(A fanfiction from Obey Me! Otome Game)
The storm howled outside the Demon Lord's castle like it wanted to tear the sky apart. Rain lashed the tall windows in furious sheets, and thunder rolled so close it rattled the crystal decanters on the side table. I couldn't sleep. Not after what happened earlier.
I'd only meant to sneak a tiny taste of the Demonus—just a sip, out of curiosity. Humans aren't supposed to handle it well, but the bottle had looked so tempting on the lounge tray after Diavolo and Barbatos finally said goodnight. Lucifer had caught me in the shadowed hallway, of course. His eyes had narrowed, that familiar stern line appearing between his brows, but there was something else too—a faint, amused quirk to his mouth as he plucked the bottle from my hands. "Curiosity is a dangerous habit, little one," he'd said, voice low. Then he'd disappeared into his guest room without another word.
Guilt gnawed at me. What if he thought I was reckless? Irresponsible? The kind of human who couldn't be trusted around Devildom things? I needed to explain. Just explain, apologize, and slip away before he could lecture me properly.
So here I was, standing outside his door in borrowed silk pajamas that still smelled faintly of Barbatos's lavender, knuckles hovering. Before I could talk myself out of it, I knocked—soft, hesitant.
The door opened almost instantly.
Lucifer stood there, and I froze.
His shirt hung open halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows. Dark hair fell in wild strands across his forehead, nothing like its usual perfect sweep. His cheeks glowed with a deep, uneven flush, and his eyes—those sharp crimson eyes—were half-lidded, sparkling with something unguarded and bright. A boyish smile broke across his face the moment he saw me, wide and real, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way I'd never seen before.
He didn't speak. He just reached out, fingers wrapping gently around my wrist, and tugged me inside with an eager pull that left no room for protest. The door clicked shut behind me; the lock turned with a soft snick.
My heart slammed against my ribs. This wasn't Lucifer. Or... it was, but stripped of every layer of pride and control. He looked at me like I'd brought the moon into the room with me.
"You came," he murmured, voice warm and a little slurred at the edges. His thumb brushed over my pulse point, slow circles. "I was hoping... wishing, really."
I took a step back instinctively, cheeks burning. "I—I just wanted to say sorry about the bottle. I didn't mean to—"
He followed, closing the distance without crowding, but close enough that I could smell the rich, spiced warmth of Demonus on his breath. "Sorry?" He laughed softly, the sound low and delighted. "Darling, if you only knew how endearing that little rebellion was."
He guided me toward the chaise by the window, never letting go of my hand. When I hesitated, he simply sat and pulled me down beside him—gentle, but insistent. His free hand lifted to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering against my cheek.
"You're trembling," he noted, eyes softening further. "Is it the storm? Or me?" Before I could answer, words spilled from him like they'd been waiting years. "Your eyes... they're impossible. So bright, even in candlelight. And your smile—when you laugh at my brothers' nonsense, it undoes me every time. Your courage too. You stand in a house full of demons and still choose kindness. Your voice when you say my name... it's criminal how it affects me."
He kept going, compliments tumbling out—my hands ("so small, yet they steady me"), the way I smelled like sunlight after rain, how my presence made eternity feel less heavy. Each one landed softer than the last, until I was dizzy from it. This was Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, reduced to earnest, tipsy adoration. It terrified me as much as it charmed me.
I reached up without thinking, fingers threading into his messy hair. He sighed, leaning into the touch like a cat seeking warmth. His eyes fluttered half-closed.
"Keep doing that," he whispered. "Please."
I stroked gently, combing through the dark strands. His breathing slowed. The tension in his shoulders melted away. One arm draped loosely around my waist, pulling me closer until my side pressed against his.
"You're perfect," he mumbled, words fading. "My treasure... stay..."
His head grew heavier against my shoulder. Then, with a soft, content hum, he shifted—nuzzling into the crook of my neck, nose brushing skin, warm breath fanning over my collarbone. His grip tightened just enough to say he wasn't letting go, even in sleep.
I sat there, heart pounding, listening to the storm and the slow rhythm of his breathing. Part of me wanted to slip away, to leave before this fragile moment shattered. But his hold was gentle, possessive in the sweetest way, and the warmth of him seeped into me like something I'd been missing.
I knew tomorrow would be different. He'd wake with a pounding head and mortified memories. The apologies would come—stiff, formal, laced with that old commanding tone. He'd insist nothing happened, beg me to keep it secret, rebuild every wall higher than before. It would be awkward. Painfully so.
But right now, in the flickering candlelight with rain drumming against the glass, he was mine in a way sober Lucifer never allowed himself to be. A temporary blessing from the former angel who once walked in light.
I let my fingers keep moving through his hair. I let myself indulge.
Just for tonight.💘
