But of course! And apologies, this was supposed to be a lot fluffier, not hurt/comfort-
Set after the post-regret-prison romance scene, in the same night.
~500 words
Zea didn't know why he had woken up. All he knew was the thundering of his heart the warm body plastered to his chest, and the fear hammering through his veins..
His lungs fluttered as he desperately tried to catch his breath. The familiar seize of panic rolled over him. He flinched away from it, pressing his back into the soft surface behind him.
Scared. He was so scared.
He couldn't remember why.
Blindly, he reached out in front of him. His hand met the soft warmth of Lucanis' arm and he grabbed it and squeezed.
Lucanis stirred.
"…Rook?" He croaked sleepily, slowly blinking open his eyes.
Zea gripped tighter onto his arm.
"Rook?" Lucanis' voice sharpened as he awoke rapidly. "Hey, Rook, mi amore, what's wrong?"
He didn't know! He didn't know what was wrong, he couldn't remember. He just knew something was.
An attempt to speak came out as a squeak.
Lucanis sat up, now fully awake, and reached to cup Zea's face.
He slid one hand underneath Zea's shoulder, pulling him gently upright, and tugging him close. He wrapped both arms around his lover, fingers tracing the scars that marred his skin. They twisted on the sofa so that Lucanis was leaning on the armrest and Zea was buried in his chest.
"Shh, it's alright. You're safe, Rook. I've got you." Lucanis pressed his lips to the top of Zea's head and mumbled into his curls.
Zea curled deeper into him. He could feel Lucanis' heartbeat, tapping against his cheek in a slow, steady rhythm. One-two. One-two. One-two. Again and again and again. It became the only real thing in the room.
Slowly, the tension drained from his body. The fear faded. The only proof of its existence lingered in his sweaty palm and aching muscles.
Fingers found his chin, touching him ever so carefully.
"Rook?" Lucanis tilted his face up, searching for his eyes, "Are you okay?"
He looked so worried.
Zea breathed in deeply, steadying himself. He placed his hand over Lucanis' heart, silently counting the beats.
"I'm okay," He whispered, "I just-"
He didn't know. He didn't know what had happened.
"Just bad dreams." Because he didn't know what else to say.
"Mi povero amore…" Lucanis cradled Zea's face. "It's okay. They were just dreams."
He leant forwards and pressed his lips to just underneath Zea's brow, planting a kiss to his eyelid. The love bled through the skin, vanquishing any remnants of fear that might have lingered.
Zea relaxed, melting into Lucanis' chest, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. It was warm and it was safe. Lucanis shuffled slightly, sliding further down the sofa and wrapping Zea back up in his arms.
The panic was over, already forgotten. Groggy exhaustion trickled into Zea's mind dragging him away from the realm of consciousness. As a hand slowly began to stroke through his hair, Zea's eyes fluttered shut. He drifted off not long after.
pairing: lucifer/thea (yes, this is an official lucea fic, alice)
a/n: yknow when you’ve been working on something for so long you just get kinda sick and tired of it? yeah, that’s me with this fic but pls accept this very sappy, very cheesy, very messy fic anw. i wrote this with thea in mind but tbh, i feel like you could probably pop your own ocs in there if they go by she/her.
she’s all too dangerous like this, lucifer thinks. eyes that twinkle with mischief, the slow flutter of heavy eyelashes, and fingers that are entirely too curious for their own good. she’s all too dangerous and there is work to do - piles and piles of them, scattered haphazardly across his desk and tucked away in his bag and more to come, he’s certain - and he knows if he gives in, it will be the start of the end.
and yet, knowing all of this, he still does very little in the way of stopping her from sliding into his lap and straddling him. his fingers instinctively come up to rest on the curve of her hips, steadying her as she makes herself comfortable. he's getting soft, unbelievably so, and his cheeks warm uncomfortably at the thought. still, there’s no part of him that wishes to be anything but indulgent. if only for this moment, he tells himself, just this once.
