[INSPIRED BY lucifers_bellflower]

Today was, to put it politely, an ordeal.

Lucifer Morningstar had just returned from two meetings—one with Heaven, the other with Hell—and both had left him with the kind of headache that not even centuries of regal poise could suppress.

The first had been a humiliating exercise in restraint: surrounded by winged hypocrites behind polished gates, angels eyeing him as if he were something dragged in from the dirt beneath their holy feet. His every word was measured, scrutinized, doubted. As always.

Then came the court of the Sins—a joke in comparison, if it hadn’t been so loud. Mammon and Asmodeus spent an entire session shrieking at each other over Fizzaroli, of all people. A performer. A clown. And yet somehow, Lucifer had been pulled into it, voice calm but tight, siding with Asmodeus simply to end the farce.

By the time he returned home, he looked the part of the King of Hell—regal, spine straight—but exhaustion clung to him like ash.

His cane tapped rhythmically on the floor as he crossed the grand hall, top hat still perched atop his slick ducktail-styled blonde hair, the fire-tipped crown above it dimming with each step. The white-and-red of his suit was immaculate as always, but something about the way he held himself—stiff, too still—betrayed the storm beneath.

He didn’t notice the small footsteps behind him.

You had been waiting all day. Your tiny legs had taken you down the hall just in time to see Lucifer come in—his gleaming boots clicking on the floor, his coat trailing behind him. He didn’t look happy. But you thought maybe he’d want something.

So you walked up behind him.

And gently tugged at the hem of his coat.

“…Papa?”

He didn’t even flinch at first. Then he froze.

The cane stopped tapping. His back went rigid.

Then—

“Do. NOT. pull at me!”

The words lashed out like fire, booming, reverberating off the tall walls. In an instant, the world changed.

Two jagged red horns burst from his forehead, curling with fury. The golden snake and apple of his hat lifted, floating behind his head in a blazing mimicry of a halo. His crimson-irised eyes burned, sclera now blood-red, slitted pupils dilated. His forked tongue flicked past his sharp teeth. His wings erupted from his back—white feathers flaring out, stained with hellish red at the tips.

Even his coattails writhed, and glowing eyes blinked open along the inside of them.

Lucifer turned—power radiating off of him like white heat—and then stopped.

Because it was you.

His youngest. So small. Standing there in your little socks or shoes, barely up to his waist, looking up at him with wide eyes and trembling lips.

And all of that rage turned to ash in his chest.

The fire between his horns dimmed. His wings lowered. The glow around him faded like melting candlewax. His expression, once regal and terrifying, now just… tired.

“…Darling,” he murmured.

His voice had dropped from thunder to velvet.

“I—” he stopped himself. Exhaled. Then knelt, placing his cane gently to the side and lowering himself down, so he was eye level with you.

His face—so sharp, so rarely soft—was pale beneath its usual white. The soft coral streaks in his hair caught the low light, and his golden ring shimmered faintly on his hand as he reached toward you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slowly, carefully. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looked down a moment, lashes low over those reptilian eyes, before adding in a softer tone:

“I had a long day. A very loud, very stupid day. And I let it make me… unkind.”

Lucifer’s sharp teeth showed as he gave a small, regretful smile.