lovesick
pairing : lucifer x gn!reader
summary : you put a bandaid around luciferâs ring finger (and his heart does a somersault)
note : inspired by the card chat âbefore the big dayâ
For a demon like Lucifer, a paper cut should be no more than an itch, something that shouldnât even warrant a reaction. But when he felt the sharp edge glide across his finger, he still couldnât help but let out a pained wince.
You poked your head up from behind the leather armchair where youâd been lolling in, âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing,â he frowned at the red forming around the thin line. âActually, can you get me a tissue?â
âSure,â you grabbed the tissue box and walked over, eyes widening when you spotted the cut. âYouâd better get that bandaged.â
âItâs just a small cut.â
âA small cut that will sting like hell when it comes into contact with water,â You leaned against the desk, took his hand and started examining the wound. âAnd you could get an infection.â
An argument was already building on his tongue, but he decided to stay quiet as you moved on to dab the blood off, eyes narrowed in concentration, making sure you werenât pressing too hard. A few strands of hair had fallen in front of your face, but your sole attention was on the cut.
It felt nice to be pampered once in a while.
Discarding the red-spotted paper, you placed your hand under the adjacent drawer to open it. Panic set in, and he scrambled to push it back. The wood slammed shut with a loud thud.Â
âWhat?â You turned to him, startled. âIâm just trying to get you a bandaid!â
âI donât have any in there.â The lie slipped out easily. âItâs really fine, itâll heal soon.â
You gave the drawer and his guarding hand a pointed look, silent skepticism spreading across your features. Then you shook your head firmly, stubborn as always. âIâll just go grab mine.â
His eyes followed as you walked out of the study, hand only lowering once you were out of sight. That was a threateningly close call. Had you seen what was inside the drawer, everything heâd been planning would've gone up in flames.
Just to double check. He opened a gap wide enough for him to peek inside. The warm light spilled in, revealing a red velvet box sitting serenely atop other miscellaneous objects. He drummed his finger against the wooden board and, giving in to his uncertainty, pulled out the box. The ring was still insideâ the band a pale silver, twirling up to enclose a sapphire that was catching light on all sides.Â
He sighed and returned it into the drawer, slamming it into the dark.
He'd bought the ring for a good while now, just about long enough for it to collect dust. While the purchase had been done on a whim, he confessed that the possibility of marriage had been stuck in his head like a rowdy tenant unwilling to move out.
And of course, you were the one who'd given rise to the idea. He could still remember how you'd woken up that day, dazed still by sleep, and upon recognizing him, pulled away and buried your face into the pillow almost in annoyance. He'd been offended, but after some insistent pestering, you finally explained that you'd dreamt of marrying him.
"It was such a sweet dream, and you had to go ahead and ruin it!" You'd complained, looking off to the side with a stubborn frown, but it didn't take a pair of keen eyes to notice the way your ears burned. To make it up to you, he'd vowed to make it a reality one day. It might've been a light-hearted promise at that time, but it would soon bloom into a question that lodged itself into his heart, making it hard to breathe without first getting it out.
He owned exactly three white suits and had to put them all away, because every time he opened the closet and caught sight of them in his periphery, his mind would just go haywire. White suit, wedding, flowers, rings, vows, promise of a lifetime . He would never admit it, but the mere imagination he conjured in his head was enough to make him giddy. He would put an unhealthy amount of sugar in his tea just so the sweetness would taste realer, would run into doors while still donning a tooth-rotting smile.
Simeon was worried that he was sick, but if it really was an illness, he didn't want to get rid of it. Not when you were both the cause and the remedy.
It wasn't always pleasant though. Dreaming was the easy part, but when it came to taking actions, he was in a bind. He wished to make the proposal as memorable as possible, but he had no idea how to. Either he accidentally let the perfect moment pass by or the time and place just didn't work. The world seemed to be against him this time, throwing curveball after curveball on his quest to pop the question. The only thing preventing him from giving up was the unbudging certainty that, yes , he did want to marry you and live out the rest of your lives together. That was enough to keep him going.
At the nearing footsteps, he reluctantly pulled himself out of his thoughts. You came back with a pack of bandaids decorated with pink hearts.Â
"What?" You chuckled at the appalment dimming his eyes.Â
"Couldn't you have gotten the less cutesy ones?"Â
"They were the only ones lying around."
You were obviously lying, but he bit his tongue once again, watching as you peeled the backing.Â
"Your hand, please."
He complied. You tilted your head to get a better angle and placed the soft cotton on the cut, the skin surrounding which had started to bloom red. Then his eyes trailed up, and realization dawned on him.
The paper had grazed his ring finger, which shouldn't have been a big deal, but his heart still jumped out of his throat. Suddenly he was hyper aware of your hand working around the wound, wrapping the sticky surface around the base of his finger. You didn't do it very well, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he watched the hearts adhere to his skin.
One day, it would be just like this, except he would be the one holding your hand like it was glass, and instead of a band aid, it would be a ring. He could already see it happening before his eyesâ your finger slipping into the ring of perfect size, the happiness blooming on your face, then your hands fitting perfectly together.
It was only when he felt your touch on his face that he snapped out of the images, feeling the smile etched on his face. Softly you asked, "What are you thinking about?"
"How dumb this bandaid looks."
"Thatâs not what your face says," you mirrored his smile. "At least wait a few days before you peel it off, okay?"
Instead of answering, he turned to kiss the center of your palm, his smile growing wider. He knew that he wasn't taking it off any time soon.
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brothersâ kisses.
all of this made better sense in my head. it was 3am and i was yearning like hell. thatâs it
â LUCIFER.
luciferâs kisses are heavy with longing. his lips are cold to the touch, coated in the centuries of loneliness his pride so unpleasantly gifted him. you are the torch that breaks through that icy barrier. once you do, you may feel as if you have reunited with an old lover. countless stories dance at the tip of his tongue; you are bringing a monumental statue to life. he tastes of dark chocolate and wine, the bittersweet sensation envelops you within seconds. his kisses may be accompanied by a nibble or even a bite to your tongue - he is vulnerable in this state, and still wants to remain in control. to remain superior. he wants you close. his kisses are a silent plead for you to stay - to never leave his side. for you to be completely and utterly devoted to him.
â MAMMON.
mammonâs kisses are sporadic, yet desperate. heâll act flighty at first, for he isnât used to this kind of attention and doesnât know how to react. but, each time his lips collide with yours, a new desire surfaces. he needs and wants; he kisses like heâs trying to pull something out of you, as if your lips alone arenât enough. although he tastes faintly of cinnamon, his kisses are breaths of fresh air; filling your lungs so that the only thing you consume is him, while he consumes you. heâs greedy. he doesnât want your lips on anyone elseâs but his own, and will do whatever he can to get a kiss. the great mammon wants you all to himself, and he will make sure he has you. each kiss is like a branding of some sort; a reminder that you belong to him and him only.Â
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