Headcanons/notes from the author: transmasc Lucifer and agender Barbatos (also brief mention of non-binary Simeon)
Brief Blurb: After the fall, Barbatos nudges Lucifer to address his gender dysphoria.
Ever since the fall, Lucifer had distracted himself with work. He didn’t want to look in mirrors even more than before. Despite his prideful nature, there was a force within himself that was tearing up his heart and splitting his head from the inside. The feeling was there before he fell, and he had kept it on the back burner since he was a young angel.
Most nights he could drown himself in paperwork or demonus to numb the discomfort. He knew it was unhealthy, but what else was he to do? Being the avatar of pride, he couldn’t allow an invisible torment to weigh him down. The mirrors would remain covered with sheets and he would dress as modest as he could. No one needed to see his skin, anyway.
Why did his name bother him so much? Perhaps it reminded him of the Father when he heard it… Then again, it wasn’t just his name or body, there was the fact that he felt poison ink in his chest when being called a woman. It felt ridiculous, because he was one, wasn’t he?
Lord Diavolo had sat down with him in the castle gardens for tea. Every time his celestial-given name left the prince’s mouth, he felt knives in his chest. Every time Barbatos addressed him as “lady” he had to blink back tears. Lucifer wanted to ask them to stop, but what reason could he possibly have? Wouldn’t he sound insane to them?
“Young Master,” Barbatos spoke up after standing quietly to the side for a while. “It seems that our guest is having a difficult time.”
Lucifer quickly stood, dress immediately catching on the chair and causing him to stumble. “No, I am alright,” he lied, eyes scanning everywhere but the two before him. “I just remembered, I promised to read to Satan tonight. I must take my leave.” The sound of his own voice caused his stomach to twist.
“Allow us to accompany you,” Lord Diavolo said his name, and Lucifer could no longer keep the tears in. One slipped down his face, and the two before him went deathly silent. Of course, the prince couldn’t be lied to, but he didn’t want to use that to get Lucifer to admit his issue. “Are you… sure that you are alright?”
Lucifer hated the pity in Lord Diavolo’s voice, especially since he was the same man that used distress to get him to vow loyalty. How dare he pretend to care! Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Lucifer shook his head. “I’m quite alright. It was an eyelash.”
Before either of them could stop him, Lucifer hurriedly left the gardens. “Barbatos…” Lord Diavolo turned to face his butler. “Do you have any idea what this is about?”
“I’m afraid I do not. Would you like me to utilize my power, Young Master?” Of course, Barbatos had an idea. He was an observant individual, and as someone who wasn’t necessarily the gender expected of him, he could pick up on it.
“No… I suppose I will have to wait…”
;
Later that night, Barbatos was sent to the House of Lamentation to bring Lucifer unprecedented urgent paperwork. Upon his arrival, he knocked and waited for someone to answer. The door swung open, revealing Beelzebub. “Lord Barbatos?”
“Just Barbatos. I am merely a butler.”
“Right.”
Gesturing to the file tucked in his arm, Barbatos told him, “I am here to give these papers to the Avatar of Pride.”
“Okay.” Beelzebub stepped out of the way, then closed the door after Barbatos came in. “Probably in the office.”
Barbatos thanked Beelzebub before heading upstairs, sighing once he was sure no one would hear. He followed the way to Lucifer’s office, then knocked on the door. “Who is it?”
“Barbatos. I have brought urgent paperwork.” There was shuffling on the other side, then a heavy exhale. When the door opened, Barbatos couldn’t help gasping. Lucifer’s face was flushed, eyes red, and his cheeks were damp from the tears that still clawed down his face. “Still having eyelash issues?”
Lucifer growled, but it didn’t frighten Barbatos one bit. “Just give me the paperwork.”
Handing over the envelope, Barbatos couldn’t help but search for some sort of sign that Lucifer may tell him what was wrong. Perhaps he was misunderstanding the cause of so much distress? “If I may—”
“You may not,” Lucifer snapped. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I’m frustrated enough.”
