CW - innuendo, mild language
Prompt: You sold your soul to the devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor".
"Wait, are you serious right now?" I stare at the horned apparition before me, struggling not to grin.
The Devil rolls his red eyes at me and points to his disheveled state. "Look at me. Do I seem anything but serious?"
His Prada suit is torn in several places and Cerberus' saliva is still dripping from his skinny tie. A clawed toe is sticking out from a hole in his polished shoes; he wiggles it with a sigh, inspecting the disappearance of his shoelaces.
"This is why I didn't want to adopt him. Look at what he's done to me. I have a date in one hour; how am I supposed to fix this?" His voice rises in pitch up to the point I have to clamp his mouth shut, lest someone notice something is seriously wrong with my companion.
Every glamour can be broken, provided its caster is under enough duress. Needless to say, I had never seen Him so distressed.
"You really like her, don't you?"
I giggle when his already red face grows even redder; a feat I had thought impossible. The first time I saw Him, I asked him to take my soul so I could finally grant my parent's wish and become a hotshot trader at the biggest trading company in the world. Five years later, I retired to my villa in Honolulu, perfectly happy to get away from the mayhem of New York and waiting to see if He would cash in the prize.
As it turns out, He had been just as busy as me.
"Yeah." His horns shrink visibly, and his voice is shaking. "She likes me for who I am."
"And who are you exactly?"
His body shimmers and disappears for a brief moment, only to return looking exactly like a young Harrison Ford.
"Jerome McKenzie, at your service."
I bite my tongue, struggling not to laugh. "Did you just say...Jerome McKenzie?"
"It's a perfectly good name, isn't it?" Then, noticing the tears springing to my eyes, "What? What is so wrong with it? Every time I say this, all the humans laugh at me."
I snort and open my smartphone, typing his name into Google's search function and bursting into a mad laugh when all color drains from his face.
"A-," he clears his throat and undoes his tie. "Amanda. Who is this?"
"Jerome McKenzie, porn star, thong model, and an all-around great guy."
He stares at me as if I'm the worst person on the planet, finally understanding why all the other people had been sniggering behind his back and pointing fingers.
"Kayla didn't laugh?" I raise an eyebrow, feeling guilty when he shakes his head with puppy eyes.
"She said she loves I wear the name with such confidence."
I stifle another laugh, certain that if I cannot, it would drive him on a rampage. And if there is one thing you don't want to do, it's make the Devil scourge Hawaii. Hawaii already has enough problems, thank you very much. For example, mosquitos.
"You're such a mess." I look him over, noting his sagging shoulders. "Well, we can't have you looking like this on your first date, now can we?"
His eyes light up like molten lava and he grabs my hand, putting it on his chest, right above his heart. Or, at least, where his heart would be if he had one. The Devil doesn't really adhere to the norm we humans are accustomed to. Apparently, it has something to do with him regularly playing pranks on God, gluing His robes to the golden throne, or stealing apples from The Tree. Yes, that's tree with a capital T.
I drag him inside my house and up the arched stairways, giggling like a child on Christmas. It's rare for me to be allowed to dress someone else, let alone Lucifer or Belzebub, or whatever name he goes by these days. He changes it like every millennium, which, for us, I guess is like every two seconds.
The only problem is, I'm trash at clothing myself so imagine if I had to impart this knowledge unto others. My hope is he has no idea what humans are supposed to dress like and so he would be none the wiser when his outfit is going to end up in flames.
My room is small and cozy, just the way I like it. No one is allowed inside it and since I am far too lazy to clean it, I had to make sure it was as tiny as possible, without me having to sleep on the floor or under the desk. I struggle to open the walk-in closet, scrunching up my nose when the hinges shriek.
"What the fuck was that?" The Devil asks from behind me and when I glance around, I see him sitting on my bed with my bullet journal in his lap.
"Don't even dare to open that." I point to the notebook and give him my meanest stare.
He smiles and his human face flickers away, revealing his normal red, acne-scarred skin. Even Lucifer had acne as a kid.
"Why? Do you have any state secrets in it?"
"I won't help you if you do." I walk inside the closet, grinning when I hear my journal thump on the floor. "That's a good boy."
"Why do you have men's clothing in your wardrobe?"
"My boyfriend leaves his stuff sometimes."
Lucifer comes inside and closes the door behind him, wiggling his eyebrows. "Oops. Guess we're trapped for all eternity now. Sucks for you, to be honest."
"Seriously? You couldn't wait until I like...found something more suitable for you?" I grab his tattered shirt and pull him closer.
"Did you like that?" He whispers in my ear and his breath gives me goosebumps.
"Which part?" I kiss his neck and slither my arms behind it, letting him fickle with my bra. "Jerome took me off guard, to be honest."
"I kid you not, I had no idea he is a model."
I cackle and he pulls me away so we can make eye-contact. He loves when I shiver underneath his gaze; I don't know why he finds it so damn hot. There's something uncomfortable in staring at his red eyes and drowning inside them; they have no end and no beginning, it's so easy to lose yourself and never come back.
"What happened with Cerberus?" I ask, walking over my bra and pressing my boobs on his chest.
"He was cranky today. Almost choked on a bone." He lets me unbuckle his belt then jumps out of his trousers like a cat touching water. "I love when we roleplay."
He scoops me up and pushes me against a wall; my legs open of their own accord and my mouth searches for his hungrily as our lips press together again and again until my tongue is on fire.
"Hey, Kate?" He asks breathlessly after some smooching.
I grunt and pull him back in, but he resists.
"Will you marry me?"
"Aren't you the best boyfriend ever?"
I smile when he shows me the ring; he engraved our names in it and it's made entirely of obsidian. He slips it on my thumb, clicking his tongue.
"That's kinda hot, isn't it?"
I extend my hand to give it a proper inspection and force another grin. I have no problem with rings, mind you. I tend to frown upon the concept of marriage, especially when Luci is involved.
But how can a girl refuse when her boyfriend has her soul?
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Disclaimer: I am in no way romanticizing an abusive relationship; this is entirely a piece created to let others know what it feels like to be manipulated and to what lengths a person has to go to please the abuser.