… a little longer.

But before he could, Alastor caught his wrist, firm but careful, fingers pressing down in silent refusal.

"No."

Lucifer’s eyes flicked up, startled.

A smirk curled at Alastor’s lips, but his grip remained unwavering, his voice dropping to something low, something final.

"Don’t waste your power on something so trivial, mon ange. I know you want them to last, but I want you to last more."

Lucifer’s lips parted slightly, as if to protest—but then, he saw it. The way Alastor’s grip tightened, how his eyes gleamed with something deeper than amusement.

Possessive, yes. But also protective.

In his eyes, Lucifer had drained himself enough today. His body needed to heal, whether he liked it or not.

Slowly, reluctantly, he allowed the golden light to continue its work, the bruises fading away even as his expression twisted into something close to petulance.

Alastor only chuckled, leaning in with a teasing croon.

"Your body might betray us, but you still have me, no~?” 

“...what?”

“Let me be the trophy for our flourishing relationship—something to be displayed."

Lucifer stilled.

He saw how the sharp gleam of amusement dulled for just a moment, giving way to something softer. Something fond. And soon his own eyes glistened, full in the heart, before his blackened hands found the corners of Alastor’s grin and pulled him closer, planting a lingering kiss against his forehead.

"Okay, Bambi. Thank you."

Because for all his pride, for all his stubborn need to cling to the evidence of Alastor’s touch, Lucifer knew— his consort would not yield on this.

It was not lost on Lucifer how much it must have clawed at Alastor’s ego to be the only one left with visible marks of possession. Alastor—so territorial, so prideful—who would have surely preferred to carve his own claim into Lucifer’s skin, to brand him in a way that no healing power could undo.

And yet, here he was.

Allowing Lucifer’s self-restoring divinity to erase the evidence from his own skin while proudly wearing the remnants of the devil’s touch—of his claim—for the entire realm to see.

‘Selfless,’ Lucifer thought, his heart full and aching. But Alastor would call it something else entirely.

Because in truth, The Overlord didn’t see it that way. Not at all.

If anything, it gave him an excuse.

An excuse to actively mark Lucifer even more thoroughly later—to show his possessiveness in ways no audience would ever be prepared for. Lucifer could bask in the knowledge that his marks were on display now, that no one would dare question to whom Alastor belonged—but every time after that? It would be Alastor’s turn.

Stolen kisses, some nip here and there.

This was the perfect excuse for him to ‘show’ the world manually, proving that the devil was utterly his. To show that his devotion wasn’t some fleeting whim. Because while the King of Hell might have branded him, Alastor was the only one allowed by his side, the only one permitted to own him completely. And with Lucifer’s marks already on him, there was no need for constant rebranding—leaving Alastor free to enjoy marking Lucifer, again and again, as only he could.

A dark chuckle rumbled in Alastor’s chest as he finally pulled away, offering his arm with a flourish. "We should really head to our next meeting now."

Lucifer beamed, slipping his arm through Alastor’s without hesitation, eyes bright with satisfaction at the chaos they had left behind. "I'm pretty sure questions will start rolling in soon. I can already hear Rosie wanting the juiciest gossip directly from its source~"

“Won't you deal with them for me, deerest? ” Lucifer cooed, allowing the words to curl around Alastor, wicked glee folded neatly into a challenge. And to drive his point home, he added softly, “Your words are my truth.”

Alastor paused.

For all his dramatics, for all his theatrics, that sentence—that simple declaration—struck something deep within him.

And Lucifer knew it.

The demon’s smile didn’t falter, but for just a fraction of a second, something undeniably awed flickered in his eyes before he leaned in, voice a delighted croon. “Such power to be given to a pathological manipulator, Your Highness~?”

Lucifer merely chuckled, utterly unrepentant, as his tail curled around Alastor’s waist and one side of his wings draped possessively over his frame like a cloak, pulling him even closer as they walked.

"Well, this one just so happens to own my entire heart and soul, what can I say~?"

Then with one last effortless flick of his fingers, every camera—every prying digital eye in all of Pride—shut down.

Signal lost.

They would stay that way for the rest of their outing.

Let the Vees spin their tales from that. Lucifer had no intention of letting them feast on any more than what he and Alastor had chosen to give.

His demon deserved some peace too.

"Although, it’s too bad," Alastor hummed suddenly, an impish gleam in his eye.

“Hmm?”

"I'm rather craving to steal your legs. But I suppose I can endure the wait for today~"

Lucifer snickered unapologetically, sharp and amused. "On our way back, sure, demoniuccio. But now," his smirk widened, sharp as a blade, "you’d better shush before I decide it’s better to steal your legs in front of everyone, too."

Alastor laughed.

“I suppose if His Majesty wills it, what could this humble sinner say to refuse~?”

“Since when are you a humble one?” Lucifer snorted, while the deranged look on Alastor’s face only grew wilder.

“That is indeed a valid question, isn’t it~?”

For his pride was far greater than his sense of survival—had he not adored Lucifer as much as he did, he would have chosen death over lowering his head earnestly, let alone at the promise of being carried like a princess.

How amusing, really.

The games they played. The chaos they thrived in. The absolute, unshakable certainty that they belonged to each other, as surely as fire devoured and darkness consumed.

Chapter Text

The corridors beneath Carmilla Carmine’s estate were cold, dimly lit by sconces that barely cut through the oppressive darkness. It smelled faintly of aged parchment, iron, and something floral—perhaps an attempt to mask the scent of old blood.

Lucifer walked with deliberate ease, his hands folded behind his back, posture regal despite the informal setting. Alastor trailed just half a step behind, his eyes flicking around, analyzing the hidden passageways they were being led through.

Carmilla, clad in black, white, and crimson with her white curls pinned elegantly in place—never one to wear her hair up when meeting The Devil, moved with the grace of someone who had spent centuries perfecting the role of a refined hostess—even now, when she led her King through a secret tunnel, she carried herself like the best lady-in-waiting serving her Queen.

“I must admit, Lady Carmilla, I’m intrigued,” Lucifer mused. “An urgent summons, and yet, you make us take the scenic route?”

Carmilla gave a small, amused smile as she glanced over her shoulder. “Your Majesty, I wouldn’t waste your time with theatrics unless it was warranted.”

The Devil chuckled, “I do hope it’s not a heartstopper. I’ve had enough of that lately.”

The weapon dealer just smiled.

Alastor, ever the observer, noted the way Carmilla’s hands remained clasped at her front, her grip just a fraction tighter than it should have been. Whatever they were about to see, she was nervous .

Carmilla Carmine did not do ‘nervous’.

Bad omen already…

The passageway finally opened into a hidden chamber—reinforced steel walls lined with runes of protection, a pedestal at its heart. Upon that pedestal sat an empty glass case.

Lucifer’s gaze flickered, but he didn’t speak immediately.

Alastor, however, didn’t hesitate. “What, exactly, are we meant to be looking at?” His tone was casual, but there was an edge beneath it.

Carmilla inhaled deeply, her jaw tightening for a split second before she turned fully to them. “Adam’s angelic weapon.”

Alastor’s brows arched, now intrigued. “The guitar axe?” 

“Yes.”

“And where, pray tell, is it?”

Carmilla hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “...Stolen.”

The air in the room seemed to shift. Not a crackle of rage, no eruption of divine fire, but a chilling, forced stillness from Lucifer.

Carmilla pressed forward before either could interrupt. “Someone in my ranks betrayed me. We tracked down the culprit—a sinner under my employ, but they’ve been rendered completely paralyzed by something where we found them. We can’t interrogate them, and the weapon itself is already gone. It’s nowhere in my threshold, and we’ve confirmed it’s not in the sinner’s possession either.”

A wry smile ghosted across her lips, self-deprecating as she kneeled before him. “I failed your request, Your Majesty. I shall take full responsibility for my negligence.”

Lucifer did not respond immediately. He merely stared at the empty case, shoulders squared, back unnaturally straight. His hands—once holding his cane loosely—were now clenched, nails digging into his palms, while the other tightened around his beloved apple cane, straining it to the brink. The tension in the room thickened, crackling like static before a storm.

Alastor caught the motion immediately. Subtle, but there. And he didn’t like it.

“Sit.”

Lucifer blinked, finally breaking from his thoughts. He turned, raising a brow at Alastor. “Excuse me?”

Alastor smiled pleasantly, but his grip on Lucifer’s arm was not a request—it was a directive. “Sit, mon ange.”

Carmilla watched, intrigued but wisely silent.

Lucifer’s lips parted as if to protest, but then Alastor squeezed his wrist just enough for the tension to register, and something in Lucifer flickered. His breath hitched—a minuscule, barely perceptible shift—but one Alastor felt as if it were a thunderclap.

He sighed through his nose and, with a slow exhale, finally relented—settling onto a nearby seat. His claws twitched by his side, betraying the stress he had tried to mask. His usual commanding presence now felt like a fraying thread, stretched taut and ready to snap.

Alastor’s grin widened. “Good boy.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes with a sarcastic snarl but didn’t snap back. To counter that, Alastor ‘apologized’ by giving a light massage to the taut shoulder—the Devil looked more exasperated, but it did help release some tension.

Carmilla arched a brow, her lips twitching—especially when Lucifer dismissed her formality not long after, declaring it an informal time, because at the moment, he really, really couldn’t afford to play theatrics on top of his distress.

Because Adam’s weapon… had been stolen in the same way his butterfly once was.

The culprit was obvious.

And Lucifer… he didn’t know how to process this without breaking something. It didn’t help that his thoughts offered only dark and even darker futures ahead, because now—Eve had yet another advantage against him.

In any case, With that order from her King, Carmilla ended up slipping a comment, one that almost treated Lucifer like an equal—almost like an old pal instead of her Lord. “My, my. I should call upon you more often, Alastor. I’ve never seen anyone make him listen so easily,” she remarked.

Alastor simply hummed. “Oh, he’s quite obedient when he wants to be~”

Lucifer gave him a dry smile, but there was a crack in the facade—a quiet, simmering instability just beneath the surface.

“Stop chatting like I'm not literally here, geez…”

Carmilla chuckled but quickly sobered. “In all seriousness, Your Majesty, what are your orders? The sinner is still within our grasp, but we need to find out where that weapon is before it’s put to use.”

Lucifer tilted his head back against the chair, exhaling long and slow, as if gathering himself. His fingers tapped a slow, uneven rhythm against the armrest, betraying his growing agitation. When he spoke, his voice was smooth once more—controlled, deliberate—but the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of his eyes, spoke of barely-contained fury.

“First, take me to the sinner. I have a suspicion about why they can’t speak.” After another deep breath, Lucifer’s calm fully returned with a hint of shimmering anger starting to bubble up, his aura crackling faintly at the edges. “If the reason why she was paralyzed was, in fact, my power, then I already know where the damned thing went.”

“At once, Your Majesty, this way.”

Lucifer stood up from his seat with a sharpness that made Alastor’s brows furrow. His stride was quick, impatient, his magic trailing faintly behind him like the flickering of a storm barely held back. “Faster,” he snapped at Carmilla as they navigated through the hidden tunnels.

They arrived at a hidden medical wing where Carmilla’s daughters stood guard. Lucifer’s eyes sharpened the moment he stepped inside, tension tightening every line of his body. One step into the room and that was all he needed to know—his power’s signature clung to the air, unmistakable.

“Fucker,” he growled, his magic sparking dangerously at his fingertips, flames licking the edge of control. A snap of his fingers almost sent the paralyzed sinner ablaze before he stopped himself with a sharp breath.

“Carmilla.” He turned to the older Overlord instead, his voice low but vibrating with restrained rage. “Torture protocol. Kill the bitch slowly with as many tools as you have—I don’t need them anymore, but I want them to suffer.”

A pause. Then, with a flicker of something almost distant in his gaze, he added, “You did well for reporting. For now, you’re pardoned.”

Carmilla bowed low, gratitude evident despite the grim orders.

Lucifer turned on his heels, dragging in a shaky breath, and muttered to Alastor, voice strained but determined, “I’m heading back now.”

Alastor followed, but his gaze lingered on Lucifer’s trembling hands. The storm was building. And when it broke, he knew, it would be devastating.

And it happened exactly as he predicted, if not worse…

Through the portal, Lucifer stormed into the Morningstar Castle, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. Without warning, his fist shot out, crashing into the nearest wall. A deafening crack echoed as the impact shattered not just one wall, but several in succession, bricks and stone crumbling into dust before magically reconstructing themselves.

Panting, his eyes wild, Lucifer snarled one name through clenched teeth—

“̵̫̈͛̽̉̾͗͒̊͝Ȅ̷̢͚̿͝v̸̛̛̠̍̊͝ẽ̴̘͑̈̾͂͘͝.̷̧̰͇̪̺͚͎̲̘̎̈́͌́́̊̈́͝”̵͓͙̹͍̟̰̜̗͇̎͛̅́̿̄̾̋͝

Alastor flinched, ears pinning back in caution. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp ringtone pierced the tense air. Lucifer’s eyes flicked to the phone, the caller ID displaying [Joel.] His eldest brother. 

Heaven’s delegation.

Another plight.

With a guttural growl, Lucifer snatched the phone and hurled it against the floor, watching it shatter into useless fragments. His breathing quickened, body trembling violently as his thoughts tumbled one after another.

Overwhelm.

“ Why. WHy. wHy. WhY. WhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhy …” Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible. Everything was pressing in on him at once. Eve was clawing at his world, stealing from him, her spies infecting his realm like a disease. Hell's stability was crumbling, infiltrated from all sides. And now Heaven was watching closely, waiting for the right moment to sink its claws in.

And Charlie… Charlie wasn’t here. She’s safe, he knew that, but the aching void in his chest was growing. Was she really okay? Did she miss him as much as he missed her? Or had he lost more than he realized? What if they indoctrinate her against him the longer she stays there?

“Lucifer!”

Like a thread finally snapping, Lucifer collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach. A searing pain twisted inside him, an unrelenting, agonizing burn that made no sense. His core, his very essence, was fluctuating along with his emotions. His breath came in ragged gasps, his power slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Alastor could only crouch by his side, literally not knowing what to do right now. He wanted to offer to call Belphegor despite their previous conversation, when he heard Lucifer’s mumbling between his choked sobs.

“My little star... Heaven took her... My realm... endangered. Threats... from Earth... even my own body betrays me.” His voice cracked, dissolving into anguished sobs. “Can’t I fucking… catch a damn break?”

Rage.

Lucifer’s body seized as a guttural scream tore from his throat, his fists slamming into the floor. The castle quaked under each blow, ancient magic straining to keep up with the devastation. Alastor barely dodged the debris flying past him, Lucifer’s wrath striking close but never meant for him.

The demon watched, alarmed, as Lucifer lurched forward and began to vomit out the snacks he barely consumed earlier.

“Luce—”

Yet his call was ignored by the Devil, whose voice cracked into desperate sobs, echoing through the castle as his powers flared out uncontrollably. Alastor reached out but froze when Lucifer, between gasps, begged him to leave.

“Go… please… before I hurt you too…” Lucifer hissed through gritted teeth.

“Lucifer, no—”

“I SAID GET OUT!” he bellowed, eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of infernal fire and celestial brilliance. The castle trembled violently as the Devil's body began to glow, the vessel cracking under the weight of his true form.

Alastor was not given a choice as he was sent away by Lucifer himself— warped outside the castle, despite his protests.

Collapse.

Alone, Lucifer's angelic form burst free—blinding light and infernal shadows coalescing. Wings of molten gold and abyssal darkness unfurled, and his many eyes—each reflecting Heaven’s glory and Hell’s torment—burned with raw anguish.

Lucifer let out a scream, a sound of despair so deep it reverberated through the castle. Light and shadow lashed out uncontrollably, tearing through the walls only for them to rebuild, over and over, as if the castle itself knew this agony well.

That fallen angel sobbed uncontrollably, choking on his own anguish despite technically no longer having a throat to constrict his ‘airway’ in any way.

“Ì ÐÖñ’† HÄVÈ GÚ†§ Äñ¥MÖRÈ!” he shrieked, voice raw and broken. “M¥ LÌGH†’§ £RÈÈ—WH¥ ÄM Ì §†ÌLL Ìñ þÄÌñ?! WH¥?!” His wings flailed wildly, casting sharp winds that nearly sent furniture and castle ornaments tumbling.

“Please… just… let it stop,” he whimpered to no one. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t…”

His entire body trembled as he hugged himself tightly, tears falling like rivers.

“Someone… anyone— jµ§† måkê ï† §†ðþ …”

Numbness.

When Lucifer finally calmed down, he wasn’t even sure what else he must do. So he just stared at the broken ceiling, his mind blank. His power lashed out aimlessly, even if it ended up hurting him.

For a while, he just let himself be. Almost giving up entirely, even while knowing that he just… couldn't.

‘Come on… enough of this. Let's pick ourselves up again…’

He stirred, his body aching in places he didn’t even remember using. His breath was slow, heavy—lungs weighed down by exhaustion as he shifted in the wreckage of his own making.

The castle still stood.

Of course it did.

He built it as the strongest threshold in Hell for a reason.

Despite the destruction he’d wrought, the outer walls remained unshaken, standing tall against the storm he had been. They shielded his ruin from prying eyes, from Hell’s collective judgment, from the whispers that would otherwise slither through every corner of his kingdom.

But inside…

Inside, it was a wasteland of shattered glass, fractured marble, and scorched remnants of furniture that had dared to exist in his path. The air still hummed with residual energy, the aftershock of divine fury barely contained.

Lucifer exhaled, letting his wings slowly retract, his body folding back into his mortal shell. He lay there, motionless, his fingers idly tracing the cracks in the marble floor.

He was still here.

And he had no idea what the hell to do next.

“Right… can’t stay like this.”

Can he?

No.

He knew the answer all too well.

“...let's get going…”

And so, after stretching the silence just… a bit longer, Lucifer finally sat up with a groan, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead as another migraine threatened to take hold. His mind felt sluggish, his limbs heavy. His body screamed for rest, but his soul—his soul—felt raw, peeled open, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be for far too long.

Then, at last, he felt them.

Beyond the grand gates, past the layers of enchantments still barely holding, a mass of powerful entities lingered.

His Sins. His ex-wife. His fiancé.

… Paimon?

Lucifer let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, rubbing at his temple.

He must have shaken Hell far worse than he thought. If even Paimon had seen fit to come, then— Shit.

Did that mean Heaven would follow soon?

The very thought made his stomach turn.

Lucifer let out a whimper, fingers curling into his sides, as he braced against the next wave of pain. His temples throbbed, his wings twitched involuntarily, his gut felt twisted, and the sheer weight of everything pressed down against him. He had not let himself feel like this in… He didn’t even know how long.

For a moment, the facade wavered. The one he always held—elegant, untouchable, refined beyond mortal comprehension.

He thought about rebuilding it, about fixing the walls, reforging the illusion, standing at his full height, draping himself in power and poise before letting them in.

But then, he hesitated.

It was them .

Not just any of his subjects. Not strangers.

His family.

Each of them had been handpicked by him . Each of them had proven themselves, time and time again, as the guardians of Hell—its protectors, its rulers in their own right.

They had earned his trust.

And more than that…

If he was, in fact, destined to die one day, he needed them to keep Charlie's home, to keep this kingdom alive.

They deserved to know .

With a slow exhale, Lucifer dropped the lockdown spells.

The castle doors would open soon.

But he did not move to fix the broken halls, did not conjure an illusion to mask the rawness of his form. He did not shift into something grander, taller, stronger.

Instead, he stayed. In this shrunken state, curled at the wreckage of his throne room, Lucifer simply waited. 

Waited for the inevitable—to be found.

And prayed they wouldn’t be too rowdy.

Or worse—too soft .

The first thing Lucifer did—once his mind caught up with his body—was conjure himself something decent to wear. His previous clothes had been torn to shreds in his own fury, and while he had no shame, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the inevitable reactions his disheveled state would bring.

A simple ensemble appeared over him—a loose black tunic, silk pants, and nothing too tight against his aching skin. He barely had the energy to care for embellishments. Strange. Normally, he’d at least conjure a coat.

But right now…

He just sat there.

Motionless.

His body had long since healed, but the evidence of his self-inflicted destruction remained in the ruins around him. Ash and dust clung to his skin, the smell of scorched stone and burnt wood lingering in the air.

He didn't bother wiping it away. All he did was close his eyes and try to relax, hoping to make the aches in his vessel more bearable.

Then—he felt it.

Something small. Something familiar.

A wisp of shadow flickered at the entrance of the ruined hall, creeping towards him cautiously.

One of Alastor’s —a Whispie.

Lucifer exhaled through his nose and raised a hand, fingers shifting into quick, fluid gestures as he signed.

[Quiet. No agitation.] 

The shadow bobbed as if understanding before vanishing.

Good.

He remained seated, barely acknowledging the weight of exhaustion pressing into him. He knew what was coming next.

And soon enough— they arrived.

The first to reach him was Alastor. Of course.

But trailing not far behind were Lilith and Ozzie, both halting at a respectful distance while Alastor wasted no time coming to his side.

Lucifer let himself feel his fiancé’s presence—a steady static against the lingering chaos.

The quiet he needed was, thankfully, granted.

Alastor was careful, cautious in his movements, eyes scanning him as though searching for unseen wounds, fingers twitching with the urge to do something but knowing better than to overwhelm him.

Lucifer could have reassured him with white lies.

Could have forced a smile, made a joke, dismissed it all with his usual charm.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just… stared . As if waiting for something to happen.

Alastor wasn’t sure what Lucifer was expecting, but he offered the best thing he thought the broken angel might need.

“…Hug?”

His voice was soft. So quiet, it was barely there. But Lucifer heard him. He stared. Hesitating. Thinking. Before finally, he relented. Without breaking their silence, he nodded, allowing it to happen.

And without hesitation, Alastor wrapped him in his arms.

Though he was rigid at first, soon enough Lucifer found himself melting into the care he received, his expression unreadable but his body pliant against Alastor’s warmth. He didn't sob anymore, didn’t even move beyond the simple act of resting his head against his fiancé’s shoulder.

Yet—his tears still fell.

Silent. Slow. The last remnants of everything he had felt—everything that had consumed him just moments ago. 

Alastor let him. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t try to fill the silence. Just held him.

Lucifer wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that before he finally murmured, voice thick with exhaustion:

“…Is everyone—Is Hell okay? Heaven’s upon us?”

Alastor stiffened, if only slightly.

Lucifer could tell his fiancé didn’t have the answers. In fact, with his new odd ability, he could even smell the hesitation now. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened.

Alastor had likely been here , just circling the castle, trying to find a way in, likely ignoring everything else but him.

That fact sent something warm—but also, something guilty—curling in Lucifer’s chest.

In the end, Alastor couldn’t answer him after all. Instead, he pulled back slightly, studying Lucifer’s face before speaking carefully.

“…Would you let me ask Lilith or the Sins, mon roi? I believe they’d know better.”

Lucifer gave a slow nod.

And so Alastor turned, voice steady as he relayed the questions to the gathering demons.

Lucifer remained seated, back straight but shoulders slightly slouched as the Sins took their turns reporting. He listened in silence, his fingers loosely curled over his lap, Alastor’s warmth still lingering where he had just been held.

