I turned all that fucking shit off. I can't have Copilot scraping my files because they contain CONFIDENTIAL LEGAL INFO. I'm not handing Microsoft the ability to doxx people, fuck off. I otherwise refuse to use Word. I've also stopped using Google Drive/Docs, and just finally sucked it up and switched to Proton (for mail/storage/docs/spreadsheets - I pay the sub for extra storage and multiple email addresses) and usd Obsidian to actually write in. Proton stuff is less convenient and Obsidian has its flaws, but I'm not worried about them fucking spying on me.
Synopsis - After years of clinging to a dead marriage, Lucifer Morningstar finally accepts what he’s been avoiding: Lilith stopped loving him long before she left. The pain lingered for decades, but slowly—clumsily—he heals. He learns to be alone. He learns to live again. And after taking off his wedding ring for the first time in eons, Lucifer decides to try something absurd, terrifying, and completely foreign to him: dating.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Back and forth. Back and forth. Too fast for a man his height, boots scuffing the carpet as rubber ducks watched in silent judgment from every conceivable surface. Ducks on shelves. Ducks on the bed. Ducks stacked like a small, unsettling army near the wall. One sat directly on his desk, directly in front of his phone.
The phone.
He stopped abruptly, staring at it like it had personally wronged him.
“…Okay. Okay. It’s just a text,” he muttered, hands fluttering uselessly at his sides. “It’s a rectangle. A very stupid rectangle. I invented way scarier things than you.”
The phone did not respond.
Of course it didn’t.
He groaned and dragged a hand down his face, red circles on his cheeks already bright, pacing resuming immediately. His tail flicked behind him in sharp, anxious snaps.
Three days.
Three whole days since breakfast. Since her confused smile. Since the way she’d laughed when he’d nearly dropped a tray of food because she’d said his name softly. Since she’d left his room without running, screaming, or calling an exorcist—which, frankly, still felt like a miracle.
And now he wanted to ask her out.
Like. Properly.
Not drinks. Not sex. Not an accident fueled by liquid courage and poor decisions.
A date.
Where you sit. And talk. And look at each other. And maybe—maybe—she realizes he’s not actually interesting at all.
He stopped pacing again, spun on his heel, and leaned over the desk, hands braced on either side of the phone.
“Hey,” he said quietly, rehearsing. “Hey, I had a really nice time with you, and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to—nope. Too desperate.”
He straightened immediately.
“Hey! Wanna grab dinner sometime?” he tried again, overly cheerful. He grimaced. “Ugh. That sounds like I say that to everyone. I don’t say that to anyone. That’s the problem.”
He flopped backward onto the bed, sending a cascade of ducks tumbling to the floor.
“I’m the King of Hell,” he said to the ceiling. “I’ve faced exterminations. I’ve ruled a realm of eternal suffering. I can absolutely text a woman.”
Silence.
“…Okay but what if she says no.”
He sat up again, immediately.
“What if she already regrets everything?” he continued, spiraling fast now. “What if she just hasn’t figured out how to tell me yet. What if she thinks I’m clingy. Or weird. Or—God—what if she thinks I’m doing this because I’m lonely?”
He froze.
His mouth twisted.
“Well. I am lonely,” he muttered. “So that’s… not inaccurate.”
He picked up the phone.
Put it down.
Picked it up again.
His thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding like he was about to start an apocalypse instead of a conversation.
“Don’t be pathetic,” he snapped at himself, pacing again with the phone clenched in his hand. “You’re doing fine. You’re normal. You’re—” he gestured vaguely at himself, “—wearing pants. That’s progress.”
He stopped in front of a mirror and stared at his reflection: blond hair slicked back but slightly mussed, white button-up wrinkled from pacing, red eyes far too earnest for someone who embodied Pride.
“…You’re going to scare her,” he said quietly. “You always do this. You like someone and suddenly you’re too much. Too intense. Too fast.”
