Where The Devil Can’t Go (He’ll Send a Woman) // Lucifer Morningstar X Reader
TW: Deal With The Devil; slight manipulation; Mind Rape; Body Horror mentioned but not described!!! ***
No one knows where the book came from.
Maybe she took it from the library? Mistook it for an old textbook, picked up two volumes instead of one, and brought it home.
Or maybe she bought it at a secondhand bookstore? At least, that’s what it looked like; old, yellowed, and tattered.
Or... Or maybe it had always been appearing in this particular dorm. Out of nowhere, sensing the surrounding stench of desperation, tears, and broken expectations.
It didn’t matter where it came from. What mattered was that she had it. That was the most important thing. Her negative emotions had clearly reached a level that made her the perfect candidate.
Meanwhile, let’s take a look at our protagonist/victim.
She hadn’t budged from her chair for the last hour, which didn’t mean she was still. Far from it. Her leg kept tapping, her back was trembling, she was squeezing something in her fist, playing with a pencil, twirling her hair, gritting her teeth. A picture of misery and despair. Just like the desk she was sitting at. Cluttered with papers, an open tablet, a laptop playing a lecture on a loop, and a notebook filled with notes in every color of the rainbow.
But what good was any of that when she didn't understand a single thing? She kept going back to the top of the page. Underlining in red. Or catching herself reading the same sentence. Or catching herself reading the same sentence. Or catching herself reading the same sentence.
Or catching herself reading the same sentence.
She closed her eyes, and the text faded from view. Her brain refused to cooperate, went on strike, and was currently enforcing a mandatory break. Her face slammed into the desk, waking her instantly as something warm trickled down her lip.
"Oh no, no..." she scrambled frantically, searching for anything to plug her nose, which was now bleeding straight onto her precious notes. Her last hope! She stood up on weak legs, rummaging through bags, cabinets, and drawers with one hand (since the other was plugging the hemorrhage).
Seriously? No one in this apartment has tissues, but they need four different charging cables?
A heavy, leather-bound volume hit the floor with a thud, flying open to a random page and kicking up a cloud of dust. She coughed, swatting the air, careless. She accidentally let go of her nose, letting blood drip directly onto pages covered in incomprehensible pictograms and crimson ink. What even was this? Unfortunately, she had no time for guessing, because a scrap of paper towel finally caught her eye. She pressed it to her nostril and squatted down.
"I don't remember this," she muttered, squinting to read the page. She reached out to wipe the drop of blood away, but only succeeded in smearing it.
Something began to happen. Were her eyes playing tricks on her, or were the letters starting to squirm like tiny bugs? Pushing and swarming across the page, almost threatening to crawl off it. Smoke—yes, smoke, despite her bad eyesight, it was definitely smoke—was seeping up from the pages—
She slammed the heavy tome shut.
The cover snapped closed, sending an echo bouncing through the room. No. Just no. There was no time for this. Sand, smoke, and dust exploded into the air, and she pushed the book away decisively. This was the last time she was dealing with stuff like this.
Something hissed softly above her head, and she barely had time to look up before the lights went out. The laptop on her desk froze too; the lecturer rasped on a loop: "Hemodynamic disorders... hemodynamic disorders..." before the screen decided to die.
Someone upstairs stomped on the floor, screaming, "WHO BLEW THE FUSES?!" to which a person from the room next door banged on the wall, shouting, "Shut the fuck up, I have an exam tomorrow!"
"Achoo," said Something in the corner of the room.
"Bless you," she muttered under her breath, turning on her phone flashlight and leaning over the leather cover. She searched for a stamp, a library slip, anything. What was the fine for ruining a book? She didn't want to find out. She scrutinized it millimeter by millimeter, her eyelashes practically brushing the volume.
An elegant red high-heeled shoe stepped next to her hand.
"Am I interrupting?"
"No, no. It's fine," she waved her hand. Okay, maybe no one would notice. Maybe she'd say it was already like that. Besides, she’d worry about that later anyway. She pushed the book aside, running her fingers through her hair.
