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draculasfavoritewife · 4 months ago

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I'd Give Up My Spot In Heaven (For A Moment In Hell With You)

Summary: Being the Devil's partner is more difficult some nights than others, and no one makes it harder on the both of you than Lucifer himself.

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief depictions of smoking and alcohol use, themes of depression and self-hatred, guilt; discussions of death (but a good ending, never fear). And of course implied smut because this beautiful man has me constantly thinking some very unholy things.

If I had to choose one single TV show that changed my life and has so powerfully influenced my recent adulthood, it would definitely be the Lucifer Netflix series. I could write semesters' worth of essays on just how beautifully crafted the character is and what a stunning actor Tom Ellis is. Someday I really need to write more fic for him because truly, in my opinion Lucifer is one of THE Characters of All Time and I'm so utterly in love with him it makes me look stupid.

*I wrote this with the thought that it takes place sometime during the events of Season 2, definitely before the return of his wings

The flutter of uncharacteristically cold silk sheets brushing across your flesh wakes you with a silent gasp. Frowning, you grope blindly in the darkness, reaching out in vain for your usual heat source but grasping only more folds of empty, luxurious fabric.

You’re alone.

And the bed feels suddenly far too vast and lonesome for one body to occupy.

After a few heartbeats of mildly distressed thrashing about, you finally open your eyes and sit up, pulling the unmoored sheets up around your bare chest and searching for him in the dark. The penthouse is quiet, full of shadows draping languorously across the furniture and expensive art, hiding the familiar contours of his elegant bedroom from view.

He’s not there.

He’s left you alone in his bed, something he really only does when his mind is torturing him too much, so he resorts back to his oldest tried-and-true method of dealing with pain — avoidance.

Which means he’s in pain out there somewhere. Your beloved fallen angel is afflicted with some hurt that strikes too deep for him to rest tonight.

And you don’t want him to remain like that until morning.

With a sigh, you rise from the empty bed and shrug into the button-up shirt he tossed onto the night table only several hours before. Though he often offers the whites to you, you always prefer the black ones instead, these garments that seductively wrap your form like soft night shadows, the scent of his cologne heavily amplified without a light to distract your other senses. Your bare feet make hardly any sound on the cool floor as you stumble your way into the main living area, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim.

There he is.

He hasn’t gone far, sitting slouched forward at the piano, a nearly empty whiskey tumbler within easy reach and soft smoke curling upward from the lit cigarette held between his long fingers. By the array of still-glowing stumps littering the nearby ashtray, it’s not his first one of the night, either. He only chain-smokes when he’s really worked up, so you approach him cautiously, halting a couple of feet from his left side.

His endless dark eyes are focused impossibly far away, haunted and cold, and they don’t so much as even flicker in your direction as you hover there, uncertain of how to catch his attention.

“Go back to bed, Darling. I’ll be along eventually.”

His voice is as smooth and lovely as ever, but the detached undertone running like bitter poison beneath sends a tiny shiver up the back of your neck.

“What’s wrong, Love?”

He doesn’t reply, and you would almost wonder if he didn’t hear you at all, save for the agitated clenching and unclenching of his chiseled jaw. Restless fingers tap a dusting of ash from the end of the cigarette, shoving it back between full lips for another irritated drag of smoke into his immortal lungs.

He did hear.

So you choose to wait, settling on the end of the piano bench beside him, though not quite close enough to touch.

Smoke jets from his nostrils, its acrid scent burning the back of your throat.

“Nothing’s wrong. Just up for an impromptu nightcap, Sweetheart.” He immediately contradicts his casual claim by abruptly tossing back the rest of his whiskey and rising for a refill. You watch his silhouette as he looms over his private bar to replenish his drink.

Even when all of the details are hidden, he’s still utterly captivating, the sleek planes of his toned body sharply outlined by the faint light bleeding from the windows.