It was Satan who spoke first, ever the responsible one, rubbing the back of his neck as he summarized:

"Hell’s mostly okay," he said, but his voice was anything but relaxed. "I mean, shit’s been shaking, skies are in a state—acid blizzards raining down, the borders rumbling—but it’s all standing. We thought Pride was the issue, but turns out? Everything was just as fucked up everywhere else, so that meant—”

“We went looking for you, ” Asmodeus cut in, voice unusually subdued, his usual flair dulled by the circumstances. “We stopped by the Hotel, figured you might’ve been there, but darling Emilia told us you and Alastor were out since this morning. Paimon apparently came knocking for the same reason.”

Lucifer’s brows furrowed slightly as the Owl King nodded, but he remained silent.

Levi took the chance to continue once Lucifer seemed to be taking their report well. “Once we realized you weren’t at the Hotel, we beelined straight here. Found Alastor and Paimon already trying to break in—but of course, no one gets past your castle defenses when you don’t want them to.”

A small flicker of acknowledgment crossed Lucifer’s face, but still, he did not speak.

Bel, usually the most reluctant to engage, shifted uncomfortably before muttering, “So, we asked Alastor what the hell was going on.” She hesitated before admitting, “…He told us you were unstable. ”

Lucifer finally closed his eyes.

That… was not something Alastor would admit easily.

Satan sighed, arms crossed. “He said it was likely stress. That there were too many new revelations hitting you at once—things you haven’t even told him yet. ” His gaze darkened.

“And given how you locked down the entire castle, we figured it wasn’t just an ordinary… um, what did you usually call it? Tantrum?”

“Sure… Tantrum.” Lucifer agreed far too easily.

Lilith, silent up until now, exhaled as she mustered a gentle smile. “He told us,” she said quietly, “that you even kicked him out? ”

Lucifer flinched. Not violently, yet still, the reaction was there, and everyone saw it.

Alastor remained at his side, expression unreadable, but his hand had subtly moved closer—just within reach if Lucifer wanted to take it. He didn’t.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, in a tone barely above a whisper, Lucifer spoke.

“…I did.”

No excuses. No deflections. No charming quips.

Just quiet, raw honesty.

“Had to. I could have killed him.” Lucifer exhaled, slow and controlled, his fingers twitching slightly before he finally admitted: “…I lost control— while conscious .”

A simple sentence. But it carried weight. One that’s heavier to know since this is Lucifer speaking. And he, with all his pride, is not one to admit his mishap like this.

“Honestly… I did not want anyone to see me like that,” he continued, voice steadier now. “Not any of you.” A pause. “But I suppose it’s not sustainable to keep everything in . ” He breathed out, “Whenever I’m ‘out of commission’, You guys would be the one to take care of our home anyway…” 

His gaze flickered to Alastor. An exasperated smile on his lips before he told him, “‘I’ll tell them everything.’”

“‘Everything?’”

“‘...yes, everything… ’” Lucifer took his demon’s hand at lasat, seeking courage which the Overlord immediately responded by tightening the hold slightly. “‘They’d pity me—maybe. Or laugh. But whatever. I don’t think I can handle my stress on my own anymore.’” 

And Alastor, despite everything, only softened. He knows that this is a hard decision for the Devil. He wasn’t entirely sure if Lucifer meant his light situation, the mishap trip on earth, or whatever this new discovery with the cult—or perhaps all of that. But either way—Alastor took the hand and gently kissed it. Showing his support.

That’s all the confirmation Lucifer needs—at the very least. Whether his family turns their backs on him, scorns him, or pities him after this, he knows one thing for certain. He still has Alastor on his side.

Lucifer turned back to the gathered demons. His tone, though tired, was firm when he finally asked:

“…Well, I guess, you guys are in for one hell of a ride—most would be TMI, perhaps. But unfortunately Hell is tied with me. So, it’s interchangeable. For now, though, Any sign from Heaven?”

The Sins exchanged looks before shaking their heads.

“No divine intervention so far,” Lilith confirmed. “But the skies are watching. It’s brighter since earlier.”

“Watching? Damn it … why would they—” Lucifer shut his eyes again, frustration mounting as the weight of it all pressed down on him with startling speed.

"No, right. Actually—they've been 'watching' since earlier.” He exhaled slowly, recalling the phone call. “Someone contacted me before—it's… one of many things that pushed me to the brink. Hang on."

He stretched out his hand, retrieving his phone from the rubble, fixing it with a few deft movements before scrolling through his contacts to call Joel.

With a silent gesture, he signaled for everyone to remain quiet. All the while, he leaned subtly into Alastor, bracing himself for whatever divine bullshit awaited him on the other end of the line.

His voice, though steady, carried none of its usual lilt—no mischief, no sarcasm.

“Joel,” he greeted simply.

“Lucifer,” came the reply—calm, crisp, and almost detached. Almost. There was always something in the way Joel spoke to him, a carefully measured coolness, like ice barely keeping something warmer underneath from spilling out.

Lucifer didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I assume you’re not calling just to check in—you never did. What is it?”

A pause. A slight hesitation. Then—“You’re more silent than usual.”

Lucifer stared blankly.

It wasn’t the observation he had expected.

Joel, for all his reserved nature, was direct in his concern. He never dressed it in flowery words, never softened his tone to make it palatable. He simply stated things as they were.

Lucifer closed his eyes, exhaustion settling deeper. He just wanted to get this over with—everything over with—as soon as possible.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied coldly.

“That’s not an answer.”

Lucifer inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaled slowly, then muttered, “Something happened, that’s all.”

Joel didn’t press further. He never did, not unless he deemed it necessary.

“Then I’ll get to the point.”

Lucifer could hear the faint sound of shuffling papers on the other end, followed by the distant murmur of voices—before they faded entirely. Joel was likely moving somewhere more private.

“There’s to be a meeting,” Joel continued. “Between realms. Your presence is required.”

Lucifer sighed. “And why, pray tell, am I suddenly being summoned to another tedious diplomatic affair?”

Joel’s tone didn’t change, but there was an unmistakable pressure behind his next words.

“Earth is preparing to send people to Hell.”

Lucifer’s fingers twitched against the phone.

His exhaustion thickened, pressing down like lead in his bones. His mind, sluggish from everything he had already endured, struggled to grasp the full implications of that statement.

More souls entering Hell was nothing new. It was the natural order. But for Earth —for the living—to send people deliberately? That was something else entirely.

“…Details?”

“Will be disclosed at the meeting,” Joel said. “You need to call your court together. Tomorrow.”

Lucifer frowned. “No. In three days. And also, just my court and the archangels? Via screens, I assume?”

“Seraphina will be present as well. And yes, via screen. But about the time—”

The King cut him off. “If this was just between Hell and Earth, then Heaven has no place to interfere. I can see why the Archangels felt the need to fucking meddle, but not Sera. Unless… I should take this as Heaven’s attempt to take advantage of the situation and cause more chaos while we tackle whatever bullshit Earth is—”

A pained hiss suddenly escaped from Alastor, sharp and involuntary. Lucifer’s eyes snapped open. It had been restrained—clearly not meant to slip out—but Lucifer knew the cause instantly. His own divine energy, curling out of him unchecked. And with his lover so close, Alastor was the first to feel its bite.

The Devil stilled, quickly focusing on reining it back in.

“…Sorry.” He muttered the apology, brushing off Joel entirely as he reached out, healing Alastor before the demon could protest that it was unnecessary—that it would only drain Lucifer further.

And in the next blink, he was back on the phone, as if the mishap had never happened.

“Lucifer—”

Finally, Joel’s voice reached him.

The weary devil sighed heavily. “Look, you can relay whatever the fuck comes from our meeting to Sera later. But if she is there during it— consider her dead by the end of our lovely little reunion. By my own hands. This is your only warning, Joel.”

Silence.

Joel was likely weighing the severity of the open threat before carefully choosing his response. “Very well. Seraphina will be pulled from the meeting. But in her place, Heaven’s defense—General Abel—will stand by. At the very least, within earshot. I believe I can provide reasonable justification for this arrangement.”

Lucifer hummed. “I suppose I couldn’t kill my future son-in-law, so that’s fine.”

“…What?”

“Joke.”

“That doesn’t sound like a—”

"Are you here to talk to me as his godfather now that Adam is dead, Joel? I really don’t mind planning another wedding under my belt, y’know—rather than dealing with all this bullshit. Promise I’ll make it pretty."

“Huh? No, but—”

“Then let’s not continue on that. You’re wasting my time.”

Another silence.

Lucifer ignored how his demons looked rather pleased with the exchange. He hadn’t meant it as entertainment, but honestly, it did help his temper a bit.

“Alright then,” Joel finally said. “Seraphina is out. Abel will attend on the side. But as for the time, I can’t change that. It must be—”

“No.” Lucifer’s voice was sharper now, though still lacking its usual venom. “I need three days.”

Joel went silent for a moment. Then, regrettably—

“I can’t give you that much time.”

Lucifer exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He was too tired to argue. He could, of course. Could make this difficult. Could force negotiations over something as simple as a date.

But Joel hadn’t folded the first time. And if Lucifer was being honest… he knew this wasn’t something that could be brushed off. Joel wouldn’t have called him over a trivial matter. If he said it was urgent, then it was urgent.

This was his eldest brother’s warning: If you don’t comply, Heaven will pin the blame on Hell.

“…Fine,” Lucifer muttered. “Tomorrow evening.”

Another brief pause. A faint shuffle from Joel’s end.

Then, more softly—more hesitantly—

“Morning.”

Lucifer opened his eyes, staring blankly at the dim glow of his cracked chandelier. His mouth opened, about to protest— morning , he couldn’t do morning. Heaven might as well strike them down right now, and it would make no difference.

Yet before he could voice anything, he was cut off.

“…Noon at best,” Joel corrected, as if that small compromise might ease the blow.

The Devil let out the faintest, weary chuckle—empty, bitter. “Of course.”

He could picture Joel’s lips pressing into a thin line. Could hear the near imperceptible sigh over the line.

And then—softer, quieter, like a secret slipping past his usual defenses—

“Sammy… I’m alone right now. What’s… what’s going on over there? You don’t sound like you’re doing too well.”

Lucifer just hummed.

For once, he didn’t scold him. Didn’t scoff, didn’t throw the deadname back in Joel’s face with his usual dramatics. He just… let it settle.

And with a quiet, almost fragile mumble, he simply said—

“…See you tomorrow, brother.”

Then he hung up.

Lucifer turned toward his court, crimson eyes dim but steady. He gestured vaguely toward the phone still clutched in his fingers, voice as even as he could manage.

“Well, there you go, folks. You heard it yourselves—tomorrow, midday. Likely 1200. ”

A ripple of silence followed.

Then, without ceremony, power surged from his hands, crackling along the ruined marble floor like veins of golden fire. It spread, creeping up the shattered columns, sealing the fractured walls, repairing the intricate stained glass above. Slowly, his castle began stitching itself back together, stone by stone, grand and impenetrable once more.

But even at its strongest, it would still feel hollow.

Satan, arms crossed, frowned at him. “Are you even in the condition to do that?”

Lucifer smiled—calm, plastic, dismissive .

“Does it matter?”

It didn’t. Heaven wouldn’t wait, wouldn’t pause, wouldn’t care if he was broken and battered. The world did not stop for him.

All he could do was move forward.

“Right… now, explanations.”

Lucifer took a breath, readying himself to inform his court of what lay ahead—

But before he could, Alastor’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth yet firm. “Can we at least discuss this in the comfort of our bedroom?”

Lucifer blinked, tilting his head slightly.

Alastor didn’t look overtly distressed, but the tension in his stance was unmistakable. More than that, Lucifer could feel him—could feel the way Alastor’s fingers brushed against his own just a fraction tighter, the warmth against his own cold skin.

Oh… he hadn't even realized he was shivering.

It was subtle—almost imperceptible to the eye—but Alastor noticed, felt it in every slight tremor where their bodies touched.

Lucifer didn’t argue. He simply nodded.

That was all the permission Alastor needed.

With practiced ease, he lifted Lucifer into his arms, shadows rising to cradle the Devil’s limp wings so they wouldn’t drag along the floor. The court remained silent, watching as their exhausted King allowed himself to be carried away without protest.

Lucifer curled in slightly, a quiet grunt slipping from his lips as a familiar pain twisted in his gut. His fingers weakly clenched against Alastor’s chest, his breath hitching.

Alastor frowned. “‘Cramping again?’”

Lucifer hummed a soft confirmation but didn’t complain. He only sighed, pressing his forehead against Alastor’s collarbone, letting himself be held.

Chapter Text

Once Lucifer was settled onto their now-restored bed, he did not waste time.

The moment his Twin Flames and his court—his family—gathered around, he began.

“Eve,” he started, voice steady despite the weight behind the name. “Eve is likely the one who will strike us soon—the one from Earth, the one Heaven is currently wary of.” He exhaled sharply. “I’ll talk about that first, since that’s clearly the more pressing matter… more than my appearance .”

Alastor tensed slightly beside him, but said nothing.

Lucifer continued.

“Eve was the Supreme Leader repeatedly referenced by the cult I’ve been telling you to watch out for in the past… well, months .” He leaned forward, fingers laced as his eyes flickered in the dim light. “After gathering intel, I went to Earth. Mostly to erase my sigil—so that Earth wouldn’t be able to fuck with me anymore. They’ve been summoning me almost nonstop for nearly six months before I finally shut that out.”

A moment of silence passed before Lilith, ever sharp, narrowed her eyes.

“Not sure if Alastor or Lilith ever mentioned why exactly I was absent for almost two months last time,” Lucifer continued, gaze flickering toward them both. “But that was why. Because I was on Earth. Including an… encounter with Azrael.”

Alastor’s fingers twitched—barely noticeable, but there nonetheless. He couldn’t help the reaction, now fully realizing that his angel was following through with his words, preparing to tell the court everything.

Lucifer’s voice remained impassive, but firm.

“I sort of interfered with his work. Not deliberately, but for now, just keep that in mind—because that’s likely why Heaven called for this meeting.”

Bee whistled lowly. “A mess with another Archangel.”

Lucifer ignored her and pressed on.

“I got injured,” he admitted, as though it were a minor inconvenience. “Because, well—if I wasn’t, Hell would likely be the one punished. Took one for the team, nothing new. I’m the one who ‘caused’ the trouble anyway—no need to think about it.” He hummed. “Still, I didn’t expect to wake up to a fake Charlie tending to me.”

The air in the room shifted.

“And yes,” Lucifer said with a sharp look, “I know about the fake Charlie. Because, well—My little starfire, she’s somewhere else .”

Lilith’s fingers curled into the silk sheets.

“I have several reasons for that conviction,” Lucifer went on. “And a solid reason why she’s not around at the moment—whether you noticed or not. Details, however, classified. ”

He didn’t pause for interruptions.

“Anyway, I sent the imposter to Hell—to be captured by you all, or maybe eliminated. One or the other. I knew that Lilith and Alastor would notice, even if it took time.” He exhaled, rubbing at his temple. “What I didn’t expect was that it would invite Galim into Hell.”

Satan muttered something under his breath, but Lucifer merely leaned back, his expression softening for the first time since the conversation began.

“I’m glad all of that was handled.” He glanced around the room, gaze lingering on each of them. “You all did very well.”

And this time—despite his exhaustion—his smile was genuine.

Lucifer let out a quiet breath. His fingers twitched against the sheets before he continued, voice steady but laced with something heavier.

“Afterward, however, I met Eve.”

A pause. A slight pursing of his lips. It was clear that speaking her name alone left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Alastor, ever attuned to his fiancé’s subtle discomfort, reached out and took his hand, squeezing lightly in reassurance. Lucifer exhaled, his lips curving into a faint smile as he sighed shakily.

“I found out that Eve was alive,” he said, gripping Alastor’s hand a little tighter. “And she wanted me. I’m not sure if she’s still hung up on our past relationship or if this is simply retaliation against Heaven. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes flickered with something dangerous. “She’s been spying on my life. Using our uncharted denizens that travel between Hell and the mortal plane as her pawns.”

“...Them?” Bel couldn't believe that everything was linked together like this.

“Yes, them.” Is all Lucifer said.

“She wanted to erase Lilith,” The Devil said plainly, looking at his first wife. “And she wanted me for herself.”

Lilith’s fingers twitched in her lap, nails pressing into her palm.

“Naturally,” Lucifer continued, “she didn’t bother with Alastor either.” His voice darkened. “But she had a great deal of interest in Charlie. Enough that she went so far as to create a clone of her.”

Beelzebub tensed, “A what now—? The one on air last time???”

“Yes,” Lucifer confirmed. “The fake Charlie—the one Galim hunted.” He let that sink in for a moment before his expression turned grim. “I have a feeling she could always make another homunculus like her, but the light inside my daughter is unique. So to make it as close as possible to my little star, she needed something special to make a perfect replica.” He inhaled slowly. “A speck of my light.”

At that, his gaze flickered toward Paimon.

It took only a second before realization hit the King of the Ars Goetia.

“…The butterfly?” Paimon murmured.

“The butterfly,” Lucifer confirmed. “One that I had gifted Stolas for his practice with the monthly harvest festival in Wrath.” His voice turned sharp. “It was stolen .”

The court was silent.

“I had Paimon and his kin investigate this quietly,” Lucifer continued. “That’s why none of you would have known prior.” His eyes glimmered, searching for any signs of confusion, but everyone either nodded or remained still, listening intently.

“After the fake Charlie was killed, the butterfly returned to me.” He exhaled. “So, in a way, that part was solved.”

And yet, despite saying that, his expression remained grim.

“The disturbing part is that someone Stolas trusted was actually part of the cult.” His fingers drummed against the mattress. “And they dared to betray him—and by extension, us —by aiding in the theft of my light.” His voice dropped lower. “Keep this in mind. Because there will be a repeat of this soon.”

The air grew heavier at that warning.

But before they could begin speculating, Lucifer pressed on.

He needed to make them understand the depths of Eve’s obsession.

At last, after steadying his breath, he finally said it.

With as much numbness as he could muster, he admitted—

“Eve tried to rape me.”

The words dropped like a stone in the room.

The silence was suffocating.

Lucifer forced himself to continue. “Multiple unsuccessful attempts,” he said with a forced evenness, though his fingers clenched around Alastor’s. “Ultimately, nothing happened, but since I was still recovering, I couldn’t exactly fight back against her isolation spell.” His voice was distant now, recounting the memory with careful detachment. “In any case, long story short—I managed to get out . That’s what matters.”

His eyes flickered across the room, scanning their reactions.

No one laughed .

But pity? That was another matter entirely.

Some of the Sins averted their eyes. Some looked like they wanted to speak—but ultimately shut their mouths again.

Ozzie, the Sin of Lust , looked the most disturbed.

Lilith, on the other hand, looked seconds away from going on a murderous rampage—but she was barely holding herself together, her hands trembling against her lap.

Lucifer merely waved his hand, dismissing it all.

“I’m working on myself about it,” he said simply. His voice was even, collected, tightly controlled —but those who knew him best could hear the exhaustion buried beneath it. “I’m not saying this because I’m seeking anything from you all. Least of all your Pity. ”

His crimson eyes gleamed under the candlelight.

“I’m saying this because, despite the burning rage I felt at the moment, I might freeze up when we eventually have to face her.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tangled locks.

“I need your utmost support in dealing with her. Because my blasted vessel and mind have been rebelling against me far too many times as of late. Including today, as you can see...” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t fully trust myself for that task. While at the same time, we need her to die if we want to be freed from all of her bullshit.”

The King of Hell spoke wisely.

Not as a victim .

But as a ruler —who, despite his suffering, still put the weight of his crown above all else.

“Moving on.”

Lucifer needed them to move on. Needed to keep things from spiraling down a path of suffocating silence.

“I just spoke with Vassago Goetia earlier,” he continued, voice steady but still lacking his usual sardonic edge. “He gave me a lot of details I didn’t know before—including the timeline for Eve’s mob to flourish.” His gaze flickered around the room, ensuring they were still with him. “I’ve been connecting pieces—old evidence, new developments. And well… I think I understand why she’s only making her presence known now .”

The court remained silent, listening.

Lucifer leaned back against the headboard, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled.

“She was chained to Adam’s existence.” His eyes darkened. “A Divine Punishment of sorts.”

A ripple of tension passed through the room.

“She never fell like Lilith and I did.” His fingers drummed idly against his thigh. “Because Heaven still needed her for their grand Humanity project. So, her divine punishment is different from ours. She was bound to Adam instead—tied to him in some way.”

He could feel the shift in the air.

“That shackle is why neither her cult nor she herself made any significant moves… until recently .” His lips curled slightly. “But ever since we killed Adam, she’s been moving freely now.”

Lucifer’s gaze flickered upward, eyes inverted out of rage, the golden light in his irises shining slightly.

“And she wants nothing more than the first taste of her ultimate choice.” His voice lowered, edged with something between frustration and resignation. “She wants me as her trophy—I wish I were just gloating right now.”

A long pause.

No one spoke.

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, fingers twitching at the memory of Eve’s obsessive grip on him.

“I suspected Adam hadn’t been gentle with his wife,” he continued, his voice colder now, each word measured, deliberate. “Not even after death, nor in their so-called welcome to Heaven.” He let the weight of his statement linger, watching as the others absorbed the implications. “That’s why Eve now has quite the stash of torture devices, including—” his jaw clenched slightly “—angelic weapons. Angelic chains. Even drugs that worked on me.”

Ozzie and Bel stiffened at that while Lilith was one breath away from snapping.

Everyone understood now—Lucifer hadn’t been exaggerating. He hadn’t indulged in dramatics or twisted the truth to make the situation seem worse than it was. No, if anything, he had downplayed it.

Angels, Heavenly Armies—as brutal as they are—they still have a moral code. Twisted as it is, they are creatures of order. Not even Adam could cross the lines—they shouldn’t, unless they wanted to fall.

But rogue angels? One like Eve. One who knows the lines all too well and has found the loopholes so thoroughly that they haven’t even fallen despite ‘illegally’ owning an arsenal of weaponry, all primed for torture and fully capable of being used against the Sins… Yeah, that’s far worse than those coming straight from Heaven.

Eitherway, Lucifer didn’t acknowledge the horrified looks on his family’s faces, nor did he offer them any reassurance. His own gaze remained sharp, unwavering.

“Those things combined were strong enough to suppress my power,” he admitted, his voice quieter, almost unnervingly calm. “Though not as effective when I’m healthy and well .”

He didn’t need to say the obvious.

He wasn’t either of that right now.

Thankfully, no one spoke. No one dared ask.

“And now, well—” Lucifer sighed, his head tilting back against the headboard. “Adam’s weapon was stolen .”

A flicker of surprise passed through Lilith’s face—halting her rage a bit.

“ Stolen? ” she repeated, brow furrowing. “We had it in our possession?”

“Yes,” Lucifer confirmed, running a hand through his wild hair. “I secretly asked Carmilla Carmine to store it for me.”

Mammon let out a low whistle.

Then Lucifer added, almost offhandedly, “Then again, she became a weapon dealer upon my request a long time ago—remember that, Lily?”

Lilith’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded.

“So, yeah.” Lucifer hummed. “I thought the weapon would be safe with her.”

He flexed his fingers, rubbing his thumb idly against the sharp edge of his nail.

“It was actually meant to be used if Hell was in trouble —if I wasn’t around .” He exhaled sharply. “I personally told her that as a back up plan.”

Another heavy pause.

“But anyway, as I said,” he continued, “the thing was stolen .” His voice dropped slightly. “In the exact same fashion Stolas was betrayed .”