Then it hit her. She looked up.
The person standing over her was staring down with a look just as bewildered as the one she was giving him. The man—assuming she had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right—had a meticulously styled head of wild blonde curls, a red tailcoat, and a face so pale she wanted to ask him if he needed to sit down.
"Jes— How did you get in here?!"
He adjusted his hat, and his smile faltered slightly; but once she gave him her full attention, his vigor returned.
"Greetings, mortal!" he boomed, gesturing at her with a cane. "You do NOT look like the kind of person who usually summons me, but that’s actually fine because the last time someone did was a hundred years ago! Two hundred? I don't have a head for dates! Doesn't matter! So, what is it you want, little star? Wealth? Power?"
She blinked. Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, but who even are you and what are you doing here?"
Now it was his turn to lose composure. "You summon me on the grand opening day of my daughter's hotel and you don't even—Lucifer? Lucifer Morningstar? Son of the Morning? King of Hell?"
"...The Devil from the Bible?"
"How many Lucifers do you know?"
"Okay—fair." He had a point.
"Anyway... This... no, no, don't tell me. I've done this so many times, let me guess. Money?"
She shook her head.
"Bring someone back to life? That's a bit tricky and, honestly, not worth the hassle, my little duck. I can let you see them, though... Want to be beautiful? Want to be smart? Looking at you, I highly suggest one of those..."
"No, not that either," she sighed, sitting on the floor. "Please don't talk to me like that."
"...with pet names? Well, how else should I address you when you haven't even introduced yourself?"
"What kind of Devil are you?" She furrowed her brow. "Either talk to me normally, or don't talk to me at all."
Lucifer’s eyelid twitched. "Do you want the blood of your enemies?" Oh, now that sounded tempting. She was so sleep-deprived that she hesitated. No. That wouldn't help her pass the exam, and her time was running out. Besides, they'd just make someone else proctor it... no, she wasn't going to overthink this.
"Wait!" It clicked. She grabbed his leg so he wouldn't accidentally vanish. "Yes. You can help me. Do you—wait, hold on—can you do this?" She shoved the textbook into his hands.
The Devil stared at the book forced into his grip. "Excuse me, what is this?"
"Clinical Pathophysiology."
He stared at her as if she had grown a second head.
"A textbook for medical students," she added helpfully.
The Devil, unhelpfully, kept staring.
"Edited by—"
"No need," Lucifer cut her off. Disgusted, he flipped to a random page, his eyes scanning down the paper. "Good heavens," he cursed roundly. "Who even... what am I supposed to do with this?"
"Teach me." She had long since concluded that there was no better option. The clock was ticking, and with every passing second, her desperation would only grow. Besides, when would she ever get another chance like this? "Lend me the knowledge. Hell, write it for me."
He stared at her, his jaw slightly slack, the glow of the frozen laptop screen reflecting in his wide, stunned eyes.
"You pulled me—the Devil, the Lightbringer, the Original Rebel—out of my kingdom just so I could help you study blood circulation?" He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh that bounced off the walls. He paced the short distance between the desk and the bed, chuckling at the absurdity, talking to himself, winding himself up. "Do you know how many people would kill—what am I saying, have killed! Literally killed!—for an opportunity like this? And you're asking for tutoring?!"
He tapped the book cover rhythmically. "I could snap my fingers and stuff the entire medical encyclopedia into your head. Instant A-plus. No studying required. You'd know more than your professor... But that kind of magic... well, it has a price. I don't run a charity here, darling. Even if the decor suggests a charity case. I, the Lightbringer, do not work for—"
"Alright, alright, Mr. Nightlight; what do you want in return? It's hard negotiating with an ancient entity." She rubbed her tired eyes. "What can I give you that you don't already have? I've read fairy tales... my soul, right? Or... whatever it is demons take." Would she sell her immortal soul (at least her own) for a stupid grade? Hmm.
