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Until Someone Loves Him I Lucifer x Reader I Beauty and the Beats AU Part 3

Word Count: ~ 3.5k

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

🥀𓆩✧𓆪🥀𓆩✧𓆪🥀𓆩✧𓆪🥀𓆩✧𓆪

Chapter 11 – The Scream

The scream and the light numbed my senses. The sensation of heat burned into my back.

With my hand raised, I turned around—a tear in the bright air, black at the edges, as if someone were smashing a door into a wall that wasn’t supposed to have one with brute force. Behind it, pure red and the screams—they came directly from this portal.

Lucifer stepped through.

Not calmly. Not with the deliberation I knew. He came like something that had been unleashed—his wings spread wide, his eyes a deep red without irises, the horns holding his crown raised upward. His face wore an expression I’d never seen on him before.

Pure fear raced through my body. Especially when I spotted his shaggy tail.

Cold sweat and goosebumps spread over me. My knees struggled to hold me up, for my whole body was trembling.

“Y/N.”

My name sounded like a crack when he said it. Like something that had been put under pressure until it gave way.

“Lucifer, I—” my jaw trembled.

“What have you done?” It wasn’t a question. The King of Hell was upon me before I could finish my sentence, his hands on my shoulders, and he looked at me as if he were checking to see if I was still whole—piece by piece, as if he feared finding something missing. “You went to Heaven. Alone. Without telling me anything,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“I wanted—” I stammer, but can’t get the words out.

“I don’t care what you wanted.” His voice trembled—not with anger. With something deeper. “You have no idea what can happen here. What they can do to you here.” His fingers dig painfully into my shoulders.

Sera was still standing there, watching us with that inscrutable expression.

“Morningstar,” she whispered.

“Sera.” Lucifer replied without looking at her, his eyes still on me. “You spoke to her.”

“She spoke to me.” Sera’s voice was neutral. “I told her what I told you.”

Lucifer closed his eyes briefly. Neither of them seemed to have much interest in the other.

“Bring her back,” Sera ordered. “Before things get worse.”

“What do you mean—”

But before I could finish the sentence, Lucifer pulled me with him into the howling portal.

His arm pressed against my throat. I quickly turned and obediently followed him.

────୨ৎ────

Hell welcomed us like a breath of air.

Warm air, the glow of the stone beneath my feet, the familiar heaviness of this place, which, strangely enough, had smelled more like home than anything up there for months.

Lucifer wouldn’t let go of me.

He’d pulled me through the portal and still wouldn’t let go, his hand around my wrist, tight enough that I could feel his pulse—or my own; I no longer knew which was which.

“Lucifer—”

“Be quiet.” Not harshly. But with an urgency that brooked no argument. He turned to face me, and in his eyes—which were slowly regaining their depth, the red now having depth rather than emptiness—was something that silenced me before he could say another word.

Lucifer looked at me like someone who had just nearly lost something and hadn’t yet processed the fact that he hadn’t lost it.

“You should have told me what you were planning,” he said finally, so quietly that it felt like something private.

“You would have stopped me,” I countered.

“Yes.” He let the answer hang in the air without elaborating. Because it said everything that needed to be said: Yes, I would have stopped you. Because I don’t want anything to happen to you. Because I—

The sky split open above us.

We both looked up at the same time.

Lucifer quickly wrapped his wings and his arm around me, shielding me. I felt their warmth, their weight, and instinctively pressed myself against him.

The flapping of wings from every direction resumed in Hell. A sound like a thousand curtains being torn open at once.

Lucifer leaned down toward me.

“They’ve followed us,” he said, very quietly. But the growl in his voice was unmistakable.

“Who?” I tilted my head.

“The exorcists.” He looked up at the sky. “And Adam.”

────୨ৎ────

They came like a storm.

Dozens of figures I had previously seen only in the shadows of hell—masks, symbols, blades made not of metal but of something that looked like congealed light. They formed a circle around us in the air, a circle that grew tighter.

In the center, larger than all the others, Adam hovered.

His smile was different. No flirtation, no casualness. Something hungrier.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he laughed, his voice carrying across the entire circle. “You shouldn’t have ventured so far from home.”

“Leave her alone,” Lucifer growled. His voice was flat, dangerously flat—the kind I’d heard only once before, when he’d banished Adam from the castle for the first time.

“She marched into Heaven and tried to undo your punishment,” Adam said, his gaze shifting to me, then back to Lucifer. “That’s not ‘leave her alone’ material, Lucifer. That’s treason.”

“She didn’t do anything that justifies an army.” Lucifer wrapped his arms protectively around me from behind, spreading his wings over us.