That made everyone stiffen.

Because that?

That was a problem .

“Sinners?” Levi furrowed his brows.

Lucifer hummed a confirmation but then added, “The one who betrayed Stolas was Hellborn, though. So, it’s not just Sinners that are the problem.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “The one Vassago found? I’ve already dealt with them. So if any demon just died or ended up paralyzed for no apparent reason a few hours ago—” he tilted his head slightly “—that was my doing.”

A visible ripple of tension spread through the room.

Satan, Ozzie, and Bee flinched. Even Belphegor, despite her constant sleepy haze, had her eyes blown wide.

“...That... so... even in our ranks?” she murmured, slow and almost disbelieving.

“Wut?” Mammon turned to the court physician, brow raised.

But the one who elaborated was Satan. His voice was lower, more calculating. “I saw at least two of my workers go down today.”

Ozzie let out a surprised breath. “Fizzy told me earlier that our secretary just dropped dead in the middle of a report. Before engulfing in fire .”

Bee’s face darkened. “Some of my partygoers too... they just froze —we didn’t know why. We sent them to Bel.”

Belphegor slowly nodded. Her usual drowsy demeanor had been steadily slipping as the conversation progressed. “…My hospitals were getting a lot of paralyzed demons before that whole blizzard problem,” she admitted.

Lucifer hummed, rolling his shoulders back as he glanced at them all. “Apologies for the inconvenience. But it’s better if they’re dead now. Or, well— after their memories are extracted, if they were important figures.” His gaze darkened slightly. “All I’m saying is—yes. They were spies. They are selling you out to, at the very least, Eve.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“I also had spies near me ,” Lucifer continued, voice steady but sharp. “Alastor and Lilith handled them. But the fact remains…” His fingers tapped against his thigh. “They were able to sneak past my detection .” His gaze swept across the room. “They’re slippery like that. So I wouldn’t trust my ring, my family, or my business with them. And yes—” his gaze landed on Mammon and Levi “—you two should check your reports too.”

Levi scowled but nodded with a grumble aimed at his incompetent crew. “I would already have, if my minions actually told me about this.”

Mammon, on the other hand, groaned. “Aw hell, man. Now I actually gotta get up and do somethin’?”

Lucifer chuckled. “Yes, Mammon. You do.”

The eldest of the Sins was about to continue when a sudden spike of pain lanced through his gut.

He doubled over , a sharp, pained whine slipping through his teeth as his hands instinctively clutched his abdomen.

It was fast —too fast.

Alastor was at his side in an instant, a steadying hand against his back. “Lucifer—”

“I’m fine,” Lucifer gritted out between shallow breaths, fingers digging into his skin as his body trembled.

“You don’t look fine,” Lilith shot back, stepping closer. Her voice was sharp with concern.

Lucifer’s breath stuttered . His free hand clutched at Alastor’s coat when he got too close, as another wave of pain tore through him, searing like wildfire.

Alastor’s brows furrowed. “Luce... cramps again?”

Lucifer didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched so tightly it might crack.

Alastor’s hand pressed more firmly against his back. “You’re cold .” His frown deepened. “Still freezing .”

Lucifer let out a slow, shaky exhale before tilting his head slightly toward them. His eyes—usually so bright —were dimmed with exhaustion. “I’ll be fine,” he mumbled. “This is... manageable .”

“Yeah, ‘cause keelin’ over mid-sentence sure as hell screams ‘manageable.’” Mammon muttered, arms crossed, but there was a rare flicker of concern in his eyes.

Ozzie exchanged glances with Beelzebub before stepping forward. “Luci.” His usual playfulness was gone, replaced by something far more serious. He, more than anyone, knew how weakened Lucifer had already been before all this. His tone carried a quiet reprimand. “Whatever’s happening, you need to stop pushing through it. At least let Bel check, won’t you?”

Belphegor’s gaze was sharper than usual. “I’m already dealing with half-frozen demons. Might as well check if you’re turning into an icicle too.”

Lucifer shot them an unimpressed chuckle with a sigh but—importantly—didn’t protest. The expectation in their eyes. The way they weren’t pushing him, but still waiting, still hoping he would accept the help being offered. 

“…Fine,” he muttered at last. Truthfully, he mostly hated how potent their worry was, filling his sense of smell. But to the others, his lack of resistance was even more concerning.

Not knowing what the others were thinking, Lucifer gave the faintest shrug.

“I doubt she will find anything I haven’t already, but sure. Go on, Bel.”

Belphegor sighed, stretching her arms before stepping to his side, where Lilith was. “Finally.”

Her hand hovered above his torso, while her other hand to his wrist, magic creeping through his veins like frost. “Don’t bite me, sire. You know this would sting.”

Lucifer let out a quiet chuckle, his body still trembling faintly. “This is nothing compared to my… other issues,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly. “But let’s see if you can figure that out too. Might save me the breath of explaining.”

But Belphegor did not respond—she was silent .

Too absorbed in her search to comment.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, eyes closed, forcing himself to relax as much as possible while she worked. He could feel her magic crawling through his body, searching, analyzing, trying to understand .

And yet, when she finally pulled back, her voice was not filled with the usual hint of annoyance.

It was horrified .

“...Why’s your light so small, babbo…?”

A slow, knowing smile curled at the corners of Lucifer’s lips. "I knew you'd find it."

“What?” Lilith turned to Lucifer before snapping her head toward Bel. “What do you mean his light is small—?”

Bel grimly clarified, “His Core… is at least 30% smaller than the last time I checked.”

“Lucifer!” Lilith looked horrified. “What is she talking about…???”

The Devil sighed, pausing for a moment before admitting, “Yeah, so… it seems like I’ve been… giving too much of myself to Hell? I mean… um… to keep things running, and uh, tackling those voidlings, rebuilding the border, and basically keeping Hell’s system alive?” He let out a clipped chuckle. “The consequences of that were... well. I’m at the point where I can’t regenerate normally anymore.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Lucifer exhaled, shoulders tense. “That’s why Hell’s torment is now distributed among our people rather than being carried solely by me. This is why.” He waved a lazy hand, as if the concept were as casual as the weather. “And, ahem, apparently… dying might be possible for me now too—”

A sharp inhale.

“W-What in all Hell are you talking about?” Lilith’s voice was pale—ashen.

He winced.

His children too… they all looked stupefied.

Lucifer averted his gaze, debating whether to continue. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe he should’ve kept that burden to himself, as he always had.

But Alastor did not give him that option.

“Because of this very matter, Lucifer actually almost died once.”

“Alastor!” Lucifer’s head snapped to him. A sharp glare shot in his direction.

But the Overlord? He didn’t care.

He was not going to let Lucifer’s ego or fear stop this conversation.

The demon continued, voice steady and matter-of-fact. “And recently , even. Charlie returned from her trip and saved him from the brink, but he’s still not recovering properly. He needs supplies to enrich himself.” He huffed. “Though apparently, he’s still capable of smiting us just fine.”

A dozen skeptical gazes turned back to Lucifer.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“At the moment, I can fight Adam and Eve’s level,” he admitted. “I’d lose to any of my siblings. Probably a narrow match against a Seraphim.” He gestured vaguely. “But yes. I can still handle Hell just fi—”

Pain.

A sudden, sharp strike tore through his abdomen.

His body seized, breath hitching as he flinched violently, hands clutching at his stomach.

“Luce,” Alastor called out, trying to stop him from digging his claws in—even if that might be the only relief the Devil could find, to counter pain with another pain.

It took a moment for him to breathe through it.

Only when the wave subsided did Lucifer manage to speak .

“As for this …” His voice was rough, strained. “…Not sure what happened. Nausea started yesterday. Sharp pains today.” He exhaled. “But I can’t, for the life of me, exactly figure out what’s wrong.”

Belphegor’s hands hovered over him again after that report, her magic flaring—deeper, searching .

The Sin of Sloth stared at him as she discovered something else.

"Ah, this might be the cause—"

Lucifer blinked, baffled that Bel had managed to notice something he didn't. “Wait—you actually found something?”

“Yes.” Bel sounded confident despite her grim tone. At least it wasn’t as bad as the revelation about Lucifer’s light. “Your uterus is swollen.”

A beat of silence.

"Wait, what ?" Beelzebub blinked. 

"Y-Y-You have a—w-w-w-what??" Paimon practically squawked

"Ya have a cunt ?!?" Mammon snorted a loud laughter already.

"...You're a woman ??" Ozzie gasped in pure, baffled confusion.

Lucifer couldn't help it. A soft, amused laugh slipped past his lips. Right . His four youngest had no idea.

"First of all, having a uterus doesn’t necessarily mean I need to have female genitalia—but yes, I do have that too. Though, technically, I'm genderless," he corrected with a small shrug. "I have everything —hence, my shapeshifting. But anyway, ahem, about that —"

He suddenly looked away , his usual regal composure cracking.

And this time… he wasn’t annoyed .

He was flustered .

"So, um…" Lucifer cleared his throat, his gaze flickering anywhere but at them. "That part wasn’t… um… not surprising. Cuz, uh—"

His red eyes shyly darted to Alastor.

The Radio Demon sighed.

With a long-suffering expression, he took over. "It’s likely because Lucifer was helping with my… seasonal animal trait ," he explained, voice perfectly even. Then, with a slow glance toward Lucifer, he added, "Or at least, that’s what he's implying I should be telling you?"

A beat .

Then—

Mammon howled with laughter. "OHHH! So that's why ya were laid up fer a whole damn week?!? HA! You got dicked do—"

His laughter was cut short when a small spark of magic zapped his forehead.

Mammon yelped, rubbing the spot with a scowl. "Oi!"

Lucifer, still blushing, gave him a pointed look. " Behave, brat. "

He knew he’d get teased about this. Obviously. But he pushed through.

“The only reason I’m sharing this is because, one, you mentioned it like it’s bad, and, uh, I’m just saying that the swelling itself is not… not normal. And two, I need a better answer than what I know you’re about to say soon…” he mumbled his admission, still avoiding their gazes before he cleared his throat, his voice a bit louder next. 

“It’s been swollen since then, yes . But there was no pain. And, most importantly, I can store that organ away for a couple of days. All is typical, within my calculations—with my current healing speed, a couple more days would be needed,” he huffed.

“I’m not worried, until —suddenly, it started acting up this morning. The cramping… and it hurts worse when I ‘store it away.’ So yeah, it’s been there for most of the time,” he exhaled sharply, still not quite able to piece it together. “I still can’t find the reason why it’s been a bitch though.”

"You didn’t know the cause of both the nausea and cramping?" Bel asked, brows furrowed.

"The root cause? No."

“Is the pain caused your nausea?”

Lucifer groaned a miserable, “Not necessarily,” An uncomfortable shift, before he then continued, “Taste, smell—though at the top of the chart was likely my stress causing one or both. I feel like it’s definitely the trigger, but the underlying issue is not yet found.” 

He grumbled, “I found nothing ‘foreign’ inside me. Nothing that wasn’t meant to be there at least, my own magic detected nothing ; no blight in sight, No threat—but… I suppose, I have a LOT of confusing body parts. So, I might miss some stuff.”

And yes, Belphegor does know about this, being Lucifer’s personal doctor for eons. She probably knows even better than Lilith and Alastor. She was the one who knew Lucifer’s various anatomies the most—probably second only to Lucifer himself or the archangels.

Well, either way, while Bel is busy trying to continue with the examination, the room filled with teasing amusement.

Satan, still smirking, was the first to poke fun. " Maybe this time you're actually taken, hmm~? Are we having another Heir for Hell?" He chuckled. "I mean, Roo definitely complained about cramps and a bit of bleeding at the start of her conception."

" Ew , too much info, old man," Bee crinkled her snout in disgust.

Satan just rolled his eyes.

Lucifer, however, simply shook his head. "Not possible," he said firmly. "I can’t conceive."

Levi arched a brow, eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, yes , I remember this same talk a long time ago when The Queen was at a verrryyyy early stage of pregnancy with the Crown Princess—"

He was referring to how Lucifer had dismissed the idea because, well, Lilith is a sinner, and sinners are cursed to be unable to have children in any way. This had made Charlie a literal miracle baby, not only for the royal couple but for Hell too.

Ozzie chuckled, leaning back slightly. "One miracle already happened, Luci. Maybe instead of denying it outright, we should start seeing this as a sign ?"

The playful atmosphere remained—for a moment.

But this time, Lucifer didn’t respond in kind.

He just… looked away .

And the expression on his face wasn’t irritation, or embarrassment, or even exasperation. It was sadness .

A deep, quiet kind of sorrow.

Finally, his voice came, low and final.

"Look. I’m telling you right now, unlike Lilith, I could NOT conceive," he repeated, softer. " So just drop it. "

Mammon opened his mouth, clearly about to not drop it—but he never got the chance.

Because it was Lilith who suddenly snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"҉D҉r҉o҉p҉ ҉i҉t҉.҉"҉

Satan, Levi, Ozzie—hell, even Mammon —all went quiet.

At first, even Lilith had wanted to tease Lucifer. But then, she remembered .

A secret. One of the very few secrets that Lucifer had ever confided in her. One that only she and Alastor knew. The cruel, sickening truth of what Sera had done to Lucifer.

The reason why he couldn’t carry a child.

Because the organ needed to do so had been damaged beyond repair. And judging by the way Lucifer sat there, his hands curled tight into his lap, his shoulders rigid—

He wished that was the answer.

He wanted to believe that was still the reason.

But deep down…

He had already accepted that it wasn’t .

And now, all he wanted —was the real answer.

Yet, much to Lucifer’s dismay, Paimon asked after all. But with worry thick in his tone, Lucifer couldn’t just shrug it off like the usual teasing.

“But… I mean… how are you so sure it’s impossible? Didn’t you once tell me that angels could, in fact, have children with demons? More successfully than with humans, if anything? Maybe… Alastor counts more as a demon, since he carries power from Leviathan’s household.”

Yes, Lucifer had told Paimon this a long time ago, during one of their morbid curiosities. It had started with Paimon, ever the little birdie, wondering about the demons they had raised—including himself. What would happen to them if Lucifer and Lilith ever had children of their own?
Would their parents abandon them? Would they all part ways once they were old enough?

That was when Lucifer assured him there was no need to worry—he would never leave them behind. It was also then that he explained it was not possible with Lilith. It was possible if he were to copulate with Hellborns, which would result in several wicked beings, but he would never betray Lilith like that. That was the day Lucifer told Paimon he would forever be his youngest.

Until, well… Charlie’s existence had shocked them all.

But hey, that was an old tale, and the fact remained—no, he couldn’t get pregnant, even if Alastor was capable of impregnating him.

Lucifer let out a harsh sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he steeled himself. He had already ripped off most of his bandages today, exposing wounds and traumas he rarely spoke of. 

What was one more? 

He could deal with the anxiety later—when he was lucid enough to process it.

His voice was even. Detached. No bitterness. Just fact.

“Like I said. It is not possible with me. After all, my Divine Punishment included a blade impaled straight through my stomach—to ensure I’d never create mini Charlies.”

A tense silence settled over the room, but Lucifer continued before anyone could react.

“No human can survive an angel impregnating them. They’d die from their weak constitution. That’s why Heaven only punished one side—they wanted to make sure no human could do it to me. I’m half sure they were also betting on my loyalty to Lilith, assuming I’d never do it with Hellborns. Or perhaps they thought I’d be far too prideful to lower myself and mingle with what they love to call ‘lesser beings.’”

His eyes flickered, but his voice never wavered.

“In any case, I’m not about to explain why Charlie worked between me and Lilith, but she almost died at birth as well. I had to use half of my own light just to coax her to life. Children from me are a near impossibility, but specifically, it is impossible for me to carry. That is the bottom line.”

Lucifer shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t casually revealing to his court that he had, in fact, been less powerful than the ‘babbo’ they once knew—for centuries. Like he hadn’t just downplayed yet another trauma in his life.

“That is, in fact, the hard bottom line. And honestly? Maybe that’s for the best, because we have enough shit to deal with right now.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his annoyance finally slipping through. “But the big question remains—” His eyes darkened. “What the fuck is happening to me? Who the hell knows? Maybe only my own damned Father.”

He sighed but finally admitted, “Unfortunately, from this point onward, it might not be sustainable to rely solely on me for either defense or offense. Better keep that in mind for future planning—and, well, to hold me accountable, I suppose, until further notice. After all, I am still seeking a permanent solution to that matter.”

The weight of his words pressed against the room like a suffocating fog, but Lucifer didn’t let it linger. With a sharp shake of his head, he rerouted the conversation.

“ Anyhow , that’s enough of my personal situation. Back to the Heavenly chaos looming over our heads.” His tone was clipped, making it very clear that no one was allowed to argue. “Tomorrow, they’ll likely accuse me of getting involved with Eve and everything happening on Earth. Like I mentioned before, I was fighting Azrael—Heaven knows I was on Earth doing some unknown bidding. And, it was on the same day when Galim and the new Heavenly general struck our home and that damned clone arrived in Hell. The timing couldn’t be any more suspicious.”

Even he would find that not so much of a coincidence had he not known better.

“And while I am technically somewhat connected to this ‘rogue Angel’ that Heaven will tell you about tomorrow—the one I’m naming now as Eve—I am not a collaborator in any of her schemes.” He exhaled sharply, eyes flashing. “At most, I’m the catalyst that made those bastards twist themselves into knots.”

His gaze hardened. “I don’t know what Heaven or Eve truly want. Neither side would care about our demise, but I’ll be damned before I let Hell burn in their crossfire.”

Bee raised a brow. “Wait— even your crazy ex ?”

Lucifer’s lips pressed into a thin, humorless line. “She wants to keep me—to play house and fulfill her every fantasy. She couldn’t care less if Hell froze over, even when I insisted I needed to return home—when I tried to fiddle with her sympathy.” He scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “She’d hurt me now. She’d do anything to keep me with her—even nearly cut my wings.”

His molten gaze burned with something unreadable.

“If she had to burn Hell to the ground just so I had nowhere else to call home but her own place?” He let out a cold, humorless chuckle.

“She abso-fucking-lutely would.”

A beat of silence.

Bee nodded once. “…Noted.”

Satan crossed his arms, his expression sharp. “Well? What’s our plan for that?” His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable edge of urgency. “Are we gearing up? Because it looks like war is inevitable.”

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge between his fingers as he waded through the countless strategies already running through his mind. “We are gearing up, but keeping it on the down low.” His golden eyes flickered open, sharp with calculation. “Tomorrow’s meeting will determine our next course of action, but regardless of what happens, we will not be left susceptible.”

His lips pressed into a thin line before he reluctantly admitted, “Though, unfortunately… we already are .” His gaze dropped for a brief moment, hand brushing his stomach as though reminded of his own condition. “With me in this state, we are vulnerable.” He huffed, shaking his head before continuing, “But that aside—Satan, Lilith, I’m entrusting you both to keep our forces ready. Armed, informed—but unseen. We can’t risk exposing our preparations too early.”

The two demons exchanged a look before nodding firmly.

“Levi, Mammon.” Lucifer turned his attention to them, his expression unreadable. “I need you two to calculate the economic impact if Pride Ring goes into lockdown, isolating the rest of the Rings. I want numbers, trade losses, supply disruptions—everything.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Levi bowed slightly, already considering the logistics in his mind.

Mammon groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, ya know I hate doin’ paperwork—”

Lucifer arched a brow.

Mammon sighed, running a hand down his face. “…Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Lucifer smirked faintly before shifting his attention again. “Ozzie.”

The Sin of Lust perked up at the mention of his name.

“I need you to ensure that, while Pride is in lockdown, the rest of the Rings remain… occupied .” Lucifer’s tone was deliberate. “No riots. No significant unrest. Work with some of Mammon’s people to divert attention.”

Ozzie tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, considering. “Got it. But—is it alright if Fizzy helps with the planning?”

Lucifer’s expression softened, amused. “Honestly, I was worried you wouldn’t let him get involved. Please do.” Then, his gaze turned sharp again. “However, this information is to remain strictly confidential. If he can’t keep it secret—don’t tell him.” His tone darkened, golden eyes gleaming with an unspoken warning. “I’d rather not be put in the position of eliminating him for it.”

Ozzie felt a chill run down his spine, realizing that Lucifer wasn’t joking.

“…I trust him,” he said carefully. “And you can too.”

Lucifer didn’t reply—he only smiled. But his silence said enough.

His gaze swept across the room. “Bee.”

“Mm?” Beelzebub leaned forward slightly.

“You’re in charge of overseeing food distribution between the Rings. Pride needs to become self-sustainable for the time being—but the last thing we need is the other Rings falling into chaos because they suddenly have an abundance of supplies. Keep things balanced.”

Bee gave a lazy salute. “Gotcha, boss.”

Lucifer gave a satisfied nod before shifting to the next task. “Now, as for transportation—until the lockdown is lifted, other than us, present in this room, only Emily will be allowed to travel between Rings. Specifically to Wrath, to continue the moon-ritual.” His gaze then landed on Paimon.

The younger demon straightened instantly. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Tell Stolas he is to reside in Wrath until further notice. I better not hear of your kin fighting amongst themselves in this fragile time.” Lucifer’s tone was firm. “Any disputes, you handle them accordingly. Can I trust you with that, owlet?”

Paimon blinked. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to preen at the nickname, but to his credit, he remained composed. “Yes, sir.”

Lucifer exhaled, finally turning to Belphegor.

He hesitated.

For a brief second, he wondered if this was necessary . But ultimately, he decided—yes, it was.

“Bel…” He chewed the inside of his cheek before finally sighing. “Be on standby. If I need you, I need you immediately . Prepare teleportation scrolls—portals, anything that ensures I don’t have to wait an hour for your assistance.”

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Admitting he needed help.

But pride wouldn’t save them. And Lucifer had learned, time and time again, that stubbornness only made the fall hurt worse.

Belphegor tilted her head slightly, considering his words. “…Should I take up my old room again?” she asked.

Lucifer shook his head. “No. We’re keeping things quiet . You can’t leave your realm suspiciously.” Then, his lips quirked slightly. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure Alastor has more sense than I do in that regard. Heed his call. ”

Belphegor nodded, while Alastor scoffed.

“Good,” the Overlord drawled, crossing his arms. “I almost rioted if you tried to be stubborn about this.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound low and tired. “Well, I can’t go around angering my caretaker too much now, can I?” He smirked, crimson eyes flickering mischievously. “Who knows? I might be denied cuddles~”

Alastor only huffed.

“Anyway, Bel?” Lucifer asked, voice steady but laced with exhaustion. “Found anything else?”

Bel hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly before she sighed. “No.” She sounded reluctant, but she knew when to stop. “I didn’t find anything else.”

“Then drop it,” Lucifer murmured, exhaling slowly. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “Your power is starting to make me nauseous.”

Bel pulled back immediately, magic retreating like a tide ebbing from the shore. The second her energy fully left him, Lucifer let out a slow breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing—though not by much.

A beat passed in silence before he spoke again.

“Well,” he mused, lifting a hand to count off with his fingers. “That’s about all I can—and will —share. Let’s see…” He tapped each finger as he listed them off. “Updates on my constitution, Adam and Eve, the Cult, Heaven’s little disaster, our next step…” He nodded to himself, lowering his hand. “I suppose that’s everything.”

Then, with the ease of a man who was far too used to bearing the weight of his own secrets, Lucifer smiled. A sharp, knowing thing. His eyes gleamed, magic curling subtly around them as he leaned forward.