His grip tightened around the phone.
“Maybe you should wait,” he reasoned. “Play it cool. Normal people wait. Normal people don’t immediately want to plan things. Normal people don’t wake up smiling because of a text notification.”
He scoffed, rubbing at his eyes.
“God, you’re embarrassing.”
The phone buzzed in his hand.
He yelped.
Actually yelped—high-pitched and undignified—nearly throwing it across the room before fumbling to catch it. His heart slammed against his ribs as he stared at the screen.
A text.
From her.
His breath hitched.
For a full five seconds, he just stared, frozen, tail going completely still.
Then he unlocked the phone with shaking fingers.
hey! hope you’re having a good day :)
That was it.
That was all.
And somehow it felt like the world tilted on its axis.
His shoulders sagged in relief so strong it almost hurt. A breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding rushed out of him in a quiet, shaky laugh.
“Oh no. Oh no now I have to respond. Quickly. But not too quickly. Not too eager. How long is casual? Five minutes? Ten? Is ten too long? Ten might seem rude.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, phone cradled in both hands like it was fragile.
“Just be honest,” he told himself softly. “You want to see her. That’s not a crime. I mean—” he winced, “—bad example.”
His thumbs hovered.
Then, before he could overthink it into oblivion, he typed.
hey! yeah—yeah, I am. well. mostly. ducks are being… ducks.
He cringed immediately.
“…Idiot.”
But he didn’t delete it.
He swallowed, chest tight, then kept typing.
I was actually wondering if you might wanna go out sometime. like—an actual date. sit somewhere. talk. no pressure. totally fine if not.
He stared at the message.
Read it again.
Once more.
His stomach flipped violently.
“Too much,” he muttered. “That was too much. That was—”
He sent it.
The second it was gone, he dropped the phone onto the bed like it had burned him and immediately stood up, pacing again, hands in his hair.
“Oh my God. Oh my God why did I do that. That was so needy. ‘No pressure’? That screams pressure. I should not have said that. I absolutely should not have said that.”
He stopped pacing mid-rant when the phone buzzed again.
Slowly—very slowly—he turned.
Stared.
Picked it up.
Her reply loaded.
His breath caught.
I’d really like that :) when were you thinking?
For a moment, Lucifer forgot how to breathe.
Then he laughed—soft, disbelieving, a little broken—as something warm and terrifying bloomed in his chest.
“Oh,” he whispered, smiling despite himself. “Oh. I’m in trouble.”
-------
Lucifer agreed way too fast.
Coffee? In Cannibal Town?
“Yeah—yeah! Totally! Love coffee. Huge fan. Drink it all the—” he stopped himself, cleared his throat, tried again. “Sounds great.”
He hit send before he could spiral about why that sounded great or whether Cannibal Town was a terrible idea or whether cannibals judging him while he tried to flirt would finally be his breaking point.
The moment the text went through, reality set in.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
He stared at his phone for a beat, then slowly turned his head toward his closet.
The closet stared back.
It was… a crime scene.
Lucifer approached it cautiously, like it might lunge at him. He opened the doors.
Ducks.
So many ducks.
Duck-print onesies hung from hangers like cheerful threats. Oversized hoodies with pockets specifically designed to hold rubber ducks spilled off shelves. There was a sequined jacket that literally quacked when you moved. A feather boa. Something with glitter apples. Something else that might have been a pajama set or might have been a cry for help.
“…Okay,” he said weakly. “We can work with this.”
He grabbed a hoodie at random. Yellow. Covered in tiny ducks. He held it up to himself in the mirror.
“No,” he said immediately, tossing it aside.
Another hoodie. Bigger. Black. Duck patches sewn all over the sleeves.
“Nope.”
A onesie.
Absolutely not.
He began to panic.
Clothes flew. He dug through drawers, muttering under his breath.
“Why do I own this.”
“When did I buy this.”
“That was a phase.”