“What has you so frustrated, exactly?” Barbatos didn’t understand why he cared so much. Lucifer was just another servant, after all; a fallen angel so desperate he gave up his independence to a certain degree. “Perhaps I could help.”
Lucifer huffed, a trembling smile spreading across his face. “I doubt it. I’m just unwell.”
“Unwell?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Lucifer began to shut the door, but Barbatos stopped his movement. “Are demons always so pushy?”
Unwilling to admit he was genuinely concerned for the morning star, Barbatos told him, “I am simply doing as expected with my duty as a butler. If I were to turn a blind eye to your unease, it would hinder Lord Diavolo.” Before Lucifer could argue, he added, “Furthermore, it is obviously an affliction that should not be ignored. Under any assumption I could help resolve some of your discontent, it would be wrong of me not to do so.”
Lucifer was silent for a while. After wiping off his cheeks once more, he opened the door enough to allow Barbatos to enter. The butler did so and sat with Lucifer at the desk, both staring at each other’s faces. “You will think I am insane.”
“I doubt that will be the case.” Barbatos watched Lucifer set the envelope down before folding his hands on the surface of the desk. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on before jumping to conclusions?”
Lucifer fidgeted his feet, then took a deep breath before staring into nothing. “I… have always found discomfort in my… body…” he began, feeling strange saying such. “I don’t like… being called a woman, despite being one. I hate it.”
There was a stretch of silence, and Barbatos half expected to be kicked out of the office. It was as he thought. “I see.” He bit the inside of his cheek, then decided to continue. “I… do not think you’re insane.”
“Liar.”
“Let me finish,” Barbatos insisted. When Lucifer didn’t say anything more, Barbatos went on, “I have never felt like a man or a woman. Neither of them are exactly the correct word for me. There may not ever be a word that resonates with me quite right.” Barbatos made a weak smile. “I do not know if that is the case for you, but as far as I can tell, you are probably suffering from gender dysphoria.”
“Gender… dysphoria…?” Lucifer knitted his eyebrows and stared at his hands. “Is there… a term for it celestial tongue…?” Barbatos thought for a moment, then uttered the phrase. “Oh…” A few tears rolled down Lucifer’s face. “Oh… Simeon… has that…”
“How do you mean?”
“Simeon told me once, they have similar feelings as you…” Lucifer mumbled. “When they went to speak with Michael, he was very nice about it… saying many angels have an issue in creation…” He felt his chest tightening with panic. There was no way he didn’t realize something like this about himself, right? Surely there was another explanation! He was a perfect vision… “We began to use more neutral terms for Simeon, and they… felt better…”
Barbatos wasn’t sure how to properly help. The fallen angel was trembling with crushed pride. “Have you perhaps been… ignoring your needs out of… stubbornness?”
“I…” Lucifer choked down a sob, then muttered, “So what? I can’t… just… I’m…” Words failed to come to him, and a frustrated, tiny scream left his lips as he buried his face in his palms. He ran his hands over his forehead and through his hair, violently shaking from having to deal with reality now that it was out in the open. “Surely I can’t take care of it under Lord Diavolo’s oath. He wouldn’t stand it. I-I mean, he doesn’t call you neutral terms, so why would he change anything for me, the fallen angel?”
“I continue to use masculine terms because it doesn’t bother me,” Barbatos told him gently. “Every person with gender dysphoria has different needs. I simply feel no gender suits me. I present myself as I see fit.” He could tell Lucifer was listening, so he continued, “My question is, do you feel that any gender suits you outside what you were taught to believe?”
Trembling and crying, Lucifer shrugged and hid his face behind his hair. “I haven’t even entertained the idea, s-so…”
“Alright…” Barbatos very carefully laid a hand on Lucifer’s head, mustering a kind smile. “We can take this slowly. It will be alright.”
🐺🔥 Barbatos and the Wolf 🐺🔥 [Barbatos x demon wolf Reader] [new fic: BRAWMN] [OM!]