“You don’t drink like that for a nightcap.” You absently brush your fingertips across a simple chord on the piano keys. “You can talk to me, about whatever’s on your mind. You know that.”

“Did I ASK you to play the part of my therapist?” his dark shape snarls, another billow of nicotine smoke accentuating his sudden anger.

You turn so you’re facing him, though you still can’t make out his face.

He feels safer that way, hidden in the dark.

The Devil may be an excellent actor, but those damned beautiful eyes have always given him away to you, and he has the nasty suspicion they’re a bit too glossy at the moment for his comfort.

You sigh softly. “Don’t think of it that way, then. I’m not here to analyze and dissect you. But you haven’t been sleeping well lately.” You hold up your hands to stall the protest you know is coming. “And I know you probably don’t need it the same way I do. But you hold everything in, and you bury it so deep, Lucifer. There will only ever be more and more piling on top if you don’t let it out sometime.”

He huffs, a harsh burst of scornful laughter. Drawing closer again, he towers over you, tall and forbidding, eyes briefly flashing crimson through the shadows cast across his face.

“And just how do you suggest I go about that, hmm? I don’t exactly have my trust in others positively reinforced that often.”

You’re very well aware of his profound trust issues, but that one hurts. “That's not fair, Lucifer. When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? When have I ever done anything except stand by you?”

“You haven’t! But that’s the lovely part about you humans, isn’t it? I can watch and listen and taste and think I’ve figured out exactly how you work, and then every single time, something extraordinary happens and I realize I’ve predicted wrong again! There’s no rhyme or reason to you!” He tears away from you, pacing and agitated. “And bloody Hell, I’m TIRED of finally letting down my walls for you people only to be trampled upon again and again.”

No knife blade could cut quite so deep and sharp, and for a moment, you’re left completely speechless at the implication that you would ever betray him. But you heard the way his voice broke at the peak of his rant, the shuddering sound of his ragged breaths, so for the moment you swallow your own hurt and focus on his.

He needs you right now, whether he recognizes it or not.

“Okay. You're right. We have been — we still are — so very unfair to you, Love. I know that. I’m sorry you’re still seen as the villain; I’m so sorry for all of it. And I know your own family only continues to betray your trust as well. I am —” you clear your throat, your own voice wavering slightly now. “— I am sorry you never had anyone truly on your side, Lucifer. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

His frenzied pacing stops; he approaches you again, footsteps suddenly tentative. “Why do they all do it?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever heard his voice so soft, so uncertain.

“Why, after all of the chances I give them, does everyone still think it’s such a grand time to undermine and manipulate me whenever they get the chance?”

You stand, and ever so slowly bring your hands up to cradle his handsome, angular face. “They all have their own reasons, my Darling. Please….”

You’re not quite sure what you’re pleading him for, but the utter despair overflowing from those fathomless eyes twists your heart even harder than his outburst from before.

“It isn’t you,” you whisper fiercely, recognizing the all-too-familiar desolation of his intense self-hatred surfacing. “Luce, Angel, it’s never been you. I promise.”

“Why can’t I make anyone happy?” he asks in a broken whisper. He’s letting you closer; you can feel his smoky breath ruffling your sleep-tossed hair, and the heat rising from his bare torso in front of you.

Your hands hesitantly drift from his face, caressing the smooth expanse of his chest before trailing around to his back. He flinches, a minuscule twitch as your fingertips gently find their way to catch in the wide, roughened furrows there — the enormous crescent scars that are all that remain of his beautiful wings.

You order your thoughts, taking a breath to let your own inner tumult dissipate, and inhale the scent of him, that blend of too-expensive cologne edged with just enough of the whiskey and smoke to be enthralling and not overpowering. It reminds you once more, in this moment, of just how deeply you love this tortured angel, your King without a crown, and how you chose to do so even knowing there would be nights like this, times when he tried to push you away.

He deserves to have someone on his side no matter what, even when he’s difficult.

“You make me happy.”

