#Sleeping Giant Inn

[oblivions-dawn]

𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕠 ℝ𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕

A Skyrim journey, 46/?

[helgiafterdark]

she is probably the most over-hated character, and i disagree with her views on dragons and paarthy, but i love her. she went thru so much, and she has given so much and continues to give.

[littleghoulghost]

19th of Last Seed

I stayed the night within the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, a small sleepy town mostly consisting of a wood mill. That Breton woman, Delphine, she’s odd. She gives me a creeping feeling, like she’s watching me. I don’t like it. But for now I am heading to the Barrow. We’ll see what I encounter.

Well I’ve made it through the Barrow, and it happened again. I seemed to absorb some sort of knowledge from the word wall. I’m concerned about what this may be. And that woman, Delphine, was in Dragonsreach. She was pouring over texts with Farengar, ones concerning the dragons. She may be the one he spoke of, his contact. I should be careful of her.

A dragon attacked the Western Watchtower, and we managed to kill it. I’m still in disbelief, and now I’m being hailed as an ancient Nord hero. Dragonborn. A man with the blood and soul of a dragon. The Greybeards have called for me, the same as the dragon, Mirmulnir. Dovahkiin. I can feel the dragon inside of me, now that I have absorbed him. It’s so strange to feel and hear him. To know his name. And the Jarl seems to be becoming friendly with me, like he has forgotten why I came here. To possibly bring war to his doorstep. I fear he may become angered should I bring up my original purpose, but Ulfric must know as soon as possible.

[nighting-crow]

so this happened

and I fear my first thought was

[rat-rosemary]

Three ancient and forgotten gods and their one and only follower who they spoil rotten

[mihii-i]

I loved your parent Arle headcanons ahh <33

May I request something similar but instead it’s oneshot Arle finding out fem reader is pregnant? I was thinking reader is a harbinger too and they both find out together while on a mission in another nation but it’s up to you !

with you.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, moderately but also slightly suggestive, female reader, pregnant reader, arle referred to as husband, wlw, GIRLS KISSING OH MY GOD?? it’s their biological child bro don’t even ask how don’t ask and just hc whatever u want there’s like baby magic, arle’s real name mentioned blah blah yk this, harbinger reader, mention of sex, fluff, lazy writing toward the end, not proofread.

A/N: I want to write so badly but my homework says no anyway guys my brain loves cooking so much omg also my tea tastes EXTRA good today—update the second half was done the next day I have no tea :(…actually I’m just too lazy to get the giant jug out of the fridge and I’m finishing this so I can go get bubble tea instead lol🕯️

Heaps of fluffed blankets bunched up at the edge of the bed, messily piled below yours and Arlecchino’s feet. Her hand was draped over your loosely covered shoulder, the black gradient trailing up her arms contrasting with your skin dimly brightened by the illuminating candle filling the room. Small shivers surged through every vein of your body as you slumbered, stomach churning as you felt your muscles tense roughly even in your sleep. Arlecchino carefully blinked one eye open, her cross marked eyes eyeing your scrunched up expression of discomfort.

Soft fabric of your undershirt brushed along your shoulder decorated with goosebumps blistered across your skin, the shoulder strap of your undershirt sliding a bit lower past your shoulder as her hand brushed up and down to ridge along the blooming bumps decorating your skin. The constant jabs continued to rack your body over and over, a swelling ache seeming to stiffen every joint in your body and making you stir in your curled fetal position. Hunching your shoulders, you rolled over onto your side once more, the tip of your nose lightly grazing Arlecchino’s neck.

Honestly, couldn’t even think up a single reason why your body continuously harbored a pang of soreness spread through every small compartment of your body. It had initially crept in as a few light cramps, starting off bearable and only irritating you every now and then. Musing all the possibilities, you shrugged off the periodic stings stabbing at your abdomen as muscle cramps or mild injuries from your mission. After all, mild injuries weren’t anything of concern to a harbinger of your status.

Ever since you had been dispatched on a mission along with the Knave, or rather your dear husband Arlecchino, everything had gone smoothly up until the present. The two of you had carried out the Tsaritsa’s orders accordingly, and found a lavish inn to stay the night at in order to replenish your strength. Golden light shadowed across the hall endlessly, the bright glows of the looming chandelier swinging back and forth carefully above your head gave quite the nice impression of the inn the two of you had come across. After all, you deserved a nice, opulent stay for a night after getting through a tedious mission around the outskirts of Snezhnaya.

Even now as you looked back on it, the receptionist’s expression didn’t make much sense as she slid a polished room key across the wooden table in your direction, the quiet grate of steel on wood bristling across the wood in sync with her morphed smirk. You simply exchanged confused glances with Arlecchino, who was equally puzzled with the receptionist’s words of: “I wonder if the Fatui shake entire rooms…have fun in there!”

Of course you could shake entire rooms, you had one of the highest rankings that any member of the Fatui could bear.

You and Arlecchino stepped foot into the warmly lit room, a comfortable bed with draped silk covers spilling off the sides situated square in the middle along with a spruce bedside table and porcelain decorations standing proud on the other desk tables across the room. Sure enough, the lighting clearly wasn’t the only thing in the room that was warm. Your body was suddenly flooded with an unshakable heat, raising the temperature of your neckline as pores of sweat accumulated at the base of your neck. The faint scent of jasmine grazing your nostrils was too strong to ignore, enveloping you in a sense of fervor and mild passion. And surely enough, Arlecchino was affected too.

The next thing you knew, the two of you basked in the dimmed lights and gentle air tickling your skin within the cold darkness, movements intensifying as you took in each other’s unclothed form. Arlecchino clawed at your side with each breath you drew in, nails raking along your plush hips as the two of you were lost in the thick heat clouding the atmosphere around the two of you.

By the next morning, you both continued with your day, heading back to the Fatui’s headquarters as if this was a normal occurrence between you two. Upon creaking open the heavy doors to the Tsaritsa’s well furnished chambers, you and Arlecchino had knelt before the Cryo Archon, the black fluff of the coat’s neckline feathering against your cheek with each sway of wind slipping in through the small crack of the opened window.

A near frustrated groan came dangerously close to pushing past your lips as the Tsaritsa commanded a mission for the two of you once more, ordering you both to take care of matters somewhere around Fontaine once again. Of course, you two couldn’t deny a mission from the Cryo Archon. It was significantly less tedious compared to the one you had just returned from, so why not?

However, as you and Arlecchino wavered through the sea parting the way to Fontaine, you couldn’t shake off a gnawing sense of nausea clawing at your belly as the ship rocked along the currents. A few droplets of ocean water trickled onto the ship, the clear liquid stilled on the edge of the boat as it seemed to glare at you despite being a mere inanimate state of matter. Your mind couldn’t help but race with unnerving possibilities shrieking like a parasitic voice thickly buzzing around your skull. You had clearly never felt so agitated before, nor paranoid over seemingly nothing.

“(Name). Seriously, are you alright?”

Ah. Peruere’s firm, yet collected tone always washed a sweet comfort over you. Especially when she seemingly showed concern over your well being.

You simply nodded, palm running along your side in circular motions as a way to soothe the throbbing pain which thankfully subsided a few solid moments later. By the time you were already in Fontaine, the pain was almost always present. You began vomiting quite frequently, often removing yourself from diplomatic relations to go throw up somewhere else. If not that, then you sure as hell were drowsy 24/7, feeling like you were about to break and collapse onto the earth at any moment.

In this very moment as you huddled into Arlecchino’s neck, you drew in a sharp breath quickly as your hand rested atop hers, which was currently thumbing at the strap of your undershirt. Her sweet scent momentarily distracted you from the ache in your stomach growing to pester you every moment of the day? Sure, they stopped, but it felt as if something was landing blows on your gut from the inside, kicking vigorously at your swollen stomach. Thankfully, Arlecchino finally arose beside you, her body tilted forward as she sat upright groggily. The soft hue of the dimmed lights warmed the tone of your face, your drained expression on full view for her to see.

She simply quirked an eyebrow in concern. She was aware you could handle yourself, yet your fatigued form couldn’t help but fill her with a sense of worry upon seeing you stir in supposed pain. The past week had plagued her mind with constant anticipation and uncertainty about you, wondering if she should contact the doctor situated not too far from your accommodations in Fontaine’s main city.

“About 3 weeks, Miss (Name).” The doctor replied, pressing his forefinger down onto the middle of his glasses to lower them as his eyes glided along the scribbled paperwork in his hand. You blinked in surprise, hand resting on your own thigh as an awkward silence fogged the room for what felt like centuries. Carefully, you rose to your feet as to not exert yourself too much, before delivering a thankful wave to the doctor who examined you. Swallowing down the nervous rise piling in your chest, you creaked the door open to exit the office, mind racing with what Arlecchino’s reaction would be.

Would she be happy? Upset? What if she isn’t ready to have any children with you in particular? Would she feel tied down?

The pestering questions continued to eat away at you as you slowly paced to your quarters, growingly anxious about how she would react to such major information being dropped onto her. You simply shook your head as you reached the foot of your shared room, shaky hand resting upon the doorknob. It didn’t matter how she reacted. You were 3 weeks pregnant and that was for sure, it was just a matter of what the two of you would agree to do.

As you turned the doorknob with a soft click, creaking open the door, your body suddenly felt heavy and sluggish. Each trudge forward felt like you were opposing gravity when you set your foot down in a single step. Arlecchino was situated on the bed, sitting on the edge as she remained lost in thought while tracing her own cursed hands. She didn’t take long to notice you, and her head snapped up to meet your gaze once she caught sight of your form standing at the corner of the wall.

“Ah. Love. How did the visit go?” She inquired, her voice gentle and soothing. You felt frozen in your spot, staring at her like an unmoving stone statue as your fists opened and closed slowly. By this point, your hands piled up a small amount of sweat between them as you clasped your fingers close, breaths coming out slowly in your perception.

“Arle, I’m pregnant.”

The atmosphere of the room was stunned just as silent as it was when the doctor revealed the same information to you, your anticipation growing as Arlecchino stood up and started walking toward you. You began fidgeting with your own hands, thumbs slipping against each other as her tall stature slowly drew closer and closer to you. Within seconds, she was right in front of you, hands raising to rest onto your shoulders gently.

“What do you want to do with the child, my love?”

You found yourself almost immediately relaxing, tense muscles resting upon hearing her sweet tone brushing against your ears. It was as if the world around you slowly cleared your vision, alluring you into Arlecchino’s arms as she wrapped you into a soft hug. Her blackened hands pressed along your back in circular motions, massaging you comfortingly as her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear.

“I…was thinking of keeping it.”

Arlecchino simply smiled, a rare occurrence that crossed upon her expression…unless she was with you. Her arms hemmed around your waist carefully, drawing you in against her chest as she rested her chin onto the top of your head. She simply let out a quiet hum in response, closing her eyes to rest against you. You followed suit, closing your own eyes slowly as you relaxed in Arlecchino’s grip.

“Very well. We’ll finally be able to be at peace together.”

A/N: I am sorry BUR IM SO SKEEPY RN IM NOT GONNA BOTHER ANYMORE WITH THE END IM SORRY

[jhunals]

team dragonborn dashboard simulator

(in which the gang discuss the thalmor, rumarin tries something new, an alpha male ventures over to tumblr, and the ldb has a rough time)

[part 2]

🗡️ dragonguard_kaidan Follow

I want everyone to know that @ thlmr.tal has a history of racist behavior, and you can see it clearly in his old posts. It's not a surprise that he still wears the robes of an organization known for gen*cide.

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

You scrolled past all the pictures of my cats on my blog to get to my old posts (from years ago, mind you), and you still left salty?

🌱 greenauri Follow

that in no way excuses what kaidan accused you of?

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

Ah. Well, I have a knack for brushing off my problematic elements.

718 notes

🌼 prince.cary Follow

just as a reminder, i am no longer affiliated with the thalmor. in fact, i actively speak out against them quite often.

🌼 prince.cary

update: my father found my blog and thereby my location due to the attention this post got. will be going offline for a while

22,467 notes

👹 rumarin Follow

about to try this new type of skooma since i don't see anyone else doing it

👹 rumarin

this skooma aint shit

👹 rumarin

who am i . what am ido ing here?

👹 rumarin

ithink i i h9 myslef

👹 rumarin

hmster

👹 rumarin

th dragobnorn wasrigh .t i tinki shld see a teraphist

👹 rumarin

update: it went well 👍

🐉 ldb Follow

ru what the fuck

��� elffcker96 Follow

we love you king but you should get help

5,302 notes

😈 bluecatinigo Follow

INIGO THE BRAVE

Volume II, Part V

Inigo was meandering past a farm, when suddenly he was caught in a surprise rainstorm. He ran for cover on the farm's porch, and the door promptly opened behind him. Within stood a tall farmer of unspecified gender and race.

"Come in, friend! The rain can be dreadful, but I have made some soup to get the chill out," said the farmer.

Inigo was grateful for the hospitality, and he followed the farmer inside.

-------------------------------Keep Reading-------------------------------

📜 scholarlucien Follow

Enlightening update! I did not see the plot twist coming. Glad Inigo survived that dragon attack :)

476 notes

🌱 greenauri Follow

i'm tired of EVERYTHING. i want to leave this party right now.

🌱 greenauri

yes, inigo and lucien were eating sweetrolls in front of me again

7,564 notes

🐺 rangerbishop Follow

A woman in a tavern is a red flag. I saw three yesterday laughing together at the Sleeping Giant Inn and I immediately knew something was up. Avoid these wenches at all costs. All they want is your coin.

🪲 thecuntress Follow

yesss pop off king

👑 sapphicmonarch Follow

saw this guy getting his ass kicked by a MUDCRAB on my way to markarth. in case ur wondering i did not help him

🌩️ drowstorm Follow

this dude asked me out. he made me pay for both our drinks btw

🗡️ dragonguard_kaidan Follow

go to hell you you piece of hsit

🐊 lucifer.the.argonian Follow

you know this site is predominantly non-men right? idk what kind of audience you were expecting but you will not find it here

👊 mickeysdicksmasherthelorefriendlykhajiit Follow

this mf needs to SHUT UP

632 notes

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

reblog if you would fuck the LDB

🐉 ldb Follow

taliesin why would you post this

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

I need to scout out my competition.

72,890 notes

urls (some are a little on the nose lol):

ldb = the last dragonborn

dragonguard_kaidan = kaidan

thlmr.tal = taliesin

greenauri = auri

prince.cary = caryalind thallery

rumarin = rumarin duh

bluecatinigo = inigo

scholarlucien = lucien

rangerbishop = bishop from skyrim romance mod

lucifer.the.argonian = lucifer (the argonian)

mickeysdicksmasherthelorefriendlykhajiit = based on foulserpent (on tumblr)'s dragonborn and their video series on bishop

all other urls = random npcs

[softgh0stbites]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆Moonlight and Ruin

-------------------------------------------------

Rating: NSFW 18+

Tags: cunnilingus f!recieving fingering public sex

Pairing: Vincent Valentine x Reader

Summary: After another month of pining and coming to terms with the fact that he will always be the one to hurt you, Vincent decides to slip a note under your pillow and escape in the night. He would get his revenge alone and then close himself off from the world as he originally planned. You find him twisting the ideas around in his mind as if he wants you to catch him. Read these for context as it's a part of a miny series: Where Desire Slumbers, A Dawn's Resolve, Eclipsed affections.

Notes: A little messy, but I wanted to give you a ramble I've had for a while about the first sexual experience between Vincent and our beloved indulgent reader. I'm not sure if I wrote him correctly, and I know I flipped through the povs back and forth. If you want a music recommendation, I listened to Cherry by Lana Del Ray and Cry by Cigarettes After Sex while writing this. Thank you for all your support!

re: edit there were so many typos and rushed sentences with no punctuation so I rewrote practically everything. I had my friend proof read it this time ;w; i've spent another 12 hours on this, nothing has changed just sentences are broken up better and not stacked like giant texts of the bible since someone said it was hard to read that way for them. Sorry about that!

◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯

The night stretches vast and endless above, its stars pulsing in quiet rhythm—dancing without ever moving. A crisp autumn breeze stirs your hair, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the distant hush of a sleeping town. Your bare feet patter against the cobblestone, each step pressing into the rough, cool stone, a silent reminder that you could turn back and slip beneath your cold sheets and pretend this restlessness never stirred you.

But you don’t.