“That was a coping mechanism.”
At one point he ended up sitting on the floor, surrounded by rejected outfits, tail twitching irritably as he stared at a white feathered jacket with red trim.
“I cannot wear the full thing,” he told himself firmly. “I will not wear the full thing. I’m not… announcing myself. This is a date. A normal date. With coffee.”
He stood abruptly and snapped his fingers.
The chaos stilled just enough for him to breathe.
Piece by piece, he stripped it down.
No coat.
No hat.
No dramatic shoulder flair.
No literal crown-adjacent accessories.
Just the basics.
A white button-down. Neatly pressed. A light red-and-white striped vest over it—familiar enough to feel safe, toned-down enough not to scream King of Hell. Black slacks. Clean boots.
He hesitated, then grabbed his cane.
“…You’re staying,” he decided, nodding once. “You’re grounding. You’re… personality.”
He stood in front of the mirror.
For a moment—just a moment—he smiled.
“Oh,” he breathed, adjusting the vest. “Okay. Okay, I don’t look—terrible. I look… put together. Casual. Approachable. Like a man who drinks coffee and doesn’t rule an eternal plane of suffering.”
Then the voice crept in.
You look stupid.
She’s going to see right through this.
You’re trying too hard.
You’re not enough without the show.
His shoulders slumped.
“…Why would she want this?” he murmured to his reflection. “You’re short. You’re weird. You bring a cane to a coffee shop. You’re—God, you’re pathetic.”
His hand hovered over his phone.
He could cancel.
Say something came up.
Say he wasn’t feeling well.
Say—anything.
His thumb trembled.
The phone buzzed.
He startled, nearly dropping it.
A text.
From her.
It was a picture.
Two sundresses laid out on her bed—one black, simple and elegant. The other yellow, soft and bright, patterned with little white flowers.
help me choose
*your opinion matters :) *
Lucifer stared.
The spiral stopped mid-thought, like someone had cut the power.
His chest warmed so suddenly it almost hurt.
“She asked me,” he whispered, stunned. “She actually… asked me.”
All the doubt evaporated, replaced with something light and giddy and terrifying.
His fingers flew over the screen.
YELLOW.
Then, immediately:
THE YELLOW ONE. DEFINITELY YELLOW.
Then, after a beat:
like. 100%. no contest.
He hit send and laughed—a bright, breathless sound—pressing his free hand to his chest like he needed to physically keep his heart from escaping.
“She wants my opinion,” he said softly, wonder-struck. “Oh. Oh, I’m doomed.”
He glanced back at the mirror.
Straightened his vest.
Lifted his chin just a little.
“…Okay,” he told himself, nerves buzzing but excitement winning out. “Okay, Lucifer. Coffee. Cannibal Town. Don’t overshare. Don’t panic. Don’t fall in love immediately.”
He paused.
“…Too late on that last one.”
Still smiling, still shaking a little, he grabbed his cane and headed for the door.
----------
Lucifer got lost.
Twice.
Okay—three times, technically—but the third one didn’t count because the map was wrong, not him.
He’d left the hotel two hours early like a man preparing for war, phone in hand, muttering directions under his breath, taking wrong turns, doubling back, ending up in streets that definitely weren’t Cannibal Town, and at one point somehow walking past a butcher shop that was very aggressively staring at him.
By the time he finally found the coffee shop, his nerves were already fried.
And he was thirty minutes early.
Thirty.
Full.
Minutes.
He stood across the street from the café, staring at it like it might vanish if he blinked.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. You’re fine. This is fine. This is… responsible. This is punctual. This is attractive.”
He crossed the street, walked up to the small outdoor seating area, and immediately fixated on a tiny table near the side—two chairs, simple, clean, quiet. Not too exposed. Not too hidden.
Perfect.
He took it like it was reserved by fate.