(but it’s far from the first time and he doubts it will be the last.)
“have you finished your work?” he asks but it's nothing more than a courtesy, something like a lousy deflection from his part, something to fill the increasingly charged air with. he continues with a reminder that there is still work for him to do - important work - and a long list of chores to see to and countless responsibilities to attend to, but it’s hard to rationalise much of anything when she’s settled herself on his lap.
it’s all for naught, however, because his words do little in deterring her. truthfully, he has long stopped expecting for her to answer in moments like these - there’s no changing her mind at all once she has it set on something. to put up a semblance of self-restraint would do him well still, if only to comfort himself.
her eyes locked with his, warm and golden, she cups his face with the lightest of touches and asks, “more important than me?”
no, lucifer wants to say, never. but he’s sent mum at the gravity of his own thoughts, the heaviness of the truth behind them, the weight of his world and her world and the one that separates the both of them in the gaps between his words. at his silence, a smile curls on her face, a pleased hum rumbling in her chest. he doesn’t need to say them, it seems, rarely ever has to with her. in a way that very few people have, she understands him.
“oh, lucifer,” she croons, voice laced with a quiet wonder. as misplaced as the sentiment might be, his name has never fitted anywhere more perfectly than it does on her lips. it’s getting increasingly difficult to deny her much of anything and this instance is no different. now nothing else is more important than this, not his work or his chores or his other responsibilities. his mind races instead with all the things he would like to do to her in this moment - and perhaps, briefly, all the things he would like to be done to him - but all of it revolves around her, her, her.
he tilts his head slightly, heart lurching at the amount of affection that rolls off of her in overwhelming waves. there is an unspeakable amount of trust that lies in her every action, and that he lets her is a testament of his own. it’s well-deserved, he thinks, they’ve come quite far to have moments like this and he’s well within his rights to enjoy it.
warmth settles in the pit of his stomach like heavy rocks at the thought, foreign and familiar at the same time, and it only intensifies when she leans down to press a kiss on his temple, movement slow and tender. she places one on the tip of his nose next, and then another on the corner of his lips.
“lucifer.” she whispers again, and it’s something like a quiet plea this time around, a silent question, like she’s asking for his permission to continue. with a nod, he lets her. indulgent as ever, he chides himself, but that is where that line of thought ends.
pleased, she continues her ministrations, nuzzling a small spot under his ear before leaving a quick little kiss behind. one kiss turns into two into three, quick and light, and in their wake, tiny little nips down his jaw, further down his neck. each one sends a sharp jolt down his spine, has him sucking in a sharp intake of air, has him digging his fingers harder into her side. but it’s not hard to miss the way she spends a beat longer over his pulse point, her heavy exhale, the way she nuzzles into his shoulder - tiny little actions that squeezes at his heart.
when she pulls away, there is fondness on her face, heavy around her eyes and especially in her smile. and it’s good, makes him feel softer and softer, because the moments where she wears it are far and few in between but it’s always when he’s around and it makes him feel special, somehow. reassured and settled in the skin that he’d taken so long to get used to. he gives her side a light squeeze, musters up a small little smile in return that she receives with another pleased hum.
“you love me,” she says, matter-of-factly. there’s delight in her voice, as gentle and as subtle as it is, and a part of him preens at it. good. if there’s anyone that should deserve to feel that way, it should be her.
heat creeps back up his cheeks not a second later at her words but there are no lies within them. he’s said it before, and just like all those times, there is no amount of uncertainty in his voice when he tells her, “i do love you.”
