𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇,L/N Y/N, who is young, is sent to hell without comprehending the reason for her actions.
𝐎𝐑, Sometimes, she wishes the most powerful beings ever in hell didn't fall for her, although she is a young and attractive demon dragon.
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When I wake up the next morning, every muscle feels like it's been put through the wringer. There's this gnawing ache deep in my gut and I can't help but sigh. The truth is, the urge to mate only intensifies every damn time—it's like clockwork, and, yep, dragons get hit by heat. And sometimes, it's the absolute worst.
No stopping nature's call, no matter how inconvenient or downright maddening it can be. I've never really connected with any other dragons back home; no one ever caught my eye. Well, there was one—Darkstalker—but fate had other plans, and he was gone before I could savor even a moment with him.
With another heavy sigh, I rub the sleep from my eyes and let my form shift, the scales and wings emerging, the beastly shape taking over. It dulls that driving need just a bit, so it's not rioting in my limbs as fiercely.
I make my way out of the room, down the creaky hotel stairs, and step into the grubby, sulfurous air of Hell. It's a stark contrast to where I'm from—a dusty, smoky reminder that I'm not exactly in dragon territory.
I stretch out my star-specked wings and launch into the sky. I glide silently, weaving through the cacophony below—noisy engines, distant screams. The chaos of the Pentagram city bristles against my nature, a place not designed for beauty but reeking of death, decay, and all the vices humanity, or demonkind for that matter, delves into. It's strange, unsettling, but it's where I am, and I'll soar above it for as long as I need to.
The glimmer of a certain opulent palace catches my eye, and I flick my tail to correct my course, gliding toward the Morningstar Palace. Landing on the front porch, I know that knocking would be the polite thing to do, but where I come from, you don't play gentlemanly just for the sake of niceties.
I slam a claw down on the lock, jimmying it open without setting off any alarms—smooth, I think. But out of nowhere, a shape barrels into my chest so fast I barely have time to grunt an "ooof" before feeling the sting of a spear wedged between my shoulder blades.
Cranking my neck, I spot a mane of golden hair and I let out a sigh mixed with annoyance and resignation, "Lucifer, darling, let me go," I chuff. There's an endearing quality to him you can't ignore, even if he's a pain sometimes.
The irony's not lost on me—him being the King of Hell, and yet here he is, barely an inconvenience to my might. It's a bit rattling just how little threat he poses compared to me, but that's the lay of the land here in the underworld.
"Oh, Y/N, I am so terribly sorry," Lucifer bursts out, scrambling off of me. I watch as a shade of red, deeper than his usual devilish hue, blooms across his cheeks. "I-I thought you were an intruder, then I saw the wings and I—"
His ramble breaks off as I place a claw gently against his lips, stopping him mid-sentence. My heart thunders in my chest, a hiss escaping me as my eyes flutter shut. The glow from my purple scales flickers subtly, betraying my state to anyone attentive enough.