He sat down carefully, resting his cane between his hands, fingers wrapping around the handle like it was the only solid thing in the world. He didn’t order. Didn’t even look at the menu.
Ordering without her would be rude.
Presumptuous.
Weird.
Like he was claiming space she hadn’t entered yet.
So he waited.
And waited.
And thought.
His phone sat on the table in front of him, face up, the screen dimmed.
Twenty minutes early.
Don’t text her.
Don’t you dare.
That would sound like pressure.
Like you’re rushing her.
Like you’re needy.
Like you’re clingy.
Like you’re—
His brain spiraled.
You’re too much.
You’re not enough.
You’re awkward.
You’re trying too hard.
She’s going to see you sitting here like a loser gripping a cane like it’s a life raft.
She’s going to regret this.
She’s going to realize you’re just a sad little man with a crown-shaped shadow and too many feelings.
His shoulders slowly hunched in on themselves.
His grip on the cane tightened.
He stared at the screen of his phone, not even seeing it.
Why would she choose you.
Why would she want this.
You’re broken.
You’re heavy.
You’re exhausting.
You’re—
“Hey, Lu!”
The voice hit him like lightning.
Bright. Warm. Familiar already.
He whipped around so fast his chair scraped the ground.
And there she was.
Walking toward him.
Yellow sundress.
White flowers.
Smiling.
Real, actual, unmistakable her.
Everything in his head went quiet.
His heart did something violent and stupid in his chest.
“She—” His breath caught. “Oh— hi— hi!”
He stood up too fast, nearly knocking his chair over, then froze as she stepped right into him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
A hug.
A real one.
Not polite.
Not awkward.
Not distant.
Warm. Easy. Familiar.
His brain short-circuited.
“Oh—” he laughed softly, arms coming around her without thinking, holding her carefully like she was something fragile and priceless at the same time. “Hi.”
All the noise in his head vanished.
No doubts.
No self-loathing.
No spirals.
Just her.
The way she fit against him.
The warmth of her body.
The scent of her perfume.
The way she said his name like it belonged to her.
She pulled back, still smiling up at him, and only then did he register it—
She was a little taller than him.
Not by much.
But enough.
His brain flickered on it for half a second—
Oh.
Then immediately dismissed it.
Didn’t matter.
Didn’t register.
Didn’t mean anything.
All he saw was her face.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
He beamed, nervous and bright and stupidly happy.
“I— hi,” he said again, softer this time, like saying it twice made it more real. “You… you look— wow. Hi.”
He gestured vaguely at her dress. “The yellow was a very correct choice. I feel extremely validated.”
She laughed.
His heart did a backflip.
“Oh— uh— sit— please—” He scrambled, pulling her chair out for her a little too fast, almost tripping over the table leg in the process. “I didn’t order yet because that would’ve been rude and I didn’t want to assume your drink order and— wow, I am talking too much, I’m sorry—”
He stopped himself, flushed, then smiled sheepishly.
“I’m just… really glad you’re here.”
And for the first time in years—
sitting at a tiny café table in Cannibal Town,
wearing a simple vest,
holding a cane,
waiting for a woman who chose him—
Lucifer Morningstar felt calm.
Not powerful.
Not grand.
Not theatrical.
Just… happy.
Just… present.
Just… a man on a date, trying his best not to fall apart—or in love—too fast.
---------
Lucifer absolutely stared at the menu for way too long.
Like—way too long.
The poor waiter came by once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Lucifer was still squinting at the board like it personally offended him.
“Okay, but why are there six different kinds of vanilla?” he muttered under his breath, tapping the menu with the tip of his cane. “Classic vanilla, French vanilla, Madagascar vanilla— is this a coffee shop or a geography lesson?”
In the end, he panicked and pointed.
“I— uh— vanilla iced coffee. That one. The… normal one. Please.”
Then, immediately after, without even looking at her:
“And— um— could we also get… those pastries. And those. And— oh— those look good too. And maybe one of those. For— for the table.”