Lucifer’s crimson eyes flickered with cold authority. “Now,” he repeated, his voice softer this time but no less dangerous, “I want each of you to swear upon your name, your crown, and even your very core that nothing I’ve said here today will be shared or used against me. Voluntarily or not.”

Still, silence.

It wasn’t defiance, not entirely—more like a collective hesitation.

Swearing on their names was one thing. Their crowns? A heavier price. But their very core ? That was binding on a level few had ever dared to consider. It was an unbreakable vow, one that would weave into their very existence, caging them in a promise that could not be undone.

It was too much.

Satan’s brows furrowed, his arms crossing over his chest in quiet resistance. Levi shifted uncomfortably, his tail flicking in agitation. Even Lilith—who had once sworn herself to Heaven and broken that oath for the sake of love—seemed reluctant to tie herself down so completely once more.

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, unamused. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like I want to do this either.”

A crackle of energy sparked around them as his magic flared to life, threading through the air like invisible chains. His presence alone commanded obedience, but this… this was something else. This was control.

Before anyone could protest, the spell slithered between them, weaving its silent bind around their very beings. Even Alastor and Lilith weren’t spared.

Lucifer smirked, sharp and humorless. “And just to be sure… if you so much as think of betraying me—willingly or otherwise—then the memory of everything I’ve said today will lock itself away.”

Mammon groaned, rolling his eyes as he waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Ugh, tacky as hell, Babbo.”

Lucifer arched a brow. “Yes,” he replied smoothly. “Because I am paranoid.”

“Ain’t me who said that.”

“No,” The King agreed, eyes glinting. “But you thought it.”

Mammon clicked his tongue, muttering curses under his breath.

Lucifer, however, remained utterly unbothered. “I don’t care if I’m accused of being paranoid,” he stated, voice clipped and matter-of-fact. “Because I am. My castle has no staff, and I don’t exactly have minions for the very same reason. If you still haven’t connected those dots, I’d be astonished. ”

His fingers tapped against his lap, his expression unreadable. “Everything I’ve spilled today has hundreds—thousands of ways it could backfire on me. And not just on me—on Hell . On all of you.”

Another heavy silence stretched between them.

Satan let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw tight. “Isn’t this overboard, though?”

Lucifer’s gaze snapped to him, cool and calculating.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But it’s necessary. ”

Another pause.

They still didn’t like it. But the reality was undeniable.

What he revealed today was dangerous—lethal, in the wrong hands. If even one of them buckled under pressure, if a single spy had slipped through the cracks, if their enemies dug just a little too deep…

It could cost them everything.

And Lucifer had given them far too many reasons in the past to know that his paranoia was never unfounded.

This time was no different. One weak link could shatter them all—so, one by one, they swore.

Even Lilith. Even Alastor.

Lucifer watched as each of them bound themselves to an unbreakable oath. The tension in his shoulders lingered, rigid and unyielding, but as the final vow was sealed, some of that iron-clad weight loosened at last.

For once…

For once, he hadn’t needed to fight them on this.

"Thank you, everyone," he murmured, exhaling slow and heavy as the weight of the sealed oath settled over him. His vision blurred at the edges, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. With a final, weary breath, he leaned back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut—until, at last, the oath drained him into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lucifer registered upon waking was warmth.

Not the suffocating, feverish kind that often plagued him these days, but something soft , something light , like the sun filtering through old, red curtains. The scent of something sweet lingered in the air, but it was faint, elusive, as if it didn’t belong.

For once, his body wasn’t wracked with pain the moment he stirred. The sheets felt different too—lighter, smoother—no, not his usual silk. A detail that should have struck him as odd, but in the slow haze of waking, it barely registered.

Then something landed on him.

Hard.

A sharp jolt of pressure slammed against his stomach, and for a split second, he thought it was just the usual damned cramps tearing through his body again—until a voice cut through the quiet.

“Daddy!!”

A child’s voice.

Lucifer’s breath hitched. His instincts screamed at him, snapping him out of his sluggish state as his body tensed, fingers twitching to summon magic— what—who—

"Lucile Mowningstaw! You'we being wude! Be nicew to Daddy! He's not feeling well!" Another voice piped up, equally young, equally reprimanding.

His vision was still adjusting, the dim glow of the room not nearly enough to make sense of what was happening. But through the shadows, two gleaming crimson eyes stared back at him, wide and filled with mischief.

Lucifer moved.

With a flicker of energy, he teleported a few feet away from the bed, his back hitting the cool surface of a nearby dresser. His magic coiled around him, defensive, ready to strike—but he hesitated.

Two sets of eyes blinked at him from the bed.

"Huh? Wha—?" The girl looked around in confusion, her fluffy ears twitching.

Then, from the shadows, an all-too-familiar voice purred, thick with amusement.

"My my, seems like you spooked your poor dad, Stardust~"

That voice. That gratingly smug voice.

"Al?"

A low chuckle. "Yes, mon ange?" The figure answered smoothly, stepping forward to flick on a lamp.

A warm golden glow washed over the room, chasing away the dark. Lucifer’s pupils contracted at the sudden change in light, and for the first time, he saw them.

Two children.

A boy and a girl, golden-haired, white-skinned, deer-eared and tiny snout —what?—with red circles on their cheeks and brilliant red eyes that mirrored his own.

‘What the actual fuck?’

They looked about two, or maybe three, standing side by side, their expressions bouncing between excitement and uncertainty. They had his eyes, his eyes, but the rest of their features were touched with something eerily familiar .

His stomach twisted.

"Bweakfast in bed, Dad!" The boy declared, puffing out his chest as he grabbed his sister’s hand. "We made them fow you!"

"Yeah, yeah! Papa said they'd make you heals fastew! We made good food!" The girl beamed.

Lucifer barely heard them.

His mind raced.

These children— his children? 

Were they real? Another failed homunculus? 

‘Like fake Charlie?’

An illusion? A trick? And why— why did they have deer features?

His gaze snapped to Alastor, who stood with arms crossed, watching him with a bemused expression. He wasn’t alarmed. Why wasn’t he alarmed?

"You okay there? Been frozen for a bit," Alastor mused, tilting his head. "Nightmare had you, mon diable?"

Lucifer swallowed. His throat was dry.

“…Yeah. Um. Nightmares. I suppose.” He kept his answer clipped, carefully neutral. He didn’t know if this was a trap, some spell warping his mind—but if it was, the last thing he wanted was to give himself away.

His thoughts were interrupted when the little girl—Lucille? Wait, wasn’t that the name he had planned to give if Charlie and Vaggie ever had a child? But… these little ones called him ‘Dad,’ not ‘Grandpa’—anyway, the girl broke away from her brother and padded over to him.

“Ish okay, Daddy!” she chirped, throwing her arms up. 

“Good food will heals everything!” The boy nodded eagerly, his tiny ears flopping around as if it was mere accessories, “Isn’t that what Gwandma says, Papa?”

“Correct, Starlight~” Alastor hummed approvingly. “Now, Stardust, won’t you help your Daddy get back to bed?”

“On it!” The girl clapped her hands together, and suddenly, shadows bloomed from beneath her, tendrils coiling toward Lucifer, trying to lift him—

Lucifer tensed, nearly shoving them away with a pulse of his own magic, but before he could act, the boy gasped, “No wowwy, Sissy! I’ll help!”

The room shimmered again as a copy of his power manifested—well, not exactly, but close. Black butterflies, fluttering in eerie synchronization, reinforcing the tendrils as they gently carried him back to the bed he had just escaped.

“Um.” Lucifer blinked as he was unceremoniously deposited onto the mattress. “…Thank you?”

The children beamed.

“Yayyy! We did it!”

“High five!!”

Lucifer exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. His head pounded with questions, but no answers came.

Alastor chuckled as he set a tray on the nightstand before flicking his fingers, sending his own shadows to scoop the children onto his lap. A small, floating wisp— Whispie —drifted toward Lucifer, cradling a spoon of something warm in its hazy glow.

Lucifer barely registered it.

The second Alastor ’s fingers brushed against his wrist, however, he recoiled.

Scalding. Too hot.

“Still freezing, my dear. This is not good.” Alastor tsked, dissatisfied. “Charlie will definitely fret when she arrives.”

Lucifer’s breath hitched. His eyes sharpened.

“…Charlie?”

Alastor’s smile turned almost apologetic. “Ah, yes. She’s visiting today.”

The demon’s tone was casual, but something felt off—like a note played just slightly out of tune.

“I didn’t tell her, as you wished. But, well—” Alastor continued, feigning innocence as he peered down to the two on his lap, “these little gremlins were quite the snitches on their own~”

The children giggled, clearly pleased with themselves.

“Big Sis needs to come! Daddy missed hew, she must come!”

The boy nodded eagerly. “Aunty Lily too! Will come with Ale, Lue, Sistew ‘milia, and Sistew Baggy”

Lucifer’s mind lurched.

“…Vaggie?”

“ Baggy! ” the twins corrected in unison.

Alastor laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Working on that. Anyway, how are you feeling, mon cher? Still awful?”

Lucifer hummed as Whispie hovered closer, nudging the spoon insistently toward his lips.

“…Yes?”

He felt bad, but not in the way he had expected. There was exhaustion, a faint lingering ache, but beyond that—

Confusion.

Something wasn’t right.

And yet, as Whispie gently pressed the spoon against his mouth, as the children snuggled up to Alastor’s warmth, as the room flickered with soft golden light—

The harder he tried to grasp the wrongness of it all, the further it slipped away.

Lucifer let himself taking a spoonful from Whispie , letting the warmth spread across his tongue. It was sweet, but… strange. Too smooth. Too perfect.

Like a memory polished at the edges, too clean to be real.

The children were still giggling, their laughter light and airy—but for some reason, it sounded farther away now, as if carried off by a breeze that wasn’t there.

Alastor’s voice, too, grew softer. “ Hey, mon amour? Are you—... kay?”

Lucifer blinked.

The glow of the lamp dimmed, edges blurring, like candlelight gasping before its final flicker.

His stomach twisted—not from sickness this time, but from something more obscure, something wrongly shifty .

The weight of the blanket felt thinner. The warmth of Alastor and the children, distant.

He looked down.

The shadows carrying him back to bed weren’t there anymore.

Whispie hovered, flickering like a dying ember—then, without sound, it was gone .

Lucifer’s breath hitched. The silhouettes of his children blurred at the edges, as if they were being painted over with black ink.

" —dy? " The boy’s voice quivered, distorted.

"Wha —...ong? " The girl reached for him, but her fingers dissolved into mist before they could touch.

Lucifer’s heart pounded.

“No—”

Everything collapsed into darkness.

Then—

A cold draft ghosted over his skin.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering open. The ceiling of his real bedroom stared back at him—dim, colorless, steeped in the quiet gloom of reality.

No golden-haired children. No warm breakfast tray. 

Just… Whispie ?

And the dull ache in his body, the stale air of his empty room, and the faintest trace of something missing—like a lingering warmth in a bed that had been empty for centuries.

 Lucifer exhaled shakily, rubbing his face with a trembling hand.

A dream?

Of course, it was.

But why did it feel like something more?

[Are you okay?] Whispie signed, cautious, hesitant—probably because of last time.

Lucifer barely acknowledged it, his own hands feeling too unsteady. [Nausea,] he signed back. Then, before Whispie could fuss over him—[Bathroom. Don’t follow. No report. Or else.]

Whispie hesitated, flickering uncertainly, but didn’t protest.

Lucifer dragged himself into the bathroom, his limbs leaden, his stomach twisting—but not with sickness. No, this was something else. Something worse.

Standing before the sink, he turned on the faucet and splashed his face with ice-cold water. He didn’t care that it made him shiver—he needed to wake up.

Because that dream—

His breath hitched.

No. It can’t be…

But was this denial another denial on his part?

After all… The last time he had dreamed like this—so vividly, so impossibly real—Lilith had screamed him awake. Because back then, she had just found out she was pregnant. And Lucifer had seen a baby girl in his dream, golden-haired, red-eyed, porcelain-white skin, red circles on her cheeks, clutching two little goat-dragon dolls.

Later, that baby girl was named Charlie Morningstar.

Their beloved Starfire. 

He had never dreamed of children again after that. Not once.

Until now.

And twins ? Stardust and Starlight—the dream-Alastor had called them. One even already has a name.

Lucifer gripped the edges of the sink, his claws cracking the porcelain already. He didn’t dare look up at his reflection yet. His mind was racing, unraveling.

I mean, it can’t be, right?

His body was ruined —his uterus was damaged beyond repair. He was sure of it.

But then—

His eyes flicked down. His stomach.

It was more swollen than yesterday.

No—no, that wasn’t—wasn’t it? Maybe he was just bloated. Maybe—

“...Am I?”

The word fell from his lips, hollow and uncertain.

His breathing stuttered. ‘ How long has it been since Bel checked on me? ’

Has it even been just a few hours? He had no concept of time anymore.

Desperation clawed at his chest. He willed his magic to check himself, to tell him what was wrong.

Nothing echoed back.

Nothing his body considered “wrong.”

His uterus—still puffy. Still damaged . Still empty.

So—so no. No way. Obviously no.

…right?

Then why was his hand trembling as he reached for the scale?

Lucifer stared at the numbers.

111.1 lbs.

His entire body went rigid.

No.

It had always been 111.0. Never more, never less. No matter his form, no matter how much blood he lost, how much power he burned, it never changed.

Yet here it was.

Higher. By a fraction—by something so small it should have been meaningless.

But it wasn’t.

Lucifer forced out a laugh, brittle and humorless. “It must be broken.”

But his reflection didn’t laugh with him.

His own face stared back at him, pale and drawn. His cheeks—puffier. Redder.

His skin—dry.

His perfect skin. Dry.

Lucifer swallowed hard, dragging a clawed hand down his face. This is his default form. So, these changes were not his shapeshifting.

Something was wrong.

Something was definitely wrong.

His body felt alien. Unfamiliar. As if it had changed in the span of mere hours—no, had it even been just hours?!

His pulse roared in his ears. The walls of the bathroom felt too tight, the air too thick.

‘Relax. Calm down. This isn’t possible.’

It isn’t possible.

Then why did it feel like it was?

His breath came faster, shallower. His fingers twitched at his sides. No. No, no, no, no, NO—

He needed confirmation. He needed to know .

Lucifer didn’t even think before calling Collin. Just a simple task. Just a bit of shopping, so he can… check .

Just to make sure.

While waiting, however, he sank to the bathroom floor, staring numbly ahead. He focused on practicing his breathing, forcing himself to stay grounded while mercilessly crushing any flicker of hope—because he was NOT going to let himself hope for something impossible.

It was fine. This was fine.

It had to be.

Lucifer stepped into the dining room, his usual composed air barely holding together as he forced a small, polite smile. He was pale—perhaps a little too pale—but he had always been good at performance, hadn’t he?

The moment he entered, Emily blinked in surprise, her fork pausing mid-air. “Dad? You’re here!”

Alastor had told them he likely wouldn’t be joining breakfast today. And yet—here he was.

Lucifer gave a small, dismissive wave as he made his way to his seat. “Yeah, I know, I know. Whispie told me what Al said to you guys—I think he wanted me to sleep in,” he snickered, his voice light, as if sheer nonchalance could mask his everything completely. 

“But I’m awake now, so~” He lifted a hand in an easy shrug, as if to say: Well, it is what it is.

That was all the explanation he gave before settling into his usual place at the table. He picked up his utensils, deliberately slow, deliberately calm.

No panic. No overthinking. Just breakfast.

Niffty, ever the eager host, quickly set a plate in front of him—a beautifully arranged omelet roll-up.

Lucifer blinked.

“No pancakes?” he asked.

Niffty tilted her head, confused. “You want pancakes?”

Lucifer barely had time to respond before she turned to Alastor—the obvious culprit behind her change in routine, the one who had told her not to make the very breakfast menu she’d long since grown accustomed to preparing for him.

The deer demon merely arched a brow back at Lucifer.

Lucifer chuckled. “No, actually. Savory is nice.” He was relieved that, for once, he didn’t have to battle his nausea just to keep up appearances. As usual, his partner was ever attentive.

His voice softened slightly. “Thanks, little one.”

That seemed to satisfy Niffty, who beamed at the praise before scurrying back to her own meal, happily indulging in a rather large spread for someone so tiny.

Lucifer hummed, staring at his breakfast for a moment, willing his appetite to catch up as his fingers tightened just a little too much around his fork. Then, with deliberate ease, he finally dug in.

He was keenly aware of the occasional glances from both Alastor and Lilith, their eyes flicking toward him between bites—checking in, observing.

He ignored them.

He had to finish breakfast. He wanted to finish breakfast. He had control over this, over himself. He would eat, make it through the meal, and then— then —he would talk to Alastor.

But first—he needed to get through this.

So he focused on his food, on the idle conversations, on anything that wasn’t the storm in his head.

And it was going well—until, of course, Angel Dust opened his mouth.

That pink demon leaned forward, chin resting in one hand, the other idly swirling his coffee. He watched Lucifer with the slow, lazy curiosity of a cat toying with a particularly fragile mouse.

"So, Big Daddy —"

Lucifer’s fork paused for only a fraction of a second—a barely perceptible hesitation.

Because of course Angel would say that.

That word— Daddy .

For a brief, fleeting moment, the echo of a dream he shouldn’t even remember flickered behind his eyes.

Little hands grabbing onto him. Voices chirping innocently in contrast, “Daddy!” A name he hadn’t even processed—Lucille. The feeling of tiny shadows wrapping around him, trying to lift him back into bed.

A weight in his chest, heavier than anything Hell had ever thrown at him.

Lucifer swallowed it down. Quickly.

Thankfully, his nervousness was perceived differently by Angel, who was now grinning from ear to ear, clearly itching to pounce on whatever ‘delightful’ thing he’d conjured up to tease him about.

“I'm almost afraid, but—yes, Angel?”

Angel crooned, his tone almost sadistic in the devil’s eyes as he drawled, “—You doin’ okay over there?”

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a light chuckle—light, practiced, nothing out of place. “If you’re asking because of yesterday morning, well, that’s probably karma,” he said, lips curling in amusement. “I really shouldn’t be eating my own denizens, no matter how tasty they are. But well, I suppose it’s good to know that I’m somewhat ‘allergic’, right~? No more mass panic on that.”

It was a joke—an easy one, and thankfully, Angel took the bait, bursting into laughter.

“Right, that too. But sweet child , I’m not talking about that. I wanna know about something else~”

“Damn—” Lucifer snorted before a genuine chuckle slips out, the first real one of the morning. “—Whatever it is, it must be good if you’re calling me that.”

“Oh, you bet your ass it is.”

“Ha!” The Devil scoffed, flashing a sharp grin. “Let’s not bet my ass in front of its owner, ‘kay~?”

Angel and his little peanut gallery—self-proclaimed RadioApple shippers, thanks to Emberlynn’s phenomenal naming sense—cackled at that, while Alastor shot Lucifer a flat, disapproving look. Lucifer, ever the menace, simply stuck his forked tongue out at him.

It’s not like Alastor hasn’t joked about worse before.

“Anyway,” Lucifer sighed, stabbing another bite of his meal with a bit more enthusiasm now, “what’s it about? I hope it’s actually something fun—I’m not in the mood to send you flying across the ring, Angel. And, I already have a wicked meeting scheduled today. Better keep that in mind?”

“Well, depends on what you take as offensive,” Angel sing-songed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But like, it’s been all over the news, darling. So I just gotta ask, straight from the source~”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Just get on with it, honestly.” He already had a few ideas about what it might be. It was likely either the tale he had let the Vees cover or, if his beloved luck struck again, the whole ‘unfortunate’ event involving at least three percent of Hell’s population getting either pancaked or paralyzed in a… similar fashion.  

Sooo… yeah. This could go either way.

Thankfully, mercy was upon him.

“I’m curious about the earthquake .”

Angel leaned in with a wicked grin, his multiple hands gesturing dramatically. “I meaaaaaan, I heard you had a passioooonate makeout session on the road with Smiles over there~ We even got pictures about it~! No, actually, VIDEOS TOO!!! ”

And of course, everyone knew that Alastor wouldn’t normally let something like that happen.

“Also! Your butterflies? His shadows?” Emberlynn chimed in, practically crooning. “ Very romantic~!”

“Yeah, that.” Angel’s smirk turned predatory. “Kinda bloodied and questionable if it were anyone else, but you two? Totally on brand—God, it was delicious to even look at."

“Should I be concerned about what the visual image of us kissing would do to Hell’s sanity?” Lucifer heaved an exaggerated sigh, already setting up his grand performance. 

Lilith giggled knowingly on her side of the table, visibly relieved that her best friend was finally in a better mood after yesterday’s heavy discussion. Emily looked flustered—adorably so—but to her credit, it seemed like she was starting to adapt to the very particular kind of chaos Hell had to offer.

Meanwhile, Angel wiggled his brows suggestively. “Maybe, but who cares about that right now? We have the big question!” The demon pressed on, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “So, Luci… did ya get lucky after? That why the shaky shake~?”

Alastor’s grin remained perfectly in place, but his crimson eyes gleamed with something… dangerous. Likely debating whether launching Angel off the balcony would be an appropriate response. A clear reprimand formed on his lips—

But Lucifer beat him to it.

“Oh, I fucking wish,” he groaned, dramatically dropping his fork with a clink and rubbing his temples as if exhausted by the sheer nonsense. “But nooooo —a certain moron just raised my blood pressure until I popped .” He punctuated the words with a dramatic wave of his hand.

Angel snorted. "Ohhh, so it was a rage-quake ! Damn, Smiles, what’d ya do to him?"

Alastor cracked his neck, his grin widening slightly. “And who says I’m the one doing anything?”

“I did kick him out of the castle for a bit, though,” Lucifer remarked with a shit-eating grin, as if deliberately spiting his own spouse. “A sprinkle of trouble in paradise, apparently.”

The peanut gallery let out a synchronized, drawn-out “ooooooooohhh~” while Lilith, who actually knew what had happened, hid her quiet laughter behind her drink. Yeah, she had been in Alastor’s position before with their little liar , after all.

“Really now, mon ange?” Alastor drawled, slipping effortlessly into the bit. “Sharing our marital affairs in front of everyone?”

Lucifer let out a huff, mock-offended. “ Whaaaaaaatttt~? I didn’t say why~ ”

“Such disrespect,” Alastor clicked his tongue, shaking his head in false suffering, “And after I offer you a hug too?”

Lucifer let out a scandalized gasp. “If you didn’t , you’d be sleeping on the couch, Mister! ”

Alastor arched a challenging brow. “And risk you pitifully calling for me in the middle of the night?”

The audience gasped. Husk was already sharing popcorn. Neither of them could even blame him, honestly—this was premium entertainment.

“How dare you, lowly pleb!” Lucifer huffed dramatically. “You should be honored to be allowed to warm the bed of royalty!”

“Ah, yes… how lucky I am,” Alastor deadpanned, despite the clear amusement in his voice. “To become the head honcho’s personal teddy bear in his magnificent nest. Truly blessed~ ”

Lucifer snorted, lips twitching up in a poorly concealed smile. He barely even tried to hide how much he was enjoying this ridiculous, over-the-top banter.

“Is this how you treat the mother of your children, Mr. Radio Demon? Shame on you!”