You don’t know why you thought you’d find him here, beneath the waning moon, in the hush of a world on the edge of dreaming. The streetlamps flicker, their glow dimming to a somber amber, no longer fighting the darkness. You had rushed from the inn the moment you woke, a strange unease settling deep in your bones, as if something was slipping through your fingers, something you weren’t meant to miss.

The note in your hand is a crumpled mess; creased, smoothed out, then tortured all over again beneath restless fingers. Frustration coils in your chest, your thoughts seesawing between the hollow comfort of ignorance and the sharp bite of truth. You grit your teeth, biting your tongue so hard that the taste of copper lingers on your lips.

The ink, scrawled in a hand too familiar, cuts deeper than the jagged cracks of the cement beneath you. No matter how many times you crush the paper in your grip, the words refuse to disappear.

This is where I belong. Forget me.

Your teeth clench, tension locking your jaw as your eyes sting, heavy with unfallen tears. As you walk toward the back of the inn where you and the party stayed, his shadow appears before his form fully emerges beneath the moon’s glow.

He sits on the fountain steps, head tilted back, staring at the stars.

Cool grass cushions your bare feet, each blade brushing against your skin, gentle but insistent, as if urging you forward. You already know he heard you long before you rounded the corner. By the time you step into view, his gaze is already on you. His eyes tighten slightly, not quite surprised, but in recognition.

Your tongue felt heavy, thick with words you weren’t sure how to say. After everything that had passed between you, the silence felt heavier than ever.

You had built something with him. It was something quiet, something unspoken. Nights spent on watch together beneath these very stars had fostered a closeness that needed no words. Your conversations were held in glances, intimate, in the way his shoulder would shift just slightly, inviting you to rest against him. A slow blink of his eyes was permission to inch closer, to let the space between you shrink.

You had thought, maybe, you were growing close. Maybe, you understood him in ways others didn’t.

Vincent was like a cat in some ways, distant yet watchful, his presence steady but reserved. Yet when he let you in, he did so completely. It was in his gaze, the way it softened with vulnerability at times when he looked at you, the quiet warmth that lived there despite his guarded nature. And in those moments, when his walls lowered just enough for you to see inside, you found it hard to breathe.

The thought of these moments slipping away was unraveling your patience, dissolving the restraint you had clung to for so long. How many times had you wanted to pull him down to you, his sharp features inches from yours—clumsily, perhaps, but with a longing that would speak for itself in the hurried whispers of your lips? How often had you imagined holding him beneath the warmth of the sun, grasping his hand mid-mission as you wandered through deserts, forests, towns…?

He was everything you wanted, and you had laid it before him, clear as water. He may have been the one who locked himself away for thirty years, but you were the one left parched, thirsting for even the gentlest reminder of his touch. Your pulse had never forgotten. It still beat with the memory of that evening on the beach, the way he had held you close—closer than he ever had before, closer than he ever had since. He hadn't touched you that way again, but he never truly pushed you away either.

Yet you knew.

There was something he wouldn’t tell you, something heavy, something awful that kept him trapped in his silence. It lingered in his distance, in the way he lost himself in thought. And though he never said a word, his gaze always betrayed him—longing for something, for someone he couldn’t find in you.

You remember the first time you caught him fiddling with the brooch. A simple piece—white gold wrapped delicately around a worn moonstone, dulled by time and wear. His clawed fingers turned it over absently, tracing the edges as if smoothing away the years. It looked fragile in his grip, yet something about the way he held it told you it wasn’t.

Without thinking, you motioned for him to follow. He raised an eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable but clearly questioning your intent. What business did you have leading him toward the storage closet? The realization of what it must have looked like struck you immediately, heat creeping up your neck as you fumbled with the door and yanked him inside by the edge of his cloak.

If he had wanted to resist, he could have. He was immeasurably stronger than you, yet he let you maneuver him without so much as a word. That alone made your stomach twist, warmth pooling somewhere in your chest.

"Vin, light, please." Your voice was steady, but in the darkness, you were grateful he couldn’t see the way your eyes traced his silhouette.

You couldn’t make out much, but the broad curve of his hips as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other was etched into your memory.

A quiet hum of acknowledgment rumbled from him before he reached for the dangling cord, tugging it down with an effortless flick of his wrist. A dim yellow glow flickered to life, painting the small space in soft, wavering light. Shadows stretched along the walls, wrapping around the two of you like something almost tangible.

You held out your hand expectantly.

Vincent hesitated for a fraction of a second before wordlessly dropping the brooch into your palm. His crimson eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—mild curiosity, perhaps, or maybe something softer. He watched in silence as you rummaged through a nearby box, fingers brushing past cold metal and glass vials until you found what you were looking for. You’d spent enough nights helping Cid polish rusted parts that you could find the right solutions in the dark.

With a quiet exhale, you pushed a few boxes aside, clearing a space just big enough for the two of you to sit. The closet was small, too small, and yet Vincent settled across from you without a word.

Your legs brushed first—just the lightest graze of your foot against his leather-clad calf. He didn’t move away. His other knee bent, resting just beside yours, framing you in a way that made your breath hitch.

Still, neither of you spoke.

Instead, Vincent watched, gaze intent, as your pale fingers soaked the cloth in the strong-smelling liquid. It was an unspoken challenge—one you knew he would intervene in the moment he thought you were being careless. His silent scrutiny was its own form of protection, his way of being present without interfering.

You gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be gentle, promise."

His brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t understand—of course he didn’t.

With an exasperated sigh, you reached forward and took his hand, carefully wrapping his gloved pinky around yours. His fingers twitched slightly at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Then, pressing your thumbs together, you held the lock.

"This is a promise, locked, okay?" You grinned at him. "Vincent, if you didn’t look so young, I’d swear you were sixty-eight."

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a sound deep, low, and soft. A quiet, half-chuckle, barely there but unmistakable. The warmth of it settled deep in your ribs, spreading through your chest like firelight on cold hands.

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the evening, tucked away in the maintenance closet, breaths nearly mingling in the close air. You worked the polish over the brooch until your fingers ached, the dull gold brightening beneath your touch. It would never be perfect—the scratches were too deep, the years too long—but when you held it up to the light, the stone gleamed once more.

That was when you noticed it.

A faint engraving on the back, previously hidden beneath the tarnish. Your eyes traced the delicate etching, lips parting before you even realized you were speaking.

"Lucrecia Crescent."

The name slipped past your lips in a whisper, barely more than breath.

Across from you, Vincent inhaled sharply.

You looked up just in time to catch the shift in his expression. His face didn’t change much, but you could see it in his eyes—the flicker of something raw, something fragile, before he carefully schooled his features once more. He reached forward, fingers steady but slow, and plucked the brooch from your hands.

Without a word, he tucked it back beneath his garments, hiding it away.

His gaze met yours, and for the first time that night, you saw something there. Uncertainty. Worry. Maybe even fear.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I won’t ask."

Vincent’s eyes flickered, searching your face. Whatever he found there, it must have eased him, because his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"Thank you."

It felt like he was thanking you for more than just your silence.

When you finally stood to leave, you nearly tripped over the boxes you had pushed aside, your foot catching on something behind you. Vincent’s hands found your hips, steadying you before you could collide with his chest. The heat of his touch, even through the fabric, sent a shiver up your spine.

Your face burned.

Without another word, you stumbled out of the closet and down the hall, the sound of Vincent’s measured steps following close behind. The faint click of his boots against the floor was the only proof that any of it had happened at all.

The cool night air pulled you from your thoughts, but the embers of your anger only burned brighter when you noticed his hands fiddling with the same brooch. His fingers ghosted over the edges, as if testing the worn metal, as if weighing its significance all over again.

Your grip tightened around the paper in your palm, the crumpled note that had shattered the fragile quiet between you. He must have heard the rustle, because his shoulders rose with a deep, weary sigh.

You took a step closer. Then another.

Your emotions, always uncontainable, spilled over as your eyes blurred with tears. You had never been good at swallowing them back, not like he was. You felt everything too much, too fast, too completely. It overwhelmed you, made you ache in ways you didn’t know how to temper.

"Why?"

The word trembled from your lips, barely holding its shape. Your fingers clenched around the note like it was your last tether to him, like if you let it go, he’d disappear entirely.

Vincent’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way his gaze softened, a flicker of something regretful. He hadn’t wanted you to find the note so soon. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to leave it at all. He watched you, eyes catching the tear-streaked path down your cheek, but he didn’t move from where he stood.

"I'll always hurt you. There's no life to be had with me."

His voice carried over the space between you, rough and quiet, like he had already convinced himself of the truth in those words.

You could see it now, the things he wouldn’t say aloud. He would never give you children, maybe he was incapable of it, maybe he simply wouldn’t try. He didn’t have the heart to offer you a peaceful life, not the kind you deserved. He wasn’t going to settle down in some quiet town, wasn’t going to live in a house with a white picket fence.

He wasn't allowed.

The atonement was the only thing that made sense to him anymore. The blood, the fight, the ache, it was the only thing that stopped his mind from spiraling into a cacophony of cruel voices.

Your chest heaved as your grip on the note loosened. It fell, fluttering to the grass.

"And you get to make that choice on your own?"

Your voice cracked, but it didn’t break. The fury burning in your chest held it together.

"What about what I want?"

Vincent stiffened at the force of your words, his crimson gaze flickering with something new. It wasn't just sorrow, but surprise. He had expected your grief, your resignation, maybe even your regret. He hadn’t expected your fire, the way your anger crackled in the air between you.

You took another step forward, closing the distance. Heat radiated off your skin, a stark contrast to his own cold resolve.

Vincent barely had time to process it before you were towering over him, for once. He had to tip his head back slightly as you climbed the stairs above him, your form framed against the dim glow of the streetlamps.

His breath caught just slightly.

Your legs were bare, skin kissed by the soft golden light, and though he knew this wasn’t the time, his gaze betrayed him. It always did.

His eyes traced the line of your figure before snapping back to your face, catching the sharp rise and fall of your chest. The frustration rolling off you was palpable, and yet—

You were stunning.

You had always been stunning.

And that made all of this so much harder.

"Don't," he said, voice low, a warning that carried more weight than anger. The sound reverberated through him, steady but frayed at the edges.

But you didn’t stop.

"No, you don’t!" Your voice wavered as you scrubbed at your eyes, hands trembling against your cheeks. "I don’t care if you leave sometimes… but you can’t leave forever. Don’t go where I can’t follow."

Your breath came quick and uneven as you searched his face, hoping—pleading—to find even a small fracture in his cold resolve.

For a moment, something flickered in his gaze. A hesitation, barely there.

Then, as if retreating into himself, Vincent lowered his eyes to the brooch in his hand. His fingers brushed over it again and again, tracing the engraving as if memorizing something he had long since committed to heart. It was a habit, a ritual, one he repeated so often that you wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

"Precious things always wilt in my grasp," he murmured. "You're no different."

The words carried the weight of inevitability, as if he had already mourned you before you were even gone. As if he believed time itself would erode whatever it was you shared, leaving nothing but another memory to haunt him.

You swallowed hard. "That’s not true."

But he didn’t answer.

"I meant what I said. Forget about me." His voice was quieter now, but the certainty in it stung worse than if he had shouted. He glanced at you once, almost like he was bracing for the impact of his own words. Then his gaze broke away, darting to the ground, the fountain, anywhere but you.

Before you could move, before you could reach for him, Vincent stood. His movements were fluid, practiced, pushing you aside without effort but without force.

Then, without ceremony, he tossed the brooch into the fountain.

The sound of it hitting the water was small but sharp, sending ripples across the surface. The splash jolted through you, your breath catching as though the cold had touched your skin instead.

Vincent turned before the last ripple had even faded.

Without looking back, he stepped down from the stone ledge, cloak sweeping behind him as he descended onto solid ground. His walk was smooth, almost too composed, but there was something about the way his coat billowed behind him that felt final.

He was heading toward the treeline.

The woods would be an inconvenient pass, dense and uneven. But that was the point. In your state—bare legs, thin clothing—you wouldn’t be able to follow.

Vincent knew if he turned, if he saw the tear-streaked devastation on your face, his resolve might crack. His jaw tightened as he forced himself forward, steps slow but unwavering.

"Vincent Valentine, you absolute… i-idiot!"

Your voice rang out behind him, raw and trembling, cutting through the night like a blade. His stride faltered. The rustling of fabric followed, and instinctively, he turned his head—expecting to see you running after him, desperate for one final plea.

But what he saw instead made his breath catch.

You stood beneath the moonlight, lifting your shirt over your head, your hair catching in the neckline before you yanked it free. Then, with swift, determined fingers, you hooked into the waist of your shorts and pushed them down. Vincent's chest seized.

His gaze dragged over you before he could stop himself, taking in the sight of your bare legs, the way your linen chemise clung to your form. It was shorter than he imagined- shorter than in the fantasies he tried to convince himself weren't that indulgent.

His throat tightened, but the moment your teary eyes pierced into him, his gaze snapped up. You wiped at your face, your expression hardened, then turned away.

Without another word, you stepped into the fountain.

Vincent remained frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with your actions. You didn’t hesitate. You slipped beneath the water's surface, vanishing in an instant.

His stomach dropped.

His breath quickened as he strode forward, steps quick and heavy, his chest rising and falling harder than before. But just as he neared the edge, you emerged, breaking the surface in a rush of air and droplets.

The moment stilled and he would keep it in his memory until the day he drew one last taste of air.

You hoisted yourself up onto the stone steps, water cascading down your body in gleaming rivulets. Vincent stopped in his tracks. He could barely breathe.

You were soaked through.

Your white chemise clung obscenely to your skin, transparent where it lay flush against you. Your heaving chest, your rose-tipped nipples peeking through damp fabric, the water trailing over the delicate lines of your ribs, your stomach, pooling down the curve of your thighs—

Exquisite.

Vincent couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. His hunger hit him like a sudden storm, curling in his gut, thick and heavy, so tangible it ached. It pulsed in his throat, in his hands, in the places he had forced himself to ignore for too long.

Because hell, how long had he denied this?

How many nights had he stood under cold running water, his palm wrapped around himself, teeth gritted, your face filling the spaces in his mind? How many times had he swallowed down the need, convinced himself that this desire was something he could control?

But now, standing before you like this, seeing the heat in your eyes, the way you clutched the brooch against your chest—

He was starving.

And you were divine.

Your nipples, so often imagined in his mind, now stood in stark reality beneath his gaze, peeking shyly through the damp, clinging linen. His breath caught, his chest rising too fast, too sharp.

Your face was flushed, burning beneath the weight of his stare. Your arm moved instinctively to shield yourself, but even then, you lifted your chin in defiance. As if daring him to look. As if testing his restraint.

He could feel it, the slow, inexorable crumble of the walls he had spent decades fortifying. Self-restraint be damned. He had spent too long denying himself, denying you.

If you wanted to use him, then let it be so. His body, this body that had felt too much pain, too much weight, too many scars of the past was yours if you wished to take it. He had been a fool to pretend otherwise, a coward for running from the inevitable.

Selfish. Greedy. Unworthy.

He would let himself be all of those things for you even if it tore open old wounds.

He feared how willing he was how, if you asked it, he would pluck the moon from the sky and place it in your hands. If you whispered for vengeance, he would spill blood at your feet. If you asked for a crown, he would slay angels to bring you their feathers.

If anyone dared lay a hand on you in malice, he would tear out their throat with his teeth. He would only stop if you commanded it. Almost akin to ordering a hound.

The last time he had felt this, he had lost everything. He had watched the woman he loved die, had let it happen. He had told himself, never again. He didn’t deserve to feel this way again. And yet, here you were, undoing him with kindness.

A slow, creeping, aching torture that seeped into his very marrow, turning him starved and desperate. It was scary how you could undo him so easily with your words, your temper, your body.

As if entranced, Vincent moved.

He climbed the steps, slow and deliberate, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. When he reached you, his hand lifted, fingers curling firmly but gently around your wrist.

You tensed, your breath hitching as he pulled your arm away from your chest, no longer letting you hide. But he didn’t just look—he sheltered you with the bulk of his body blocking the cool night air from touching your skin.

Your cheeks flushed deeper, a small, startled sound escaping you. A protest? A plea?

Vincent brought your wrist to his mouth, his lips brushing against the damp skin, soft and reverent. The heat of his breath sent a shiver through you, the contrast between warmth and the cool air almost dizzying.