"Yes, the standard rate for this kind of transaction is indeed a soul." The Devil crossed his arms and looked her over critically. "Though I'm not sure what I'd do with yours. I doubt I want it. Looks slightly used."
"Fine." She didn't have time to be offended. She desperately needed to keep him here and keep him interested before he vanished. "How about my firstborn?"
Lucifer threw up his hands. "And what am I supposed to do with a child? I already have one, and she's enough of a handful."
She buried her face in her hands and groaned loudly. Well, looks like she was doomed. Even the Devil couldn't help. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and completely bloodshot eyes. "Fine. Just... never mind. But thanks for stopping by. I'll manage somehow. Sorry for dragging you out of Hell."
Lucifer adjusted his red tailcoat and looked around the room with politely masked disgust. He didn't answer for a moment. Which was strange in itself, since he had had an answer for everything just a second ago. Pretending to look at the furniture with disdain, he studied her more closely. She wasn't begging. That annoyed him more than it should have. He rested his hands on his cane and sighed.
"Well, I suppose I could. Take something from you."
Her moral posture collapsed faster than she had built it. "How much?"
"What—no, not money, that's not what I... " He closed his eyes, right on the edge of losing his patience. "An item. I have standards. You could owe me a favor. A single, designated—no. Old school. That's so dépassé." He opened his eyes, struck by sudden inspiration. "As you wished, I will transfer it directly to your head. Via AirDrop... or whatever you kids call it these days." He exhaled, straightening up and leaning on his cane. "But in exchange, I will take something you desire but cannot name."
The girl looked at him expectantly, holding her breath. "Meaning?"
"I can't tell you. That ruins the surprise."
Her hopeful expression instantly turned blank. "But that could mean literally anything. How? Something I desire but cannot name? Like... the future? Ambition? Love? Acceptance?"
The Devil smiled with deep satisfaction. "If I tell you, it won't be fun anymore."
"That is inhumane."
"I am literally the Devil."
He had a point again. Her hand fumbled for her water bottle, and she took a sip to buy herself another second to think. "Does the transfer cover the entire textbook? Including the self-study chapters? Oh, and the lectures. Do the lectures too."
Lucifer stared at her in disbelief. "...I am not some... fine. Yes. Fine. The lectures and your... chapters too." He was done. Even if this was his first contract using this method in years, he just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible now. Though... Hmm.
She dragged herself up from the floor and walked over to the desk buried in notes of every shape and size. She capped her open highlighters and pens just to have something to do with her hands. "Do you think this will make me happy?" she closed her notebook awkwardly. "Not for long. Doesn't have to be long. Just for a while."
"How should I..." the voice started automatically behind her back. He was the first to look away. "Yes. Surely for a while, yes."
That was enough for her. She bit her lip and nodded. "You take it now. And when will I notice?"
"When the time is right."
"Don't play lawyer with me." Her voice cracked for a fraction of a second. "I'm asking seriously. Tomorrow? In ten years? Will I lose... I don't know, the ability to taste strawberries? Or see the ocean? Or what if I meet that person one day, that exact person, or worse, someone I already know, but I'll forever lack the courage to...?"
"None of those. Or perhaps all of them." The King of Hell was definitely not making her decision any easier.
Her arms slumped. "...After death?"
He only smiled wider.
She shuddered but didn't want to debate any longer. The longer she hesitated, the worse it would get. And the longer this guy made her realize she was giving away something whose value she didn't even comprehend. He might change his mind, and she didn't want that.
Lucifer’s heart softened, or perhaps he just grew tired of this back-and-forth for a matter that always ended the same way. "I won't touch your soul," he said seriously. "And your family, your emotions, your memories—they are safe. I won't take your life or shorten it. I will only take exactly what I said. Something you desire, even though you cannot name it."
"And which I don't have yet," she said cautiously, slowly connecting the dots, though unfortunately not all of them.
"And which you don't have yet," he confirmed. "Is there anything else you'd like to nitpick?"