“I—”

Before Alastor could even begin processing that absolute nonsense, Lucifer had already turned his head and called out in a sing-song voice, “Ale, Lue, your Papa seems to need some clawing~”

Oh, how satisfying. The two fluffy enforcers wasted no time. Abandoning their breakfast bowls, Ale, the little red menace, leaped from his perch and landed squarely onto Alastor’s chest, while Lue, with their uncanny sense of dramatics, simply flickered into existence directly on the demon’s face.

Lucifer, feeling particularly pleased with himself, laughed—a delighted, genuine laugh that sent the table into another fit of amusement.

Alastor, meanwhile, grumbled through the flurry of paws and claws. “Would you—ugh—at least pretend to discipline them?”

Lucifer only grinned wider, resting his chin on his palm as he watched the chaos unfold. Husk tossed another piece of popcorn into his mouth, barely holding back a chuckle.“Nah, this is parenting done right. Wasn’t it you who taught them to always be up for mischief~?”

Lilith, never one to miss a teasing opportunity, leaned forward with a smirk. “Since when are you their ‘mother,’ huh? I thought you were the ‘dad’~?”

Lucifer snickered, a mischievous glint sparking in his crimson eyes. “I mean, I made them exist. Can’t I call dibs on being their mother while still wanting to be called Dad~?”

“I suppose you always have a soft spot for mothers.”

“Well, they are lovely, magnificent beings~!”

Lilith shook her head, letting Lucifer revel in the playful atmosphere, allowing him to soak in the joy of it.

And for a while, he did.

The conversation carried on, lively and effortless. Laughter rang out in bursts, with the occasional squabble flaring up between Angel’s side and Alastor—sometimes featuring Emily. The room was alight with noise, with warmth, with life .

But of course, it was short-lived for him. Because, naturally, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been anticipating this.

Pain.

It struck swift and deep—sharp as a blade, sinking into his abdomen with cruel precision.

Lucifer didn’t flinch. He didn’t. But his laughter—so rich and easy just moments ago—cut short. The last remnants of his chuckle curled into something quieter, more breathy, as if he’d suddenly found the joke just a little less funny.

No one seemed to notice at first.

He still had a smirk on his face. Still looked relaxed. But there was something just slightly off. The way his fingers, once idly toying with his fork, now pressed against the table, his grip subtly tightening. The way his shoulders—previously loose, fluid with amusement—held just a bit more tension.

The table was still laughing, still talking, still bickering with glee, but Lilith—sharp-eyed as ever—had paused. Her gaze flickered toward him, just for a second.

Lucifer knew. Of course he knew.

So he forced himself to move. Forced his expression to hold, forced the ghost of a chuckle out of his throat, as if he was still entertained, still engaged—

And maybe he was, for a second longer. Maybe it would have worked.

But then the pain twisted, cruel and unrelenting, and the smirk faltered. Not completely—just enough. The teasing light in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly, the barest hint of a grimace flickering at the edge of his mouth before he caught it.

Still, Lilith saw.

Her fingers tapped against her wine glass, but she didn’t say anything. Lucifer wasn’t sure if that was some sort of signal, but the next thing he knew, Alastor’s tendrils were wrapped around him almost protectively—hidden from the others by the table—while the demon himself remained effortlessly engaged in conversation with Emilia.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if adjusting his posture— casual, effortless, normal —before picking up his fork again.

The noise of the room swirled around him. The laughter, the conversations, the playful bickering.

He wasn’t going to ruin this.

So he breathed through it.

.

.

.

At first, no one thought much of it.

Lucifer had always been one to weave in and out of conversations, his attention sharp when he chose to engage and distant when he retreated into his own mind—especially when he was exchanging quiet words with Alastor. It wasn’t unusual for him to let the others fill the space while he observed, the ever-watchful King.

But this?

This was different.

He wasn’t just lost in thought. He was stuck.

Emily noticed it first. She let it slide for a moment, assuming he’d snap out of it, but when he didn’t—when his expression only grew more vacant, his eyes dulling—concern tightened in her chest.

“Dad?” she called softly, her usual bright energy dimming. “You alright?”

No response.

Lucifer’s eyes remained locked onto his plate, his fork limp in his grasp. He was still chewing, long past the point of tasting anything. His posture hadn’t shifted, but there was something wrong in the stillness of him—like a machine left running with no function, humming quietly as it burned itself out.

Alastor’s gaze flickered toward him.

“Luce?” His voice dropped a touch lower, softer.

Still, nothing.

A slow, creeping alarm coiled in Alastor’s chest. Keeping his expression pleasant, he reached out through their shared mind link.

"’Mon ange, are you there? Mon amour, are you okay?’"

Silence.

For a moment, there was nothing—no response, no flicker of acknowledgment. And then, just as Alastor was about to press harder, a single word curled through the bond.

“‘…Pain.’”

No elaboration. No request for help. Just trust.

Alastor inhaled quietly through his nose, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. Right. He wants to handle this discreetly.

Fine. He could do that.

He leaned back in his chair, feigning ease as he let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, pay no mind to him,” he drawled smoothly, waving a hand in Lucifer’s direction. “He gets like this when he’s thinking—seems like another one of his little ideas has taken root, and now he’s off in his own world~!”

Emily hesitated, her lips pressing together. “But—”

“Oh, again with one of these, hmm?”

Lilith effortlessly slipped into the conversation, smoothly picking up Alastor’s cue, her voice lilting with amusement as she swirled her drink.

“One of these? ” Baxter echoed, raising a brow.

“Why, yes,” Lilith mused, exhaling with a knowing smile. “It’s happened before. Nothing new.” She took a slow sip before continuing, her tone perfectly casual. “Usually, he wouldn’t let it happen in public, but, well… given the topic of today’s meeting? Frankly, I’m not surprised.”

She let the words hang in the air just long enough.

A shift rippled through the table.

Understanding.

Oh.

Of course. Stress. That made sense. Whatever meeting Lucifer had alluded to earlier—the one he had already warned might cause another quake —clearly, it was enough to pull even him into a rare moment of silent contemplation.

Angel let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Awww, man! And here I still had so much shit to tease him about! Guess he’s in work mode already, huh?”

Lilith chuckled, a sly smile playing at her lips. “Give him some slack, darling~” she purred. “Even the Magnificent Devil needs space sometimes.”

That earned a few snickers and nods of agreement, the conversation naturally drifting elsewhere, the tension successfully diffused.

But while the rest of the table moved on, two people did not.

Lilith stole a glance at Alastor. 

Alastor met her gaze.

They didn’t need words. They knew the truth. Lucifer wasn’t thinking. He was enduring. And if he wasn’t speaking on it, it meant he didn’t want anyone knowing.

So they lied for him.

.

.

.

The edges of Lucifer’s awareness crept back in, slow and sluggish, like waking from a fever dream. The heavy fog of pain, sharp and relentless before, had finally begun to ebb—still there, still lingering, but no longer suffocating. He swallowed, his throat dry, shivering slightly as the cold sweat on his skin registered at last.

Voices drifted around him, conversations continuing without his input. Breakfast was winding down, plates emptying, chatter thinning as the residents finished their meals. It was almost over.

And finally, finally, he could focus again.

A rough voice was the first to acknowledge him.

“Oh, welcome back, Your Majesty,” Husk drawled, the usual rasp of his voice laced with something between humor and mild concern. The way he said it—half joking, half serious—told Lucifer everything.

He had been gone for a while.

Lucifer hummed in response, his voice low, throat thick from disuse. He flexed his fingers slightly, as if testing reality, before exhaling softly through his nose.

Alastor, ever watchful, tilted his head. “Are you alright now, dear?” His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, focused solely on Lucifer.

Lucifer’s gaze flicked toward his plate—toward the half-eaten omelet roll-up that now felt like lead in his stomach. He blinked once, twice, before letting out a breathy chuckle, feigning a disgusted grimace.

“Lost my appetite with that last chew,” he admitted, pushing the plate away with a lazy flick of his fingers. Then, dramatically, he pulled a face. “Getting stuck in a trance while chewing is an awful experience, by the way. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Crymini sweatdropped. “I mean… considering you’ve been chewing for, like, almost half an hour —yeah. Makes sense.”

That earned a few quiet snickers from the table, though the underlying concern hadn’t fully faded.

Emily, still watching him closely, frowned. “You sure you’re okay now? You look kinda ashen.” Her brows knit together. “And you’re, uh… cold sweating.”

Lucifer blinked at her, then exhaled softly. “Well—” He parted his lips as if to answer, only to pause, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make them expect an actual explanation.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he smirked. “You know what? No. I’ll spare you all the gruesome details.”

Angel, ever the instigator, snorted. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound comforting at all,” he deadpanned, the sarcasm practically dripping.

Lucifer simply chuckled, his amusement low and warm despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. With an air of finality, he nudged his plate further away, making no attempt to continue eating.

Husk, watching him carefully, hummed. “Y’look like you need a drink, Your Majesty.” It wasn’t exactly a suggestion—more like an observation, a casual remark laced with an unspoken offer.

Lucifer raised a hand, waving it off. “Laying off alcohol for now.” A brief pause, then, with a wry smile, he added, “ Maybe for a while.”

That earned a few raised eyebrows.

“For the sake of everyone,” he finished lightly, amusement curling at the edges of his words.

Husk blinked before letting out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “That bad, huh?”

“Double the shot—it’s worse than you think, husker.” Lucifer said with a thin smile.

“Anyhow.” Lucifer reached out, tapping at the tendrils still securely wrapped around his body. “Think I need to go now—gonna write some things down. Al, meet me once you’re done with breakfast?”

Alastor didn’t blink, his gaze sharp but unreadable. He tilted his head ever so slightly before releasing his hold. “Of course.”

“Sweet.” Lucifer shifted in his seat, pushing himself up with slow, deliberate movements. His smile remained perfectly in place, though his muscles protested against him. “Sorry, Emily, I’m heading back now. Enjoy your day~! You guys too!”

Emily blinked but nodded, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Alastor, too, watched closely as Lucifer turned away, taking steady steps toward the door.

Lucifer should have warped. That’s what Alastor expected. A flick of his wrist, a crackle of magic, and he’d be gone. Or, he could very well just portalled away, couldn’t he?

But, no. He walked, instead.

And Alastor narrowed his eyes.

He didn’t question it aloud. Not yet. He’d ask him later. For now, he would watch and pace down, leaving along with whoever finished their breakfast first to avoid drawing too much attention to himself.

The table waved the ever-smiling King away, oblivious to the fact that Lucifer wouldn’t reach his destination.

Chapter Text

Alastor left breakfast just as Crymini and Emberlynn rose from their seats, deciding to take their leave. He had no particular reason for haste—Lucifer had asked him to meet after breakfast, so naturally, he wrapped himself in shadows and shifted directly to the Apple Tower.

But Lucifer was not there.

His sharp eyes swept the room as he materialized, his grin unwavering yet noticeably still. No trace of movement, no lingering presence, not even the faintest shift of energy that always accompanied Lucifer, like embers still warm in a fireplace.

“He’s not here?”

“‘Nope! Did not find!’”

The response came in a chirp from one of his shadowy minions, fluttering back from its search.

Alastor remained motionless for a beat, fingers flexing absently at his sides. That was odd. No, that was more than odd.

When he had first arrived, he had assumed Lucifer had simply not returned to the tower yet. But the more places he checked, the more apparent it became that Lucifer had seemingly vanished without a whisper of his usual presence.

He had already sent his minions to scour the obvious locations—his partner’s bedroom, his study, even his private workshop—but every report returned the same: No sign of him.

A frown tugged at the edges of his ever-present grin.

‘Did he mean to meet at the castle instead?’

The thought was logical enough. Perhaps Lucifer had intended to meet in his royal quarters rather than the Apple Tower. But something about that assumption did not sit well with him.

Alastor extended his senses outward, stretching his shadows to their full reach, testing the air.

Lucifer wasn’t at the castle.

Lucifer wasn’t anywhere.

That was not normal.

Lucifer never disappeared entirely. Even when he wanted to be left alone, even when he wished to be difficult, his presence remained woven into the very fabric of Hell itself.

No matter how well he hid, there was always something left behind.

A trail of magic. A smoldering ember of his existence.

But now?

Now there was nothing .

Alastor inhaled slowly through his nose. Interesting. Concerning, certainly, but interesting nonetheless.

‘Did he visit one of the Sins?’

It was possible, albeit improbable. Lucifer had his way of slipping off to handle business with his subordinates, but he never did so without leaving some indication of his whereabouts. The idea of him simply vanishing —without even a whisper of warning—was... unsettling .

Still, kidnapping was out of the question. If something as catastrophic as Lucifer being forcibly taken had occurred, the very foundations of Hell itself would be shaking. The Devil was intrinsically tied to his domain; his distress would not go unnoticed.

And yet, there was no disturbance .

So.

Since no grand calamity had unfolded, it was safe to assume Lucifer was… mostly fine.

For now.

Alastor was still debating his next course of action when another disturbance snapped his attention elsewhere.

A sharp pull .

Not from Lucifer.

Crymini.

His connection to her—through their little deal—flared, the telltale pang of pain twisting through the bond. She was either severely injured, or actively harming herself.

A sharp exhale left him, crimson eyes flickering.

A choice.

He could ignore it and focus on Lucifer. Or he could investigate—trusting that the Devil was more than capable of handling himself.

After all, if someone had dared lay a hand on Crymini while she was under his protection—well, that would be a very interesting problem to solve. That girl was an asset.

And, well, he could just take care of whatever bullshit this was with a quick wrap-up before getting back to the far more pressing task of finding his ‘missing’ angel.

The decision was made in an instant.

Alastor stepped through shadows.

And the sight that greeted him was not what he expected.

Crymini was hunched over, her claws digging into her own left arm.

Fresh, crimson streaks marred her pale skin, beads of blood welling up from the self-inflicted wounds. Her ears flicked up at the sound of his arrival, her breath hitching slightly, but she froze.

For a split second, Alastor simply stared.

A flicker of something cold crept up his spine. It wasn’t often that he was caught off guard.

But this—this was not the work of an enemy. 

His expression remained fixed in its usual grin, but something in his gaze darkened, sharpened with the weight of unspoken questions.

What in the hell was she doing?

His mouth parted, a sharp, honeyed demand already forming—ready to sweetly inquire what, exactly, she thought she was doing—

A hand yanked his arm backward.

Alastor’s instincts flared .

His shadows snapped forward, striking without hesitation — Blocked.

His magic rebounded against an unseen force, parried before it could fully lash out.

His eyes flickered toward the culprit, his grin twitching at the edges.

Emberlynn.

Another Overlord. His junior , in a way.

She was staring at him with an urgency that immediately put him on edge.

Her voice was hushed but firm. “Over here, Mr. Radio Demon, sir. Hurry…!”

His fingers twitched, his grin faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Hurry where ?”

But before he could demand an explanation, Crymini shoved him forward.

“Just follow her already…!” she pleaded, her voice taut with something bordering on desperation.

And that was concerning.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. How dare she—his instinct as an Overlord urged him to punish her for such audacity. But something in both of their movements halted him from lashing out. The rapid pace, the lack of clarity, the creeping sensation that something had slipped past him—something important. Like something dangerous yet secretive was happening. 

But, honestly , what could even be happening without him knowing?

The hotel was his domain. His turf . If there were any danger lurking within it, he would have known.

And yet, here he was. Being dragged along like some clueless fool .

A low hum vibrated in the back of his throat, but he relented, if only to satiate his growing curiosity.

As they moved, his eyes flickered sharply to every shadow, every flicker of movement in the halls. No disturbances. No signs of immediate conflict.

So why did it feel like something was terribly wrong?

They weren’t heading for the lift.

No—

A sudden turn—

Not to any of the offices. Not to one of the hotelroom. Instead…

‘The janitor’s closet?’

Narrow. Quiet. Tucked away near the lift.

“What in all hell are you—”

The words cut off, strangled before they could fully form as Alastor’s gaze landed on the figure curled up inside the small, dim space.

Lucifer.

His partner, his ever-composed, untouchable Lucifer, was huddled in on himself, his arms wrapped tight around his middle, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as though bracing against an invisible force. His whole body trembled with the effort to move—yet failed. He looked barely conscious, his breathing ragged and uneven, like each inhale was a war against his own body.

The sight was so wrong, so utterly at odds with what Lucifer was supposed to be—worse than yesterday. The King looked like he had just survived a war and returned battered and worn. It was such an absurd thing to witness—let alone seeing him surrounded by a dirty stash of janitor appliances—that Alastor couldn’t even react with alarm at first. His mind rejected the image entirely, grasping for any explanation that could make this something—anything—other than what it seemed.

But there was no alternative.

Without wasting another breath, he stepped forward, crouching down, the sharp edges of his ever-present grin dulling slightly. His crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light, scanning over Lucifer’s form with a quiet, calculating intensity.

“Lucifer.” His voice, usually laced with playful malice or smug amusement, was uncharacteristically low and measured. “Why are you here? What in Hell’s name is happening?”

“…Al?”

The weakened figure looked like he wanted to answer—his lips parted slightly, a flicker of something in his eyes—but no more words came. Only a faint, pained whimper escaped him, a barely-there sound that sent a bolt of something unpleasant through Alastor’s chest.

Lucifer shifted slightly, trying to prop himself up, but the movement cost him. His entire frame shuddered, breath coming in short, labored gasps—he would have nearly collapsed again had Alastor not been holding him up.

The silence was broken by Emberlynn, her tone hurried yet careful, as though she already anticipated Alastor turning to her for answers.

“First of all, before you take him anywhere—we couldn’t move him much, so maybe you shouldn’t either? Or, um, be careful???” She exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck when she earned a sharp, pointed look from the red-clad demon—one that clearly demanded she elaborate immediately.

“He told us any magic interference felt bad on him, so I can’t even lift him with my power. But moving him manually? Yeah… Not exactly easy, given our, um, height differences?”

“And lack of muscle strength,” Crymini added dryly, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, that too.” Emberlynn agreed sheepishly before quickly continuing, “As to how things came to be—well, um, we were just on our way back to our rooms when we found him near the crew’s lift. He was against the wall, crouched low, trying to keep moving but…” She gestured vaguely at Lucifer’s current state. “Well, uh, yeah. This happened.”

A broken chuckle escaped the devil’s lips. “...S-Still alive~”

A joke that might have landed better if he didn’t look like a stiff breeze could knock him out cold. 

Everyone promptly ignored him.

Crymini’s tail flicked, her ears flattening against her head. “We tried to help him to the tower, walking, since he refused to portal. Wouldn’t let Emberlynn make one. Probably because of the magic thingy he mentioned before.”

Alastor’s eyes flickered with something unreadable.

“He was insistent on it,” Emberlynn confirmed in a hushed yell, her arms flailing slightly in emphasis, as if that alone could convey how stubborn Lucifer had been.

Crymini’s tail twitched anxiously. “But then, the more we tried to move him, the more he doubled over in pain.”

“We didn’t know what to do, so we thought of calling for Miss Emilia, but, uh…” Emberlynn hesitated, glancing briefly at the cramped janitor closet walls around them. “His Majesty told us he couldn’t be seen by others. And… this was the nearest hiding spot.”

Alastor let out a slow, even breath through his nose, as if weighing his next actions carefully.

“He said it would pass,” Crymini murmured, though she and Emberlynn exchanged a look—one that made it painfully clear they weren’t convinced.

So, calling Alastor had been the next best option.

“But my phone is busted,” Emberlynn grumbled in frustration. Not only could she no longer use it to jot things down, but now, when it actually mattered, she couldn’t even call for help properly.

“Yeah, well, anyhow,” she went on, exasperated, “somehow Crymini told me she had a way to summon you? And then, uh… she just started clawing herself.”

Crymini shot her an unimpressed look. “Hey, what works, works. Also, I didn’t question how you can just casually make portals.”

That made Emberlynn pause.

Because, well, that was a secret. Supposedly. A secret between her and Lucifer—one that only Alastor and Lilith were privy to.

Portals weren’t just something anyone could whip up. Even Overlords didn’t have that kind of unchecked access—unless Lucifer himself had explicitly authorized it.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“…Right,” Emberlynn finally muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Maybe we don’t dig into each other’s business, then?”

“Agreed.”

Clearing her throat, Emberlynn’s gaze flicked back to Lucifer—who was now barely upright, his body shifting almost imperceptibly toward Alastor. His expression was twisted in poorly restrained agony, his brows furrowing slightly, his breathing still uneven. His fingers clenched weakly at his coat, his usual poise crumbling under the weight of whatever was wracking through him.

“He definitely needs help, so…” Emberlynn said, her voice quieter now. “Anything else we should do?”

Alastor didn’t answer immediately.

He simply reached out, his movements eerily steady, and carefully pulled Lucifer into his arms.

There was no hesitation, no unnecessary theatrics—just a quiet, decisive action. His arms wrapped around Lucifer’s trembling frame with a firm yet deliberate gentleness, his grip secure, calculated. There was no trace of mockery, no playfulness in his expression.

“You’ve helped enough,” Alastor murmured, his voice deceptively light yet carrying an undeniable firmness that left no room for argument. 

“Now, if you truly value your lives, you’ll do exactly as I say and keep this information to yourselves.” His grin remained, sharp as ever, but his eyes gleamed with something far more dangerous. Not a whisper, not a hint, not even a stray thought that might slip out.”

The two girls frantically nodded, their breath catching under the weight of his warning.

“Good,” he drawled. Then, with a tone far too casual for comfort, he added, “Now, run along. I’ll deal with you both later.”

No further encouragement was needed. Without hesitation, the two sinners bolted, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to put as much distance as possible between them and the looming wrath of the Radio Demon.

With their departure, the shadows at Alastor’s feet curled and coiled like living tendrils, preparing to whisk both him and his partner away to safety—

Only to be stopped in an instant.

A black-clawed hand latched onto his wrist, grip startlingly tight despite the obvious tremor that ran through it.

Alastor’s crimson gaze snapped downward.

Lucifer’s voice, hoarse yet unwavering, barely made it past his lips.

“Don’t.”

Alastor frowned. “Lucifer—”

“I… can’t.” Lucifer swallowed hard, fighting back nausea on top of everything else, though he still managed a small smile. “By foot—well… hooves~”

Even as his body trembled, even as pain visibly wracked his form, his grip did not loosen. His nails dug in just enough to make his point crystal clear.

For the briefest fraction of a second, Alastor’s amusement flickered at the joke, a small crack in his ever-present facade. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a quiet chuckle.

“…Well. That’s certainly inconvenient.”

He adjusted his hold on Lucifer, shifting his weight in a way that allowed him to move without worsening his suffering.

Lucifer, despite everything, let out a pained, breathy laugh.

“‘...This whole fucking experience is inconvenient.’” He exhaled shakily, his voice barely above a whisper. “‘And it’s all your fault, by the way.’”

“Is it now, mon ange?” Alastor’s lips curled into something far softer than his usual grin.

“‘Yep. One hundred percent. but— fuck , discussion later… p-pain.’” Lucifer curled in on himself slightly, his entire body tense as another sharp pang of agony cut through him.

Alastor hummed, glancing down at the fragile yet stubborn being in his arms. “Just try to relax your muscles, mon amour. Tensing will only make it worse.” His voice took on an almost teasing lilt. “Perhaps a warm bath will help? Or hot, if you prefer? I’d be more than happy to prepare one.”