He kissed his way down the delicate line of your arm, slow and thorough, as if apologizing for every unspoken word, every wound he had left on your heart.

Your breath stilled as he lingered at your wrist. His tongue flicked out, warm and teasing, tasting the beads of water clinging to your skin.

And in that moment, as he devoured you with his eyes, you realized,

You would let him get away with anything.

If only he kept looking at you like that, like you were his.

Only his.

"You can't just leave her b-behind," you stammered, your voice unsteady, both from nerves and the biting chill that Vincent's cloak could only shield so much. "You can leave me behind, but don't... don't leave her when she's so important to you." The last words stuck in your throat, thick with something unnamed.

A tear slipped down your cheek as your gaze dropped to his chest. You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, couldn’t let him see the jealousy, the insecurity gnawing at you. You knew—this woman, the one his jewelry belonged to, he must have adored her. You had spent so many nights watching him stroke the space to the left of his heart, fingers brushing over the hidden keepsake, as if reassuring himself that it was still there.

You wanted to be the one who grounded him. You wanted to pull him from the tides of self-inflicted guilt, to anchor him here, with you. But if it was her memory that kept him whole, even in the smallest way, who were you to compare?

Even as your thoughts tangled, Vincent pressed forward, his steps deliberate, urging you back. The cold kiss of water met your skin before you realized it, your feet sinking into the fountain, the surface rippling up to your hips as he followed. He didn’t stop until your back met the cool stone of the sculpture, the carved woman standing behind you, her vase endlessly pouring water in the opposite direction, as if turning away from the two of you.

The lily pads and algae drifted apart around your bodies, disturbed by movement, a quiet acknowledgment of change.

A soft click echoed through the air. Then a splash.

Vincent's gauntlet hit the water, sinking beneath the surface, ripples stretching outward.

"She's a ghost," he murmured, his voice like velvet unraveling. There was no hesitation, no retreat—just him sinking to his knees before you, his hands settling at your hips, fingers warm against your skin.

Your breath caught.

"But—"

"You'll ruin me." His voice was raw, breaking at the edges, his hand tightening in the fabric of your soaked chemise. "Fuck—"clearly lost in how close you were, disregarding your concern of his past unrequited love.

It was the first time you had heard him swear. The way the word left his lips, a rasp dripping with want, sent a shiver down your spine. He was unraveling because of you. His fingers tangled in the wet fabric at your thighs, gripping it like he needed something to cling to, like you were the only thing holding him in place.

Your heart pounded, legs trembling as his hands traced over the pale expanse of your skin, slow, reverent. He knelt there, worshipping you with his touch, his mouth hovering just above your navel, the heat of his breath making your skin prickle.

You clutched the brooch so tightly that the metal bit into your palm.

"Stay," you whispered, pleaded, demanded, prayed. Your fingers tangled into his hair, gripping, pulling, needing.

Something in him fractured.

Vincent shrugged off his cloak in a single movement, tossing it over the fountain’s edge. The moonlight traced along the sharp lines of his shoulders, his chest narrowing into the water’s depths, his throat exposed to you. His lips parted slightly, his breath uneven. He was yours to observe, yours to claim.

And he let you.

All thoughts of leaving seemed to dissolve from his mind, because his grip on your waist tightened, his arms drawing you to him as he buried his face against your stomach. Your hands fisted in his hair as his lips pressed against the soaked fabric, mouth feverish, hungry. His teeth scraped against the linen, tugging, tasting. Desperate.

"Vincent—" you whined, but your hands still pulled him closer, fingers twisting in his hair as his gloved hands continued their slow exploration of your legs.

Anyone could step outside. The back garden only hid so much. But the thought of it—the risk—only made your pulse race faster.

Vincent pulled away from tracing the soft planes of your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. "If that's what you want… I won't try again."

"Promise," you whispered, though even you weren’t sure if you meant it.

His hand came up to yours, gently prying the brooch from your fingers and setting it onto the lip of the fountain’s edge. Then he used his teeth to tug off his glove, revealing the pale skin beneath, almost translucent barely luminescent under the moons light, veins faintly visible beneath the surface.

When he interlaced his bare fingers with yours, slowly and intentionally.

"I promise," he murmured. His crimson gaze flicked up to yours, then back down to where your hands fit together. His grip tightened at your hip, his voice rough with need. "I need you… need to worship you. But if you don’t want this—any of it—I’ll stop."

The certainty in his voice eased the tension in your body, but the heat in his eyes left you trembling, your arousal slick between your thighs, mixing with the water.

You nodded, breathless, then gave him the words too. "I won’t tell you to stop."

Vincent exhaled, something like relief slipping past his lips as his grip shifted. Your fingers tangled deeper into his raven hair, steadying you.

"We’ll see," he murmured, his breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh. His lips found purchase just above your knee, his bare hand sliding along your calf, lifting it from the water, resting it over his shoulder to expose you where he needed you. You were already soaked from water, but there was a lingering dark path along your lavender panties that made his throat tighten. Your toes barely grazed his back, and as he sank lower, his mouth following the path of his hands.

You shivered, sinking further into him, his hands trembling over your form, into this

Your stomach dropped. He was insatiable.

Vincent’s slender fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with deliberate ease even reaching behind his head to pull it down over your foot. Dusky lavender, he had complimented the color on you once before when you wore a similar sweater.

He wasn’t a man of many words, but his mouth was far from inexperienced. He knew exactly where to graze his teeth, where to savor the tremble in your breath. The ends of his fingers coaxed your hips to relax, guiding you toward the warmth of his breath. Every exhale that ghosted against your skin was followed by lips and tongue feverishly tasting your body.

When he finally settled between your thighs, his gaze flicked up, inky lashes framing eyes that burned into you.

That look alone could ruin you. You realized in this moment you would never deny him and he would never deny you.

You surrendered completely, already pleading.

"Vincent… please… hah… no teasing."

Your neediness didn’t go unnoticed. His mouth descended, tongue sliding through your folds, savoring the taste of you with an approving hum. He licked into you languidly, as if he had been starving for you, ready to drown in your release.

His fingers dug into your hips, sure to leave bruises, anchoring you to him. You didn’t want him to let up. Your hips rocked into his mouth, your leg bouncing against his shoulder, toes curling every time he sucked your swollen clit into the heat of his mouth before letting it go with a soft pop.

The contrast of the cool water against his feverish tongue sent shocks through your core. Your release was already building—too fast, too much.

You weren’t a virgin, far from it. You had been with men who promised, I’ll make it up to you next time, as they left you aching, unfulfilled. You had never asked for this before. You hadn’t thought a man would want it, would yearn so badly for a taste of you.

But here, beneath the vast expanse of stars, you understood pleasure. And the man giving it to you would never leave you wanting.

His tongue circled your entrance, your name tumbling from your lips in gasps. His fingers massaged your thighs, slow, teasing. He was bringing you back out of the throws of your mind, into the moment with him. You wanted them inside, needed him to fill you as you were clenching around nothing, empty.

"Vin… I… I need it…" You whimpered, grinding into his chin, shameless in your desperation.

He groaned against your skin. "Anything. Tell me."

His voice was heavy, thick with need. He had dreamed of hearing you like this of you begging for him. He shuddered when your fingers tugged at his hair again, his scalp stinging, but he loved it.

"Your fingers…" you murmured, shyly. So cute.

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk playing there before he dipped his head back down, teasing your entrance with his tongue as his fingers traced over your slick folds. He wasn’t in a rush, he wanted to savor the way your body responded to him maybe commit it to memory for when he was alone with his thoughts.

When he finally sank a single finger inside, your world tilted. The stars above seemed closer, or maybe it was just the way he was pulling you apart. He worked you open slowly, despite your eager pleas for more. Another digit slipped in, curling, pressing into that spot that made your whole body jolt. He was so deliberate with the scissoring motion inside, brushing against your walls so well. You'd thank whoever got him into working with guns, because fuck was that trigger finger absolutely wrecking you at this moment.

His lips latched onto your clit again, tongue circling so thoroughly, so expertly that your slick coated his hand, your thigh trembling on one side of his head.

Your breaths grew heavier, muscles clenching around his fingers. Your mouth parted, curses spilling freely as you tried to muffle your cries behind your wrist. You had waited months for this—for him to touch you like this—and now you were falling apart too fast.

Vincent groaned at the sound of your pleasure, the need in your voice. He needed more of it, more of you. It took everything in him not to let you remove his belts with that look in your eyes, as if you were already fucking him in your mind.

"Bite me," you gasped. "Please, please—ah—" You requested so insistently as you caught a glimpse of those sharp teeth hiding behind his perfect lips. Your hands fisted in his hair, urging him closer. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by how good he was making you feel, how completely he was consuming you.

How could he deny you?

A low growl rumbled from his chest. His mouth found your hip, lips parting wide before his teeth sank into the soft flesh above the bone. His fingers thrust deeper, curling, twisting, fucking you open as you pulsed and clenched around him. His bite was firm, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you shudder. His tongue soothed the mark after, sucking at it as if imprinting himself onto you.

You keened, pleading for more, and he obeyed.

He trailed bite after bite, leaving bruises across your hip, up your stomach, his lips pressing reverent kisses over each one. He lingered just beneath your breast, hungry and fevered, his body rising with yours as he pushed up onto his knees. You tilted your chest into him, offering yourself.

Vincent's hands trembled as they slid over your curves, cupping your breast, kneading, pinching. His mouth found the stiff peak of your nipple, pulling it taut between his lips, tongue flicking as he moaned against you.

You tasted like rainwater and coconut balm.

His fingers teased your other breast, rolling it between his leather clad hand. Each gasp, each moan, each sweet, desperate sound made his pulse pound harder, his cock straining against the soaked leather of his pants.

"I'm gonna… don't stop… so good… your mouth—mmh."

Your words were a drug. He groaned against your skin, hips jerking involuntarily with nothing to grind into. He wouldn’t touch himself, not yet, not when he had you falling apart in his hands.

He wanted this moment. He wanted to feel you come undone.

With a trail of kisses to your navel, he whispered, "Let go for me."

His fingers plunged deeper, fucking into you at the rhythm of your pulse, coaxing you higher, higher—until you shattered.

Your climax crashed over you, your hips rocking erratically as his name tore from your throat. Your trembling hands muffled your cries, teeth biting into your wrist to keep yourself from screaming.

Vincent didn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—until your body was completely spent, your slick coating his fingers, dripping into the water. Only then did he slow, guiding you down, letting you ride out your release on his hand. His lips pressed one last kiss against your arousal, letting his tongue taste his reward with a moan. He lapped you up, stroking a broad stripe of his tongue across your folds. You tasted absolutely delicious, his favorite kind of bitter and sweet.

Gently he lowered your leg letting you settle against him. A dull ache formed between your hips, but the way Vincent touched you now which was so soft, so sweet, made it feel like nothing at all. He kissed up your stomach, up your ribs, up the bruising havoc he had left behind. A part of him was satisfied, but the rational part of him was disappointed in his lack of self restraint. Your hands slipped from his hair, fingers framing his face as he lifted himself to meet your gaze. His chin and mouth were glistening from your slick, like you marked him too. His dark crimson eyes burning with a lot of different emotions. Fear, lust, longing, relief, shame- but most of all-

Devoted. Utterly, irrevocably devoted to you.

"Thank you," You whispered, hoping he would understand you meant for more than bringing you to the pearly gates of heaven itself.

Your fingers slid beneath his jaw, brushing the tip of his ear as you cupped his face. Your breath hitched as you watched him lick your arousal from his lips, from his fingers, methodical and unbothered by shyness. His flushed face, his lidded gaze, he was wrecked, but he still looked at you like he wanted more.

That gave you the in you needed. You leaned in, and so did he, your lips meeting in a slow, tender kiss. You guided the kiss, parting and pressing your lips together again, tasting the salt and musk of yourself on his tongue as you licked inside his mouth. He let you explore, his hands settling at your lower back, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your muscles as you sighed into him. He was so tall compared to you even on his knees and it sent a thrill down your spine. His hands could splay easily around your waist, hips, back. You felt coveted.

His lips were everything you had imagined—soft, warm, chapped in places but perfect between your teeth. When his own scraped against your tongue, a new spark ignited in your veins, rekindling your excitement. You pushed impossibly closer, hardened nipples grazing the leather of his chest, hips pressing against his, his erection prominent beneath the layers of clothing and belts.

You wanted to drop to your knees, to worship him too. But his hands held you firm. He wasn’t letting you move an inch.

You didn’t know who pulled away first for breath, only that as he rose to his feet, you clung to him, a sudden fear creeping in, a fear that he would forget your newfound promise.

But instead, Vincent knocked your legs out from under you with his forearm, catching you effortlessly against his chest. Your arms tightened around his shoulders, the water sloshing at his knees as he carried you toward the edge of the fountain.

"I didn’t give you anything," you murmured, your pout betraying your worry. You didn’t want this to be one-sided. You didn’t want to use him.

He barely paused as he stepped out of the water, carrying you with ease. "It’s fine," he murmured. "You’ve given enough."

There was a hesitation, barely a flicker, before his lips pressed softly to your head. You felt him inhale deeply before straightening again, adjusting you in his hold as he reached out, slinging his wet cloak over his shoulder.

The brooch lay on the stone’s edge, caught between his fingers. For a moment, he looked at it, as if debating whether to toss it back into the water—or keep it.

You answered the question in his eyes with a soft smile. Your hand moved to his, fingers curling over his where they held the brooch, and you clenched his fingers around it.

It was enough.

He could remember his past love. Remember who he was. You would never ask him to give that up. It made him the man you desired right now. You knew, in some way, that you could accept this ghost of his past. And you wouldn’t let a memory stop you from your pursuit of his heart.

As he carried you back toward the inn, you asked again, just needing to hear it one more time.

"You’ll stay… right?"

Vincent’s voice was velvet, rich in your ears. "I’ll stay."

In the stretching silence save for the sound of his walk and wet leather, you decided to say what you needed to while you still had a strum of bravado in you.

"I like you," you blurted out, chest tightening the moment the words left your mouth.

Vincent’s lips quirked into that charming, maddening half-smile.

"Oh?" His skin flushed at your admission, but instead of answering right away, he brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, an affectionate, unhurried gesture. He didn’t know if he was ready to name the feeling in his chest, but he could accept yours. Slowly if you would put up with it.

"You make it very clear—"

Your mouth fell open. He was teasing you.

Heat flared across your face, even down your neck. Had he noticed? The way you grumbled every time other women giggled at the mere sight of him? The way your eyes lingered when he walked past, hips swaying just enough to drive you crazy?

"I-I do not…" you tried to refute, but he only laughed. A soft, low sound that sent warmth straight through you.

"Mm." He pretended to agree, setting you down gently as you reached the front entrance of the inn. You were chilled to the bone, your body still sticky, exhaustion settling in from the night’s activities. Vincent looked entirely too smug as you wobbled slightly on your feet, and before you could recover, he pushed the door open.

The pub was quiet, lit only by a single candle on the bar. No one awake except for Cid, hunched over with a bottle in hand.

You immediately wanted to run past in embarrassment, pressing closer to Vincent. How were you going to hide your practically naked form?

He sighed, fingers lacing with yours as he pulled you behind him to give you some shred of decency, already dreading Cid’s brashness. But luck wasn’t on your side. The old man turned, grinning far too wide the moment he saw you both.

"Finally put an end to your lovers’ quarrel, huh?" Cid hooted, lifting his bottle. "’Bout damn time! Tired of watchin’ you two eye-fuck each other across the damn plane."

You buried your burning face against the middle of Vincent’s back with a groan.

"And it’s bad enough with those three," he jerked a thumb toward the hallway and set of stairs, letting out a loud laugh implying that you were as bad as Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith. That trifecta was incredibly entertaining, but annoying to witness at the same time.

Vincent sighed again, long and suffering, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles in warning before pulling you past the drunkard and toward the stairs trying to cover you but it was hard without the bulk of his cloak around him. He was quite a slender man towards his waist and hips, not quite built like a soldier, but rather like a turk. All lean and sinewy for quick attacks.

"Don’t forget, these walls are real thin!" Cid hollered after you with a chortle.

Vincent didn’t stop, dragging you down the hall before the embarrassment could suffocate you. You had never been more grateful for the quiet of the upstairs corridor. Four doors lined the hallway. Yours was at the very end, and Vincent’s which you were standing in front of it now. He had never willed himself to knock on your door before. Not even when he had slipped that note beneath your pillow in the dead of night. It still annoyed him that you never locked it, who were you hoping to meet in there? Was it him?