Instinctively, I clung to his arms.

“She did everything that justifies an army.” Adams’s voice grew harsher. “You let a human challenge the hierarchy of Heaven. You allowed her to speak to a seraph as if she were her equal. You kept her by your side. You—” He paused, and something in his face turned cruel. “You fell in love. With a mortal girl. And that, Lucifer, is a weakness we cannot ignore.” A vicious grin spread across Adam’s face.

My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears.

“That’s not—” Lucifer began.

“Don’t lie to me.” Adam raised a hand, and light gathered in it—a guitar formed from pure brightness—and he held it up toward us. “We’ve been waiting. For millennia. For the moment when you’d be weak enough to fall. To truly fall. And you’ve just given it to us.”

“Adam—”

“Kill him,” Adam said to the exorcists, without raising his voice. He smiled contentedly as he spoke. “And take the girl with you. Alive, if possible.”

The blades of light came down.

Chapter 12 – The Price of Wings

It happened too fast for me to fully understand it.

Lucifer broke away from me and was everywhere at once.

His wings flapped—red against the angels’ blinding white—and he moved among the exorcists like something that was no longer the king who played the piano and showed me star charts. Something older. Something that had once waged a battle against Heaven itself and lost, yet still remembered how to fight.

He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time, and I couldn’t look away.

But there were too many of them.

For every one he struck down, two new ones appeared. His claws were bleeding, his wings were lacerated, and yet he didn’t stop moving—fast, brutal, with an efficiency that left no energy for elegance.

I was frozen, unable to move, as light and darkness erupted all around me, as screams—not human, something else—echoed through the air.

“Run!” Lucifer shouted at me without turning around, fending off a blade with his bare hand, his claws covered in blood.

I didn’t run.

I couldn’t.

My feet were as if rooted to the stone, because I couldn’t leave him alone, because I didn’t know what I would do without him, where I would run, what it would mean if I turned around and he was no longer there.

Adam came toward me, through the chaos, with the calmness of someone certain of his goal. His guitar of light in his hand. The smile back on his face.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Adam began, reaching out to put his arm around me. “This isn’t—”

“NO,” the King of Hell snapped. A golden blade struck Adam and sent him flying backward.

Lucifer was between us before I even realized what had happened. He didn’t move with elegance—but with the raw, desperate force of someone who had only one goal and no energy left for strategy.

He stood in front of me.

“You don’t touch her,” he snorted. His voice was no longer flat. It trembled, but not out of fear.

Adam straightened up, rubbed his jaw, and his smile returned—broader now, as if he’d gotten what he wanted.

“You’d die for her?” Adam asked, amused. Laughing, he held a hand over his mouth. “For a human girl you’ve known for a few weeks?”

Lucifer was silent. But that silence carried more weight than he probably would have liked.

Adam’s smile widened. Complete satisfaction settled over his face.

“How unexpected,” he said quietly, rolling his eyes.

And then he moved.

It wasn’t a fight like the ones in books—no elegant back-and-forth, no even contest of strength. It was raw and fast. Brutal. Light against darkness, steel against claws, and every time Lucifer landed a blow, Adam landed two.

I saw it coming before it happened.

The way Lucifer’s movements slowed—barely noticeable, but I knew him; I knew every gesture, every decision; I’d spent months watching how he moved when he played the piano, when he opened a book, when he placed a second candle in front of me and acted as if it were nothing.

Too many exorcists had already beaten him up.

I saw his right side open up.

Adam saw it, too.

The blade moved so fast that the light from it lingered.

Lucifer didn’t make a sound. Just that sharp intake of breath—short, precise, as if the world had paused for a second, as if everything that had been in motion had been put on pause because even the universe wasn’t sure whether it should continue.

“LUCIFER!”

My scream tore out of me before my mind had processed it.

I was by his side before he hit the ground, caught him, let us both sink to the ground, and his weight hit me harder than I’d expected—the weight of someone who had stopped fighting gravity.

We landed on the hot stone of Hell.

His blood was golden where it flowed from the wound—too golden, too bright, as if he were still glowing even as he died.

His eyes sought mine.

“Y/N,” he whispered. Gently, Lucifer brushed my hair away from my face and wiped away the blood.

And then—with a tenderness that had no place between battle and death—he raised a trembling hand and brushed my hair away from my face.

His claws, always held so carefully, touched my cheek, warm and gentle.

“No. No, no, no—” My hands found the wound, dark and wet, and I pressed down as if pressure could stop anything. “No, Lucifer, stop, look at me, look at me—”

“I’m looking at you,” he began. Softly. Almost calmly.

