Lucifer watched you as he set the plate down in front of you, his movements precise, almost graceful. The breakfast was simple—nothing extravagant—but he’d made it with his own hands. He supposed it was fitting, this mockery of service. You’d summoned him in desperation, after all. You’d begged him to help you, to save you, to give you companionship and he’d agreed.

For a price: your soul.

It was strange, really. A human so desperate for a partner that they'd turn to summoning a demon? It was absurd. But he didn't mind—didn't mind serving you, and giving you the company you needed. Though, it didn't necessarily mean he felt anything for you.

It was just a contract, nothing more. He was obligated to do the things he did for you. But, he still couldn't help but feel proprietorial over you from time to time. Even if his feelings for you were nothing more than a facade, you were his—your soul belonged to him, and Lucifer doesn't like to share his belongings.

His fingers brushed against your arm as he sat beside you, the contract’s inscription catching his eye. He traced the lines, his touch proprietorial. The ancient symbols etched into your skin were as binding as any chains. Lucifer felt a flicker of satisfaction as he looked at it.

“Remember,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with something sharp, something dangerous. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You belong to me now." He pushed the plate of food closer to you. "Eat, you'll need your energy for later."