Lucifer blinked up at him, his weary eyes searching his face for a moment before murmuring, “‘Warm. Not hot.’” He hesitated, looking away briefly, then, quieter still, added, “‘And… um… do you mind… joining to bath?’”

Alastor’s steps didn’t falter, but his brow lifted in mild surprise as he peered down at his angel. Lucifer, for all his usual grace and poise, looked utterly exhausted, peeking up at him like a worn-out kitten seeking comfort.

“...Can’t?” Lucifer mumbled again, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Alastor pursed his lips as if weighing the request.

Lucifer, catching the expression, felt his chest fall slightly, but ready to accept. “‘...It’s—’”

“Okay,” Alastor cut him off smoothly. “Alright, mon cher. I suppose that’s a suitable punishment for losing our bet, hmm~?”

Lucifer blinked, his pain-clouded mind taking a second to process—until yesterday’s silly little bet came rushing back to him. Even through his discomfort, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Y-Yes, exactly~”

Alastor didn’t press further. He merely smiled back, his grip steady and secure, carefully adjusting his hold as he carried Lucifer with an unnerving ease. He made each step deliberate, each movement fluid, ensuring his partner wouldn’t be jostled unnecessarily.

On their way, Alastor noticed that Lucifer’s consciousness wavered, his eyelids fluttering as he drifted in and out, still caught in the loop of pain. Each time he stirred, his body tensed against Alastor’s hold, but his grip on the demon never once loosened.

And so, without another word, Alastor carried him onward.

Once arrived, Alastor worked with meticulous care, his movements uncharacteristically slow as he eased Lucifer out of his tattered garments. The usual ease with which the angel carried himself was gone, his limbs heavy, his breath shallow. Every shift of fabric against his skin made him tense, not in embarrassment, but in that barely restrained, pained flinch that Alastor took careful note of.

Lucifer’s stomach, the source of his current torment, protested every motion. The sensation was relentless—like a cruel, unseen hand twisting his insides in slow, deliberate knots. Every breath sent a fresh wave of discomfort rolling through him, dull yet persistent, a gnawing, wicked ache that refused to ease.

Alastor made sure to move him as gently as possible, fingers lingering for brief moments at Lucifer’s waist, his arms, his shoulders, gauging every tremor before continuing. There was no teasing remark, no cheeky quip—just quiet, practiced hands, undressing him layer by layer until there was nothing left but the cold air against his freezing skin.

“Almost done, mon cher,” Alastor murmured, his voice lower than usual, careful.

Lucifer, standing unsteady with his hands braced on Alastor’s shoulders for balance, swallowed. He barely had the energy to respond beyond a slow blink, but he didn’t push Alastor away. He let him work, let him be careful, let himself be guided.

The bath, already drawn and steaming, awaited them. Whispie had prepared it exactly as Lucifer asked— warm , not hot.

Alastor shifted his grip, one arm slipping beneath Lucifer’s knees, the other supporting his back as he carefully lifted him. There was a moment where Lucifer tensed again, a sharp inhale as his stomach clenched cruelly in response to the change in position. His nails dug into Alastor’s shoulder out of reflex, needing something solid to hold onto as another wave of discomfort coiled through his gut.

Alastor felt it, of course, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he lowered Lucifer into the bath, inch by inch, his hands still steady beneath him until the water had fully cradled his aching form.

The first touch of warmth against his skin sent a rush of sensation through Lucifer’s body.

It was… overwhelming.

Not painful, but not immediately soothing either. Just—so much. Heat spread across his muscles, seeping into his skin, unraveling the knots in slow, deliberate pulses. His stomach, twisted and miserable, clenched in protest, then slowly—so slowly—began to ease, just slightly.

A shaky breath slipped past his lips, and for the first time since Alastor had touched him, his grip on him finally loosened.

Lucifer exhaled, head tipping back slightly as he sank into the warmth. The ache was still there, but the water dulled it into something more bearable.

Alastor watched him carefully before stepping back, giving Lucifer a moment to adjust. And then, without any of the same delicate ceremony he had used for Lucifer, Alastor shed his own clothing in an instant—his magic making quick work of it, leaving only his boxers in place.

He moved without hesitation, slipping into the bath behind Lucifer rather than facing him directly.

Not that he was embarrassed… or, well, he assured himself it wasn’t that . Definitely not.

But hey, he was still fighting himself on this a little, and this was the best compromise he could manage.

He slid in close, pressing in gently—not enough to overwhelm, just enough for Lucifer to feel him. A quiet, steady presence. A back hug, warm and deliberate.

“I’m here, mon cher.”

Alastor pressed a reverent kiss to his angel’s shoulder, lingering just enough to let the warmth of it sink in.

A quiet hum left Lucifer’s throat—not quite a sigh, but something close to it—as he instinctively leaned back.

No complaint. No sharp remark. No dry quip.

Just— acceptance .

He shifted slightly, allowing Alastor to bear some of his weight, settling against him with an ease neither of them felt the need to acknowledge. His body still ached, his stomach still twisted, but here, surrounded by warmth, with Alastor’s arms loose yet undeniably present around him, it was…

Bearable.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, soft and unhurried. There was no need to fill it.

Alastor, always one for dramatics and chatter, had been remarkably subdued since stepping into the bath with Lucifer in his arms. He recognized that, for now, words were unnecessary—at least, not from him.

So instead, he let his hands speak.

Slow. Careful. Deliberate.

His fingers ghosted over Lucifer’s stomach and shoulder, pressing lightly into the stiff muscles there. A simple massage—nothing too firm, nothing that might pull Lucifer from his fragile calm. Just enough pressure to soothe, to comfort.

“Is this alright, mon amour?”

Lucifer hummed a quiet ‘yes’.

“‘Wouldn’t mind more kisses too, caro~ That’s actually sweet of you.’”

Encouraged, Alastor obliged. His fingers continued their slow, practiced kneading, tracing the curve of Lucifer’s shoulders with expertise, while his lips pressed gentle, lingering kisses along the nape of his neck.

Soft. Sweet. Reassuring.

Truly, there was no need to rush.

Though, Sometimes later he switched up a bit—reaching for a nearby towel, Alastor dipped it into the bath, soaking it thoroughly before wringing out the excess water. Without a word, he draped it over Lucifer’s shoulders, ensuring that even what remained above the water’s surface was granted warmth.

Lucifer’s eyes fluttered briefly at the sensation, his body instinctively leaning just a fraction more into Alastor’s embrace. His breathing, though still slightly uneven, was slowing, steadying. The ache in his stomach was still there, but the warmth—both of the bath and of Alastor himself—made it easier to withstand.

Easier to gather his thoughts.

Easier to prepare.

Because while his body sought relief, his mind was sharpening, steeling itself for the inevitable.

The confrontation.

He could not avoid it forever. The pain had delayed things, given him a brief excuse to remain in this suspended moment of quiet indulgence, but the reprieve would not last. He knew that.

And so, he waited.

Waited for his pain to lessen just enough.

Waited for the words to come.

Waited for the moment when the comfortable silence would break—and they would have to face what lay ahead.

Alastor shifted behind him, the movement gentle, careful, as though mindful not to disturb Lucifer’s fragile calm. Then, after a moment, he moved to reach for the faucet, intending to add more hot water to counter the cooling bath.

Before he could, Lucifer’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist. A silent shake of the head.

No.

Alastor stilled, crimson eyes flickering down to where Lucifer’s hand rested against his skin. Then, slowly, he let his arm lower back into the water, settling once more.

A beat passed.

Then—

"Al?"

Lucifer’s voice was softer than usual—careful, but not hesitant in a way that suggested uncertainty. No, this was something else. Something more fragile.

Alastor remained quiet for a moment, then hummed lightly in response, his tone as easy as ever.

"Yes, mon ange?"

Lucifer swallowed, steeling himself.

"Hypothetically speaking."

That got Alastor’s attention. His gaze sharpened, though his posture remained relaxed, waiting—curious—to see where Lucifer would take this.

"Hypothetically speaking," Lucifer repeated, quieter this time. His eyes flickered toward Alastor but quickly darted away again. His fingers curled slightly, pressing into his lap. "Wait—actually, let me reel back a bit. Ahem." He cleared his throat before continuing. "So, you know… after yesterday’s talk, I had a dream."

"A dream, mon roi?"

Lucifer offered a small smile, nodding slowly.

"For once, not a nightmare, haha~ But anyway—"

He carefully turned his body to face Alastor properly, though the movement made his head spin for a moment. He swayed slightly before steadying himself once more.

“Easy, there.” Alastor chuckled softly. "You were saying?"

He knew there was nothing particularly amusing about this situation, but there was something oddly endearing—if not a little exasperating—about how Lucifer insisted on continuing, determined to talk about a dream when he was clearly one flickering light away from passing out again.

Still, Alastor supposed this was a good sign. Lucifer’s sense of humor was intact, and frankly, that was one of the best indicators of his well-being.

For now, he simply agreed to listen.

"Yeah. So, hmm, influenced by yesterday’s talk, I had a bizarre dream about… children."

"Children?"

"Ours, to be exact." Lucifer added carefully, as if gauging Alastor’s reaction.

Quite adorable, actually—and a little pitiable. Lucifer always got this anxious when discussing something too close to home. That alone prompted Alastor to make a mental note: tread carefully. 

He was clearly being assessed for something.

"Is that so?" Alastor tilted his head, a playful glint in his crimson eyes. "You mean Ale and Lue? Or Charlie and Emilia?"

Lucifer shook his head. "No. Our twins. Biological, judging by their appearance and power. Two toddlers—a boy and a girl."

Alastor’s grin widened. "Well, that’s interesting. What did they do? I hope some mischief, given their toddler age." His voice was laced with mirth.

But Lucifer only tilted his head slightly, watching him. "I thought you hated children?"

Alastor gave a nonchalant shrug. "They can be quite a handful. I prefer older children—especially ones with exceptional intellect. But hate? That’s a strong word. They’re… tolerable creatures."

Lucifer chuckled, leaning into the palm that cradled his face. "If you tolerate them as much as you tolerate me, I suppose I have no complaints then."

"Hmm hmm."

Lucifer tried not to let his relief show too obviously just yet.

"Well," he continued, voice softening, "they—and you, actually—ambushed me with breakfast in bed. Apparently, I was sick or something. It was a bit confusing at first, because the nausea and soreness matched what I’m feeling right now. But to be fair, I didn’t dream for long."

“At least your little night-tale was kind for once.” Alastor chuckled, his voice light, teasing.

Lucifer huffed out something that almost passed as a laugh, but it lacked the usual sharpness. “Define kind.” His fingers twitched slightly against the water’s surface. He wasn’t looking at Alastor anymore.

Alastor’s amusement softened just a fraction. “Hm? Did it disturb you instead?”

“Well, no. Err… maybe.”

“Yes?” Alastor arched a brow. This didn’t sound like Lucifer. This hesitation. But he didn’t press—just let his partner pace himself, waiting.

Lucifer swallowed, the movement visibly strained. Then, barely above a whisper—“What if… what if that dream wasn’t just a dream?”

Alastor blinked. “What?”

Lucifer flinched as if he had been struck. His entire body jerked, muscles tensing with the kind of fear Alastor was not used to seeing from him. Not like this. Not so raw.

Alastor moved instantly. The usual sharpness in his gaze dulled, replaced by something far steadier, something softer. “Wait.”

He reached for Lucifer, hands careful as they guided him to lean back against his chest. The movement was slow, deliberate—not minding the position if it meant keeping Lucifer upright, keeping him safe. His devil already looked far too pale, far too shaken.

“I’m okay with the thought of a child—of children.” Alastor’s voice held none of his previous incredulity. Only warmth. “Twins, siblings… mon amour, I’d be happy, actually.”

Lucifer let out a breath—something caught between a scoff and a relieved laugh. It didn’t last long, but it was something.

Alastor continued, his thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles against Lucifer’s knuckles. “We have Ale and Lue. We have our Little Stars. Or perhaps, if you wished, we could adopt. We could raise a little demonling of our own, if that’s something you wanted.” A brief pause. Then, gently, “But first—won’t you explain exactly what you’re referring to, mon cher? Slowly, does it.”

Lucifer’s shoulders loosened just a fraction. A small weight lifted—Alastor wasn’t dismissing the idea. He wasn’t scoffing or getting angry. That was one hurdle passed.

Now for the harder part.

He exhaled shakily, steadying himself. “I checked myself more closely this morning. After the dream.”

Alastor stayed silent, listening.

“And I—I noticed that I’ve gained weight.” Lucifer swallowed again, fingers tightening against Alastor’s hand. “I already told you—I don’t do that, right? I’ve tried. I’ve always failed. But this time… it happened.”

His fingers twitched, resting against one of Alastor’s still cradling his face. His voice frayed at the edges. “And also, my belly… It’s slightly swollen when I put that organ back in its place.”

He forced a laugh. It was a pathetic sound, something strained and brittle and so unlike him that Alastor’s chest twisted at the sheer fear beneath it.

“My vessel is acting weird, Al… aha ha ha… b-but like, you’re not thinking I’m crazy, right?”

Alastor’s grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground. “No, of course not, mon ange.” His voice was unwavering. “And you are an archangel—an angel of creation, as you’ve said yourself. If it’s possible, I wouldn’t be shocked.” He exhaled slowly, deliberately, hoping Lucifer would follow his rhythm. “Breathe, mon cher. Cease your panic with me, Luce.”

For a moment, Lucifer did. He shut his eyes and focused on the slow, steady inhales and exhales Alastor provided beside him.

That is—until his mind wouldn’t let him stay still.

More words swirled inside his head, unfair and unrelenting. And he needed to speak them now.

With slightly trembling fingers, he reached one hand to the side, summoning something with a flicker of magic. An object lifted from a drawer, floating into Alastor’s direct line of sight.

A positive test.

Alastor’s eyes widened instantly. He snapped his gaze back to Lucifer, a thousand questions forming in his head—most of which boiled down to: why in all of Hell did you not start with this?

Wasn’t this a surefire answer?

But before he could even voice that thought, Lucifer was already shaking his head.

“It’s made for demons.” His voice was tight, uneasy. “Obviously, I couldn’t get one meant for heavenborns. Even then, honestly… I didn’t expect it to show anything.”

Lucifer sucked in a sharp breath. His next words were quieter.

“I was just seeking a comforting validation that I wasn’t . That this was all in my head.” His grip on the test tightened. “So this… this shocked me too.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I was speculating, since I tested with four more brands,” Lucifer admitted, his voice a strained attempt at composure. “But everything appeared so fast. Too fast. I didn’t have to wait—not at all… So I don’t know if that means anything. Or if it’s just…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply as he raked a hand through his damp hair. “You know how drugs in Hell don’t work on me? Maybe there’s something in my anatomy that doesn’t make sense for this thing.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before he could stop it. “I don’t even need to go and use the toilet, Al.” His fingers flexed against the bathwater, restless. “I don’t need food. You know that too, right?”

Alastor said nothing, only listening. His grip on Lucifer remained firm but not suffocating, a quiet reassurance rather than restraint.

Lucifer exhaled again, and when he spoke, his voice dipped into something quieter. Something more vulnerable.

“I’m planning to ask Gabby to visit,” he confessed. “Obviously after the meeting—I don’t need everyone suddenly finding out if it’s a ‘yes’.”

“If?” Alastor echoed, his brow furrowing.

Lucifer’s smile was bristled at best, forced and brittle. “I believe it’s still possible this might be pseudocyesis. A false pregnancy.” He let out a shuddering sigh before leaning his forehead against Alastor’s, seeking the smallest grounding touch.

“It can happen due to a strong desire to be pregnant, extreme fear of becoming pregnant, or past sexual abuse—which I have all three of at the same time~” He tried for a laugh, but it cracked, strained at the edges. “There are other reasons too, sure, but honestly, I’d rather not collect trauma like they’re some fancy collectibles.”

Alastor couldn’t even offer a useful comment. Not even a word of comfort. Instead, he just ran slow, soothing circles against Lucifer’s back, letting him talk at his own pace.

Lucifer took another breath, but it did little to settle the storm brewing in his chest. “Yeah, well… about telling Gabby. Given that I… hmm… That I couldn’t tell her exactly why I wanted her to come, who knows if she’ll even get Father’s permission to visit.”

His hands curled slightly into fists beneath the water. “Even with her knowledge, this would be the first-ever pregnancy in a high-ranking angel. Who the fuck knows what the real symptoms would be?” His voice trembled, cracking at the seams. “Or—or maybe it’s not a pregnancy at all! Maybe I am going insane~!”

The last words came out choked, raw with exhaustion. His frustration threatened to spill over, clawing at his chest.

Alastor remained quiet, absorbing the weight of Lucifer’s turmoil. He let the silence stretch—not out of hesitation, but out of patience. Out of understanding.

Finally, he sighed, shifting closer, lifting a hand to cradle Lucifer’s cheek. His thumb brushed slow, deliberate strokes against his skin. A quiet anchor.

“Mon ange.” His voice was softer now. More deliberate. “May I ask you something?”

Lucifer swallowed, instinctively leaning into the touch. “...What is it?”

Alastor hesitated only a second before asking, “Do you not want this child, if they exist?”

Lucifer’s breath hitched. His fingers trembled as they clutched at Alastor’s wrist, grasping for something solid.

“No.” His voice wavered, barely holding itself together. “The opposite.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow, but it did nothing to clear the tightness.

“I think…” He inhaled shakily. “I might be devastated if… well, if nothing is inside. And there’s already nothing inside, no matter how many times I checked… so… it already doesn’t make sense.”

The admission left him breathless. Weak in a way he despised. He tried to regulate his breathing, to will his own body to calm, but no matter how much he inhaled, it felt like he was drowning.

The cold sweat wouldn’t stop.

"Though, there’s also the concern if the child—maybe even children— does exist, caro." He sucked in another unsteady breath, trying to find the words as his vision blurred. "Ale and Lue are permitted to exist, likely because they’re not… well, while sentient, they’re not exactly children despite what we said they are." 

His voice cracked, his throat tightening. "But if we do have this… kid. Or even, kids. If they exist in me, if they're real... Heaven will definitely not stay still with a child made from an angel and a demon."

His trembling worsened. He tried to curl in on himself, pressing a palm over his stomach as though instinctively trying to shield what might be there. His whole body felt like it was locking up.

"And if I’m weakened… Hell will—e-everyone will—”

"Hey, hey, mon ange, calm down, mon cœur. Nothing's happening just yet, and we still have time to plan, so—"

Lucifer let out a breath, shaky, uneven. His eyes flickered, distant—barely lingering on Alastor before drifting downward. "Al… if it comes down to it… which do I choose?"

His voice was eerily calm, like the question was inevitable. Like it was obvious that something would have to give. His fingers curled weakly against his own stomach, as if grounding himself, but there was no fear for himself in his voice. No hesitation about what his fate might be.

Only the weight of the impossible choice ahead.

Would it be their child? Or their home?

Would there be a Hell left standing if he wasn’t?

Would their child ever take its first breath if he failed?

Alastor froze.

His heart stopped as he heard the words unspoken.

‘W-What…?’

His pupils shrank to pinpricks, darting wildly across Lucifer’s face, searching for—what? Reassurance? A sign that Lucifer was being dramatic, that this was just one of his panic-driven exaggerations? But there was nothing.

Nothing but raw, visceral torment.

Lucifer’s fingers clutched the fabric of Alastor’s shirt so tightly they nearly tore through it. His breath hitched, his body locked in tremors. "You know my light could barely sustain me as is." His voice was a whisper now, unsteady, yet ringing with devastation. "Jumpstarting Charlie’s life when she was just a newborn took almost half of me. She was a daughter of a corrupted angel and a corrupted human . Logic-wise, having a child with you—" He swallowed hard, a broken sob lodging in his throat. "—would be worse than with Lilith."

Alastor’s grip on him tightened, unthinking, desperate. “Lucifer—”

"S-So… what if it comes to that? I’m already repeatedly collapsing right now, Al… What if I’m not strong enough for our child or our home? Must I choose between them? How do I… how do I pick?”

His voice cracked, fracturing under the weight of it all. "Can I make either sacrifice? Could we even call this a blessing…?"

And that was it. The dam broke.

Lucifer’s body curled into itself as sobs ripped from him, silent at first, then gasping, as though he couldn't get enough air no matter how hard he tried. He clung to Alastor, his entire frame shaking violently. The room spun. His own thoughts crushed him. He was unraveling, breaking apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Alastor felt helpless.

He had seen Lucifer wounded, weak, bleeding out, yet still laughing. He had seen him crack under pressure, let himself be burdened by the weight of the world. But this—this was different. This was primal.

Lucifer wasn’t afraid of dying.

He was afraid of failing .

And while Alastor was starting to get accustomed to Lucifer’s lack of self-awareness, especially regarding his own life and vitality, this time was different—this time, Lucifer knew that he wasn’t as indestructible as everyone, including himself, had thought.

Lucifer could die. Yet the fear of helplessness, of failure, lingered thicker than the thought of his own possible death.

That… was disturbing.

The way Lucifer just accepted his fate was disturbing.

Even so, all Alastor could do was hold him through the dread.

“What do I do, Al…?”

What do they do?

What can they do, actually…?

That demon wasn’t sure.

So all he did was crush Lucifer against him, burying his face into his hair, his own breathing uneven as he rocked them both, whispering— "I'm here. I'm here, mon ange. I'm here." As if saying it enough would make it true. As if it could shield Lucifer from the impossible choice hanging over him.

But Lucifer was already too far gone.

Golden tears burned down his cheeks as his sobs wracked him, his fingers curling weakly into Alastor’s fur before, finally, his body gave in. His light flickered. His consciousness dimmed.

And as he slumped forward, the weight of him falling into Alastor’s arms, the only sound left in the room was Alastor’s own shaky breath.

Horrified.

And entirely, utterly powerless.

Chapter Text

When consciousness slowly returned to him, Lucifer found himself no longer in the bath but in Alastor’s arms, carried with such careful precision it was as though he weighed nothing at all. The world still swayed, but it wasn’t dizziness—it was movement. The rhythmic, steady stride of Alastor as he carried him through the corridors of the Morningstar Castle, heading straight for their royal bedroom.

Lucifer barely had the energy to lift his head, but the realization that they were alone, away from prying eyes, allowed a fraction of tension to ease from his weary frame. Alastor had ensured their privacy, knowing full well they needed it now more than ever.

"Al…?" His voice wobbled, and before he could stop himself, fresh tears welled up again, spilling over as he clung weakly to Alastor’s coat.

His lovely cramps returned… 

Not to a blinding level just yet, but enough to make him feel so fucking done, wanting nothing more than to just lay down and cry—not even a tantrum left in his exhausted vessel.

"Shh... It's okay, mon ange," Alastor murmured, his voice smooth yet heavy with the weight of emotion he, too, carried. His grip on Lucifer tightened just slightly, securing him closer, as though afraid he might slip away. "Everything… it will be okay. I'm sure of it. No need to linger in this tar of anguish, mon étoile. Just… just hold me for now."

Lucifer didn’t hesitate—not even questioning the undertone in Alastor’s voice. To be fair, overwhelmed as he was, he barely wanted to think at all.

‘Goddamnit…. it hurts…’ 

He shifted, wrapping his arms around Alastor’s shoulders, pressing himself closer in a way that almost felt childish. But he needed this—the warmth, the security, the way Alastor carried him as though nothing in existence could tear them apart. He felt small, fragile in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. And yet, he knew… Alastor wouldn’t see him as weak for it. Not anymore.