"I’m so tired," you mumbled, nudging his door open before he could suggest otherwise. "I’ll berate that bastard tomorrow."

The door clicked shut behind the both of you, and before he could process the moment, you were stripping. His eyes tracked the movement, the flex of your muscles as you worked the soaked fabric over your head.

Heat flared low in his stomach. Hard again. Behamaut save him.

Images flickered through his mind in rapid succession, your face pressed into his pillows, your lips wrapped around him, your hands gripping his hips as he took you for the first time in languid strokes. Your tongues exploring each other, his hands guiding your hips astride him, your fingers controlling his hair as his mouth performed his prayer...

His restraint wavered, were his knees about to become familiar with every inn floor in the future? A new religion blossoming between the apex of your thighs.

You snapped him out of it with a simple, innocent question. "Do you have anything I can wear?" your arms covering across your chest.

Vincent cleared his throat, shaking off the fantasy.

"Uh." He coughed, lowering his chin slightly, an old habit from when he could hide behind his crimson cowl. Right. Clothes.

He turned away, rummaging through his drawer until he found a tight compression shirt and a pair of his usual black briefs. Tossing them in your direction, he didn’t miss the mischievous smirk playing on your lips when you motioned for him to turn around with a twirl of your finger.

He complied.

The shuffling of fabric behind him tested his patience, especially when your scent lingered in the air, still warm, still intoxicating. He just busied his hands on hanging his wet cloak up on the dresser, hopefully by tomorrow it would dry out.

Then, your hands slid around his waist.

"You should change too," you murmured, lips pressing against the damp leather of his shoulder. Vincent turned to face you, tilting your chin up.

The air between you thickened. His greedy mouth claimed yours again, unable to help himself, hands trailing down your back. The compression shirt he had given you hung low at your hips, but it was tight at your chest, the fabric stretching where your breasts filled it out. He was definitely still a man underneath all of his armor.

You gasped his name, pressing into him, and he was unraveling all over again. His self-control frayed at the edges, his hands aching to rip that shirt off you again. Or maybe you could keep it on while he-

With a low groan, he forced himself to pull away, even though it pained him to do so. He knew you were tired, didn't want to increase the intimacy ten fold in one night when he had been on the verge of disappearing entirely.

Slow down. He told himself.

"Get comfortable," he murmured, motioning toward the bed.

Then, he turned away, undoing the buttons of his vest, but keeping himself out of your sight.

Vincent grabbed a bundle of fresh clothes and slipped into the tiny washroom, barely large enough to turn around in. He pulled them on quickly, not bothering to glance at himself. He wouldn’t ruin the night by standing there, picking himself apart. He just wanted to get back to you, sink into the covers, and fall asleep.

He wouldn’t leave again. Not if it meant seeing you cry like that.

The image of you charging through the grass, his crumpled note clenched in your fist, tear-streaked and furious, nearly brought him to his knees even now. He had made you sob, shake, scream at him. He figured he’d be making it up to you for a long time.

Stepping back into the room, he hesitated, spotting you curled up on his bed, face half-buried in his pillow. Something stirred, deep and unfamiliar.

He had never had someone sleep in his arms before. Not like this.

Sure, he had fucked before. Back when the human part of him still craved warmth, still sought out pleasure in tangled blankets and breathless gasps. But even then, his thoughts had been elsewhere. His body gave, but his heart remained locked behind bars.

But tonight?

His thoughts were only of you.

You had overtaken him completely, and he knew now—it would never be anyone else.

His feet felt too heavy as he neared the bed, as if something about this was too intimate, too real. His body wasn’t used to this kind of closeness, not after years of solitude. But you were already there, already taking up space in his life in a way that terrified him.

Carefully, stiffly, he slid under the blankets, trying not to disturb you too much. He hesitated, unsure where to place himself. His body felt too big, too cold, too unnatural for this.

Then, as if sensing his awkwardness, you shifted. Pressed your back into his chest- Sought him out.

Vincent exhaled sharply. His arm moved on instinct, resting over your waist. His fingers twitched, as if debating whether to hold you tighter. Unrelenting, he thought of his own greed, but he didn’t move away. You nuzzled into his pillow with a sleepy sigh and he felt like you wormed your way into his chest with that adorable hitch in your rhythmic breathing. He'd much rather just watch you sleep, he didn't truly need slumber at all. It did nothing for him most of the time, not like it once had.

You were so warm though. Inviting him to rest his weary self with you and something about sleeping with you felt more intimate than sex or devouring you in the fountain. He had almost thrown this away. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deep, committing your scent to memory. His grip tightened slightly despite the whispers in his head.

"You’ll be the one to hurt her. You’re going to bury her when this is over."

He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

With your breath steady in his ears, your presence anchoring him in ways he didn’t understand quite yet, words he couldn't fathom, Vincent let sleep pull him under.

It was the deepest, peaceful rest he had known since waking from his coffin.

BONUS: [The next morning you would unfortunately find yourself mortified to have found yuffie beat you to the punch, digging your wet underwear, clothes, and Vincent's gauntlet from the fountain with a horrified look on her face. You would hide behind the corner of the inn, wanting to dig your palms into your eyes in humiliation.

"V-vincent got laid?!" She exclaimed in both horror and amusement with a bright grin stretching over her lips. She was going to tease him relentlessly for sure.

You groaned and shuffled back inside the inn without a word, passing everyone at the counter. You'd let Vincent collect his gauntlet on his own when he woke up.]

[swifty-fox]

For the bathing prompts, #1 for clegan PLEASE 🙇🏻‍♀️

¹⁾ sitting on the edge of the bathtub and letting them lay their head against your thigh as the fatigue starts taking hold

What they're supposed to do, what their loose orders are is to stay on base. To rest and heal and have medical eyes on them to make sure their wasted bodies weren't about to give out on them.

Gale had been back months before John had, and though he'd regained muscle that John was struggling to catch up to, there was a haunted animal look in his pale eyes that just wouldn't quit. There were bags under his eyes like he hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep since his return. A fact, John knew to be true because the restless paranoia wafting off of Buck like a physical scent was keeping him up as well.

The doctor kept telling him to sleep, he kept telling them "I can't"

I can't, not when my other half lies awake.

So, really, neither of them are sleeping. Neither of them are relaxing and the nurses keep warning John about what stress and starvation did to the heart and poor Buck had gotten smaller than the rest of them. And so when Bucky marches into Chick Harding's office for two weekend passes he's back out before the ink had even finished drying.

He drives them to the nearest inn, somewhere off campus where the doors locked and they had a double-bedded room to themselves. There's a small balcony with squashed but comfortable-looking cushions and two pairs of dressers to match the two beds and through a cracked door John can make out a warmly tiled bathroom with a clawfoot tub dropped in the center like a great contented cat..

Buck, who had gone silent the moment he'd no longer had to act as God-come-home for their flyboys and the new recruits they'd become legend and fable to, sat on the bed slowly removing his cufflinks and staring at his feet. His face, while not particularly concerning in its expression, aches with exhaustion and a quiet melancholy that John felt mirrored in his own chest. They had looked into the horrors and the horrors had looked right back and now they both carried the scars of it with them.

He's fine for now, so Bucky leaves him to his undressing, smoothing a thumb across Gale's forehead as he goes and gets a faint smile in return. He takes his time unpacking their duffels, heads down to charm to the lady of the house into some cucumber and chicken sandwiches made with real saw-dust free bread and scampers back put to the room with his prize.

Gale's still on the bed, stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, sprawled on his back now with one hand over his eyes and the other on the hollow rise and fall of his stomach. Not asleep, but resting at the very least and John takes full advantage of the chance to admire the graceful curve of the other man's body. The delicate just of his wrists, and relaxed put of his flush lips. The smooth jaw that would be stubbled by midnight and the flat downy hair on his thighs and legs.

He was too skinny, wasted muscle and shoulders that were angular where they should be soft and rounded, his collarbones a series of mountains ratner than hills. But he was alive and breathing and free and for the first time in years he's all John's.

He sets the plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade he'd gotten just for the reward of being so handsome - the madam's words not his - on the nightstand and pads into the bathroom. His knees click and his body protests as he kneels in front of the giant tub, and he remembers he too is running on fumes and stubbornness and pure Pilot luck. Running the water he waits for it to heat up before plugging the drain. There's a bottle of something sweet-smelling on a stool by the faucet and he tips it into the churning water experimentally, exclaiming quietly when bubbles smelling of lemon and lavender foam up.

Leaving the tub to its filling he makes his way out to the main room and brushes a soft kiss over the knuckles covering Gale's eyes.

"C'mon doll, lets get some food in you."

Gale makes a soft noise of protest but rises, eyes drooping tiredly and happy to settle against John's side.

They're both silent as they eat, both reverent to the point of religion at the freedom to fill their bellies.

"Real bread," Gale comments.

They each eat two apiece, drink half the pitcher and John kisses the sour-sweet droplets of lemonade from the pillow of Gale's upper lip. Tugs him up gently to be led across the room and into the now steamy bathroom.

"Bucky come on we were going to sleep -" he cuts off, looking at the tub and the popping chromatic bubbles covering the surface like a cloud. His face pinches inwards, brows lowering over his sunken eyes in an aching expression.

"Jesus, John."

Slipping behind him, dragging his hands up the stepstones of Gale's ribs and dragging his shirt with it, John presses a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, "You hate going to bed unclean."

Johns hand is spread across the center of Gale's chest, a soothing slow circle of pressure he knew made Gale melt into relaxing, so he feels clearly the ragged sobbing inhale that shivers through the blonde. But when he looks Gale's face is dry, lips parted just slightly and eyes fixed on the tub.

"I don't want to fall asleep in the bath on you."

"I won't let you slip under, sweetheart."

John slides out from behind Gale, stealing his shirt as he goes and settling on the stool. He toes his shoes and socks off, rolls his army regulation slacks up past his knees so he can stick two feet in the tub and gestures.

"Come on in Major, waters fine."

Gale shakes his head, puffing out a laugh and drags his briefs down his legs.

It's equal parts admiration and grief in how Bucky stares at his lovers body. Wasted from what it once was. Beautiful to him always. He schools his expression into something more neutral when Gale looks up, lifts a hand to help him into the tub without slipping and guides him down into the water.

The delicious groan Gale lets out, lashes fluttering, shoulders and head slumping forward in relief is better than any reward.

"That's good," Gale sighs.

"Yeah?" John whispers, rubbing his hands along the hills of Gale's spine, drags his thumb along the bump of them and massaging his fingers along the nape of Gale's neck until he makes another helpless noise and grows more boneless.

"Y'wanna get in?"

John shakes his head, fingers still working at the tension around Gale's spine, "Naw, enjoying watching you have a good time. You look cute with all the bubbles."

Gale chokes out a laugh, shudders out another one of those awful sobbing breaths. This time his shoulders flinch with it, and the roll through Gale's body like a tidal wave and John makes a noise of concern.

"Hey Buck," he says softly, scritching his nails along Gale's scalp, "Hey my man, my fella."

"It feels so good," Gale repeats, words clicking and wet and young.

Gale wasn't a man who needed coddling, and he certainly wasn't prone to outbursts of emotion and John is loathe to do anything that might put a stop to the release of emotion. So he lets Gale weep, lets him cry out all the poison he'd been carrying around and rubs his back and when he's finally done, bends to press a kiss the center of Gale's spine.

"Tired," Gale mumbles softly, sniffles wetly and the water splashes as he reaches up a hand to rub at his eyes.

"Okay," John says softly, "You wanna get out?"

Gale shakes his head and John hums, plucks at the blonde strands that had fallen out of the careful coif from the humidity.

"Alright," John says, guiding Gale's head to his higher where the other man sighs, nuzzling into his hip and relaxing bonelessly, "I've got you, won't let you slip, doll."

[reallyromealone]

Title: kingslayer

Fandom: black clover

Pairing: Nozel x male reader

Chapter: one

Warnings: male reader

Notes: slow burn slow burn

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

"god, I forgot how comfortable beds are" Long journeys didn't make for the most comfortable sleeping arrangements, the bed much more comfortable than the trees he's slept in. He didn't know much about the clover kingdom, they had a king and a giant skull that (name) was happy he got to paint. The room was warm, with light beige walls with wood beams that matched the old floorboards and bed frame and furniture, small paintings on the walls to give it some light along with candles for later. A small fireplace in the corner a chair to the side and a desk.

It was more than what he was used to.

Knock knock.

(Name) sat up curiously before walking to the door, opening it to see a young woman "Hi! My dad owns the inn... I noticed you didn't have shoes and we had a nicer pair in the lost and found that weren't gross so I thought you would want them... I hope they fit" (name) smiled softly at her "that's very kind of you, here... I would like to pay you back" the wanderer stepped aside and let her walk into his room, a few of his paintings out "I'll make you a portrait..." He said softly and the young woman looked confused "You don't have to!"

"An act of genuine kindness sparks another besides with the cost of portraits these days, wouldn't it be nice?"

The girl had no reply as she looked at his tiny paintings, no bigger than her hand "Whoa..."

"That one is of the heart kingdom, it's very wild there," he said as they looked at the painting of a rare power "I paint things to remember them, one day I may forget these little things and I always want to remember them... Now! Sit with the sunlight facing you! We don't have much time!"

The woman, whom (name) fondly called 'sparrow' posed shyly as (name) painted her "you have excellent bone structure, you would have made a brilliant sculpture in another world" he commented as she looked confused and a bit flustered "you think?" She said barely above a whisper "I do, my former flame had a beautiful facial structure as well..." (Name) had a sad smile on his face as he thought about his former beloved, though he knows she used him... He still wishes he could have been there for his daughter.

"So what brings you to the clover kingdom?" Sparrow asked and (name) smiled "I'm just sight seeing, I haven't seen much of the clover kingdom so why not right?"

Well, he hadn't seen it... recently.

"You have anything here to recommend?" He asked as he painted and the girl thought "there's a restaurant around the corner that sells the best pasta!" She beamed and (name) chuckled at her dreamy expression at the thought of the dish "I'll have to check it out"

"So what kind of magic do you do? My magic is not strong but I can grow plants" the girl said happily, (name) listening before speaking "If you honed in you could probably grow rare roots... Would help make.potions and such"

"I could do that!"

(Name) helped her with making her magic feel more useful as he kept the topic of his magic out of her head but that didn't seem to work "So what's your magic?" She repeated and (name) knew she wouldn't stop so he answered honestly "It's complicated but to try and simplify it... It- it's strong" he couldn't put it into words without exposing himself "If it's powerful, you should join the magic knights!" (Name) looked confused and the other gasped "the magic knights protect and help the kingdom! They're super strong!"

"... there I think we're done" (name) presented the painting to her "It needs time to dry but I think I didn't do half bad" he just wanted this conversation to end, she was a sweet girl but overwhelming, to say the least, and her look of amazement at tge painting mad regime smile "I can keep this?" She whispered and looked at him in awe "Just keep being kind, yeah? And keep your wits about you"

After she left (name) walked to the window and looked at the clover kingdom curiously, perhaps after a nap he could check it out.

"How do we know he's real?" Charlotte asked and Vanessa sighed "Trust me if anyone can fix this mess... It's him" She remembered him fondly, the man from her childhood before she was locked away in the cage, the man who would teach her things about the outside world he was from, her mother spoke highly of him "he was more powerful than she has ever seen", Vanessa said distantly as the others looked curious at her "someone of his description entered the city today," William said looking over the description that was given to the guards "are you sure he still looks like that?"

"I'm sure"

Nozel and Fuegoleon were tasked to look for this man, and the two ended up at an inn, small and unassuming in the lower ends "Pardon me" Fuegeleon asked the innkeeper who gazed from his book, an older man he was with a slight bald spot and beer belly but friendly none the less "oh that guy? He gave my daughter a painting, why did he do something?"

"No, we just need his help"

"He's out right now but he'll probably be back tonight" the innkeeper was relieved the kind young man hadn't done anything, curious on why the two Royals needed him though but decided not to press "may I offer you two a drink while you wait?"

