please do write that coffee/tea thing with your mc!!
dsakjd i’m gonna hijack ur question, anon. sorry and thank u!! it kinda took a slightly more angsty turn but it’s not rly finished tbh. there’s not really any mention of my mc’s name but i do use she/her pronouns. you could probably read her as your own mc if you wanted to as long as you’re okay with your mc (temporarily) hating luci’s guts.
“are you scared?” lucifer asks her, peering over the rim of his cup, eyes a glint of steel.
she glances up from her untouched cup, the golden liquid gleaming under somber lights, but remains mum.
chamomile is what lucifer makes her. or at least that’s what it smells like. sweet. herbal. it’s supposed to be calming but somehow the odd mix of the fragrant tea and the overwhelming smell of freshly brewed coffee only causes her stomach to churn uncomfortably.
bringing herself to reach out for the frail teacup that he’d placed in front of her is difficult. an olive branch is what this is, a peace offering. she can’t say that it had been her choice to be here. in truth, he was the last demon she wanted to be alone with at the moment. reasonable, she would think, seeing as he did threaten to end her life.
and yet, she is here. uncomfortable and wishing she’d taken up mammon’s offer of ditching.
she’s never been afraid of death. even back when she was at home, in her own world, she had always been ready to welcome it no matter the time and place. but, for some reason, when he had threatened to take her life, something had changed. survival instincts triggered, alarms blaring loudly in her mind, a spark of anger that had somehow caused a fire to rage inside of her. even now, it’s still burning.
now she wanted to live. not because she had anyone waiting for her in the human world, per se. and most definitely not because of some twisted family feud that she had found herself in the middle of, though she barely survived that of her own.
but because lucifer had wanted her dead, because she had always hated being told what she could and couldn’t do, because most things in her life had been catalysed by pure anger and spite and that wasn’t about to change. not for wanting to protect the people she was fond of. and especially not for him.
lucifer’s settled comfortably into his own seat across hers, sipping lightly from his cup. she doesn’t even need to taste the dark sludge to know of its bitterness. how fitting, she notes. his eyes are still on her, a brow cocked in amusement, the slightest touch of a smirk in one corner of his lips.
she scowls as she untucks her fingers from under her thighs, reaches out for the cup and hopes he doesn’t notice the way they tremble. a pleasant burst of flavours that is quickly dulled by the dark clouds hanging over the both of them.
oh but why should she be scared anyways? she’s fully aware of her worth in his eyes, but if he had truly wanted her dead, then surely she would be dead. but she knew he wouldn’t. he wouldn’t jeopardise diavolo’s plans like that.
“that high horse of yours,” she says, meeting his eyes. the grave she has dug herself was already deep anyway so what was a couple more feet? she continues, “do you ever get sick of it?”
the amusement on his face dissipates and a flash of anger crosses his face but it quickly melts into the grip he has around the handle of his cup instead, tightening, “hypocrisy does not become you.”
she takes another sip, this time slower, and frowns.