His mouth opens, no doubt to argue that, but you press on before he can speak. “Do you remember the night you finally took the chance and showed me your devil face?”

He nods, reluctant and suspicious.

“Do you remember what I did?”

His eyes narrow and he tilts his head to one side, thinking. “I remember…what you didn’t do. You didn’t scream. Or try to run away, or just sit there staring at me like you were going to explode. You were…startled, of course, but you…accepted it?”

“I did. I do. Do you know why?”

He shakes his head mutely, those eyes wide and glimmering with interest now as he stares back into yours, searching for the answer.

“Because it’s you. Devil, angel, man, monster, whatever you want to call yourself — none of that matters to me, because all of it is just names, decorations over the Lucifer I fell in love with. And that…being…cares — so deeply — about people, even though he claims he doesn’t. He sacrifices so much for others, even as he calls himself selfish. And —” you gently shush him so you can finish before he tries to deflect, “— the way others treat him does hurt him, though he puts up a good act. I know that’s why he tries to push away the people who love him. I understand.”

A barely perceptible shudder runs through his skin, and he looks away from you for a moment. He’s still not always used to anyone but Dr. Martin being able to read him that well, but he’s relieved that you can. Anyone else in this close of a relationship with him would have probably thrown in the towel long before now.

After a moment, powerful arms pull you in tight to his body, solidly encircling your form. His breathing slows; the comforting sensation of his agile hands stroking your back brings a smile to your lips.

“Now, what else is wrong?” you whisper.

A long sigh rocks you against his chest. “I saw their faces in my dreams again. Relived their pain…. I’m left wondering again if there wasn’t anything I could have done to — well. I suppose I’m saying I still feel responsible.”

You let your eyes flutter shut against him, soothingly massaging his scars and feeling the tense muscles in his back let go one by one.

“Who, Luce?”

He swallows hard above your head, allowing himself a moment to compose his voice before speaking their names aloud. “Delilah. Jana. Father Frank.”

People who once meant something to him, people who died violent deaths that he wishes he could have protected somehow.

Or had maybe never met in the first place.

His fingertips dig into your skin through his shirt, and you know exactly where his tormented mind is going, the fear that everyone he cares about will end up hurt or dead eventually.

He can’t have that happen to you.

“They all made their own choices, Love. Delilah and Jana were attached to their lifestyles and knew it might catch up with them or go wrong someday. Father Frank loved so fiercely he would have chosen the same fate for himself a hundred times over. I know it’s…difficult, for you — for any of your family — to comprehend, but we 'insignificant humans' do have things in this life we are willing to take risks for. Even die for.” You huff a quiet laugh, burying yourself even further in the warmth of his skin.

“What would you die for?”

The honest, blunt question takes you by surprise. There’s none of his usual banter or teasing preceding it. When you pull back to meet his eyes, you see the look of earnest interest on his face, his dark brows drawn together with the force of his desire to understand.

It’s not a difficult answer.

“You, Lucifer. What we have. That’s what I would die for.”

His gaze feels like it’s piercing all the way into the most vulnerable parts of your soul, searching for any sign of why you would do so.

Then his focus suddenly flits away again; for a heartbeat, pain settles into the lines of his face before it clears as quickly as it appeared.

“I was thinking about Uriel, too.”

It feels like there’s suddenly no air in your lungs. He hasn’t really brought up what happened with his younger brother to you except in passing. You know how much that whole situation wrecked him, but though you ached to let him know he could talk to you about it, you also knew it hurt far too much, so you merely supported him silently through his despair-fueled run of alcohol, drugs, and raging parties, hoping that one day he would realize he could trust you with the full weight of it.

Perhaps he finally has.

“I was thinking about him, and how I — I killed my brother, Darling. I took the Blade of Azrael and plunged it right into him without a second thought. What kind of —” he takes a choppy breath, swallows again; when he continues, his voice is barely more than a whisper.

“What kind of monster does that make me, Love?”