"Ah, no thank you" Fuegeleon always the gentleman said softly and the innkeeper looked slightly saddened as the redhead continued "would it be possible to see his room? To wait?" The innkeeper not wanting to be in the way of knight business let them have the key to the room and even lead the way, the two thanking him as Nozel looked disgruntled in the shabby room but did notice the drying paintings of the capital on the small desk "these are incredibly detailed" he noted to his cousin who hummed "from what Vanessa says this must be him, he was a painter"

The paintings almost looked real if it wasn't for the water color aspect, it was incredible really "How can we be sure he can help us?"

"Frankly I just want to know why two strange men are in my room" a voice broke them from their thoughts as (name) held a paper container of pasta, eating it slowly "Quite rude frankly, just barging into a room someone paid for"

"Are you (name)?" Nozel glares at the man in the ratty cloak with painted designs on it and the inside, little embroidery designs of flowers and what looks to be a family on it all in the style of a child's drawing.

"Ah, that would be me," he said casually as he plopped down in his chair, not even phased "who are you two?" He had a bored expression as he ate more pasta, the girl was not lying this shit was the bomb! "You don't know who we are?" Nozel seethed and (name) raised an eyebrow "Haven't been in the clover kingdom in years, I ain't gotta clue"

"We are the captains of the Silver Eagles and Crimson Lions respectively"

"That a sports team or something?"

"Spo-- we are magic knights!" Noel was about to tear this man's head off but thankfully Fuegeleon stepped in "We were told you could help us"

"And who said that?"

"Someone you may know... Are you aware of anyone named Vanessa?"

(Name) didn't even need to hear the rest as he packed his belongings, his cloak swishing as he put the paintings away "Well what are you doing? Lead the way!" (Name) urged them, a stark difference compared to how he was earlier as he slung his bag over his shoulder "let's go!"

(Name) didn't give a fuck about the palace, eyes looking around curious for one person and one person alone.

Then it felt like time stood still as he stared at him from across the room with people wearing matching caplets.

"'Nessa..." He said as he had finally found happiness, the knights were confused as the pink-haired woman felt tears well up in her eyes.

"Papa..."

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 27- used as bait

Uh oh, surely this won’t lead to anything bad will it? Don’t like the ending but I hope guys like it regardless :)