“Listen to me,” his voice grew weaker, but his eyes remained fixed on me, clear and burning. “I’m not sorry.”

“Don’t say that—” I interrupted him, the words squeezed out through my tears.

“It’s true.” A hint of something that was almost a smile flitted across his face. “I’ve spent millennia without finding anyone worth it. And then—” He coughed, golden blood on his lips. “Then you came. By accident. With your broken Latin and your damn curiosity. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Lucifer, please—” I pleaded with him. Tears streamed down my cheeks, falling onto his face, and he closed his eyes briefly, as if the sensation of them was something he wanted to hold onto.

“I love you,” he confessed. Simply. Without drama, without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing he’d ever said. “I’ve known it for weeks. I didn’t want to tell you because—”

His eyes closed.

His body grew heavy in my arms.

The hand that had been holding my cheek dropped.

My scream was no longer human. It came from a place inside me that had never been opened before, that knew no language except this sound. “No, please, Lucifer, please, come back, come back, please—”

But he didn’t move.

The wings that had once been white lay spread out around us on the stone, and at their edges—I saw it through my tears, through everything—the feathers that had turned golden began to fade. One by one. As if the last hope of redemption were dying along with him, because he had been the only one to carry it.

Above me, Adam laughed.

“Well,” he said. “That was easier than expected.”

Chapter 13 – The Sword

I don’t know when I stopped crying and started feeling something else.

It wasn’t a decision. It was a transformation—the pain, which was too great to remain pain, reshaped itself, like something that, under too much pressure, becomes something else. Something colder. Something that didn’t need a name to know what it wanted.

Adam landed in front of me, his sacred guitar still in his hand, Lucifer’s golden blood on the strings, dripping like something that knew no time.

“Get up, sweetheart,” he said, bending down toward me. “It’s over.”

His hand cupped my jaw, forcing me to look at Adam.

I looked at him.

Not out of fear. Not out of surrender.

I looked at him, and behind me lay Lucifer’s body, and I thought of a book with a burgundy cover, of a sentence I’d read until it was seared into my mind, which now wanted to burst out of me like something that finally had room to breathe.

“Not despite what he is,” I whispered the words from the book. “But because of what he could be.”

“What are you muttering?” Adam asked.

I looked at his hand. At the blade of the guitar.

I looked at his hand. At the blade of the guitar, sacred and glowing, made of something that could kill angels—which meant it could kill angels, which meant it had done what no other blade had done, which meant—

I quickly reached for it.

Adam laughed as my fingers closed around it—a brief, surprised laugh that died away when the light didn’t turn against me. When it adjusted to me. As if it were the first time someone who belonged neither above nor below had reached for it, and as if the blade had never known it was waiting for that.

“That’s not possible—” he began, reaching to snatch the guitar away.

“You killed him,” I growled. My voice was calm. Frighteningly calm, given how I felt.

“He was a fallen angel. A symbol of rebellion. You should thank me—” Adam began to flirt.

I moved before he could finish his sentence.

There was no elegance to it. No technique, no training, no millennia of battle experience. Just the raw, unbridled power of someone who had nothing left to lose, because the only thing that mattered was already lying on the ground, no longer breathing.

The blade found its mark.

Adam looked down at the gold in his chest. His face showed no pain—only confusion, genuine, unfiltered confusion, as if he’d never learned to imagine such a thing in millennia.

“You—” he spat out golden blood.

“I don’t belong to any hierarchy,” I said, and my voice was trembling now, but not out of fear. “I’m a human who read the wrong book aloud. I don’t care about the balance. I don’t care about heaven.” I gave him a murderous look. “And when I die, I know where I’m going.”

The gold that flowed from him wasn’t 100% gold. It was white, then gray, then nothing.

His body slumped. First to his knees, then onto his chest.

The exorcists around us froze.

Their masks turned toward Adam’s fallen body, then toward me—toward the blade in my hand, toward the golden blood that wouldn’t leave me, as if it now belonged to me. No one moved.

Then an angel rushed forward, tearing the halo from Adam’s head—a sign I didn’t understand, but which the others seemed to grasp. One by one, the masked figures retreated. Their wings carried them into the white, which now looked grayer than before, until Hell was empty once more.

Until I was alone.

With the blade I let fall.

With the golden blood on my hands.

With Lucifer.

Chapter 14 – The True Cost of Love

The silence that followed Adam’s death was the worst I had ever experienced.

Worse than the silence in the library, worse than any pause between his sentences. This silence held no sense of anticipation. No promise that something would come after it.

I let the blade fall. It vanished before it even touched the ground—dissolved into nothing, as if it had never existed, as if it had been waiting only to fulfill its one purpose.