It was very obvious who they were for.
She was delighted.
By the time they were sitting back down, she had a small army of pastries in front of her and was happily munching away, absolutely unbothered, while Lucifer held his iced coffee like it was a sacred artifact.
He took a sip.
Paused.
Eyes widened slightly.
“…Oh.”
Another sip.
“Oh, that’s— that’s actually really good. Why is that really good. Why haven’t I been drinking these for centuries.”
He looked faintly betrayed by his own taste buds.
She laughed.
He smiled without thinking.
Then she tilted her head at him, still chewing on something flaky and sweet, and said, casually but sincerely,
“I want to know everything about you.”
Lucifer almost dropped his cup.
He sputtered, hurriedly setting it down on the table before it could spill, staring at her like she’d just asked him to explain the universe.
“E—everything?? I mean— that’s— that’s a lot of everything. I’ve been alive since, uh… well. Since the beginning of time. Like. Literally. A full life story would take—” he gestured vaguely, “—years. Possibly decades. There would be charts. Diagrams. Trauma.”
She giggled.
Actual, bright, amused giggle.
He felt his shoulders relax.
“Okay, okay,” she said, holding up a finger. “Then just one thing.”
He leaned in a little, curious, attentive.
She smiled at him in that soft, knowing way and said,
“You know how to speak Latin.”
Lucifer blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“Oh— yeah,” he said, nodding, taking another sip of his coffee like this was totally normal small talk. “Yeah, I do. I mean— I speak Latin. I also speak… pretty much everything.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He kept going.
“German. Italian. French. Ancient Greek. Modern Greek. Spanish. Portuguese. Russian. Arabic. Uh— Chinese, though I struggle a bit with Mandarin specifically— the tones are a nightmare— Japanese, Korean, several dead languages that no one’s spoken in millennia—”
He stopped.
Realized he was rambling.
“…I’m being weird, aren’t I.”
She immediately shook her head.
“No,” she said quickly. “That’s actually really cool.”
His ears almost turned red.
He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “I— I mean— languages kind of… stick. Latin was the first one I really learned properly, so I default to it sometimes. Habit, I guess. Muscle memory for the soul.”
He gestured vaguely at himself.
“It’s just— it’s familiar. Comfortable. Like an old song you forget you still know all the words to.”
She watched him with genuine interest, chin resting on her hand, eyes warm.
Not bored.
Not distracted.
Not judging.
Listening.
Really listening.
He shifted in his chair, suddenly self-conscious again. “I’m— I’m not talking too much, am I? You can tell me if I am. I tend to… info-dump. And spiral. And then I realize I’ve been monologuing and—”
She smiled softly.
“I like hearing you talk.”
That hit him harder than anything.
He froze for half a second.
Then he laughed, small and a little breathless.
“…Oh. Well. That’s— dangerous information to give me.”
She grinned.
He took another sip of his coffee, calmer now, shoulders looser, posture less tense.
It was strange.
------
They talked.
And talked.
And talked.
Minutes turned into an hour.
An hour turned into several.
Lucifer honestly lost track of time somewhere between her telling him about movie theaters on Earth and him trying to wrap his head around the concept of “drive-thru fast food.”
“You’re telling me,” he said, leaning forward, utterly fascinated, “that you sit in a metal box, and someone hands you food through a window?”
She nodded, sipping her drink. “Yeah.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s very normal.”
“That’s worse.”
She laughed, and he smiled so hard his cheeks actually started to hurt.
She told him about Earth—about stupid little things that, to her, were just life, but to him felt impossibly strange and human. Late-night gas stations. Loud neighbors. The way the sky looked right before a storm. Songs on the radio that everyone somehow knew the words to.
He listened like it all mattered.
Because to him, it did.
He told her parts of his life too. Not everything. Not the deepest wounds. But enough.