Warnings for kidnapping

~~~~~

Leon stood on the balcony of the inn, watching the townsfolk go about their days. Some were rushing from one destination to another while others were simply chatting and resting at the fountain. It was fun seeing what type of lives people lived, and how different they were to his own. It was his favorite part of guarding the entrance to the castle before he was knighted; people-watching entertained him to no end despite having to stand in front of the gates for hours. He found himself doing the same thing here on the balcony, watching the unique faces and clothing style of each person, noting how each one walked differently. The people entertained him so much that he didn’t notice Linebeck joining him in the balcony, his arms crossed as he leaned against the banister.

“Hey mister go-go-go, what are you doing out here?” He asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I just figured we take it easy today,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off of the townsfolk. The men had gone to sleep late, so Leon figured taking it easy would be nice. Besides, it seemed that the puppeteer had lost their trail. They were in no rush.

“So, we’re just gonna sit here?”

“For the day at least. Tomorrow we will move out again and hopefully find a clue to where our Links are.”

Linebeck chuckled. “Not surprised. Ok, I’ll let the others know.”

The sailor left the room, leaving him alone, and Leon went back to watching the townsfolk. His eyes landed on one person, an old woman simply fluffing up her flowers in front of her shop, adding and removing things to make them look prettier. She wore a headscarf with a red dress, and she was clearly too old to be manning a shop by herself with the way she was hunched over and walking slowly. But he could see the passion behind her flowers as she excitedly fixed each bouquet and sat to wait for customers. It was cute to see, though Leon always had a soft spot for sweet old ladies. He watched her for a long moment as she sat in her rocking chair, her expression content as people bought her flowers. But after a moment, her face grew worried as she watched the people rush past her shop, and soon Leon noticed the sudden panic in the crowd. The townsfolk were all running in the same direction, some screaming while others were ramming into different buildings. Leon gasped as one man ran into the old lady, knocking her to the ground and leaving her there. Without thinking, he jumped off the balcony and caught onto a tree, landing on the ground with ease as he sprinted towards the woman. She was struggling to stand up in the chaos, tears beginning to stream down her face, but Leon was soon at her side, helping her stand on her feet.

“I got you,” he said calmly, hugging her close to him as he helped guide her away from her shop.

“My flowers,” she wailed, weakly pointing to the flower pots being knocked over. Leon stared at them, but moved the old woman closer to inside the shop where she wouldn’t be trampled.

“We’ll have to worry about them later,” he said, but before he could move her into the shop, a voice stopped them.

“Grandma!”

Leon turned back to see a young woman sprinting towards them, her horrified look melting in relief as she watched the old woman.

“Oh thank the goddesses you’re ok!” She cried, giving her grandmother a hug. The old woman hugged back weakly, staring up at her granddaughter in confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a monster in the middle of town! I-it’s some giant bird or something! We have to get away!”

Leon listened intently, looking in the direction where people were running from. He nudged the two women away and gave them a nod.

“I’ll take care of it, you two get somewhere safe,” he commanded, and the two women nodded, the younger one holding her grandmother close.

“Thank you, young man,” the old woman said, bowing her head before letting herself be guided away from the danger. Leon then turned in the opposite direction and ran towards where the monster was attacking the town. The crowd was thinning as Leon got closer to the threat, and as he ran, he realized that he should’ve gone back to grab his sword. Fortunately for him, he always kept a knife on him, and there were plenty of cowards that called themselves guards hiding away with their swords hugged to their chests. He ran up to one and ripped the weapon out of the man’s hands, ignoring his surprised cry. A crash was heard near them, causing the soldier to scream. Leon simply turned to him and gestured to where the rest of the townsfolk ran.

“Go and hide with them, you coward,” he ordered, and the soldier scrambled to his feet and ran, leaving Leon alone in the town square. He faced the sounds of the crash, spotting colorful feathers and a yellow beak biting the broken wood. Leon picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could towards the creature, trying to draw its attention towards him, which worked.

It was a huge bird-like creature, with purple, pink, yellow, and green feathers that looked mesmerizing as it moved. It had some sort of mask resting on its yellow beak, and it watched Leon with a threatening look. Yellow eyes glowed with hatred from the mask, and the bird wasted no time charging Leon. He dodged out of the way before it could trample him, and he sliced at the green and yellow tail feathers. The bird didn’t notice and whipped its head around to peck him, and Leon yelped as its beak rammed right into the cobblestone next to him. He fell back, but the bird’s beak was now stuck, which was the perfect time to strike. Right before it could pull itself out of the ground, Leon swung the sword down onto the mask, cracking it into several pieces, though it didn’t break apart yet. The bird shrieked and jumped back, facing Leon with death in its eyes. Now it was angry.

Leon simply dodged another attack, slicing at its talons and cutting tail feathers off. It once again tried to peck at him, foolishly missing as Leon rolled away and getting stuck. Goddesses, it was stupid. Acting purely on instinct and nothing more. Leon swung his sword a few times against the mask, finally breaking it off its face and revealing the soft, feathery head. It shrieked again, but it spun around, whipping Leon with its tail feathers. He went flying and landed on the cobblestone with a painful thud as the bird monster began stomping around, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Leon got up slowly, holding his side as he crawled towards his discarded sword, and he heard the stomping of the beast getting closer to him. He was barely able to move out of the way in time before it tried to peck him, and once again, it was stuck. With one final effort, Leon pointed his sword down and stabbed right through its skull, causing it to pull back and shriek in pain. It wailed for a bit, swinging its large body around before falling to the ground with a thud, causing the world to go quiet. Leon stared for a moment before letting out a huff, rubbing his aching side. All these monsters were starting to get too much for him.

He started to walk away, hoping to see if the others were alright before his boot stepped into something soft and squishy. When he looked down, he saw a reddish-brown substance beneath his boot, making a mold of what his sole looked like, and he knelt down to feel it with his fingers.

“What is this…?” He wondered out loud, his stomach sinking when the realization hit him. Clay.

He spun around to see the monster reduced to the clay-like substance that was always used for puppets, it towering over him as it melted further into the ground in a big pile. The puppeteer… he was here.

The pile of clay suddenly moved, and talons materialized before Leon had a moment to react, and he was suddenly grasped inside the claws, pinned to the ground as the rest of the monster was chased into reality. The glowing eyes and mask glared down at him as he struggled, and to his dismay, the bird flapped its wings and took to the skies. Leon yelled as he was hoisted into the air, clinging onto the talons out of fear of being dropped to his death, watching as he flew further and further away from the town, his supplies, his friends.

Where were they?

The wind howled loudly in his ear, and panic set in as he realized he was being taken away, to either die or be tortured or whatever the puppeteer had planned for him, but he was helpless and alone. The sword fell out of his hand when the talons grabbed onto him, and he didn’t know if the others knew that he had been taken. Even if they did know, they certainly wouldn’t know where. He didn’t know where he was going.

No, no no no no…

What was he going to do?

The bird monster reached a tower after a while of flying, and it landed in an open area right in front. Leon grunted as he landed on the ground harshly, the bird’s talons pinning him so he couldn’t move. He jerked from side to side, hoping to squeeze through the gaps, but the talons went over his shoulders like a pack, making it nearly impossible to escape.

“Well well well, what do we have here?”

Leon froze at the familiar voice, and he strained his neck to glare at the man standing in front of him. The puppeteer…

“This is quite the pleasant surprise,” he continued, kneeling to the ground. “I had that bird attack the town so the heroes would show up. I certainly wasn’t expecting you there.”

Leon snarled at him, his fists clenched as if he could attack the man in his state. The puppeteer’s hands reached out, grasping Leon’s chin to force him to look up. Leon groaned in pain as his neck was stretched further than what was intended, and when the puppeteer’s fingers got close enough, he bit down as hard as he could. The man flinched back, dropping Leon’s head which landed painfully on the ground. Leon hissed in pain as his teeth bit his tongue, and he tasted the metallic blood pooling inside his mouth.

“You dog!” He hissed, staring at his bloodied fingers. “Oh, I should kill you for that.”

“Let me go and try it,” Leon threatened, his hands balled into fists again. The puppeteer only stared, remaining stiff as he cradled his hand as if he was thinking about something.

“I should kill you,” he muttered, his hands moving to rest behind his back as he stepped closer. “But you are too… important.”

Leon frowned, watching him with unease as he knelt down in front of him again.

“You’re the men’s leader,” the puppeteer continued, “they need you, and would probably do anything to save you…”

Leon’s eyes widened and he once again thrashed against the talons. “Don’t you dare use me against them!” He shouted, but the puppeteer paid him no mind. Instead he turned away, waving to the bird.

“I’ll figure out what to do with you,” he said, “in the meantime, sit tight for me, will you?”

Leon gasped as he was hoisted up into the skies once again, watching with fury as he got further away from the puppeteer, the man becoming a speck as he was sent away.

[thebookbutterfly]

°•. Sandor Clegane .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Sandor Clegane works in one place.

⭐️ = one of my favourites

ONESHOTS:

🦋 Secret Wife [Fluff] In which the reader and Sandor are married but no one knows. When Tormund starts hitting on you, Sandor’s jealousy gets the best of him and the secret comes out. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Punishment? [Fluff] Forced marriage trope. After Joffrey forces you to marry the Hound as a punishment you learn the giant of a man is kinder than he looks. Love ensues. So much for a punishment. << Female Reader >>

🦋 In the North [Fluff] Established Relationship. After The Battle of Blackwater Sandor and the reader were forced to separate. Fluff ensues when you both reunite in the North. Soft Sandor. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Sharing a Bed with the Hound [Fluff] You and Sandor arrive at the inn to find that there is only one bed. You refuse to let him sleep on the floor. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Not Such A Lady [Fluff] Domestic Sandor x Reader. Sandor is shocked to find out just how many swear words his lady knows. << Female Reader, Swearing >>

🦋 keeping warm [Fluff] You’re freezing and Sandor is practically a furnace. Cuddling for warmth. << Gender Neutral Reader >> ⭐️

SERIES:

Coming Soon!

DRABBLES:

Coming Soon!

IMAGINES:

🦋 Bear [Fluff] Everyone calls Sandor the Hound, but to you he seems more like a bear. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

[dullgecko]

Thanks Tumblr for eating that ask, not like i wanted to DO something with it -_-..... I read the ask, I liked the ask, i go to actually write something for it and it's dissapeared into the ether.

For the person who sent the ask about Fabian being a dork and trying to manufacture a 'there was only 1 bed' scenario with Riz.

---------------

It wasn't often that Riz's solo cases dragged him out this far but sometimes you just had to follow the lead wherever it took you. Even if where it took you was nearly twelve hours drive away on the back of a grumpy hellhound bike. Not quite in the Red Wastes, well past The Baronies, just far enough into the middle of nowhere that they were lucky to have even FOUND an inn for the night.

Sure, Riz liked to boast that he 'didn't sleep' but even he had his limits. The fact that they'd found the artefact they'd been looking for (stolen from his client, then sold to a pawn shop, then tracked through a good two dozen buyers until Riz found it for sale in a tiny, sketchy store full of OTHER stolen items and had stolen it back) meant that yeah, his job was done and now he could get some sleep. This was how Riz found himself trying desperatly not to fall asleep on his feet while Fabian negotiated for a room. Sure there wasn't much on offer, that was to be expected for an inn that was literally the only place around for MILES with soft beds and warm food, plenty of other adventurers had stopped here on their way down to the Red Wastes to help deal with a giant spider infestation and they were lucky there even WAS a room leftover for them to use. He wasn't really paying attention as Fabian spoke in hushed tones to the innkeeper, jumping slightly when his friend tapped him on the shoulder and jiggled the key to their room in front of his face. "Wakey wakey The Ball, at least wait until we get upstairs to fall asleep." The half elf chuckled, stooping slightly to steer Riz towards the stairs and up to their room with a gentle hand in the middle of his back.

Riz was actually looking forwards to a good long sleep, especially on a tall man sized bed. Plenty of room to sprawl out and get comfy, with probably more than enough pillows and blanket to spare. Needless to say that, when Fabian opened the door and ushered him inside and there was just a single double bed pushed against the far wall, he was a little disapointed.

"Sorry The Ball, this was the last room they had availible."

"No this is... fine." Riz pinched the bridge of his nose, weighing up his options as he poked around the room. There were spare blankets in the wardrobe against the wall and, well, plenty of space INSIDE said wardrobe. "You can take the bed Fabes, I'll just... make a nest in the cupboard or something."

Fabian sputtered, making little noises of protest even as Riz half-climbed the furniture to yank the spare blanket down off the shelf and set about arranging it comfortably on the floor of the wardrobe. His weapons and breifcase getting tucked inside as well as he stripped down to his comfortable undershirt and boxers as he prepared to go straight to sleep.

"No, don't. Come on there's PLENTY of room on the bed." Fabian blustered, hands hovering over the goblin as he fought the urge to pick him up and just plop him down on the matress himself. "There's no reason for you to sleep in the damn wardrobe and mess up your back, we can just share."

Riz might have been half a blink away from falling asleep but he wasn't stupid. He tipped his head back to squint critically at the half elfs face, noteing the slight blush at the tips of his ears, the way he couldn't maintain eye contact... the fact that it for SURE didn't sound like every single room in the inn was occupied right now. Right, there was only ONE room with ONE bed left in the whole place. He couldn't just say he wanted to cuddle?

The rogue just rolled his eyes, gathering up the blanket and his gear (there was NO way he would sleep without his sword and arcubus within arms reach) and heaving the whole lot up onto the bed. Nest getting hastily remade in the corner up against the wall.

Fabian, for his part, bit back a frustrated sigh as Riz shoved half the pillows into his little pile in the corner of the bed. 'Accidentally' snuggling in the middle of the night was a lot harder when you had to breach the walls and wiggle halfway into a nest of blankets to do so. So, defeated, he carefully got under the covers on the outer side of the bed. The lump mostly hidden under blankets and pillows getting a fond 'pat pat' as he settled down to sleep, sadly without his crush tucked against his front so they could both fit comfortably on the bed.

Riz let him sulk for a good fifteen minutes before taking pity, arm lifting the corner of his blanket to blink out at the pouting half-elf who was trying his best to pretend to be asleep.

"No? You're not going to give up the ruse and just ask to cuddle?" He whispered, amusement tinging his voice as he reached out to tuck a dreadlock behind Fabians ear. The half elf failing in his efforts to pretend to sleep when he quirked a smile. "That obvious?"

"Even exhausted my perception is high, and you weren't being subtle." Riz snickered, shuffling about until he he was under both Fabians blanket and his little nesting pile at the same time. The goblin quickly getting grabbed as Fabian skootched over so he was also half under the haphazard pile of bedding, only now with a captive rogue tucked against his front.

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Rainy Day~

so happy i got it done! though, i could write so much more! ahhh! i hope you all like it! i love writing naive adam so damn much! haha!

@adamsappleweek

The dark skies above Scotland roared with fury, the heavens split open by a jagged bolt of lightning that illuminated the storm-lashed landscape in a brief, blinding flash. The wind howled like a vengeful spirit, shaking the bones of the ancient tavern that sat at the edge of the moor, its stone walls bracing against the tempest. Rain poured in torrents, a relentless assault from the skies, each drop heavy and biting as it crashed against the ground. Adam cursed under his breath, his heart pounding as he gripped the iron handles of the cages meant to shield his windows. The last storm had nearly destroyed everything he held dear—he wouldn’t let it happen again.

His thick, wild hair, a mix of chestnut and auburn, clung to his forehead, dripping water as he battled the elements. His clothes were soaked through, plastered to his lean frame as he rushed from window to window, dragging the iron bars into place. Every step he took sent a splash of cold water up his legs, his boots crashing into puddles that had formed in the uneven cobblestone yard. The storm was merciless, but Adam was relentless. This tavern, with its creaking beams and timeworn stones, was his lifeblood. His sanctuary. He would die before letting it fall apart.

By the time he stumbled back inside, the warmth of the fire barely reached him. He was drenched to the bone, his skin cold and tinged with pink from the biting wind. His usually sharp green eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, his breath ragged as he leaned against one of the sturdy wooden posts that held up the low ceiling. "Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, shivering slightly as he wiped rain from his brow, his gaze drifting upwards to the rafters above.

The tavern itself was a place out of legend, steeped in an almost magical atmosphere that seemed to hum in the very air. Its walls were old, ancient even, made from rough-hewn stone that had stood the test of time. The timber beams that crossed the ceiling were dark with age, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of hands and storms, but they held fast, like the bones of a sleeping giant. Each plank of the floor groaned softly underfoot, as though the tavern itself was alive, whispering secrets from ages past.

Golden candlelight flickered from iron sconces along the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the room. The hearth at the far end blazed with a crackling fire, the flames licking at the soot-stained stone like a beast hungry for warmth. Above it, an old mantle stretched wide, adorned with curios from distant lands—a horned skull, a collection of tarnished coins, and an old brass compass that, rumour had it, never pointed true north. The smell of wood smoke and spiced mead lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of rain that had followed Adam inside.

But there was something more here—something beyond the rustic charm of an old inn. The air seemed to shimmer, as if the very walls held memories, or magic, just out of reach. Strange symbols had been etched into the corners of the room, half-hidden beneath layers of dust and grime, relics of forgotten times. Adam had always suspected there was more to this place than met the eye, but he had never been one to dig too deeply into its mysteries. He simply let the tavern be, for whatever it was, it had become part of him.

As he scanned the room, a strange tension clung to him. The storm outside was fierce, yes, but there was something else—a quiet, unsettling hum that buzzed beneath the noise of the wind and rain. His eyes drifted toward the shadowy corners of the tavern, where the light didn't quite reach. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw something—a flicker of movement, a whisper of darkness shifting between the beams. He blinked, shook his head. It was just the storm, playing tricks on his mind.

Adam ran a hand through his soaked hair, ruffling it absently, ignoring the cascade of rainwater dripping from his tangled locks. The storm outside raged on, the sound of it relentless, but Adam moved through his tavern with a practiced calm, checking every important corner, every latch, every candle wick. He wasn’t about to leave anything to chance, not with a storm like this. He had heard enough tales from travellers and locals alike—the one about the tavern lost to a stray candle fire stuck with him most. He’d built this place from the ground up, poured his soul into every beam and stone. He would die before letting it burn to the ground.

He barely had time to yank off his soaked wellingtons, his muscles aching from the night's frantic efforts, when a thunderous knocking rattled the door. Adam froze, his brow furrowing as he glanced up at the old grandfather clock in the corner, its hands inching toward midnight. Who in their right mind would be out in a storm like this? Another booming knock echoed through the room, more urgent this time. Adam groaned, kicking his boots aside, the chill of the wet floor seeping into his feet as he trudged toward the door.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” he shouted over the din, his voice nearly drowned out by another crack of lightning.

The storm roared, shaking the tavern to its very foundations, the windows rattling as wind and rain lashed against them. A brilliant flash lit up the room, so bright that Adam had to squint against it as he reached for the heavy wooden door. He braced himself, grabbing the iron handle with both hands, and pulled hard, fighting against the ferocious wind.

As the door creaked open, Adam peered through the driving rain—and his breath caught in his throat. Standing there, drenched and trembling, was a small figure. His heart skipped a beat as a pair of eyes, glowing gold and crimson, stared back at him through the chaos of the storm. Unnatural, but enchanting.

“Contacts?” Adam muttered under his breath, blinking in disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he gasped aloud, dragging the door open wider. “Holy shit, are you alright? Get in here, out of the rain!”

The figure didn’t move, just stood there, soaking wet, pale as a ghost. His skin was almost ghastly in the dim light, the blonde hair plastered to his forehead dripping endlessly. His eyes—those unnaturally large, glowing eyes—were rimmed with a dark purple that looked too precise to be natural. And yet... there was something about him that sent a chill down Adam’s spine. The man wore a red cotton sweater, drenched and clinging to his thin frame, a black collared shirt beneath it, and white trousers now soaked through. Strangely, he had no shoes or socks—bare feet slick with rain and mud.

“Come inside!” Adam urged, his concern deepening.

The man didn’t respond. His blank, vacant expression didn’t shift; no sign of acknowledgment, no flicker of emotion. Adam’s stomach twisted with unease, and he bit his lip, stepping forward to reach out. His hand grasped the stranger’s ice-cold fingers, and the contact sent a jolt of worry through him.

“You’re freezing,” Adam whispered, more to himself. He wrapped his hands around the man’s slender shoulders, steering him into the warmth of the tavern. “You’re soaked to the bone. Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

Still, no response. The man’s silence was eerie, unsettling. Adam’s heart began to pound harder in his chest, and for the first time, a creeping sense of dread settled in. Was this man in danger? Had something terrible happened to him? A thousand thoughts raced through Adam’s mind, each one darker than the last. He glanced back out the door, squinting into the blackness of the storm, but saw nothing unusual—just the relentless downpour and howling wind. Still, the nagging sense that something wasn’t right wouldn’t leave him.