You ponder your reply as your fingers travel up to his face once more, feeling the well-loved scratch of his perpetually perfect five-o-clock shadow as you caress his jaw.

He leans ever so slightly into your touch as he waits for your next words, somewhat reassured by the intimate contact that they won’t be damning.

“Uriel would have killed the detective. And he would have killed your mother.” Your own voice is firm, certain in your assessment. “You looked out for your own. You gave him so many chances to back off, and he didn’t. In a way, even Uriel made his own choice in the end.” You gaze back up into his eyes, noting how vulnerable he looks here in this moment through the shining veil of tears that even now refuse to fall.

“Don’t blame yourself for your brother’s death anymore, Lucifer.”

“But I’d never taken a life before.” His lips press together into a hard line, their sweeping curves disappearing momentarily into grief. “And to have my first be him?”

“I know.” You push yourself into him again, trailing soft kisses across his collarbone. “And I’ll never know what you’re going through. But I’m here. I’m always here. And we can talk all about it whenever you need. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

You can’t quite tell if he’s crying or not as he fiercely folds you into his grasp, as close as the two of you can possibly hold each other. But you stay like that for a very long time, swaying gently back and forth, no sound audible save for the breaths and beating hearts of the Devil and his human lover.

Eventually, he is the one to pull away, retreating back to the bar and picking up his drink from where he set it down before. His cigarette has long since gone out, but he makes no move to light another. You can tell by the loose set of his shoulders that his self-inflicted torture is easing for now, and as it passes, your own body wearily reminds you of how late — or early? — it is, and that it would much rather be in bed.

“Go back to bed, Darling.” There’s real warmth in Lucifer’s voice now as he repeats his words from before.

“I’ll be along eventually.”

So you do, still wearing his shirt, and drift in and out of lonely dreams until the mattress finally dips beside you, heralding his along-waited arrival.

“Still awake?” He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “My scintillating company has ruined you for ever sleeping alone again, hasn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You roll onto your back to smile up into his face. “The bed’s so cold without you.”

He smirks, runs a teasing finger down from your lips right up to where you left the top couple buttons of the shirt strategically undone. “Well. I was a bit of an ass to you earlier, Love, and I do want to make it up to you. So.” He leans in close, that familiar look of utterly seductive, wicked mischief crossing his face.

“Tell me, what is it you want from me right now? What is that sinful, naughty little desire of yours that’s just waiting so patiently on the tip of your tongue? Go on, Sweetheart, don’t be shy.”

“Lucifer!” You glare up into his expectant, dancing eyes as you struggle to resist his persuasion. “I’m not going to say it out loud.”

“Oh, so it’s REALLY awful then!” He sounds shamelessly delighted as he traps you in place so you can’t possibly elude the inevitable revelation of what’s on your mind. “And how should I punish my favorite little sinner, for thinking such deliciously dirty things?”

Unable to hold on to your resolve any longer, you pull him down over you so that you can feverishly unload your demented fantasies into his waiting ear.

“Well, well, well.” A low chuckle vibrates deep in his chest as he kisses you, scorchingly slow. “How DO you manage to go about your day-to-day life as a seemingly normal human when your innermost thoughts are so sordid, Darling? Tell me, is it terribly difficult keeping your wicked side under wraps during daylight hours?”

You sigh in pleasure as his mouth moves to your throat and his talented fingers start to smoothly undo the buttons of the shirt. “Only when you’re around.”

“Is that so?” He rests his forehead against yours, a hand sweeping under the curve of your back and lifting your body up to meet his. “They do call me the tempter, I suppose. Ah, Darling, you can bet I’m going to do my very damndest to break that flawless self-restraint of yours in public one of these days. Whatever do you think people would say if that were to happen?”

“Just shut up and punish me already,” you murmur, shivering as your skin is exposed to the chill air once more. “You’ve tortured me for long enough.”

“Really.” He grins devilishly, sharp eyes glowing like hot embers in the dim.

“I do believe I haven’t even started.”

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