whatever our souls are made of.
Obey Me! Shall We Date drabble; Pairing: Lucifer + (n)MC Warnings: mentions of sex Genre: self indulgent fluff, comfort, introspective Author’s notes: I really like the parallelism between Lucifer and Heathcliff, plus Lucifer being just as much of a literature nerd as Satan has always been an headcanon of mine. So, yeah. - “I’d love to be able to work my way inside your head, you know,” Lucifer mused. He had just put down his favourite fountain pen, a recent gift of yours, and was now keeping himself busy with a curious inspection of you face. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence by any means: you often found yourself reading in his study, comfortably sprawled on his recliner, as Lucifer expertly scribbled away. It was comforting to watch him work, a guilty pleasure you didn’t bother to keep hidden. Not that you could hide anything, not from him. Never. You had all of him, he had all of you. It was that easy.
“I’m just very concerned,” you replied, an automatic smile curving your lips. “Can you believe Elizabeth insists on keeping poor Darcy at bay?” “Such outrage,” Lucifer played along contentedly, just as you knew he would. Granted, he didn’t exactly look like the sweet, compassionate kind of man - the type to warmly receive affection and reciprocate it in kind, always striving for intimacy in the most mundane of moments, but he was. Oh, he was. This time was no exception. “Besides, it’s not like Darcy’s completely devoid of any fault, is he?”. You can’t really counter his point, so you opt for a dignified sulk instead. Undeterred, Lucifer chuckles lightly. “May I suggest going back to the classics, my love?” You gasped then, comically affronted. “Pride and Prejudice is a classic, mister!” “Apologies, miss.” The apparent sarcasm in his velvety tone makes you roll your eyes, but you graciously let him finish. “I should’ve made myself clearer. I meant our classics.” Oh. You feel your cheeks catch fire at his remark, which has Lucifer let out an elegant chuckle. Ugh, ever the gentleman! That man knew precisely what buttons to push to get all of his favourite reactions out of you, and it drove you mad. “We read Wuthering Heights together a thousand times, Lucifer”, you note. “I can practically quote it by heart!” That claim was in no way a fabricated brag: you really could. In fact, both of you could. The fiery passion you shared for English literature was the thread that first connected your heart to his, after all. Emily Brontë’s was the first novel you ever read together; the very first time Lucifer ever made love to you, intense and untamed, was also the day you reached the last chapter of the book. You’re not exactly proud of it now, but it made you erupt in unceremonious sobs, your face plainly reflecting the sheer grief in your heart. It wasn’t just a cursed romance, it was a proper tragedy. A terrifying prospect, really, especially for someone so enamored with the characters. For someone so in love. He must’ve shared your feelings back then… well, not that he expressed it directly, of course. You felt it a while later, after Lucifer’s comforting hugs turned into his lips openly assaulting yours, his chest pressed impossibly closed to you. As you ran your trembling fingers through his hair, he made short work of undressing you, tearing apart your clothes with an urgency that made you beg and beg for more. That was the very first time his body whispered all of his secrets to yours, unfolding and opening up his soul for you to see. Desires, regrets, aspirations and shame: you two shared it all. The back of Lucifer’s cold hand coming to rest on your cheek forces you back to reality. You look up to him, who’s now standing right next to the recliner you’re currently occupying, hovering over you with a knowing smile on his face. “I can definitely evoke some of it, yes,” he agreed, nonchalantly. Lucifer went silent for a moment, seemingly pondering something. “Be with me always, take any form, drive me mad,“ he then whispered suddenly, enunciating every word as clearly as he could. “Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.” Your body reacted to his words faster than your mind ever could. Stretching your arms forward, you hooked them behind his nape and hastily pulled him down with as much strenght as you could muster. It was admittedly impossible for a frail human like you to force a demon into any sort of movement, but Lucifer met you halfway in a second nonetheless. He kissed you with a tenderness you’d come to expect from him, but it made your eyes sting with grateful tears all the same. “ I cannot live without my life,” Lucifer breathed into the kiss, handily quoting your cherished book word for word and sending your heart flying to your throat. “I cannot live without my soul.” There’s a line Catherine delivers at some point in the book, you recall. It’s always been your favourite, even before stumbling upon hell itself. Even before finding the love of your life there. He’s more myself than I am, Catherine tells Nelly. You close your eyes and welcome Lucifer’s kiss all over again. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