“good.” she answers, nodding resolutely. if he had been anything other than attuned to her, he would have missed the tiny contortions of her face, the tiny changes in her expression, how incredibly pleased she is at the fact.
despite common belief, he’s never had the best of restraints. certainly not when it comes to her so there is little surprise between the two of them when he cups the back of her head and pulls her close, pulls her into a kiss that is as soft and fragile as he feels at the moment. everything inside him churns and rolls like tumultuous waves when she melts into it, into him.
her lips are a breath away from his own, brushing against him when she speaks next, “pretty. my pretty lucifer.”
and oh, does his heart sing. there are untold tales and history unwritten in him, peace and war, stories of strength and power and pride - he is a kingdom of his own measure, and yet he is easily brought down by just a few earnest words from a human. unbelievable. she shakes with quiet laughter when he turns to avoid her gaze, his cheeks no doubt flushed considering how warm they felt.
and somehow, this is what it always comes to: she presses praises into his skin, makes him feel so good and it’s as if he is simultaneously deserving and undeserving of it all. he’s overcome with emotions and every time a complaint rises at the back of his throat, as if she knows where his thoughts often go, she swallows it all down with another kiss.
“look at me,” she says when she’s finally satisfied with her doting, just the slightest hints of an order behind them and it makes him burn pleasantly, “please.”
and lucifer’s long past the point of denying her anything. when he does, his breath catches in his throat and it takes so much out of him to just stay still, to keep in place and to be good for her. slowly, deliberately, she brings his gloved hand to her lips. slowly, deliberately, she tugs on each tip with her teeth. slowly, deliberately, like she’s not the cause of the raging inferno inside of him.
all the while, she keeps her eyes locked with his, keeps all his attention and all his breaths with her. her fingertips dip into the cuff of his gloves, blunt fingernails scraping against the inner side of his wrist. she does not break eye-contact and he does not dare to look away. not that he could. he could never look away for some reason, does not wish to look away.
his glove disappears behind her quickly enough, and he spends about a second worrying over where it lands before the thought dissipates completely by an overwhelming curiosity of where this moment will go and a pressing need to see it play out completely.
her fingers curl around his wrist firmly as she turns her attention to his digits. her lips brush against the tops of his knuckles first, gentle but steady. the next few are quick to follow, the pads of each of his fingers, the inner side of his wrist and one on his open palm. she kisses the scars that mar his hand, raised skin and ugly bumps, laves even the smallest ones with rapt attention.
he releases a breath that he didn’t even realise he had been holding in, a minor tremble, a tiny hitch that he hopes escapes her notice. it’s an undeniably tender moment, and despite the heat rolling in his abdomen, it feels as if he’s gone ahead and cut himself in half and bared his soul to her. each kiss is petal-soft, and it’s like she’s kissing away all the grief and heartbreak and pain that his hands have ever felt, all that he’s ever been the root of. each touch replaces all the bitterness and cold of his hands, of his heart, with spring warmth, gentle rays of the sun and soft winds that brings forth this quiet happiness with it.
she meets his eyes again, and he feels the curl of her smile against the skin of his hand as she nuzzles into his palm. the fire in his stomach returns with the eager force of an untameable blaze. he wants to wipe the smugness away but pride has always looked riveting in the corners of her lips. still, it has no business being there, no business making him feel the way it does - desperate, and so incredibly depraved, always constantly on the brink of wanting to spoil her with his love and affection but also corrupt her in the most sinful of ways.
she’s too much, he thinks, in moments like these ones especially. too indulgent. indulges him as much as he indulges her, and that’s way too often. he drinks in how she looks right now, eyes dark as they searched his face, lips curled in a wicked smile, flushed and flustered as if this hadn’t been her plan all along. it’s a quiet but fierce challenge - she’s daring him to make the next move. nothing but trouble, she was. but he’s nothing if not audacious.
Queued another sketch dump over the next few days while I’m out in TN!
First up is a large sketch of Mjornae and her family! From left to right:
Mjornae (the young Nightborne is also named Mjornae), Avaline, Angelus (I didn’t have an age in place for him at the time so he should actually be much older in this), Lucea, Lea, Mjornae (holding Deimos and Remus), Ithuin, Simon, and Runas (LET HIM LIVE)!