He talked about Heaven—what he remembered of it. The light. The rules. The constant pressure to be perfect. The way everything was beautiful but somehow still felt… heavy.
“It wasn’t all bad,” he said at one point, stirring melted ice around in his cup. “Just… quiet. Controlled. Like living in a painting you’re not allowed to touch.”
She didn’t push.
She didn’t pry.
She just nodded. Let him talk when he wanted to.
She told him about past relationships. The good. The bad. The ones that left bruises that weren’t visible. He listened, jaw tight at certain parts, fingers curling around his cane when she talked about being treated like she was disposable.
He didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t joke.
He just listened.
Lilith never came up.
He noticed.
And he was quietly grateful.
They talked about stupid things too.
Favorite colors.
“Yellow,” he said immediately, then flushed. “I mean— not just because— you know— ducks. It’s just… bright. Happy. Feels like hope.”
She smiled at that.
Favorite foods.
He admitted, very sheepishly, that he had a weakness for sweets.
“Like. An embarrassing weakness.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassing how?”
He gestured to the mountain of pastries between them. “…This.”
She laughed so hard she almost snorted.
Little quirks.
She told him about how she always slept with socks on, even when it was hot.
He admitted he talked to his rubber ducks like they were real people.
There was a long pause.
“…Do they talk back?” she asked.
“Only the rude ones.”
She lost it.
He beamed.
It was comfortable.
Not tense.
Not forced.
Not like he was performing.
For once, he wasn’t Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, embodiment of Pride.
He was just… Lu.
A guy at a coffee shop.
On a date.
Laughing too much.
Forgetting to check the time.
The waiter, however, had not forgotten.
He came by with the check once.
Lucifer blinked at it like it had personally insulted him.
“Oh—! Uh— actually, could we get two more refills? For— for both of us.”
The waiter stared.
Flat.
“…Sir, you’ve been here three hours.”
Lucifer smiled brightly. “Yes! And what a wonderful three hours they’ve been.”
The waiter sighed like a man who had seen things.
She giggled as he walked away.
“Do you think he hates us?” she whispered.
Lucifer leaned in conspiratorially. “Almost definitely.”
“Worth it.”
“Absolutely.”
As the afternoon light shifted and shadows grew longer, Lucifer felt something warm and dangerous settle in his chest.
Not lust.
Not infatuation.
Something heavier.
Something hopeful.
He liked her.
No— that wasn’t strong enough.
He was falling.
More with every story.
Every laugh.
Every moment of quiet understanding.
And for the first time in a very long time…
That didn’t feel terrifying.
It felt… good.
And maybe— just maybe—
It felt like something he didn’t want to lose.
How easy this felt.
How natural.
How quickly they were finding a rhythm—
her listening,
him talking,
him overthinking,
her grounding him,
like they’d been doing this longer than a few days.
Lucifer glanced at her, heart doing that stupid hopeful flutter again.
And for once, he didn’t immediately tell himself to stop.
----------
Lucifer absolutely, unquestionably, paid.
The check barely touched the table before it vanished into his hand.
She opened her mouth—probably to protest—and he gave her a look.
Not a kingly look.
Not a threatening look.
Just a very soft, very earnest, please don’t argue with me about this or I might emotionally fold in half look.
She closed her mouth.
“…Okay,” she said, smiling. “But next time, it’s on me.”
He gasped quietly, offended on a spiritual level. “Next time? Oh— wow— you’re already planning a next time?”
She laughed. “Relax, Lu.”
“I am relaxed,” he lied, sitting up straighter and accidentally knocking his cane against the table leg. “See? Totally relaxed. The picture of calm.”
They stayed.
Even after the cups were empty.
Even after the pastries were gone.
Even after the waiter stopped pretending not to judge them.
The world around them faded into background noise.
And then—she shifted.
Not awkward.
Not nervous.
Just… deliberate.
“Hey,” she said gently.
Lucifer’s attention snapped to her instantly. “Yes. Hi. Hello. I’m here. Very present.”
