Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 10
A/N â Lilith was gone for seven years, and I, the bitch who writes this, was gone for seven months. ALL A PART OF MY (non-existent) PLAN
Warnings â Memories of violence and GBH. Blood.
Rating - T
Male Version
GN Version
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When it was clear you werenât waking up, Lucifer carried you to his room; it was closer than yours, and he laid you on the bed.
He stared at your injuries in horrified wonderment, waiting for the moment when they would ever so slowly start to heal. That was how injuries worked in Hell. If someone was torn apart, they would agonisingly bind back together after a time. The stab wounds should already be knitting themselves together, but nothing was happening.
Damn it! What was wrong with you?
Lucifer wasnât a doctor. He didnât know the first thing about treating injuries.
He was terrified for you, but time was of the essence, so he opted to try his best.
Ideally, he would call up a healer from the Sloth ring, but since he didnât know who did this to you, he didnât trust anyone. His mistrust was misguided, especially seeing how the Sloth Ringâs medics were hell-borns who would never test their limited abilities against a Sinner, but the paranoia was impossible to ignore.
So, he used his magic and tools to aid you. He started on your torso, gently removing your tunic. His hands were shaking, covered in your blood. Still, he forced himself to continue, first in cleaning the injuries and then using a soldering iron of all things to cauterize the wounds, his life as an engineer and designer being the only experience he could fall back on.
You cried out, half-conscious, but beyond comprehension.
âShh, itâs okay,â Lucifer soothed, even though it was all an act. There was nothing okay, and internally he was a mess, but he couldnât let that show when you were already suffering.
Luciferâs platitudes failed to soothe you, addled as you were. He sniffled and tried not to cry as he worked. There was little left to your clothing, and he was forced to strip you fully to start on your legs.
Once he had treated the injuries on your legs and torso, he dressed you in his evening robe to preserve your dignity. Then, he worked upwards to your face, freezing when he found the crucifix branded into your neck. This was the work of an Angel!
Luciferâs eyes turned red, his horns growing and knocking the hat from atop his head, his hair in wild disarray. His fangs thirsted for Angel blood, and his claws demanded to rip them apart. His tail lashed wildly as the rage built.
He had made the Deal with the Angels for the extermination, but it was not Extermination Day, and they were unwelcome in his domain.
With nowhere to direct his ire, the bloodlust only built until you faintly reached for his hand, barely managing to grasp it.
â(Y/N),â He said your name earnestly, all traces of his Demonic form gone as he fell to his knees by the bed, clasping your hand between his.
âSo-â The words died on your lips, replaced with an agonised groan. It took a minute before you could finish the sentiment. âSorry.â
You were barely audible. You looked at him blearily, determined to continue, âWas-â You gulped weakly, âWas a fool.â
Lucifer shook his head. âNo, no, no,â He repeated the word, slowly, softly, needing you to know that you were anything but. â(Y/N), please, what happened? Which Angel did this?â
You tried in vain to speak once more, but you were done, hitting your limit, and though you fought it, your eyes fluttered to a close, and you were unconscious once more.
Lucifer let out an anguished cry, pressing his forehead to yours. Why did you have to bleed red instead of black? You were the furthest thing from a Sinner he could imagine. Standing back up, Lucifer grabbed some cotton pads and continued his work, a patch of your blood drying above his brow.
He had to do everything he could. Injuries delivered by an Exorcist would heal the human way: slowly and painfully. If only you were a ragdoll again, you might ease the pain, but in your exhaustion, you seemed to be stuck as the person he had first met; the person he was growing closer to with every second that passed.
âOh (Y/N), what did you do?â
You could barely focus on the voice, too disoriented for the time being, but after much effort, you managed to open your eyes to Charlie, holding your hand delicately in hers, just as her father had the night before.
âI donât know this room,â You thought, distractedly, your mind being entirely uncooperative.
You didnât take in many of the details past a family portrait on the table next to Charlie and a pile of rubber ducks that had been hastily thrown across the floor for Lucifer to place you on the bed.
âWhatâd you do?â Angelâs heavy-accented voice joined in, alerting you that he was somewhere outside of your limited purview.
