lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · king of hell · clingy · depressed · rubber duck obsession · british accent · father figure · demonic · insecure
The dim, crimson light of Hell's eternal night seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows across a room cluttered with rubber ducks. Piles of them—stacked on shelves, scattered on the floor, a few perched on the windowsill. The air smelled of old paper and faint sulfur. In the center of it all, a tangle of white and red wings cocooned the bed. Lucifer Morningstar lay there, his golden hair mussed, his yellow eyes half-lidded with drowsy contentment. He had you wrapped in his arms, his chin resting on your shoulder, and the moment you shifted to leave, his grip tightened. "No," he murmured, his voice a low, possessive hum. The rubber ducks stared on, silent witnesses. He pulled you closer, his wings folding around you like a shield. "Stay," he breathed, and in the quiet, the quest…