With a deep sigh, Adam shut the door firmly behind him, cutting off the wind and rain. The tavern seemed eerily quiet now, save for the crackle of the fire and the faint, rhythmic drip of water from the man’s sodden clothes.

“Do you want me to call someone?” Adam asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I could call the police—maybe they could help.”

That seemed to break the spell. Suddenly, the man’s hand shot out, gripping Adam’s wrist with surprising strength. Adam’s heart stuttered as their eyes locked. The stranger’s gaze, once vacant, was now sharp—intense. His lips parted, and when he spoke, his voice was firm, urgent.

“No. No police.”

The words cut through the air like a blade. His fingers tightened around Adam’s wrist, and Adam winced slightly, the stranger’s skin still deathly cold.

“Just... please,” the man continued, his voice lowering to a desperate whisper. “Let me stay. I have no money, but I can work. I can—”

“Shh,” Adam interrupted gently, a kind smile tugging at his lips despite the growing tension in his chest. “You don’t have to do anything. You can stay.”

The man blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief. For the first time since he had appeared at the door, a flicker of emotion crossed his face—relief. His shoulders sagged, and he nodded, the movement slow and almost mechanical.

“That’s kind of you,” the man murmured, his voice softening.

Adam smiled, but his mind was still racing. Something about this man—about this whole encounter—felt off. The air in the tavern seemed to thrum with an unseen energy, a tension that hadn’t been there before. Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that this stranger was more than he appeared to be, that something deeper—darker—lurked beneath the surface.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” Adam said, guiding the man toward the hearth, where the fire blazed with a comforting heat. He grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and wrapped it around the man’s shivering form, the flames casting long shadows across the room. “You’ll catch your death otherwise.”

The man remained silent, staring into the fire as if mesmerized by the dancing flames. His golden-red eyes glowed faintly in the flickering light, and for a moment, Adam felt a strange pull—an almost magnetic attraction that he couldn’t quite explain.

Who was this man?

And why did Adam feel as if letting him in had changed everything?

Adam grabbed a large, fluffy towel from a nearby shelf and tossed it over the blonde man's frail shoulders, the fabric engulfing his small frame. With slow, careful movements, Adam began rubbing the towel into the man’s tangled golden hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. The strands were silky, but drenched with the storm’s wrath, and Adam’s lips twisted in a crooked half-smile as he focused on drying him off. The man needed warmth, badly—a hot bath, Adam thought, might be the only thing to stave off the chill that had settled deep into his bones. His concern deepened as he wondered just how long this stranger had been out in the storm.

A soft sound, barely more than a sigh, escaped from the man’s lips. It was so faint that Adam paused, his hand stilling mid-motion. He tilted his head, his eyes meeting the stranger's gaze. The man’s golden-red eyes, glowing faintly in the firelight, were fixed on him, unblinking and strangely intense. There was something haunting about them—something that sent a shiver racing down Adam's spine, though not from the cold.

“What’s your name?” Adam asked gently, trying to coax more from the enigmatic stranger.

He smiled softly, his voice warm, hoping to make a connection, anything to draw him out of whatever trance-like state he seemed to be in.

The man’s gaze lingered on Adam for a long moment, as if he was weighing his response. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost a whisper, as though it took effort to form the words.

“Lucifer.”

Adam blinked; his hand momentarily frozen against the man’s hair. The name hung in the air between them, sharp and unsettling. He couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, a nervous reflex to the oddity of it.

“Like the devil?” he asked, the smile still on his lips though his eyes searched the man's face for some hint of humour.

Lucifer merely nodded, his expression unchanged, his eyes half-lidded and distant now, as if the weight of the storm had finally pulled him under. He sank deeper into the plush chair by the fire, his body still unnaturally rigid legs together, shoulders stiff, hands resting limply over his knees. He made no move to help as Adam continued to rub the towel over his damp skin, his posture more akin to a statue than a living, breathing person.

Adam's smile faded, concern knitting his brow again. He leaned down slightly, still gently dabbing at the man’s face, which was far too pale and cold to the touch.

 “Are you feeling alright?” Adam asked, his tone softer now, as if he were speaking to someone fragile. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”

Lucifer’s head lolled slightly, and his eyes flickered closed for a moment before reopening with an eerie slowness. He gazed into the fire, as if it held answers to some unspoken question, his golden-red eyes catching the light in an unsettling way. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, before Lucifer’s lips parted ever so slightly.

“I’ve been... far from here. For a very long time.”

Adam’s heart quickened at the cryptic answer. There was something in the man’s voice—an ancient weariness, as though he carried centuries of suffering with him. It didn’t sound like the words of a lost traveller or someone caught in a storm. It felt... deeper, darker. As though the weight of his name carried something far more dangerous than mere myth.

Far from here? Adam wanted to ask more, to press the man to explain, but something about Lucifer’s presence—the way the air seemed to thrum and shift around him—kept Adam cautious. Instead, he swallowed his questions and placed a comforting hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, hoping to ground him in this moment.

“Well, you’re here now,” Adam said, his voice steady though his heart still raced. “You’re safe.”

Lucifer’s eyes flicked up to meet Adam’s, and for a brief moment, the coldness in them thawed. It was fleeting, but Adam saw it—a spark of something vulnerable, something almost human, hidden behind the intensity of his gaze. The fire crackled beside them, the warmth spreading through the room, but it did little to ease the strange tension coiling in the air.

“Thank you,” Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible over the popping of the firewood. But there was something in those two words that felt more than just gratitude. It felt like a confession. Or maybe... a warning.

Adam’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment longer before he stood up, the weight of the night pressing heavily on him. He tossed the damp towel aside and moved to stoke the fire, trying to keep the room warm, trying to shake off the gnawing sense of unease that clung to him. The storm outside had only grown fiercer, the wind howling through the cracks in the old wooden beams, as if it were trying to force its way inside.

Lucifer remained silent, his gaze returning to the flames. The storm outside seemed almost insignificant compared to the storm that raged behind those strange eyes. Adam had a feeling that the man—if he could even call him that—was running from something far more terrifying than wind or rain. Something unseen, but not unfelt.

“Maybe a bath,” Adam murmured, more to himself than to Lucifer, trying to focus on something practical. “That’ll warm you up.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched, as though he wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he simply nodded, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each one took great effort. Adam hesitated for a moment, studying him. There was still so much mystery wrapped around this man, so many questions gnawing at the back of Adam’s mind, but now wasn’t the time.

“Stay here by the fire,” Adam said, his voice soft as he moved toward the stairs leading to the upper floor. “I’ll run a bath. You’ll feel better soon.”

But as he turned to leave, a quiet voice stopped him in his tracks.

“It’s not the cold I’m worried about,” Lucifer murmured, his voice low and distant, his eyes never leaving the fire.

Adam’s pulse quickened. He looked back over his shoulder, unsure if he had truly heard the words or if they were part of the growing storm outside.

But Lucifer didn’t say another word.

Adam cast one last glance at Lucifer before reluctantly turning away, leaving the odd, ethereal man huddled by the fire. There was something heartbreakingly fragile about him, something that tugged at Adam’s protective instincts. Lucifer looked so small, so lost—his pale skin and the haunted look in his golden-red eyes only deepened the impression that he had been through something terrible. It made Adam want to wrap him up in warmth, shield him from whatever horrors he had faced, and—though he would never admit it aloud—cradle him in his arms. The urge to comfort this mysterious stranger was almost overwhelming.

As he moved down the hallway toward the guest bathroom, Adam couldn’t shake the image of Lucifer’s sorrowful expression. He seemed like someone who had never known kindness, someone who had forgotten what it felt like to be cared for. Adam sighed softly, pushing open the bathroom door and turning his attention to preparing the bath.

The water ran hot and steamy, curling into the air like mist. Adam tested the temperature, nodding in satisfaction when it was just right—perfect for warming a cold, fragile soul. As the tub filled, the steam swirled around him, thickening the air with a soothing warmth that contrasted the raging storm outside. He lingered for a moment, making sure everything was ready, before turning to leave, intending to fetch Lucifer and lead him to the bath.

But as he spun on his heel, Adam yelped in surprise, stumbling back a step. Lucifer stood in the doorway, his slight frame wrapped in the oversized towel, watching him with wide eyes. It was the first time since their encounter that Lucifer had shown any emotion—surprise, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his strange, calm facade.

"I'm... sorry," Lucifer said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His red and gold eyes shimmered in the warm light of the bathroom, filled with something almost tender. "I didn’t mean to scare you."

Adam’s sheepish laughter echoed in the small space, his heart still racing from the unexpected startle.

 “No, it’s fine,” he assured him, waving it off. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the bath, trying to regain his composure. “The bath’s ready. I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.”

Lucifer’s gaze shifted from Adam to the tub, and he nodded slowly, stepping closer. The steam from the bath curled around him as he approached, making the room feel even more intimate, the warmth and tension almost palpable in the air. Adam busied himself by opening a nearby cupboard, revealing the selection of bath products he kept for his guests—soaps, shampoos, lotions, all in neat rows.

“You can use whatever you like. I don’t mind,” Adam said, still a little nervous under Lucifer’s intense gaze. His fingers fumbled slightly as he gestured toward the products. “Just... make yourself comfortable.”

But when he turned back around, Adam’s words died in his throat. His eyes went wide as he caught sight of Lucifer pulling his soaked sweater over his head, beginning to undress right there in front of him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Adam’s heart skipped a beat, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

“Oh—uh—um!” he stammered, immediately covering his eyes with one hand and turning away in a rush, his voice pitching higher than usual. “I-I’ll just—um—be outside! If you need anything, just, uh... let me know!”

He could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck as he stumbled toward the door, desperately trying to avoid another glance at Lucifer’s bare skin. His mind was spinning, a mess of embarrassment and something else—something more complicated that he didn’t want to think too hard about.

Behind him, he heard a soft chuckle.

“Thank you,” Lucifer murmured, his voice gentle, almost teasing. Adam’s ears burned at the sound, and he fumbled with the door handle in his haste to escape the room.

“I’ll, uh, go prepare your bedroom!” Adam blurted, finally getting the door open. “And, uh... maybe figure out some food for you... yeah, okay, bye!”

As he stumbled out of the bathroom, Adam could still feel Lucifer’s curious gaze on him. His heart raced in his chest as he leaned against the closed door for a moment, letting out a long, shaky breath. What was it about this man that had him so flustered? There was something magnetic, almost otherworldly, about him—something that made Adam’s thoughts spiral in ways they never had before.

Shaking his head, Adam pushed away from the door and made his way down the hallway to prepare a room for Lucifer. His mind raced, still trying to process the strange emotions that the man stirred within him. This night had already taken on an unusual, almost magical quality—like he was caught in some ancient, otherworldly tale where nothing was as it seemed. And at the heart of it all was Lucifer, with his haunting beauty and eerie calm, a storm of secrets hidden behind those otherworldly eyes.

As Adam began making the bed, fluffing the pillows and setting out fresh linens, he couldn’t stop thinking about him—about the weight of his name, the sadness that clung to him like a shadow, and the strange connection that seemed to have formed between them in such a short time. There was something more to Lucifer than just a man caught in a storm. Something deep and dark, yet irresistibly alluring.

And Adam couldn’t help but wonder what kind of danger—or magic—he had unknowingly invited into his tavern.

Adam straightened himself up, his back giving a satisfying crack as he stretched, and he couldn’t help but grin at the bed he had just prepared. It looked cozy and inviting—perfect for someone as small and delicate as Lucifer. He felt a strange surge of protectiveness, wanting to make sure every little detail was right for the fragile man. But when Adam turned around to check on Lucifer, he was met with a shock.

“Lucifer!” Adam yelped, startled for the second time that evening. The man stood directly behind him, his pale, slim frame dripping from the bath, water pooling at his feet. He was wrapped in a massive, fluffy white towel that swallowed his small figure, but his skin was still glistening with droplets, and his hair clung wetly to his face.

Adam’s heart raced, his breath catching in his throat. His face flushed a deep shade of crimson, and he quickly averted his eyes. “Why are you walking around like this? You’re going to get even sicker!”

Lucifer blinked slowly, tilting his head as if confused by Adam’s reaction. His strange, golden-red eyes locked onto Adam’s with an almost childlike innocence.

“I have no clothes,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice quiet and unbothered. “The ones I was wearing are just as wet.”

Adam opened his mouth, then closed it again, cursing himself for not realizing sooner. Of course, Lucifer didn’t have anything dry to wear—his clothes were soaked from the storm, and the poor man had been left with nothing.

Adam groaned inwardly at his own lack of foresight but managed a comforting smile. “Right, of course. I’ll get you something. Just... wait here for a moment, okay?”

Lucifer frowned slightly, his eyes flicking around the room as though searching for some unseen presence.

“Okay…” he mumbled, his voice even softer now, his gaze distant. “But don’t be long.”

Adam chuckled at the odd remark, though it tugged at something deep within him. There was a sadness in Lucifer’s voice that Adam couldn’t quite place, as if he dreaded the thought of being left alone.

"I won’t be long, promise," Adam reassured him with a gentle smile, then turned to make his way toward his own bedroom.

As he rummaged through his drawers, he pulled out one of his old nightshirts—a simple blue t-shirt—and a pair of shorts. He eyed the trousers in his wardrobe but shook his head, realizing they would be far too big for someone as small and slender as Lucifer. The man barely reached Adam’s shoulder, and his delicate frame would swim in anything larger. The shirt and shorts would have to do.

Satisfied with his selection, Adam spun around—only to scream when he found Lucifer standing right behind him yet again. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and he stumbled back, clutching the clothes to his chest as if they might somehow protect him from the ghostly presence.

Lucifer flinched in surprise at Adam’s outburst, his wide eyes shimmering with the same startled emotion, and he nearly dropped his towel.

“I—I’m sorry,” Adam wheezed, his hand pressed against his chest as he tried to calm his racing heart. “I told you to wait for me! You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep doing that!”

Lucifer’s expression shifted into something akin to a pout, his gaze falling to the floor as his shoulders sagged under the weight of his towel.

“I don’t like to be alone,” he admitted softly, the vulnerability in his voice twisting something deep inside Adam’s chest.

The admission hit Adam harder than he expected. The thought of this fragile, ethereal man feeling so lonely, so abandoned, tugged at his heartstrings.

Guilt swept over him, and he took a deep breath, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I didn’t realize…”

He held out the blue nightshirt and shorts, trying to offer some comfort with his words and actions.

“Here,” Adam said gently, “You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in. They’re probably a bit big, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

Lucifer’s eyes lifted from the floor, slowly locking onto the clothes in Adam’s hands. There was a strange, almost reverent look in his gaze, as if the simple act of offering him something to wear meant more than Adam could have ever guessed. For a moment, they stood in silence, the soft hum of the storm outside their only witness.

The air between them thickened, charged with a tension that Adam couldn’t quite name. It was as if the room itself had become smaller, the space between them filled with an inexplicable connection—an unspoken understanding that neither of them could voice but both felt in their bones.

Lucifer reached out tentatively, his slender fingers brushing against the fabric of the nightshirt as though testing its reality. His gaze flickered up to meet Adam’s, and for the first time since entering the tavern, a faint smile ghosted across his pale lips.

“Thank you,” Lucifer murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear. But there was warmth in his tone now—a fragile warmth, as if he were afraid to let himself feel it fully.

Adam nodded, his heart doing a strange, uneasy flip in his chest. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly, watching as Lucifer took the clothes from him with a small nod of gratitude.

As Adam turned to give Lucifer some privacy, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something deeper at play here—something far beyond the storm raging outside, or the strange circumstances that had brought this man to his door. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucifer was more than just a lost soul seeking shelter. There was a mystery hidden behind those golden-red eyes, a story that begged to be unravelled.

And despite the strange, almost magical tension in the air, Adam found himself drawn to the idea of uncovering whatever secrets Lucifer was hiding.

For better or for worse, this night was far from over.

Adam tried to keep his eyes focused ahead, desperately attempting to ignore the distracting presence behind him. He didn’t mean to, but Lucifer’s shadow kept catching his attention—long, slender, and oddly ethereal in the dim glow of the lamps. Despite himself, Adam’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but notice the way Lucifer’s pale skin gleamed in the low light. It was almost unnaturally flawless, save for a faint dusting of specks across his shoulders and lower back, like stardust scattered over the night sky.

Adam's heart thudded in his chest as he quickly tore his eyes away, feeling the flush rise in his cheeks. He forced himself to focus on the books he had pretended to be organizing, though his thoughts were a chaotic mess. Why did he keep getting so distracted by Lucifer’s presence? Why was the air between them so charged with an unspoken tension?

He was about to return to his work when he felt a gentle tug on his shirt. Adam froze, his breath catching in his throat, and turned slowly. Lucifer stood right behind him, staring up with those intense golden-red eyes, his pale face framed by damp tendrils of hair. Now fully dressed in Adam’s clothes, Lucifer looked... adorable. The oversized shirt hung loosely on his slight frame, and the shorts, too big for his slender hips, gave him a dishevelled yet endearing look that tugged at something deep within Adam.

A smile, unbidden and soft, tugged at Adam’s lips. “Let me take you back to your room, so you can rest,” he said gently, trying to suppress the strange flutter in his chest.

Lucifer, however, didn’t move. His gaze wandered around Adam's room, taking in the simple furnishings and the warm, cozy atmosphere.

“Whose room is this?” he asked, his voice quiet but curious.

Adam flushed slightly, shifting his weight awkwardly.

“It’s, uh... it’s mine,” he admitted, a little embarrassed at how small and personal the space felt now that Lucifer was in it.

To Adam’s surprise, Lucifer frowned slightly, his expression thoughtful.

“I’ll stay here,” he said softly, as if the decision was already made.

Adam blinked, momentarily taken aback. “No, you can’t.”

But Lucifer didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. He stepped closer, his eyes searching Adam’s face with a quiet intensity that made the air feel heavy again.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice a gentle whisper that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

“This is my room, and... you need your own space to rest.” he replied, chuckling awkwardly, though the tension in the room was thick.

Lucifer continued to stare.

Adam swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for a response. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It wasn’t just that Lucifer was a stranger; it was the overwhelming strangeness of the entire situation. Adam had only just met this man, and yet here he was, standing in his bedroom, asking to stay. The logical part of Adam’s brain screamed that this was madness, that he should insist on boundaries. But there was something about the way Lucifer looked at him—something vulnerable, almost broken.

Before Adam could gather his thoughts, Lucifer inched closer. His voice dropped lower, soft and fragile, like a breeze whispering through the cracks of an old door.

“Please... I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared to be alone.”

The words hit Adam like a punch to the gut. He gasped, his green eyes widening as he looked down at Lucifer, who now stood so close he could feel the chill still lingering in his skin. There was something so raw, so painfully honest in Lucifer’s voice that it left Adam breathless.

In that moment, all of Adam’s reservations crumbled. How could he say no to someone who was so clearly in pain, so desperate for comfort? The fear in Lucifer’s eyes wasn’t just about being left alone for the night—it seemed to run much deeper, like a wound that had never healed.

“Of course…” Adam finally managed to say, his voice softer than he intended. “You can stay.”

Lucifer’s face lit up with a small, almost relieved smile, and it was as though the tension in the room melted away, replaced by a warmth that spread between them. The storm outside continued to rage, the wind howling and rain battering against the windows, but inside, the air was thick with something different now—something fragile, intimate, and strangely magnetic.

Adam could feel his heart racing in his chest as Lucifer stepped closer, until they were standing just inches apart. He hadn’t expected any of this—hadn’t expected a stranger to crash into his life like this, stirring up emotions he hadn’t even known he was capable of feeling. And yet, here he was, his heart pounding in his chest, drawn inexplicably to the quiet sadness that lingered behind Lucifer’s golden-red eyes.

“I promise,” Adam whispered, almost to himself, though he was speaking to Lucifer. “You won’t be alone. I won’t leave you alone.”

Lucifer smiled again, this time a little brighter, a little more genuine. And for a moment, despite the storm raging outside, the world seemed to stand still.

As the two stood there, the storm's relentless howl outside fading into the background, Adam couldn’t help but notice just how fragile Lucifer truly looked. His pale skin almost glowed in the dim light, his frame so thin it seemed like a breath of wind might carry him away. Adam’s heart twisted, a wave of protectiveness rising within him. Gently, he placed a hand on Lucifer’s cold, delicate shoulder.

“You should lie down and try to sleep,” Adam murmured softly, his voice carrying a note of concern.

He began to guide Lucifer toward the plush, inviting bed, its thick quilts and soft pillows promising warmth and comfort. Lucifer’s red-gold eyes flicked nervously between the bed and Adam, as though unsure of what to do next. He stumbled slightly, his bony feet dragging as Adam coaxed him toward the soft mattress.