Fic: baby, run away with me now
Chapter 1: run boy run, come here right now
Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Author: Koumine [AO3] [masterlist]
Rating: E
Summary: Spicy slice of life from the relationship between Barbatos and the Wolf. Interconnected smut and fluff scenes featuring dom demon wolf Reader / trans male sub Barbatos. Chapter 1: Wolf hunts their prey in the forest. Mind the tags.
Content tags: demon wolf dom!Reader x sub!Barbatos, demon wolf Reader has a dick but is gender neutral, Barbatos is trans bc I said so, established relationship, monster fucking / teratophilia, predator/prey, fear play, rough treatment / manhandling (wolf-handling?), roleplay, ⚠ con-non-con ⚠, scratching, marking, rough sex, knotting/locking, demonic multiple orgasms, cum eating, aftercare, character building, worldbuilding.
Excerpt [ch 1]: [rated M below]
You are the Wolf, the first canine to drag themself up from the muck of primordial existence, the prime avatar of all canines in all of time and space. You walk quietly between the trees of your forest, big nimble paws glowing with a low orange light that fades and vanishes up into your pitch black fur. Your fiery eyes leave streaks of glowing light trailing behind like wisps of smoke as you turn your head slowly side to side, scanning, checking the boundary of your territory.
You stop. Sniff deeply. A familiar scent in your nose, a tingle of magic curling down into your lungs, a single footprint made by a humanoid’s smooth-soled shoe. The scent and the magic and the traces of broken twigs and disturbed dirt cross the boundary, carving a clumsy path into your territory.
An intruder. A trail. A signal. Prey.
You turn back from the boundary and follow the trail, stalking ever quieter, cloaking yourself and your eyes and your paws in deepest darkness.
After a league or so, the magic fades and the clumsy trail vanishes. You sniff deeply again. The scent continues forward, and your prey begins to move through the trees as gracefully as any inhabitant of the forest, leaving not a trace of visible disturbance or tint of magic behind as they go. But your nose is keen, and you can smell them. You smell fear.
You follow the scent through your forest, past copses of great trees you’ve watched grow from mere seedlings, under giant mushrooms that sprout and fade with the passage of the moons, across a hissing, deadly river that you leap across in a single easy bound. And that scent keeps going, growing stronger, fresher. The taste of fear in it grows, too. Your prey knows you’re coming. Good.
You continue following the scent at your own easy pace. Steady. A good hunter knows when to hurry, and when there’s no need. You’re faster than your prey. Stronger. Bigger. And you are getting closer.
The trail begins to meander, weaving back and forth through the trees, doubling back, crossing over itself, trying to confuse. No matter. You touch your nose to the trail and breathe your own magic into it, and a vivid red light the color of fresh human blood infuses into the trail and speeds away along it, tracing its path through the trees and disappearing behind some bushes. You wait. A few breaths later, your ears prick on the faint, distant sound of a sharply indrawn breath, and you feel the spell find its objective.
You turn your head. Ah, clever. Your prey doubled back the way it came and is now behind you. And now you can see it, a distant smear of glowing red in the vague shape of a humanoid, marked by your magic.
Nowhere to hide, now, and your prey knows it. You stalk a straight line from you to him, slow and steady, giving him time to fear, to skitter uselessly from one copse of trees to the next, to look back into the darkness and wonder when your glowing eyes and fanged maw will emerge from shadow and take him.
You stalk him, your long stride gradually closing the distance even as he shuffles halfway into a jog. It’s not long before you can hear him, too. Shallow, rapid breaths muffled but not erased by magic. A rustle of fabric. A crunch of a shoe across an unexpected patch of gravel, and he freezes up for the instant before you let loose a low laugh that rumbles and growls up from deep in your chest, and you’re not even close enough to smell it yet, but you swear you know the instant that that fragrance of fear fills the air.
Finally, he tries to run, one last attempt to escape from you, but oh, in his terror he manifests his true form and the twin tips of his forked tail glow like tantalizing beacons in the darkness of the forest. You stop and howl, one long call harmonizing triumph and warning and hunger that makes him slip and tumble before he rolls to his feet and leaps for the trees, and then you chase.
