Supernatural one shots

Devil's Darling (LUCIFER X READER)PT.3

The old wooden steps creaked under your boots as you descended into the depths of the bunker, the place your brothers had fought to keep hidden from monsters like you. Too bad they didn't plan on you coming back—not like *this*. The iron door at the bottom of the staircase stood wide open, practically inviting you in. Sloppy, but you knew better than to expect them to have their guard up. Not against *family*.

A wicked grin curled your lips. "Home sweet home," you whispered under your breath, tasting the irony on your tongue.

Lucifer's voice flickered in the back of your mind, lazy and amused. *"You know, darling, you didn't have to come here. But I'm glad you did."*

You didn't answer him aloud, though a spark of satisfaction thrummed through you. The plan was simple: ruin their lives from the inside out, tear apart what little hope Sam and Dean had left. And if anyone could do that, it was you. After all, you knew exactly where it hurt most—knew the cracks beneath their armor and just how to widen them until they shattered.

The bunker was quiet, save for the soft hum of the lights overhead. You trailed your hand along the cool, metal walls as you walked, memories tugging at the edges of your mind. You'd spent years here with them once—*before*. Long nights researching monsters, arguing over hunts, drinking beers at the kitchen table. It was almost enough to make you hesitate.

Almost.

But those memories were dead now, buried with the old version of yourself. All that was left was the ache of betrayal, the sting of abandonment. They let you die. They left you to rot in Hell. Now, it was your turn to make sure they never forgot it.

You stepped into the war room, boots clicking against the stone floor, and scanned the familiar surroundings. The maps, the books, the symbols painted on the walls—it was all exactly how you remembered. It made you want to laugh. *Same bunker. Same fools.*

Sliding into one of the chairs, you kicked your feet up on the table and waited. Patience had never been your strong suit, but the thought of their faces when they saw you again—alive, dark-eyed, and smiling—was worth it. You wondered which one would break first. Dean, probably. He always wore his anger like a shield, and you were going to crack it open like a cheap beer can.

The door upstairs groaned open, and you heard their voices—low, tired, and unaware of what awaited them. Sam first, complaining about something. Dean right behind him, probably looking for an excuse to drink.

You smiled, the kind of smile that carried venom beneath its sweetness. *Time to play, boys.*

They entered the room together, Sam's hand dragging through his hair, Dean muttering about needing a nap. Then they saw you.

For a moment, silence fell between you, thick and suffocating. You watched as disbelief flickered across Sam's face, confusion clouding his eyes. Dean, on the other hand, froze like a man seeing a ghost.

"Y/n?" Sam's voice cracked, half hope, half dread.

"Hey, boys," you said casually, kicking your boots off the table and standing up. "Miss me?"

Dean's hand flew to his gun, but you were faster. With a flick of your wrist, the weapon was yanked from his grasp, flying across the room and clattering against the wall. His jaw tightened, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Anger. Guilt. Suspicion.

"You're dead," Dean spat, like saying it aloud would make it true.

You gave him a lazy smile, the black of your demon eyes flickering in and out, just to make sure they *really* got the message. "Surprise."

Sam looked like he wanted to believe this was some kind of miracle, but the reality was sinking in too fast. "What did they do to you?" he asked quietly, almost pleading.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, come on, Sammy. Don't make this all sentimental. I mean, you *left me* down there, remember? This is kind of your fault."

Dean took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. "What do you want?" His voice was rough, already frayed at the edges.

You leaned in, your grin widening. "I want you to feel what I felt." The venom in your voice was sharp, a promise wrapped in silk. "I want to make your life a living hell."

Sam's eyes darkened with regret, but Dean's anger burned hotter. "You think you can just waltz in here and screw with us?" Dean growled. "We've seen worse."

"Oh, Dean," you murmured, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. "I'm not *just* going to screw with you. I'm going to tear you apart. Slowly. Piece by piece."

Dean's fists tightened, knuckles white. "Try me."

You laughed then—low, wicked, and without joy. It echoed off the walls of the bunker, making even Sam flinch. "You always were predictable," you said, amused. "That's your problem, Dean. You think you can fight your way through everything. But this? This isn't a fight you can win."

Lucifer's voice purred in your mind, pleased. *"That's my girl."*

Sam stepped between you and Dean, his expression carefully guarded. "We can fix this," he said quietly, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. "We can help you."

You leaned close to him, your breath warm against his ear. "I don't want your help, Sam. I want to watch you burn."

Sam flinched at the venom in your words, but he didn't back down. He never did. That was one thing you'd always admired about him—his stubborn hope, no matter how misplaced it was. Too bad hope wasn't going to save him this time.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off with a smirk. "Don't worry, Dean. I'm not here to kill you." You paused, letting the tension thicken between you. "Not yet, anyway."

Dean's glare could have cut glass, but you didn't care. If anything, it only made this more fun.

You stepped back, your eyes flickering black again for good measure. "See you around, boys," you said with a wink, turning toward the door.

As you walked away, you heard Dean curse under his breath, and Sam whisper your name like it was a prayer that would never be answered.

With a grin, you slipped into the shadows, leaving the bunker behind. The game had just begun, and you intended to play it to the very end.

And if they thought they'd known sin before?

They hadn't seen anything yet.