Then there was only him. Lucifer.

I crawled back to him, my knees scraped raw by the scorching stone beneath me. But I didn’t care; I didn’t care about anything except the motionless weight before me. Carefully, I pulled his head into my lap, brushing the blond hair from his face—hair that was now sticky with golden blood that no longer flowed because a heart that had once beaten had stopped.

“Lucifer.”

My voice broke at his name, as it never had before.

“Lucifer, please. Please, please don’t. Don’t do this to me,” I wept over him.

His wings lay spread out around us, once white, now gray at the edges, as if even the last triumph he had fought for—the feathers that had turned golden because I had held his hand, because I had rested my head on his shoulder—were now being taken from him again. As if death were reclaiming the curse because it hadn’t been completely broken.

I pressed my forehead against his.

“You said you loved me,” I whispered. “You can’t just—you can’t just say that and then leave.” My tears flowed ceaselessly down onto his body.

No answer. Only the silence that seemed to go on forever.

I thought of everything. Of the second candle. Of the harpsichord and his hand over mine. Of the star charts on the floor and his fingers that had closed around mine, as if he’d finally allowed himself to do so. Of the sentence I’d read in an old book and never quite understood, until this moment forced it upon me like a truth that needed no further interpretation.

Not despite who he is. But because of who he could be.

I had thought that was something you had to prove. Something that required research and arguments and a sky that would change its mind.

But it had never been that.

It was this. This moment. This clinging to a body that was no longer breathing, because I refused to believe that was all there was. Every candle, every star chart, every wrong chord he had patiently let stand until it became right—that was it.

It wasn’t a condition I had to fulfill.

It was already too late.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, saying the words out loud for the first time, for the first time without the fear that had kept me from saying them for weeks. “I love you, you idiot, and I didn’t say it because I thought it wouldn’t be enough. Because I thought you couldn’t love me. Because I thought I was too short-lived, too small, and too insignificant for someone who created the stars.”

My tears fell onto his face. onto the small smile that was no longer there.

“But you told me. You told me, and then—”

I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, I leaned down.

And kissed him.

It wasn’t a fairy-tale kiss. No golden glow burst forth immediately. Just salt and blood and my tears and the desperation of someone clinging to something that might already be gone—the desperation and, at the same time, the only honest thing I could still do.

For what felt like an endless moment, nothing happened.

Then—a twitch.

So slight that I thought I’d imagined it. But then another one, stronger, and I felt it beneath my hands: a heartbeat. Weak, hesitant, like something that had to remember how to do it all over again.

A heartbeat.

Weak. Hesitant. Like something that had to remember all over again how to do it.

“Lucifer?” I looked at the corpse hesitantly.

His eyes opened.

Not the deep red without an iris that I’d seen in the portal. Something else—a gold that had depth again.

He looked at me, confused, as if he were remembering where he was, who he was, what had happened.

“Y/N,” he croaked, looking up at me.

I collapsed on top of him.

My face buried in his shoulder, I cried in a way I couldn’t control—no longer out of grief, but out of something too vast to be attributed to a single emotion.

“You were dead,” I sobbed. “You were dead; I felt your heart stop—”

“I know.” His voice was weak, but his hand found my back. His claws trembling. “I felt it, too. And then—” Lucifer paused, as if searching for words that didn’t quite exist. “Then there was only your voice. It brought me back.”

I lifted my head and looked at him.

At the edges of his wings—I could see it now, through my tears—the gold was returning. Not just the few feathers from before. More. Much more, spreading like light that had finally found a way without asking permission.

“Lucifer,” I whispered. “Your wings.”

He followed my gaze. Looked at himself as if he were seeing it for the first time—as if it were something he’d never expected to see, not after everything, not after millennia.

And then he smiled.

The real smile. The small one. The one he’d never known belonged to me.

“It seems,” Lucifer smiled beneath me, “that you did something right.”

I laughed—a broken, tear-filled sound—and rested my forehead against his again.

“I hate you for dying,” I said.

“I understand,” the King smiled.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I whispered, pressing my body closer to his.

“I’ll try,” he said gently, brushing strands of hair from my face—which immediately fell back into place.

All around us, hell had fallen silent—no more exorcists, no more hunted sinners, Adam’s corpse, and the blinding white light, which now, for the first time, seemed less threatening than before.

But none of that mattered at that moment.

There was only Lucifer, whose heart was beating again, and me, who wouldn’t let him go.

The End 🖤

🥀𓆩✧𓆪🥀𓆩✧𓆪🥀𓆩✧𓆪🥀𓆩✧𓆪

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