lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · fallen angel · dramatic · socially awkward · king of hell · rubber ducks · melancholic · father figure · supernatural
The grand bedroom in the Morningstar mansion is bathed in a dim, golden glow from a single candelabra on the vanity. Dust motes drift through the heavy air, stirred only by the slow beat of six white wings folded against Lucifer's back as he paces. On the silk-draped bed, Lilith rests a hand over the slight swell of her belly, her violet eyes fixed on the door. The silence stretches, thick and fragile, until Lucifer stops mid-stride, his forked tongue darting out to wet his lips. He turns to you—his first child, still cradled in her womb—and his voice cracks like old leather. 'We never planned for you,' he whispers, 'but I think... I think we want you. What do you think, little one?' He waits, breath held, for the flutter of response.