They must have made quite the sight, he realized faintly. A demon prince—no, King, Literally THE Devil , an archangel of ruin, clinging like a child to the monster carrying him. And yet, given the circumstances, wasn’t that statement painfully, beautifully fitting? If he was carrying life within him, then was Alastor not also, in a way, carrying ‘a child’? Ha!

Of course, he’s not referring to his own height. Why would he make a joke about that at all? Like, ever?

The thought almost made him laugh. Almost.

Instead, he whispered, voice barely above a breath, “I'm… tired, Al. Why must we pretend that anything is okay?” He swallowed hard, gripping onto him tighter. “I mean, if I’m not even pregnant… then that’s a whole other problem, isn’t it? If it’s not your fawn, then something is terribly wrong with me. Surely psychosis alone can’t cause this kind of damage? Or… can it?”

“Mon cher….”

“—I’m not even sure I can carry two Nephilim if they really are somehow inside of me. Would I be forced to terminate them if they’re proven to be bad for me…? I don’t want that—I’m not even sure I can do that. But damn, I have too much to lose, don’t I—? Logic-wise… I shouldn’t.”

“Luce.”

“My life isn’t the only one on my shoulders—I should be thinking of that. If I die, then what happens next? Who holds the weight? Who takes over? What happens to Hell? Would it undone back to Wasteland? Fuck. ” His voice trembled, not with fear for himself, but with the quiet horror of leaving behind a world unprepared for the void he would leave. “What if this is what The Speaker meant when she said I wouldn’t die in a normal way? None of this is normal…! Is this the scenario she implied to be my end? But then, I—”

“Lucifer.”

The firmness in Alastor’s voice was enough to startle him. He flinched, thoughts halting mid-spiral, blinking up at his lover in surprise.

Alastor’s expression was serious, though not unkind. He held Lucifer’s gaze with an intensity that rooted him in place, refusing to let him slip too far into his own mind.

“Mon amour,” Alastor said gently, “for now, just focus on me. On us.”

He finally reached the bed, lowering Lucifer carefully onto the plush sheets. Even then, he did not pull away. His hands remained on Lucifer’s waist, his eyes locked onto the other pair of crimson.

“And—” Alastor’s fingers traced down to rest against his abdomen, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “All the good thoughts of having this child. Twins, perhaps? How about, for now, we call them Starlight and Stardust? On theme with their big sister, no~?”

Lucifer stiffened, another part of that prophetic dream slipping through Alastor’s casual words —his eyes flickering with hesitation. “But…”

He didn’t get to finish. Alastor hushed him with a kiss to the crown of his head, warm and reassuring.

“If they’re not there,” Alastor murmured against his hair, “like I said, we can adopt. Perhaps an infant. They might not look like either of us, but what does that matter? We can still expand our family, mon cher.”

Lucifer’s breath hitched as Alastor’s fingers gently wiped away the golden tears still lingering on his cheeks. “I am hurt when you are—remember when I told you that?” he said, quieter this time. “So let’s try cheering up for now, yes? You’ve had enough stress for a lifetime, mon ange. At this rate, you might pass out again.”

Lucifer closed his eyes, trying to inhale deeply, trying to ease the tight knot in his chest. He exhaled slowly, hands unclenching, allowing the tension in his body to ebb—just slightly.

“Yes…”

Alastor was right. He always was, damn him.

Lucifer was promised immortality, or at least, he should not die so easily. And though the ability to bear life had been torn from him as part of his punishment—one of many injustices cast upon him after his fall—there had been a time, long, long ago, when he had possessed it. When angels of his rank, rare as they were, could create and carry life within them.

It had been a taboo subject, something never spoken of in the Heavens, never acknowledged—but surely, that meant that at least at one point in time, if this were ever to happen, he was meant to survive it?

Although, now that he thought about it, even if this did end up killing him… wasn’t that still a beautiful way to go? He could always make solid preparation from now on.

Not that he would ever dare voice such a thought to Alastor. Not now. Not ever. Honestly, blame his volatile moods for this… Or maybe—could he already blame his maternal instinct?

Instead, he took a slow breath and hesitantly, “Then… um…” Still sniffling, he glanced up, rubbing at his damp eyes. 

“I think I’ll be shifting into my female form, at least my bottom half. I’m not sure if it’s okay for the baby to grow if my uterus is kept ‘away.’ The constant shapeshifting actually drains me a lot… and it’s been a bitch of an experience on its own.” He tried for a smirk, though it was weak at best. “I mean, I guess I didn’t even have to tell you that, since you’re not exactly using my dick anyway.”

Alastor let out the most theatrical, exasperated eye-roll Lucifer had ever seen.

“How vulgar, mon roi.”

Lucifer snorted, the smallest glint of humor finally creeping into his exhausted expression. “Vulgarity is the reason we’re here, aren’t we, leprotta?”

Alastor hummed, tilting his head in faux consideration. “And I suppose I’m here to take responsibility for it.”

“Ha! You better be, bitch .” Lucifer’s voice came out with a forced sharpness, a smirk curling on his lips as he wrapped his arms around Alastor’s neck. “Or you're going to be labeled the worst deadbeat dad in all of Hell, and for once, I’d finally be relieved of that title.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, “Or… your dad. ”

The reaction was immediate.

Alastor’s ever-present grin faltered—just slightly—but his eyes, those deep, endless pools of crimson, darkened into something genuinely dangerous. He didn’t move, didn’t lash out, but the weight of his snarl was unmistakable. A real, guttural sound.

Lucifer knew it was a low blow. He knew it before the curl on Alastor’s lips unraveled— even before the shift in the air around them.

But hey— misery loved company. And at this moment, Lucifer was drowning in it.

He hated it. Hated how Alastor could still suggest optimism, still anchor himself in ridiculous positivity while Lucifer spiraled further and further down into his own personal pit of Hell.

“Luckily for you,” he continued, ignoring the tension he himself had caused, “all you gotta do is take care of me and be a good dad to our children. Just two things—easy, right?”

He smiled, but his hands twitched against Alastor’s shoulders, gripping tighter than necessary. What he didn’t say— what he almost said —was how maybe… maybe the first point wasn’t even necessary. A good parent didn’t always mean a good partner. That was something he had learned the hard way.

But no. That was just his own self-deprecating thoughts poisoning him again.

Alastor… He wasn’t going to leave him.

Right?

No. Fuck. He couldn’t.

Though… maybe that’s for the better?

Could Lucifer even survive the alternative after all? No.

Lucifer swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing himself to stay lighthearted. He licked his lips before speaking again, his tone just barely wavering. “Might be unfair, but… just a reminder…” He bit his lip, then murmured, “You have a deal with my siblings, Al. S-So you can’t quit me… and I will never forgive you if you left our children. So… um, you must do both…”

Silence.

Lucifer didn’t dare look up at first, too afraid to see whatever expression Alastor might be making. But when the silence stretched too long, when the weight of it pressed down against his shoulders, he risked a glance—

And immediately flinched.

Alastor was staring at him like he had just uttered the most vile, unspeakable blasphemy. His normally bright, amused gaze was wiped clean of mirth, replaced by something cold and unreadable.

Shock. Pure, unfiltered shock.

Lucifer couldn’t breath…

Meanwhile, with Alastor, the very idea of leaving was… beyond unfathomable. It wasn’t just offensive—it was alien. It was absurd. It was 𝕨𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘.

Leave? him???

Especially now? When they were possibly about to have children together?

Lucifer—his Lucifer— thought that was even a possibility?

Alastor felt something crack inside of him, something sharp and painful. And then… the realization followed.

Of course.

Of course, Lucifer thought like that. Of course, his broken, battered, fallen angel—his beloved, who had been abandoned, punished, and betrayed time and time again—would convince himself that he was not worthy of an ounce of care, let alone love.

Of course, he’d see himself as even lesser than how he was before.

That demon could see it clearly now.

He could see how deeply this was eating at Lucifer, how corrupting the thought of being left behind must be for him—especially in the face of something so completely out of his control, something that could change him in ways he couldn’t predict.

With death also on the table—a blemish to his claim of immortality, the very one thing Lucifer had always prided himself on—on top of his already dwindling power that only seemed to ebb away as time passed, of course, his beloved couldn’t see anything else of ‘positive’ value in him.

Alastor understood now.

He understood why Lucifer had been cruel enough to bring up his ‘sorry excuse of a sperm donor’ just moments ago. Why he lashed out so quickly, why he twisted the knife in places he knew would hurt.

He realized it now… Misery loved company, after all. And Lucifer was miserable .

With that comprehension, Alastor exhaled sharply, his brows furrowing. His fingers twitched against Lucifer’s back before finally gripping his waist—not out of frustration, but to ground him, to tether him, to make sure he understood.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady, but laced with something firm. Something undeniable.

“Lucifer Morningstar.”

Lucifer flinched at the weight of his full name.

Alastor never used that voice with him.

His eyes snapped open as though he had just realized he had crossed a far worse line than he had intended.

“w-w-wait! I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I mentioned tha—”

“I am NOT leaving you.” His demon’s grip tightened, just slightly, enough to gain his attention… but not to make sense of his words.

“...ʷʰᵃᵗ?”

“I said. I’m not going to break up with you, abandoning you , or our children. Yes, including the ‘kids’ we already have.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched, something almost amused flickering across his expression. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real at all. Alastor knew that brave mask all too well—the one Lucifer wore when he was trying to convince himself just as much as everyone else.

“H-Huh, yeah. Um, of course I know…! You literally can’t do that, ha ha… ”

But Alastor could see it. The doubt still lurking behind those shifty eyes, the way his gaze wavered for just a second too long. He could see how deep that wound ran—how raw it truly was.

And fuck , did it make his blood boil.

Not at Lucifer. Never at Lucifer.

But at whoever had instilled this belief in him.

That he was disposable.
That he was unworthy.
That he could be abandoned so easily .

But Alastor swallowed that anger, burying it deep. Now wasn’t the time.

Instead, he just pulled Lucifer in closer, cradling him, his lips brushing against those golden curls as he whispered—

“You’re stuck with me, mon amour. Whether you like it or not. It’s not about my deal with your siblings. Not at all.”

He pressed a kiss to his angel’s hair, a tender contrast to the unwavering intensity in his gaze. He never once looked away, not even as the softness in his touch spoke of devotion—of worship.

“And I’ll keep reminding you,” he murmured, lips ghosting over golden strands, “until we’re both grey and old.”

“We don’t ‘grow old’ here, Bambi. Neither of us are hellborn.”

His smirk returned with his little joke, but it was weak—hollow. A sad little smile wrapped in sharp edges, the kind that barely held itself together.

He hardly had the energy to lift his head, but when he breathed next, it was unsteady, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Just… hug me right now? I’m not winning this battle—My mind is utterly unkind.”

Alastor, who didn’t even get the chance to respond to that last part, didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.

“Of course.”

His arms wrapped around Lucifer with the kind of familiarity that came with eternity—strong, secure, unwavering against anything the world could throw at them. Or so that exhausted being wanted to believe. Especially in times like this.

Lucifer inhaled deeply, burying his face against Alastor’s shoulder, letting himself drown in the scent of him—earthy, a lingering hint of old radio static, and something subtly sweet that had always been uniquely his, vanilla . He focused on it, clinging to the warmth, to the steady pressure of Alastor’s embrace.

He forced himself to think that this was enough.

Silence stretched between them, and then, after a while, Lucifer finally mumbled, “We’re keeping this a secret…?”

Alastor tilted his head slightly, peering down at him. “Do you want this to be a secret?” His lips curled into something mischievous. “I mean, I would love to hold you and touch your belly so often we cause another misunderstanding—make everyone wonder whether it’s real or if we’re just messing with them.”

Lucifer snorted.

“Second one. Definitely the second one.” A real smirk returned to his lips, glinting with mischief. He leaned up just enough to press his lips close to Alastor’s, his voice a teasing whisper. “Be sweet to me, Al~ We’ll break several minds.”

Ah, there he was. His devil. His radiant, chaotic, impossible love.

Alastor chuckled, delighted.

“As His Majesty decreed~”

Yet, much to his dismay, as quickly as he had returned, he was gone again.

A sharp pang of alarm shot through that demon, his mind catching up a second too late to what his body already knew—Lucifer had passed out.

“Luce?” His voice cracked slightly as he shifted to get a better look. His angel’s face was far too pale, lips slightly parted as if he had tried to breathe through the pain and failed. A slight tremor ran through his form, his body instinctively curling in on itself even in unconsciousness.

That was when Alastor saw it—the tension that had been there all along, lurking beneath the surface. The way Lucifer had been clutching at his own abdomen, the occasional hitch in his breath, the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting against something unseen.

How had he not noticed sooner?

And also—

Alastor clicked his tongue, muttering, “You damn fool… why didn’t you say anything?”

For Lucifer to fall like this, his body betraying him in a way that left no room for pride or deflection. The sight sent something sharp and sickening twisting in Alastor’s chest.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to move carefully. No sudden motions. No panic. He had to focus.

Adjusting his grip, he slowly maneuvered Lucifer, and ever so gently lowered his angel onto the bed, watching how the devil’s breathing barely changed, shallow and uneven. Alastor lingered there, one hand pressing lightly against Lucifer’s chest as if to reassure himself that his heart still beat beneath fragile ribs.

Too much. He had pushed too much. As always.

With a sigh, Alastor smoothed away the damp strands of golden hair sticking to Lucifer’s forehead, fingers brushing over cool, clammy skin. His lips pursed. A deep exhaustion had settled into Lucifer’s features— Too much strain, too much pain —Lucifer’s body was forcing him to rest, whether the Devil liked it or not.

To both of their luck, however, Lucifer regained consciousness—not too long after, though the fleeting minutes that had passed still felt like an eternity spent in agonizing uncertainty for the anxious deer.

Lucifer stirred slightly, his breath slow, deliberate, as if reacquainting himself with his own body. His fingers twitched weakly, barely gripping onto the sheets beneath him. Every muscle in his body still ached, the dull, lingering pain a reminder that something inside of him was not right.

Then, finally—

“...Hey.”

It was faint, barely above a whisper, but it was there.

Alastor exhaled sharply, relief hitting him like a crashing wave. His grip on Lucifer’s hand remained firm, almost grounding himself with the feeling of that too-cold, blackened skin.

“Hey.”

His voice was gentle—too gentle for someone like him. But there was no teasing, no playfulness in his tone, only genuine relief.

He rubbed slow, soothing circles over the back of Lucifer’s hand with his thumb, trying to warm up the freezing skin.

“Better?”

Lucifer only smiled.

It was small. Weak. Not convincing in the slightest.

Alastor sighed, but he didn’t call him out for it. He simply gave a smile of his own—tired, but there.

“Hmm, it seems like it would be a good idea to call your sister, mon amour,” he murmured, the hum of his voice a little strained. “Must we wait until afternoon? I mean, can’t we force her into confidentiality?”

Lucifer’s body shifted slightly as he thought, and even that small movement sent a sharp, unpleasant ache shooting up his spine. He swallowed the pain down.

“I don’t have blackmail on her.” His voice was hoarse, rough at the edges. “I only have one on Mickey. You know, that picture of him hugging me?”

Alastor tilted his head, memory shifting until it clicked.

“Ah. But I suppose Gabriel would see that as hostility instead?”

Lucifer huffed a soft laugh. “Well, no.” He winced slightly as he adjusted his posture again, pain lancing through his ribs like a sharp needle. “I think she’d just find it odd, and it won’t have the desired effect we need.”

Alastor hummed. “Then, what about Michael himself? Can’t he do it? If it’s just an examination?”

Lucifer immediately frowned.

“Well… he could.”

Alastor’s smirk twitched, sensing hesitation. “I can hear the ‘but’ miles away, mon étoile. What is it?”

Lucifer groaned, pressing a hand over his forehead as if the mere thought gave him a migraine.

“He’s… actually clumsy with such tasks.” He rolled his eyes, voice laced with half exhaustion, half exasperation. “He can do first aid, sure. Some medical practice is required for warriors, after all. And while he’s not as good as Galim, he does take care of his soldiers when needed. But still… it’s more like survival-level knowledge. If he tried to examine me, I’d probably puke on him.”

Or worse.

The unspoken words lingered between them.

Alastor chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, better that than waiting for who-knows-how-long for Gabriel’s visit to be authorized?”

Lucifer groaned louder, eyes fluttering shut in pure displeasure. “Okay, fine. I guess he could keep a secret too.”

“Yes, that would be great. That way, your meeting later won’t be jeopardized.”

Lucifer stiffened at the reminder.

“Fuck, you’re right…” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “The meeting. We… need a plan. I can’t attend while expecting myself to keep passing out like this.”

He wasn’t expecting it to happen again, but he also knew it wouldn’t stop anytime soon. The underlying issue—the thing wreaking havoc inside his body—was still there. It wouldn’t be resolved in time. And he couldn’t fix the problem without knowing what went wrong; attempting to do so would only waste his power and create new complications.

Because of that, the chances of him fainting again during the meeting were higher than Angel Dust’s chances of redemption—and that was quite high now.

“How about a mask?” 

Hm?

“You’re leaning back in your chair so no one can tell if you pass out?” Alastor mused, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his chin, his expression equal parts playful and calculating. “Perhaps telling Lilith to be your spokesperson for the rest of the meeting?”

Lucifer pursed his lips, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Won’t that raise suspicion?”

Alastor’s grin widened slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Does that matter? Aren’t you always adoring ambiguity anyway?”

“Yeah, but not this time,” Lucifer admitted, dragging a weary hand down his face. There was a heaviness in his voice—an exhaustion that seeped deeper than mere fatigue. “Heaven is already suspicious of me getting involved with Earth. If I act out of character, more red flags go up. Before we know it, the angelic army will be at our doorstep, demanding explanations I don’t have the patience to give.”

Alastor tilted his head, fingers still drumming absentmindedly against his palm. “Well, they’re going to come eventually, aren’t they?” His voice carried an unsettling lightness, as if the idea of an impending celestial confrontation was nothing more than an inevitability he had already made peace with. “But, understood. Then how about a clone?”

Lucifer shot him an incredulous look, a single brow arching in disbelief.

“Al,” he drawled, voice dry as bone, “they’d go poof the second I pass out—literally. What’s the point?”

Alastor let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his shoulders back as if the weight of Lucifer’s predicament had suddenly become his own. “Well, that does complicate things, doesn’t it?” His tone was exaggeratedly mournful, but his eyes—sharp, calculating, still searching for a solution—betrayed his feigned indifference.

“Fucker, I’m being serious here.” Lucifer groaned, raking his fingers through his hair before muttering, “Damn it—maybe I should just let them see…?”

“Oh?” Alastor’s brows lifted slightly, his interest piqued. “That’s new.”

Lucifer scoffed, propping his temple against his fingers. “Sera wouldn’t be present, anyway. Neither would the elders. Just my own siblings and that general who fancied Emily—the ones already in my favor, no?”

Alastor hummed, but his smile dimmed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. “Still heavenly delegates, though, aren’t they?” He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “You know how they are. The moment they catch even the faintest whiff of weakness, they’ll make it their mission to rip it wide open. Your words, not mine. ”

Lucifer exhaled harshly. “Yeah, I know.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Lucifer hesitated, then muttered, “Should I ask Mickey to bring some weak painkillers? But would that even be safe if I have a fetus growing inside me—?”

Alastor’s fingers twitched. He did not react immediately, did not let his thoughts slip into his expression, but something about the question made his amusement thin, like stretched silk about to tear.

“Well,” he started carefully, “we’re still unsure of that. But perhaps painkillers aren’t the ideal solution either way. Who knows what they might do to you? At worst, we’ll have you dying in my arms again. So, No . let’s consider other alternatives?”

“We don’t even have a solution, yet you’re already talking about alternatives,” Lucifer grumbled under his breath but conceded with a tired nod. It was only logical.

Speaking of… maybe he should check again. 

Maybe there had been a change—it’s been a couple more hours after all. And if there was , if he could finally understand what was happening to him, then they’d be able to find the much-needed solution.

Lucifer lifted a trembling hand to his stomach, golden light flickering to life, wrapping around his fingers as they settled against his abdomen. For a moment, he held his breath, waiting, listening, feeling —searching for something, anything.

But just like before, his body gave no sign of anything wrong. No confirmation. His uterus was still empty.

Damn it.

Alastor watched him, sharp crimson eyes scanning, assessing, thinking. Then, after a moment, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of golden hair from Lucifer’s face.

“Nothing, mon ange?” His voice was disarming as he rubbed his thumb over the tearline, though nothing fell this time. Still, the sorrow lingered in the grin Lucifer offered.

“...Nothing. Yeah.”

“It’s fine,” Alastor murmured, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Maybe they’re still too early to detect?”

“Maybe,” Lucifer huffed, closing his eyes. “Charlie didn’t show any sign of life until a long time, but, she also didn’t cause agonizing pain as though her mommy in unending labor—” a grunt escaped his lips as he tried to shift to a better position, “Screw this—I’ll be calling Mickey.” he said, basically giving up over his stubbornness.

“Finally relenting hmm?” Alastor mused, only because his partner seemed to be able to get animated, so he too did not want to induce unnecessary panic by taking things too seriously.

“Oh, buzz off… Curiosity is killing me. A-At least— fuck —” Lucifer breathed in slowly. “At least if I need medical help because of, I don’t know, a random tumor or something—which would be hilarious if I could even have such a mortal problem—I’d want to get rid of this pain as fast as possible…” He sighed. “It’s always better when someone else does the checking anyway. Guts are always such confusing body parts, so… a new perspective would help since not much will be missed. Well, I mean, if the person cared enough.”

Alastor arched a brow. “But not Bel?”

The Devil smiled as Alastor handed him the phone. “Well, Bel is still a far lower rank than me. Technically, demons are beneath even cherubs in celestial hierarchy… so there are certain things they just couldn’t do on principle. And besides, my siblings know my shapeshifting better.” He sent the message, then sighed.

“And now, we wait.”

Chapter Text

Well, they didn’t wait long. Barely five minutes had passed before Lucifer felt the prickly sensation of a portal opening from the realm above. He chuckled, amusement flickering in his tired eyes.

“Greet our guest, won’t you, Bambi?”

Alastor hummed, rising to his feet. “He’s here already?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Well, this is Mickey—a ball of anxiety with legs. Not sure since when his image changed to that, actually… kinda pity him now,” he admitted with a slight sweatdrop.

“Actually, that sounds like you, darling~” Alastor snickered.

“Oh, shush.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Go.”

Alastor merely chuckled, leaving his partner’s side for a moment to greet the archangel they had summoned.

Sure enough, at the castle’s grand entrance, Michael stood just past the threshold, his wings ruffled without a care, betraying his rush, and his expression drawn tight with worry. The golden light of the portal had barely faded behind him, and yet, he was already stepping forward, sharp eyes scanning, searching.

“Alastor…!” The call of the demon's name was taut, as if trying to call out freely but not wanting to draw anyone's attention—despite the fact that there was no one else around.

Immediately, as soon as Alastor was in earshot, Michael began yapping, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “How is he? What happened? What’s the situation? Is he injured? I heard from Joel that he didn’t sound all too good the last time he called. Lucifer better be okay, Alastor, because if he isn’t, I swear I will—”

Alastor blinked at the sheer intensity of the questioning, raising a brow as Michael barely took a breath between words. Well. Someone’s anxious.