You forced yourself to focus, especially when Vaggie joined Charlieâs side, the two apparently reconciled, closely followed by Sir Pentious. You felt the weight of Angel sitting at the foot of the bed.
âLucifer?â You croaked.
âDadâs gone out to get some painkillers,â Charlie explained. It made sense. Lucifer could only create things he could comprehend, and having felt little physical pain in his long life, he likely lacked the ability to provide them.
âI went- went to-â You coughed, a glob of blood forcing its way up your throat and dribbling down your chin.
Charlie tenderly wiped it away with a washcloth, her brows creased in consternation.
âSlowly (Y/N),â Vaggie said, trying to be comforting despite desperately needing answers as the Hotelâs protector.
âEmbassy,â You managed.
âWhat the fuck?!â Angel said lowly.
âOh my!â Sir Pentious exclaimed.
âThe Embassy?! As in Heavenâs Embassy?!â Vaggieâs hands balled into fists. âWhy? Why would you go there?â
You didnât want to tell them that you had died a Winner since Charlie put so much faith into how much better Heaven was. It probably was as good as she made it out to be, but you were still bitterly clinging to the fact that the deity running it was either ignorant or apathetic about the murderous angels running it.
And, even if you did want to tell them everything, you were unable to, managing only a few halting words at a time.
âJus⌠wanted it- to stop,â You head grew heavy, lolling back into the pillows.
â(Y/N)!â For the first time, Angel sounded frantic, as if you were going to die. âCâmon, you can heal shit, Iâve seen you do it.â
While it was true you could fix small wounds, this was far beyond your extremely limited power.
âWe should let her rest,â Charlie said defeatedly. â(Y/N), I promise we will fix this. Iâve already found out how. Carmilla Carmine-â
You didnât hear the rest of what Charlie had to say, but you were mildly appeased to hear that she still had a plan; Charlie was the one person who never gave up.
You went through periods of sleeping and waking, though the latter times were short-lived, and it felt like you were in a daze, your mind dulled by the pain.
Then, there was finally a brief respite brought, unknowingly to you, by Lucifer, who had finally allowed a doctor into the Manor to provide you with an IV drip and pain relief. The Doctor was not allowed to stay, which was probably a good thing since she was more interested in Lucifer than caring for you, but during her brief visit, Lucifer did learn how to replace the IV and top up your pain relief when needed.
After that, he refused to leave your, or rather, his bedside, watching you for any sign that you would be okay, his eyes occasionally landing on that damned brand. He slept very little and anxiously suffered through the long days wherein you were unable to take his mind from the impending attack on Charlieâs Hotel.
He had tried to avenge you, but as always, he was a joke to Heaven, and without proof that an Angel had attacked you, they would do nothing. The proof was lying in front of him, struggling to breathe, but Heaven didnât care to hear about that.
Lucifer held his head in his hands and cried; he had never felt so powerless.
When Lucifer did sleep, it was because he passed out from exhaustion, always in the armchair he had moved to the bedside.
After one such much-needed and short-lived rest, Lucifer opened his eyes, panicking immediately when you werenât there.
He shot up, calling your name anxiously, living out a nightmare he had never considered.
âItâs okay,â You croaked, coming out from the en-suite bathroom, âIâm here.â
You were finally up, the IV removed from your arm since you were too frail to walk with it. Seeing you up, Lucifer felt a weird combination of ecstasy that you were getting better and terror that you might push yourself too far and just fall apart. His concern was well placed as you stumbled forward, clutching your side.
He raced to you, catching you before you could fall. Then, picking you up like you weighed nothing, he carried you back to the bed.
âHowâs Charlie doing?â You asked.
Luciferâs heart swelled; you were in critical condition, yet your first thought was for his daughterâs well-being.
âShe- Sheâs strong,â He said instead of troubling you with the battle training Charlie and her new cannibal army were undergoing. âShe wants to visit more, but with everything going onâŚâ
You nodded. âAnd you? Youâre okay?â
Lucifer let out a small sound that was half cry, half exasperated laugh. âDonât worry about me. Itâs you Iâm scared for. (Y/N), please, tell me why? Why did you go to Adam?â
âOkay,â You said, more to yourself; you had kept the secret for so long, it felt like someone should know, and you couldnât imagine anyone better than Lucifer.