She smiled, leaning her cheek into her hand the same way she had that first night at the bar.
“I know you said you haven’t really… dated,” she said. “Like. Ever.”
His shoulders hitched a little. “That is… painfully accurate, yes.”
“So,” she continued, softer now, “I was thinking. I can help you. With that. If you want.”
He blinked.
Help him?
“With— with what part?” he asked, already flustered. “The dating? The texting? The not-overthinking-everything-until-I-make-myself-sick part?”
“Definitely that last one,” she teased.
He let out a small, breathless laugh.
She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret.
“Start by asking me to be your girlfriend.”
Lucifer’s brain fully shut off.
He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the ground.
“I— I— I just want to say—” he started, one hand flying to his chest, the other gripping his cane, eyes already glassy with emotion, voice rising like he was about to give a speech in front of Heaven itself— “that from the moment I met you, I felt something profound and cosmic and—”
“LU,” she laughed, reaching out and tugging gently on his sleeve. “Sit. Down.”
He froze.
“…Oh.”
He sat back down. Immediately. Obediently.
His face was on fire.
He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how small the table felt. How close she was. How much his heart was pounding.
He tried again.
Quieter.
Softer.
More… him.
“So,” he said, fingers twisting together in his lap. “Um. Hi. This is— this is me asking like a normal person. I think.”
She watched him with that same warm, patient smile.
“Would you… maybe… want to be my girlfriend?” he asked. “…Please?”
She tilted her head.
Tapped her finger against her chin dramatically.
“Hmmm.”
Lucifer’s stomach dropped.
He let out a tiny, nervous laugh. “Okay, see, when you do that, it feels like you’re about to say no, and I’m not emotionally prepared for that, so if this is a joke, I—”
“I’m thinking,” she said, trying not to smile too hard.
He leaned forward, eyes wide. “Take all the time you need. Truly. I will simply sit here and internally spiral.”
She reached across the table then.
Took his hand.
Just like that.
“I’d be happy to,” she said.
Lucifer forgot how to breathe.
His smile was slow.
Then wider.
Then absolutely uncontrollable.
He laughed—soft and breathless—and had to blink a few times because, oh wow, his eyes were doing that thing.
“You— you will?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again to believe it.
She squeezed his hand. “Yeah. I will.”
His shoulders sagged in pure, visible relief.
He laughed again, quieter this time, voice thick with emotion.
“I think,” he said, trying very hard to sound cool and failing miserably, “I might actually cry. Which is— very embarrassing. For the Devil. Just so you know.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you. My reputation appreciates that.”
But he couldn’t stop smiling.
Not when he looked at her.
Not when he felt her hand in his.
Not when, for the first time in decades…
Cute! Low - maintainance! And they fit right into the palm of your hand or your pocket! For a low, low price of only your love and affection! What are you waiting for? Adopt yours now!
***
Giorno Giovanna
~ Comes with a little red chair, and a tiny size version of his Stand, Gold Experience.
~ Sweet, gentle, and very intelligent. He is very knowledgeable when it comes to biology and nature. He also helps you with your home / office work.
~ He loves listening to Jeff Beck, and he has a sweet tooth ( he loves chocolate ).
~ He makes you flower rings during his spare time. He can also make you a flower crown but, it takes away a lot of energy from him. Give him sweets right after.
~ Occassionally makes huntsman spiders to protect your home from cockroaches. Can also make your stuff animals come to life.
~ Will advise you to be a star in whatever you do, and will encourage you to reach for your dreams, no matter how big or small.
Bruno Bucciarati
~ Comes with a little version of his Stand, Sticky Fingers. Also a fishing pole and a toy boat for when he wants to sail in a pond and catch tadpoles.
~ Takes care of you no matter what. Very caring and stern at times, like a real parent. In fact, he has already adopted you from the moment you decided to take him home with you.