She frowned. It still sounded like an obvious scam, just elegantly packaged. On the other hand, she had an entity standing in front of her claiming to be Lucifer, King of Hell, insert-countless-irrelevant-titles-pulled-out-of-his-ass. You could hardly expect consumer protection laws and a fourteen-day return policy from someone like him. "No. That's all," she said hollowly.
He extended his hand to her. The white glove was flawlessly clean. "Deal?"
She sighed, as if she had aged several decades in an instant. "Deal."
The Devil’s fingers closed around her hand in a grip. For one deceptive second, she thought nothing had happened. Or at least, that it had happened quietly.
Then, everything happened at once.
All the lights flickered on at once, flashing in alarm, and went dead. The window frame rattled as a gust of wind blew it open, even though it hadn't been a windy day. Her laptop wailed and flared to life, its speakers spitting out fragments of the lecture, which now sounded like gibberish. The papers she had tried to organize scattered like startled birds, swirling against the ceiling.
And then there was the pain.
As if someone were trying to violently cram an entire library right between her eyes, completely ignoring the fact that there was no room for it. Imminent doom nested behind her eyelids, burning and crushing her from the inside. "No," she would have said, but she couldn't, because she was in the deep—she had to be, how else could she explain this bursting pressure? She was drowning, surely she was drowning, she could feel herself sinking, unable to catch her breath, something tearing her apart, pulling at her limbs, her skin—I have it under my skin; she dug her fingernails into her face and dragged them down to claw some relief, to get it out of her because something was thrashing and leaking from her eyes, her nose, her ears, and her mouth, and she had it in her throat, and she scratched at her neck to set it free, and—
She screamed.
*
When her vision finally cleared, she was lying under the desk. Her nose was no longer bleeding. The red high-heeled shoes were still in her field of view. She crawled out on all fours, her head hanging between her shoulders. "How long?" she rasped.
Lucifer didn't even turn around. "Only a few seconds. To you, it was..." he waved his hand, "inconsequential. In any case, you have what you wanted. All good things must come to an end, which is why our partnership lasted as long as it did. See you around." He walked toward a ring of red light floating above the floor.
"Wait," she croaked, curling into a ball on the floor. She reached a trembling hand toward the red outline of his figure. "And that thing you took?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Don't worry. It will be a very long time before you even notice it's gone." The ring snapped shut behind him with a soft pop.
Her head, heavy as lead, fell to the floor. She lay there for an indefinite amount of time, waiting for the dull ache behind her eyelids and inside her skull to fade. Finally, she sat up, propping herself up with her hands. Slowly, dreading what she might see, she turned her head toward the mirror.
The exact same person stared back at her. No blood, no popped eyeballs, no mangled face. Tired, definitely, and disheveled; but she had been that way before. Her throat was untouched. She wiped a thin trail of drool from her chin. Her legs felt like jelly, but she managed to stand up.
On her desk, someone had left a saucer with a candied apple and an elegant white teacup with a steaming drink. The girl sat in her chair with a heavy sigh, taking a bite of the dessert and washing it down with the hot tea. She didn't know what kind of blend it was, but it was perfect. The sky was already starting to brighten. The dark night outside the window was beginning to show threads of navy and blue somewhere beyond the horizon.
In a few hours, she had her exam.
*
PASSED
That’s what it said. She refreshed the app five times. Just to be sure, she logged onto the website and then back onto the app to see if both results matched. She checked the list on the department's website and scrolled all the way down to her student ID number just to see it with her own eyes alongside the score.
For a long moment, she just stared at it. Then she laughed, covered her mouth, and laughed again—out loud this time.
She didn't care.
She passed. She actually passed.
She deserved to go to sleep. The student finally turned off her phone, staring at the wall for a long time. Now she was going to crash and not get up for twenty hours. She giggled softly to herself, though without any real reason. She squinted. Blocking the light with her hand, she blindly slapped at the switch of the lamp that was currently blinding her.
Looking up, for a brief moment, she felt as if she looked right through her own hand.