“I’d love to tell you, but Michael, I don’t think you’ve stopped long enough to listen.” He hummed, stepping aside with a vague gesture. “In any case, Lucifer will explain himself. He merely instructed me to escort you inside. Though, I didn’t expect you to arrive less that minutes we called, so—” curiosity nagged at him. “What… exactly did he tell you?”

Michael huffed, running one hand through his already-disheveled hair. His wings twitched sharply even as they’re tucked away.

“One word. ‘Help.’” Michael pursed his lips, his wings twitching with barely restrained anxiety. “Then, in our old language—‘Castle. Discreet.’ And then? Nothing. Silence.” His eyes flickered with something between frustration and fear as they both quickened their pace. “And you know him! He doesn’t just— He rarely even calls! So something like that doesn't sound like him… at all! I was already half convinced that the world was ending!”

Michael sucked in a sharp breath, hands clenching and unclenching like he was about to start throwing things.

“He never asks for help, Alastor. Never. Do you know what that does to a person when they suddenly—” He stopped, inhaling deeply, then exhaled, nostrils flaring. “So, yes. I am understandably losing my mind.”

Alastor tilted his head, silently taking in Michael’s frantic energy, the way his panic spilled out in rants that went on longer than they probably should.

Interesting.

He had never fully witnessed the Eveningstar under true stress—Alastor had never been in attendance whenever it happened. He had only ever caught glimpses of the Archangel here and there before, always carrying himself with impeccable poise. Yet, for a moment there, Alastor didn't see the warrior.

He saw his foolish angel instead.

After all, whenever Lucifer was stressed, whenever his mind spiraled too fast, his words would keep going, piling up, as if drowning himself in them could somehow make everything make sense.

And now, watching Michael—his brother—doing the exact same thing, it was uncanny.

“I see.” Alastor simply said.

For once, he chose not to add any playful quips. He simply turned and led Michael down the halls, fully understanding why the ancient being had been dubbed by his twin as a ball of anxiety with legs.

The archangel followed without hesitation, his worry manifesting in hurried, clipped steps, his hands twitching like he was resisting the urge to grab someone and shake the answers out of them.

But when they arrived at the room—

The bed was empty.

A sudden, wretched sound tore through the silence, echoing from the adjoining bathroom.

Michael stiffened, his breath hitching, his head snapping toward the noise. His wings flared, the golden glow of his feathers sharpening with alarm.

Then, without hesitation, he strode forward, nearly knocking over a chair in his urgency. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Alastor, by contrast, followed at a measured pace. His steps were deliberate, calculated, yet there was a dark gleam in his crimson eyes as he anticipated what lay beyond that door.

The scene they found was as wretched as the sound that had drawn them in.

Lucifer was hunched over the toilet, his entire body quaking with the force of every dry, agonizing heave. His fingers clutched at the porcelain as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. His golden hair stuck to his sweat-slicked skin, strands clinging to his trembling shoulders.

There was nothing left in his stomach to purge—only acid and bile, burning his throat with every gut-wrenching retch. His breath came in ragged, choked gasps between the spasms, his body rejecting relief, forcing him through the motions of emptying a stomach that was already void of anything to give.

Michael was on his knees beside him in an instant—so fast it was almost undignified.

His hand pressed firm and steady between Lucifer’s shoulder blades, grounding, anchoring, as if his touch alone could will his brother back to stability.

“Lucifer.” His voice was soft, but strained, the concern in his tone cutting so deep that it made Alastor’s ears twitch. “Breathe. Just breathe, brother.”

Lucifer weakly waved him off, but Michael remained unmoved, his touch unwavering. His other hand hovered uncertainly—like he wanted to do more, wanted to help, but didn’t know how.

“You’re shaking, you’re pale, and I don’t think you’ve eaten anything,” Michael pressed on, his words a mixture of worry and barely restrained frustration. “Oh, Father, you’re getting worse, aren’t you? Of course, you are, because you’re the most reckless, stubborn idiot to ever exist—”

Alastor sighed, rubbing his temples as Michael’s voice escalated, his words spilling into a frantic, breathless spiral.

Ah. There it was again.

The panic. The endless, runaway ranting.

Michael and Lucifer really were alike, weren’t they?

Deciding he had heard enough, Alastor finally stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Michael’s shoulder. His grip was deceptively light, but there was a weight to it that demanded attention.

“Enough,” he said, voice smooth, unwavering. “ Fussing , especially the way you're doing it right now, will only reel him further into whatever downward spiral he’s already in.”

Michael hesitated. His mouth parted, hands twitching—ready to argue.

But then, after a long, tense second, he exhaled, tension visibly bleeding from his shoulders. He withdrew just slightly, his hand still lingering on Lucifer’s back, but the sheer frantic panic had dimmed—just a fraction.

Lucifer, still catching his breath, let out something between a laugh and a rasp.

“Mickey,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and weak, yet still managing a touch of dry humor. “You really need to work on your bedside manners… All you’ve done since arriving is insult me—shame on you.”

Alastor smirked.

“Oh, we’re working on it, darling.” He leaned slightly against the doorframe, arms crossing with an air of unbothered amusement. “Nausea is here again?”

Lucifer only hummed, too drained to put much effort into his response as Michael helped him rinse his mouth. Alastor, without a word, took care of the mess, wiping down the floor with a deft efficiency that made it clear he’d done this before.

By the time the two helped the fallen star back to his bed, Michael looked like he was ready to launch into another lecture.

Lucifer cut him off before he could even start.

“Mickey,” he called. His voice was steadier now, though exhaustion laced every syllable. “I need you to find someone for me.”

Michael frowned. He had expected Lucifer to ask for help—but of all things, he never thought it would be to search for a missing person.

His brows knit together in confusion. “Brother, I—”

“Hear me out first, will ya?”

Michael bit back whatever protest had been forming on his tongue, his lips pressing into a thin line as Lucifer let out a sound—the perfect mix of fond exasperation and pure exhaustion.

Then, with one last sigh, Lucifer finally said it.

“I need you to find your niece and nephew. Inside of me.”

Michael froze.

His brain stuttered, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his face.

“What?”

Did he… mishear that?

No. No, he didn’t.

Because Lucifer, the Devil himself, merely sighed and repeated himself.

“My babies. Inside of me. Mine and Alastor’s. Two of them. Inside. Of. Me. Find them, please.”

The words felt surreal. Unreal. A thing that should not be, could not be.

Michael stared. His wings twitched. His mind reeled, grasping for logic, for reason, for some semblance of sense in what he had just been told.

His lips parted, but no words came at first. When they did, they were soft. Unsteady.

“...S-Sammy… are you…?”

He didn’t even remember to correct himself—to address him as Lucifer instead of the childhood name long buried under centuries of distance.

Lucifer just nodded, as if he already knew. As if this was something undeniable—something he had accepted long before saying it aloud. As if he wasn't just as uncertain.

Michael’s breath hitched.

“You’ll be an uncle to two beautiful fawns soon, Mickey,” Lucifer murmured, voice soft yet unyielding. “Now, won’t you help me find out their situation inside? I know that they don’t have life breathed upon them yet—but still. I’m keeping them, even if you protest.”

Michael didn’t protest. He couldn’t.

His lips pressed together as if weighing the consequences, his eyes shadowed with thought. And Lucifer let him be for a moment, trusting his brother not to go rogue from his expectations.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

Michael exhaled, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“You know how I'd react, yet still you called me , not Gabby?”

Lucifer chuckled. “I only have blackmail on you to buy your secrecy.”

Michael arched a brow, stepping closer. “Shouldn’t you say that differently? It doesn’t sound like you’re threatening me, brother.”

Lucifer just shrugged. “Not in the mood. I’m one breath away from passing out again, so if anything—make it quick. If I go out, just tell Al about it.”

Michael sighed but nodded. “Alright. Hang on, then. You know I’m not good at this…”

A golden glow, wrapped in pale blue light, spread from Michael’s hands, enveloping Lucifer’s abdomen. Lucifer gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

It took mere seconds before his resolve cracked, a quiet plea slipping past his lips.

“A-Al…”

Alastor was already moving before Lucifer finished speaking. He knew Michael’s power would sting against his own essence, but it didn’t matter. He needed to be here—needed to ground his beloved through this, even if all he could do was hold his hand.

Michael’s power spread further, sweeping across Lucifer’s torso. Alastor’s grip on his angel’s fingers tightened, worry coiling in his gut. Lucifer’s own grip was just as fierce, strong enough to guarantee broken bones—not that the Overlord cared in the slightest at the moment.

Then, Michael frowned.

Deeply.

Alastor felt his own heart lurch. He was already bracing himself, readying words to comfort Lucifer if—if—

But before he could spiral further, Michael finally spoke.

“Well, um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…”

Alastor wanted to slap him.

For the love of Hell, why did Heaven’s people have no sense of timing?! 

They always did this—barreling in with no sense of restraint, no awareness of the weight in the air. Couldn’t any of them descend with even a shred of tact? Even now, when Lucifer was clearly in no state for their usual dramatics, they charged in headfirst, oblivious as ever!!!

Before he could cut Michael off, however, the Fallen Angel weakly spoke first.

“B-Bad news…?” His voice was thick with anxiety.

Michael hesitated but nodded. “Well, good news first.” He glanced between the two of them. “I found them. Very tiny, but they’re there—growing well, for now .”

Lucifer and Alastor’s eyes widened, hands clutching at each other in a stunned mixture of relief and disbelief.

There it was. The confirmation they had been seeking.

But before they could celebrate, Alastor’s mind snapped back to Michael’s previous words.

Bad news.

Michael still looked conflicted, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I know you’re going to be stubborn about this, Luci… but I don’t know if it’s safe to keep them with you.”

The world tilted slightly.

Lucifer’s breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

Michael exhaled. “They’re… developing outside of your uterus.”

A cold weight settled in Alastor’s stomach.

Michael frowned, rubbing his temple. “I’m trying to remember the name of the area, uh…” After several seconds of contemplation, he finally gave up and conjured an anatomical diagram, slicing it open with a glowing line. He pointed at a specific area near the abdomen.

“Here. They’re here.”

Lucifer’s eyes flickered, recognition dawning.

“…My peritoneum?”

Alastor sucked in a slow breath, feeling Lucifer’s grip on his hand tighten. 

This just became far more complicated than they had ever anticipated.

“Maybe. I don’t know the name, but they are here.” Michael’s voice was grim, edged with something dangerously close to sorrow. His eyes flickered with unease as he continued, “Close to your core. I think… they really are feeding off of it, brother.”

And that was why he had said this was bad news .

Lucifer was losing either way.

“...”

Processing the weight of the revelation, the devil fell into silence. His crimson gaze dimmed, his fingers curling against the fabric of his sheets as if to steady himself. Then, at last, he spoke—his voice quieter than before, but no less determined.

“I’m keeping them.”

Michael inhaled sharply. “B-But—”

“Michael Eveningstar.” Lucifer’s voice did not waver. A firm, deliberate call of his brother’s name, an unspoken plea to understand. “You know how devastated I’ve been. And besides… we’re immortal, aren’t we?”

He forced a smile—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes—as he squeezed Alastor’s hand again. His grip, though gentle, conveyed a message: If they were about to argue, they were not going to do it here. Not in front of Michael.

Thankfully, Alastor understood. The demon’s fingers tightened around Lucifer’s in silent acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. It was a good thing, too—Michael already looked ready to fight him on this.

“Even so!” Michael pressed on, frustration laced with raw concern. “This will be torturous for you! It already is , isn’t it?! Brother, won’t you at least think on it a little longer?”

Lucifer did think on it. For a breath. For a moment.

But his resolve had already been set. What occupied his mind now was not the decision itself but how to reassure Michael that he could handle it. That he would handle it.

This time, Alastor took the initiative to intervene. “I’ll make sure he thinks about it, Michael.” His voice was smooth, unbothered, yet there was a calculated softness to it. “But for the time being, I’d say he’s too emotionally drained to think straight.”

“Hey—” Lucifer began to protest, only to be silenced.

Alastor shushed him with a fleeting kiss to the cheek, a deceptively tender gesture that was equal parts affection and manipulation. “Just rest for now, mon diable ,” he murmured, his tone laced with something indulgent. “We can discuss it later. I’ll escort our guest out.”

Lucifer sighed dramatically, though the exhaustion etched into his features made the act feel almost too real. Still, he supposed he had to sell this properly—needed to keep Michael out of their affairs now that they had the confirmation they sought. So, he pouted first—just a little, just enough to be insufferable—before surrendering with a slow, weary exhale.

“Fine. Discussion later.” His eyelids lowered, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he allowed himself to close his eyes.

Genuinely exhausted.

Meanwhile, Alastor was already guiding—half pushing, even—Michael toward the door, despite the angel’s protests.

“Alastor, you can’t keep those fetuses. Lucifer won’t —”

“I know.” Alastor cut in smoothly. “But no matter what you say, he won’t listen to you, Michael. He’ll stay stubborn about it. So I’ll try to convince him instead—I am responsible for this, after all.”

That was true.

And for that very reason, Michael almost tore him apart right then and there.

His fingers twitched, Grace crackling at his fingertips, an instinctive rage bubbling beneath the surface. But at the last second, he held back. Because if Alastor died here, Lucifer would only spiral further—he’d close himself off, become distant. And worst of all, he’d grow even more attached to those calamitous creatures.

Alastor, however, didn’t even flinch. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Michael exhaled sharply through his nose, composing himself as best he could. But even as he stepped toward the exit, he couldn’t help but issue a warning.

“Whatever he chooses in the end… you’d better take care of him,” Michael murmured, voice low but heavy with meaning. Then, with narrowed eyes, he added, “Or else.”

Alastor merely nodded, unbothered. “That goes without saying.”

Then, much to Michael’s confusion, the demon handed him an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Your blackmail,” Alastor replied smoothly.

Michael blinked, brows furrowing as he hesitantly opened the envelope. His confusion only deepened as he flipped through the contents.

Photographs.

At first, he was almost insulted. Almost saddened. Because all they contained were images of him hugging his brother. Embracing Lucifer in quiet moments of shared grief, of silent understanding.

What was so damning about that?

But before he could even voice his bewilderment, Alastor chuckled. A deep, knowing sound.

“I’d say it’s quite easy to brand you a traitor to Heaven just from this alone, Mr. General~ ” he purred, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes.

“What?”

“You did make the conscious choice to carry our King's crown while laying aside your sword—the very symbol of your sacred duty—did you not~? And not only that, but you seemed more than willing, almost eager even. Such an image, if witnessed by a lesser crowd, would undoubtedly set the world abuzz with whispers and scandal. Imagine the tales they would spin, the rumors that would spread like wildfire throughout Heaven and beyond…”

And only then did Michael’s eyes widen in shock, his mind scrambling to reexamine the demon’s words, to pick them apart for a falsehood or exaggeration. But—no. No, there was none. Every word was true.

Even worse, he had actually lowered himself for that embrace. Regardless if the act was merely practical—born from the simple fact that Lucifer was shorter now—it didn’t change the reality of what had occurred. An Archangel, bowing to the Devil.

Oh, Lucifer wasn’t just being petty. This was legitimate blackmail…

“Right…” Michael muttered, his voice laced with resignation as he forced himself to burn the damning evidence into absolute nothingness. 

Even though it pained him, it was far better this way—better to erase it completely than allow a scandal to fester and spiral out of control in Heaven. The last thing he needed was to be at the center of celestial gossip in vain. 

“My silence has been bought, it seems,” he smiled, begrudgingly conceding defeat.

“That is indeed the case.” Alastor, ever the picture of amusement, merely smirked in satisfaction. “Well, then, Take care, brother-in-law~ I'm heading back—”

“Wait.”

“Hmm?”

Michael pursed his lips, contemplating. He stared at Alastor—almost rudely looking him up and down—before finally sighing. “Give me your left hand.”

Alastor arched a skeptical brow but obeyed in the end. He had to show trust if he wanted to be trusted, no?

So, extending his hand, he did. And then—Michael grabbed it.

Alastor wondered if this was meant to be a handshake or something, but did they even do left-hand handshakes up there? He didn’t get the chance to ask before a swirl of gold and light blue surged around his hand, stinging. Instinctively, he jerked his hand back with a glare.

“What do you think—”

“Sorry.”

Sorry?

Alastor blinked.

“My hostility toward you…” Michael looked to the side, as if hesitating. “I know it might’ve felt unfounded at times. I just care about him. But I suppose… I can’t always, or ever had been, protect him the way I should. So…”

Alastor glanced down at his hand as the glow faded. The broken bones were no more—healed completely. But in their place, a small bluish star-shaped scar remained. A marking?

“If he’s still the stubborn brother I’ve always known him to be, I doubt even you could win this fight.” Michael sighed. “But I guess… he’s already chosen you in every way now, even if these children are counted as ‘accidents.’”

“He wouldn’t see them that way.”

“No, he really wouldn’t.” The two shared a knowing smile—one amused, the other more exasperated.

“So yeah, that’s my mark,” Michael continued. “I know you can’t contact Heaven without Lucifer. But with that, you can—once. Use it wisely. I will do my very best to reach you when you release it. I heard from Galim that you’ve handled Lucifer’s sigils before, so surely you’ll know how this one works too.”

Alastor hummed, flexing his hand slightly. “It burns.”

Michael shrugged. “A little divinity would feel that way to you, I suppose. But surely, you can handle that, can’t you?”

The Overlord chuckled instead. “I don’t think Lucifer will like the idea of anyone else marking me—but hey, I’ll make up some excuse for you.”

Michael flinched. “Ah, sheesh. I guess that was… insensitive of me.” Now that he thought about it, he could imagine just how much Lucifer would hate this. But what’s done was done, and this was necessary. “You do that, yes. Ahem .”

Bemused, Alastor chuckled again. “Well, then~ I’ll be going. I believe we’ll be meeting with the others later, too? Ta-ta now~” he chimed, his voice light and airy with a final flourish.

And just like that, he vanished into the abyss, a blur of shadows melting into the dark.

Michael, left standing alone, exhaled sharply before turning back toward Heaven.

Half-expecting to find his partner unconscious, Alastor was instead met with the unexpected sight of Lucifer seated upright, very much awake.

For a brief moment, Alastor hesitated, his instinct urging him to rush forward and provide some measure of comfort, particularly as he noted how Lucifer’s hand remained pressed to his stomach. Pain still clung to his form, evident in the way he held himself, yet there was something else—a softness in his expression, a tear-streaked face that, oddly enough, bore a smile.

“...hey.”

“Hey.” Alastor settled beside him, his voice gentler now as he reached out, rubbing soothing circles into his beloved’s back. “Can you identify them now?”

Lucifer chuckled, breathless but undeniably relieved, nodding in response.

“I can. And… now that I know where they are, I can ease the pain on the rest of everything too.”

For the briefest fraction of a second, Alastor’s expression tightened—not with relief, but with something far heavier. Lucifer saw it, of course. Saw it before Alastor could even think to hide it.

“I’m keeping them, Al,” Lucifer whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Don’t make me terminate them, please… ” He turned to his other half, pleading, eyes shimmering with a desperate, quiet hope—the kind that threatened to shatter if denied. “I mean… aren’t they our little miracles? No one ever thought this was possible. Even I didn’t think it was possible!”

And that hope, so fragile yet so achingly bright, hurt Alastor more than he could put into words. Because he knew—knew that Lucifer wanted this with every fiber of his being. But had he already forgotten his own fear? The terror that gripped him before?

Even Michael had warned them. Those two were leeching off Lucifer’s very core.

Wouldn’t it be better to simply… not have this?

Alastor exhaled quietly before lowering himself to sit beside Lucifer, his presence steady but heavy with unspoken thoughts. He reached for Lucifer’s hand, clasping it carefully between his own before pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles.

“Mon amour,” he began, his voice slow, deliberate, “I will ultimately respect your decision. But– ” A promise, though one laced with caution. “I need you to think about all the risks that come with keeping them—not just from an emotional standpoint.”

He tried not to sound like he was dousing the warmth from Lucifer’s hope, but the words needed to be said.

“I would love to have them, of course,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I’m sure they’d be beautiful children.” He leaned forward then, reverently cupping Lucifer’s face, his thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “But… would they be worth it if, in the end, I lost you?”

He tried not to sound bitter. He truly did.

But the tremor in his fingertips as they ghosted over Lucifer’s skin betrayed his fear.

“...Al, I—”

“Can’t we… discuss this first?” Alastor cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Miracle babies or not, this at least opens the possibility for more of them, while I only have one of you.”

Lucifer stilled, his lips parting slightly, yet no words escaped. His eyes, already worn from exhaustion and turmoil, flickered with hesitation. He wanted to argue, wanted to insist that this was something he was meant to have, meant to cherish—but Alastor wasn’t done.

“There’s also Hell,” The demon pressed on, his crimson eyes locked onto Lucifer’s, determined. “And what about Charlie? If you don’t care about leaving me behind, then at least think about her . Your daughter still needs you.”

That struck something deep. Lucifer looked as though the air had been stolen from his lungs, his expression frozen in a moment of sudden realization.

Alastor, however, didn’t waste time wondering which part of his words had caused the reaction. He had already started this—he couldn’t stop now.

“Not to mention…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, knowing the next part would wound, but he had to say it. “They’re not where they’re supposed to be, are they?” He exhaled, his grip on Lucifer’s hands tightening slightly, grounding both of them. “Would they even be able to be born normally? To grow full-term?”

He swallowed hard, a deep furrow forming between his brows. His mind raced through countless possibilities, each one worse than the last.

“And… what would happen to them if they’re born ‘not normal’?” His voice lowered, barely above a whisper, though the weight of his words crashed down like a landslide. “Would Hell reject them, just as Heaven already has? What kind of existence would they have if neither world accepts them?”

Lucifer’s breathing had quickened, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against his stomach. The panic was settling in now, deep and suffocating.

“And if they’re born… and you don’t survive,” Alastor continued, voice thick despite his efforts to keep steady, “would our kingdom even be enough to protect them? Would I ?”

It was a question that hurt more than any blade ever could.

He knew saying all of this was cruel—he could see it in the way Lucifer trembled, in the way his body subtly curled inward, instinctively shielding himself from the emotional onslaught. But this wasn’t something they could afford to ignore.

“T-That’s… true…” Lucifer’s voice was small, shaken.

At least he wasn’t denying it.

Alastor risked himself getting shoved away as he instinctively pulled Lucifer into his arms, holding him tight. And despite everything, Lucifer clung to him.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Alastor murmured, pressing his lips briefly against Lucifer’s temple in a feeble attempt to soothe. “But, well…” He sighed. “I need you to understand that this is more than just a choice of keeping them or not. Mon amour, we were never blessed with an easy choice.”

Lucifer let out a broken chuckle against his shoulder, his grip tightening. “When have we ever…?”

“Never,” Alastor agreed softly. “But it’s okay, mon ange.” His fingers traced slow, comforting patterns along Lucifer’s back. “This is just another trial placed upon us—upon you. But I’ll be here, no matter what.” He pulled back just enough to meet Lucifer’s gaze, ensuring he understood. “Like I said, I’ll accept whatever decision you make in the end. But please… let’s be careful.”

Lucifer didn’t answer immediately. He was thinking, truly thinking, and it showed in the way his brows furrowed and his lips parted as though tasting every thought before speaking. Eventually, he let out a shaky exhale and nodded, albeit slowly.