~ He loves jazz, particularly Miles Davis, and loves sharing pizza with you.
~ He constantly reminds you to clean your room. Will get mad at you if he sees you eating junk food, and will praise you when you do a good job at school / work. He also reads to you before bedtime.
~ He can fix broken zippers and can attach essentially anything that needs attaching. He is also very attached to you UwU
~ Will always motivate you to do the right thing.
Guido Mista
~ Comes with a little table, and his tiny Stand, Sex Pistols. They have unique personalities but, they are super small, so they're kinda hard to see.
~ Will protect you from any kinds of insects, and will not let any mosquito bite you when you sleep.
~ He loves reading magazines, and eating cheese. He also loves red wine but, do take note that he will get drunk after three drops. Will definitely complain of headaches later on.
~ He tells you it's alright to have fun and relax. Will do his best to give you a massage after a hard day's work.
~ Will protect you from bullies and put holes in their feet using his Stand.
~ Constantly reminds you of meal times. He doesn't want you ( and his Stand ) to go hungry.
Leone Abbacchio
~ Comes with a little version of his Stand, Moody Blues, that sometimes turns into Pocket Narancia.
~ At first, he would act all grumpy towards you. But, give him ample time to get used to you and you can surely win his affections!
~ He loves listening to classical music and watching action movies. He also loves drinking tea. However, during the first week of his stay with you, DO NOT take any beverage from him. ANY KIND.
~ Will always tell you to be practical, and scolds you when he sees you buying something you don't need. Will surely uninstall all your shopping apps as punishment.
~ He gives the best life advice, though. He comforts you and never leaves you when you feel upset.
~ He may be hard on the outside, but you can always count on him! He lowkey adores you.
Narancia Ghirga
~ Comes with a boom box, and his tiny Stand, Aerosmith.
~ He loves hiphop and will be more than happy to teach you how to dance. Be careful not to step on him, though. He's so tiny.
~ He loves snacktimes! And junkfood! Loves to do cartoon marathons with you and will keep you happy even on gloomy days.
~ Keep him away when you need something done, though. His playful nature would not help you, and you'll only end up procrastinating with him. However, it's not boring being with Narancia, anyway!
~ Will make you smile and laugh with his jokes when he sees you crying. He will also kill ANYTHING that made you cry.
~ If you're the energetic type, or just wants a pocket Bucci gang member who would make you smile, then Narancia is the perfect buddy for you!
Pannacotta Fugo
~ Comes with a tiny version of his Stand, Purple Haze. He will never show this to you, though, because he doesn't want you to get sick.
~ Like Pocket Giorno, he is very intelligent, and he will help you with school / office work. Beware, though: if you make a single mistake, he'll poke you with the tiniest fork in the world and yell at you!
~ Very impatient and explodes like a bomb at times. He tries his very best to control his temper, though, because he thinks of your well - being at all times.
~ When he does unleash Purple Haze by accident, you'll not die. Instead, you'll get pimples. Or flu. He says sorry and takes very good care of you afterwards.
~ He loves reading books and is a very reliable fellow. He even helps you with your chores. He is also a neat freak.
~ Pocket Fugo is very mature and wise, and you two will keep on growing together with unconditional patience and understanding.
Trish Una
~ Comes with her cute and tiny Stand, Spice Girl.
~ She wants a room of her own ( or at least a doll house where she could hang out ), and she hates filthy and stinky things.
~ Buying her Givenchy brand makeup and French mineral water is a surefire way to win her heart. Ask her to teach you how to apply makeup and you'll be the best of friends in no time.
~ She loves singing! Her voice is so pretty! And she appreciates it so much when you listen to her.
~ She would absolutely enjoy shopping and hanging out at Starbucks with you. She would even give you important advice on how to dress up during certain events. Also loves slumber parties.
~ Pocket Trish is the girliest of all girls, and if you want a BFF for life, then she is the perfect buddy for you!
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