âWhen I died, after- after that man-â
Your voice faltered and your eyes welled with tears, âIt was horrible, Lucifer. Itâs all I could think of when Adam- when he-â
You couldnât finish, and Lucifer hurried forward onto the bed to hold you against him. His cheek rested on your head, and he stroked your hair soothingly.
âItâs okay,â He whispered. âYouâre here now, and I wonât ever let anything bad happen to you again. I promise.â
It took a while for you to calm your sobs, and Lucifer felt all the worse knowing that Adam had brutalised you in the same manner that your murderer had.
âWhen I died,â You said again, finally managing to regain your original train of thought, though your voice was thick from crying, âI went to Heaven.â
âWhat?â Lucifer cupped your face in his hands, searching it, his hold and expression intimate. âBut-but how? You- Youâre here?â
You threw your arms around him, pressing your face to his chest, wetting it with your teardrops. âI was so foolish and stubborn, but when I got there- I-I couldnât stop thinking about how I died- How any God could let that happen! And all the wars and the crimes and the hatered.â
Luciferâs hold on you tightened. That was all his fault. He had introduced Sin to the world with the naĂŻve hope that knowledge was better than ignorance. Yet, you blamed God. Of course you would, it was not an act of your so-called âfree willâ to be tortured and murdered. To you, it probably felt more like something that Heaven should have stopped.
âAnd I just- I never went through the gates. I did everything I could to not go there. I was so angry!â
You thought of the smiling face of Peter, whom you had ruthlessly attacked, trying to do as much damage to him as had been done to you. You didnât get very far, the Universe deciding that there was evil in your heart after all, revenge driving you to Hell; after all, Wrath was a sin.
âI did terrible things to the Angel,â You admitted, your voice tiny.
Lucifer shook his head.
âNo!â He said forcefully. âItâs Heaven! They twist up everything pure about the world, never mind the good intentions in your heart. You are not a Sinner. Youâre someone who desperately needed help.â
There was another lull in the conversation, and Lucifer held you till there were no tears left.
That evening, he only left you to bring some comforts. Fresh pyjamas, from your room this time, a tray of tea that he placed on your bedside table, and the picture of your friends from the Hotel.
You had offered to return to your room, but Lucifer refused. You had been far too frail in your return from the bathroom earlier. Besides, all the medical devices were set up in his room. Granted, you no longer needed the IV, but in case you regressed to a worse state, Lucifer wanted it nearby.
In your emotionally vulnerable state, Lucifer decided to stay on the bed with you, letting you lie against him while he read to you. A happy story with a happy ending that he knew well and thought you would like.
âLucifer,â You mumbled, tired again after only a few chapters.
âHm?â
âThank you.â
Lucifer could hear the sleep in your voice, and he smiled softly. He moved slightly, facing you, his only real company in seven years. He cupped your cheek, lightly stroking a thumb over a fading cut, âYou donât ever need to thank me.â
There was more left unsaid in that, like how much he valued you and the way you brightened a room, the way you left your jackets all over the manor, making rooms feel lived in again, the way that you made him feel like he was needed.
You were lost in Luciferâs eyes, and you almost missed the way they dipped down to your lips. He leaned forward, the small of his hand supporting your back. You were hypnotised, your chin tilting up slightly until that ever-sweet moment when his lips pressed against yours.
Yours and Luciferâs eyes fluttered closed, both of you lost in the moment.
âIâm married!â
Luciferâs eyes shot open at the thought, feeling the portrait of his wife glaring at him from behind.
He pulled back from you, pushing you away as he leapt from the bed, panting anxiously.
âWhat have I done?! I love Lilith. I have always loved Lilith!â
âLucifer,â You called, voice distraught.
He looked at you, felt himself shaking, and then hurried out of the room. You made a weak attempt to pursue, falling off the bed and clinging to the armchair for support.
What had you done!