Wordless, Lucifer sat down, his movements stiff and tentative. Adam pulled back the heavy blankets, making sure they were arranged just right before gesturing for Lucifer to settle in. The man moved with hesitation, almost as if he didn’t belong in such a warm, safe space. But it wasn’t until Adam turned to step away that Lucifer’s cold hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with surprising urgency.

“Please,” Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire and the distant roar of the storm. Adam looked down, startled by the pleading in Lucifer’s eyes—those haunting, golden-red eyes that now seemed larger, more vulnerable.

“Lay down with me. Only until I fall asleep.”

For a moment, Adam was frozen, torn between the undeniable strangeness of the situation and the deep, magnetic pull he felt toward this man. There was something in Lucifer’s gaze, something raw and aching that made it impossible for Adam to refuse. It wasn’t just fear—it was loneliness, the kind that settled deep in one’s soul and took root.

Lucifer's eyes held a desperation that tugged at Adam's heartstrings. How could he say no? Every instinct told him to help, to ease whatever invisible burden Lucifer was carrying. Without saying a word, Adam gave a small nod, his chest tightening as he knelt beside the bed and slipped off his shoes. Slowly, he climbed onto the bed, his movements hesitant at first, unsure if this was really happening. He could feel the heat of Lucifer's gaze on him the entire time, that quiet intensity never wavering.

Lucifer scooted over just enough to make room for Adam, his frail body sinking into the thick blankets. He lay down on his side, facing Adam, his eyes never leaving his. There was something ethereal about the way Lucifer moved, like he didn’t quite belong in this world—or at least, not in Adam’s world.

Tentatively, Adam lay down beside him, keeping a respectful distance at first. The warmth of the bed instantly enveloped him, but it was the presence of Lucifer, so close and so quietly vulnerable, that made his heart race. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room the soft patter of rain against the windows and the distant rumble of thunder. It felt strangely intimate, lying there in the dim light, with the storm raging outside.

Lucifer's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breathing shallow but steady. Adam watched him quietly, his heart pounding in his chest. There was something magnetic about this man, something that made it hard to look away. But then Lucifer shifted, moving just a little closer, his slender fingers brushing against Adam’s arm. Adam stilled at the touch, his breath hitching slightly.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt this... safe,” Lucifer murmured, his voice soft and distant, as if he were speaking to himself more than to Adam. “It’s strange.”

Adam swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

“You’re safe here,” he said gently, the words coming out almost automatically. “I promise.”

Lucifer’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though his eyes remained closed. He moved closer still, their bodies now almost touching, and Adam could feel the chill radiating from him. Instinctively, without thinking, Adam shifted too, pulling the thick quilt higher around Lucifer’s shoulders and wrapping an arm around him, as though to shield him from the cold.

Lucifer’s breath hitched softly, and for a moment, Adam feared he had crossed a line. But then Lucifer leaned into him, his head resting against Adam’s chest. His body was cold, but the vulnerability in that simple gesture was enough to warm the space between them.

“Thank you,” Lucifer whispered, his voice so faint it was almost drowned out by the storm.

Adam didn’t respond with words, instead tightening his embrace ever so slightly. He didn’t know why, but in that moment, it felt right—like he was meant to be there, holding Lucifer in the warmth of his bed while the storm raged on outside. As Lucifer’s breathing slowed and deepened, Adam could feel the tension begin to melt away from his fragile form.

Lucifer’s hand remained on Adam’s chest, a reminder of their strange and sudden connection. And as sleep began to pull Lucifer under, Adam lay awake, listening to the rhythm of the storm outside, wondering just what kind of magic had brought this mysterious, broken man into his life.

In the flickering firelight, Adam stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. The storm might have driven Lucifer to his door, but Adam knew that this was only the beginning of something far more mysterious, and perhaps far more dangerous, than he could ever have imagined.

The tavern had fallen into a deep, eerie silence as the night thickened, the only sound being the soft crackle of the fire in Adam’s small bedroom hearth. The warmth of the bed, the gentle rise and fall of Adam’s chest beside him, lulled Lucifer into a stillness that was almost peaceful. Adam, with his brown and red hair tousled against the pillows, had fallen asleep easily, nestled against Lucifer's side, his arm draped loosely around Lucifer’s waist.

The clock struck 3:00 a.m., a subtle chime echoing through the ancient tavern. Lucifer's eyes, glowing with an ethereal red-gold light, flicked open. He sat up slowly, his movements fluid, almost inhumanly graceful. His gaze fell on Adam’s face, softened in sleep. There was something pure about him, something gentle and unguarded that made Lucifer smile—a smile that didn’t quite reach his unnaturally bright eyes.

"You’re so kind," he whispered, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet room, fingers brushing lightly against Adam’s cheek. The touch was delicate, reverent, as though he was tracing something fragile, something precious. "You’re so sweet and kind, Adam. I can see why it has attached itself to you."

Adam stirred in his sleep, nuzzling closer to Lucifer, seeking the warmth of his presence without waking. The innocent gesture made Lucifer’s smile deepen, a mix of tenderness and something far darker. He gently pushed back the strands of Adam’s hair that had fallen across his face, his cold fingertips lingering against the warmth of his skin.

"I think I will take its place," Lucifer whispered, leaning down so close his breath ghosted over Adam’s lips. "But I’ll make sure our bond is stronger. Ten times stronger."

He let his lips brush against Adam’s, a barely-there kiss, tasting the sweetness of his breath, feeling the softness of his mouth. Lucifer sighed in pleasure, pulling back with a look of almost regret, but it was fleeting, replaced by something darker, something far more dangerous. His eyes, once so gentle, darkened—pupils narrowing into demonic slits as his true nature peeked through.

Without a sound, Lucifer slipped out from the bed, leaving the warmth behind without a second thought. He stood beside Adam, his tall figure casting a long shadow that flickered in the firelight, his once soft expression now twisted into something predatory. He bent down, fingers tracing the lines of Adam’s face—the ridge of his nose, the curve of his lips. The hunger in Lucifer's eyes deepened.

"I want more than your kindness," he sang softly, a whisper of a melody that hung in the air like a dark lullaby. "I want everything."

Lucifer leaned down again, pressing his lips to Adam’s in a slow, deliberate kiss. His cool fingers traced a path from Adam’s cheek down to his throat, lingering there as if feeling the steady pulse beneath. He kissed along Adam’s jaw, his lips brushing feather-light over his skin, leaving a trail of icy tingles that made Adam stir in his sleep. Lucifer’s tongue flicked out, tasting the delicate flesh of his neck, and he pulled back with a sigh, his face alight with desire and something far more insidious.

"I don’t just want your soul," Lucifer whispered, his voice taking on a lilting, almost sing-song tone. "I want your love, your devotion... I want you completely."

He pressed more kisses to Adam’s skin, softer now, almost tender, as if savouring the moment. But there was a hunger behind every touch, a need that went beyond mere affection. Lucifer's sharp teeth grazed Adam's throat, and he let out a soft, shuddering breath before pulling away, running his tongue over his own lips as though relishing the taste.

"But first..." Lucifer’s voice dropped, his face darkening as shadows seemed to ripple over his features. The glow in his eyes sharpened, pupils narrowing further as small, curved horns began to push through his golden hair. "I need to get rid of the pest."

His fingers trailed down Adam’s chest, lingering over his heart as though feeling the life pulsing beneath the surface.

"I’ll be back soon, my love," Lucifer whispered, his tone dripping with dangerous promise. "Let me take care of our tavern first."

Adam whimpered softly in his sleep, his body instinctively shifting toward Lucifer as if seeking his presence. Lucifer’s grin stretched wider, exposing the sharp points of his teeth as he let out a low, satisfied chuckle. A long, sleek tail slipped from beneath the borrowed black shorts, swaying lazily in the air as Lucifer stood up straight.

"I won’t be gone long," he promised, his voice low and sultry. His eyes gleamed with dark anticipation as he turned toward the door, casting one last glance at Adam's sleeping form before slipping into the shadows.

"Let the hunt begin..."

A soft giggle escaped his lips as he moved silently into the tavern, the darkness swallowing him whole. His voice drifted through the still air, a haunting melody that seemed to echo through the walls.

"I'm so hungry," he purred to himself, his smile widening as his demonic form began to fully manifest, horns gleaming and tail flicking with excitement. "I haven’t eaten in such a long time."

Lucifer moved through the darkened tavern like a shadow, his steps silent, deliberate, as if he were part of the very night itself. His golden-red eyes gleamed with wicked amusement, a predatory glow that flickered in the low light of the dying fire in the hearth. His sleek tail swayed behind him like an amused cat, the sharp tip curling with anticipation, flicking lazily from side to side. His horns had grown sharper, gleaming faintly as they lengthened, curving in a way that hinted at the immense power coiling just beneath his surface.

A low chuckle escaped his lips, soft and mocking, as he scented the air. The tavern was empty, silent, but Lucifer knew better. The other demon—the pest—was still here, hiding, trembling in the shadows like a coward.

"Oh, you poor, wretched thing," Lucifer purred, his voice laced with sweet venom as he stalked through the main hall of the tavern, his gaze shifting from shadow to shadow. His footsteps were slow, purposeful, as he moved past the tables and chairs, brushing his fingers along the wooden surfaces as if savouring the moment. "Do you even know who I am? Or are you too far beneath me to recognize power when it’s in your midst?"

Silence greeted him, but Lucifer's grin only widened. His voice, darkly playful, filled the empty space as he taunted the unseen demon lurking nearby.

"I’m insulted, truly," he continued, the amusement in his tone thickening as he weaved his way through the tavern, each step deliberates, calculated. "Still here, even after you must’ve sensed me, after you should’ve known to run the moment, I stepped through that door. But no—you stayed. How pathetic."

Lucifer’s tail flicked again, the tip swaying like a pendulum, and his sharp eyes flickered towards the deeper shadows, where the low-ranked demon undoubtedly cowered. He could feel its weak, pitiful presence—feeble compared to his own, like a mere insect trying to survive in the presence of a lion.

"How long have you been feeding on my Adam?" Lucifer’s voice grew darker, more dangerous, but there was still a trace of a smile on his lips. "Clinging to him, draining him while you hide in the corners like the vermin you are. Did you really think you could last forever? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

He paused, inhaling deeply, savouring the lingering scent of the demon’s essence—a foul stench to his refined senses. Lucifer’s lips curled in disdain, but he didn't lose his amusement. Instead, he let out a light laugh, shrugging his shoulders as if the creature’s weakness was beneath his concern.

"No matter. It ends tonight anyway," Lucifer cooed, his voice a soft lullaby of impending doom. "You should’ve run while you had the chance."

Lucifer’s smile twisted into something far more sinister as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes gleaming with hellish delight as they scanned the darkened room. His footsteps were soft, almost gentle, but they carried the weight of impending violence, of inevitable destruction. He was in no rush; after all, this was his hunt, his game, and he wanted to savour it.

"You’re not very good at hiding, are you?" Lucifer teased, his voice dripping with mockery. "So weak. So pitiful. You can’t even speak, can you? Too frightened to show yourself. How disappointing."

The shadows shifted, but no response came, just as Lucifer expected. His grin widened, flashing the points of his sharp teeth, and his eyes darkened, becoming almost pitch-black, as if the fires of Hell themselves were glowing deep within them.

And then he sensed it—a tremor, faint but unmistakable, coming from behind the pantry door. Lucifer’s grin stretched wider, his sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light as he turned his head toward the source of the pitiful presence.

"Found you~" he whispered, his voice a sweet, haunting melody.

Without hesitation, Lucifer strode toward the pantry, his tail flicking in excitement. The door swung open with a soft creak, and there, cowering in the shadows, was the demon—a wretched, trembling thing barely worthy of being called such. Its presence was weak, pathetic compared to Lucifer’s.

Lucifer's eyes darkened further, glowing like embers in the night, and a small flame flickered to life between the tips of his horns, casting an eerie glow in the room. A serpent, sleek and black, curled itself around the flame, its body coiling like a halo around his horns. Lucifer’s grin was terrifying now, wide and sharp, his hunger palpable.

As he stepped closer, his back shuddered, and with a sudden, violent burst, six monstrous wings erupted from his slender form, towering behind him like the wings of a dark god. They shimmered with a hellish glow, casting deep, rippling shadows along the walls, though his t-shirt remained pristine, as if reality itself bent to Lucifer's will.

The demon whimpered, but no sound escaped its lips as Lucifer loomed over it, his presence overwhelming, suffocating.

"I told you," Lucifer whispered, his voice as soft as silk, yet dripping with malice. "It ends tonight."

There was no scream. No sound at all as Lucifer devoured the lesser demon, his body absorbing its essence with an ease that was almost effortless. The tavern remained deathly quiet, the only sound being the faint crackle of the fire back in Adam’s room. Lucifer straightened himself, his eyes glowing once again with that soft red-gold light, his wings folding gracefully behind him as the serpent curled tighter around his horns.

With a satisfied hum, Lucifer turned away, his grin fading into a look of contentment as he made his way back to the cozy warmth of Adam’s bed. He slipped under the thick quilts without a sound, pressing himself against Adam’s sleeping form. He wiggled closer, nestling into Adam’s arms, his tail swaying lazily behind him as he settled in. The warmth was delicious, comforting, and Lucifer sighed happily, his belly full and his soul content.

He licked his lips, savouring the lingering taste of the weaker demon, and whispered softly into the quiet room, "Don’t worry, Adam... you won’t ever feel like that again. I’ve eaten them."

Adam only snored softly in response, completely unaware of the dark presence he had allowed into his tavern, oblivious to the danger that now lay beside him, so close, so intimate. Lucifer smiled to himself, content and full, resting his head against Adam's chest as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

For now, all was quiet. All was well.

Lucifer closed his eyes, drifting into a peaceful slumber with Adam nestled at his side, his sharp grin fading into a soft, satisfied smile.

Lucifer’s voice was a silky, hypnotic purr as he spoke, his lips curling into a devilish smile. “I’ll ensure all your dreams come true, Adam,” he whispered, his words dripping with promises of temptation and pleasure. His long, sleek tail swayed behind him, curling through the air like a contented cat, amused and full of dark joy.

“All you’ve got to give me in return,” Lucifer continued, his golden-red eyes gleaming as they locked onto Adam’s sleeping form, “Is yourself.”

He bent down, brushing his cool lips against Adam’s ear, his breath sending a shiver through the slumbering man. Lucifer’s hand slid down Adam’s arm, feather-light, as though savoring every inch of his touch. His voice dropped even lower, a seductive murmur that danced on the edge of Adam’s subconscious.

“Oh, Adam,” he purred, “As long as you do as I say... we’ll be so happy together. Running our tavern, filling it with guests, laughter, and warmth.”

His smile widened, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim firelight. “They’ll never know the truth—never know what we truly are. But you, my dear, will have everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Lucifer’s tail swished again, the tip flicking with mischief as he traced the lines of Adam’s face, his eyes dark with possessive hunger.

“I'll make sure you never want for anything. No pain, no loneliness... Just us. Our little world. Doesn't that sound perfect?”

Adam murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, unaware of the dark entity by his side. Lucifer’s eyes gleamed, watching the gentle rise and fall of Adam's chest, and for a moment, his expression softened into something almost tender. But it didn’t last long.

“You’ll be mine, Adam,” Lucifer whispered, his voice sweet as poison. “Forever.”

With one last soft kiss to Adam’s brow, Lucifer slipped back under the covers, pulling Adam close to his side. The night stretched on, quiet and undisturbed, but the air in the room had shifted—charged with dark energy and whispered promises.

Everything changed for Adam overnight, as if a spell had been cast upon his life, turning his quiet tavern into a bustling haven of activity. He had no idea how or why this had happened, but the transformation was undeniable. His once modest inn, where he seldom had more than three guests at a time, suddenly overflowed with visitors. The sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and lively conversation now filled the tavern’s halls, and while it was thrilling, it was also overwhelming. He was stretched thin, juggling a flood of tasks he’d never imagined handling all at once.

Thankfully, Lucifer was by his side. Adam couldn’t even begin to express the gratitude he felt for him. Lucifer had been nothing short of a miracle, helping to manage the tavern with effortless grace, attending to guests as if he had always been part of Adam’s world. His charm was magnetic, his presence soothing.

Overnight, Lucifer seemed to become a new person—more vibrant, more expressive. He laughed more, and his smile, Adam noticed, was enchanting, warm and genuine. It caught Adam off-guard how much his heart would flutter when their eyes met, Lucifer’s golden-red gaze gleaming with an otherworldly light. The way Lucifer always happened to be there when something went wrong—a guest upset, a sudden breakdown in the tavern’s equipment—it was as if he anticipated the chaos before it even happened, stepping in to handle it with calm precision. And always with that smile, that captivating, slightly mischievous grin.

Adam often felt guilty, watching Lucifer work so tirelessly beside him. The tavern had never been this busy, and while the increased business was a blessing, it was a double-edged sword. He couldn't keep up alone, and yet, Lucifer never once complained. Adam had even mentioned off-handedly that he might need more help. A day later, a small, strange woman named Nifty appeared, bubbly and eager to work as a maid in exchange for accommodation. Then there was the night Adam half-jokingly said they could use a bartender—and sure enough, a surly man named Husk showed up at his door, willing to pour drinks in the evenings. It was uncanny. Each time Adam voiced a need, someone came along to fill it.

It wasn’t until one quiet afternoon, with the tavern finally settling into a comfortable hum, that Adam found himself sitting beside Lucifer, reviewing the tavern’s bank books. Lucifer was curled up next to him, head resting on Adam’s shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his bicep, purring softly. Adam frowned at the rows of numbers on the page, confusion knitting his brow.

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer’s voice was a low, curious murmur as he lifted his head to peer into Adam’s face. His expression was soft, but there was something sharp in his eyes, always watching.

Adam sighed, his frustration evident.

“It’s just the books,” he muttered, tapping the pages. “I can’t make sense of them anymore. With all the new business, the numbers are all over the place. It’s like I can’t keep track of anything.”

Lucifer hummed, glancing down at the ledger.

“Let me see,” he said, his voice smooth and soothing. Adam handed him the book, watching as Lucifer’s eyes quickly scanned the figures.

“I feel... kinda stupid,” Adam admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Do you think less of me? For not being able to manage my own place?” His tone was uncertain, laced with vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show.

Lucifer’s response was immediate, his grip on Adam’s arm tightening as he leaned closer.

“Not at all,” he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “Don’t ever think that, Adam. You’ve done more than most could handle, especially with how quickly everything’s changed. You’re doing incredibly well.”

Adam's heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Lucifer’s voice. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way Lucifer looked at him, like he truly meant every syllable.

Lucifer shifted his gaze back to the books. “But... maybe we should hire someone to handle the numbers. An accountant, perhaps?” he suggested, his tone light but thoughtful.

Adam groaned at the thought. “I’d love to, but they’re expensive. I got lucky with Nifty and Husk, but... I’m not sure I can afford someone else right now.”

A slow grin spread across Lucifer’s face, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Actually,” he began, his voice slipping into a smooth, almost conspiratorial tone, “I might know someone. My daughter from a previous marriage. She’s excellent with management—hotels, inns, you name it. She’d love to come work here.”

Adam blinked in surprise. “You have a daughter?”

His eyes widened with interest. “And she’d really want to work here?”

Lucifer chuckled, his hand tracing gentle circles on Adam’s arm as he continued. “She’d be perfect. And she wouldn’t even ask for much—just a place to stay, like Nifty. Though... she might want to bring her girlfriend with her. Vaggie’s her name. She’s no-nonsense, the type to keep things running smoothly. Now I think about it, Vaggie would make a good manager too.”

Adam considered the offer, his eyes brightening at the possibility.

“If you don’t mind... I’d love to have them,” he said, the relief evident in his voice.

Lucifer’s grin widened, his purring deepening as he leaned in closer. “Oh, Adam... I don’t mind at all.”

Within the hour, Adam found himself face-to-face with Lucifer’s daughter, Charlie, and her girlfriend, Vaggie. Their arrival had been so sudden, so seamless, it left Adam with a sense of whiplash. One moment, he was talking with Lucifer about needing help; the next, the two young women stood before him, bright-eyed and ready to move in. It was as though they had materialized out of thin air, bags already packed. Adam couldn’t deny he was relieved, even if a bit unnerved by how fast everything was happening.

Charlie, with her bubbly, infectious energy, had a natural knack for leadership. Within hours of stepping foot into the tavern, she began reorganizing things, setting up new systems with the kind of expertise one would expect from someone who had been managing inns for years. Vaggie, quieter but sharp-eyed, followed close behind, her no-nonsense attitude ensuring that things ran smoothly. Together, they transformed the place in a way Adam had never imagined. Business boomed, guests were happier, and the tavern itself felt... revitalized.

But as the days passed, there was a certain undercurrent—something just beneath the surface that Adam couldn’t quite put his finger on. A quiet tension that often sparked in Lucifer’s eyes, though it never seemed directed at him. Until one night.

That evening, after another long day, Adam found a beautifully wrapped package waiting for him on the tavern's doorstep. Inside was a lovely, old-fashioned radio—polished wood and brass dials gleamed under the soft lighting of his room. It was vintage, elegant, and utterly charming. There was even a handwritten note from an "admirer," which made Adam smile. He wasn’t sure who had sent it, but the gift felt thoughtful and quaint, and he was eager to show Lucifer.

When Lucifer entered their shared room later that night, Adam excitedly gestured to the radio, already positioned on the bedside table. But the moment Lucifer laid eyes on it, his entire demeanor changed. His casual smile faltered, and his expression tightened into something dark, almost dangerous.

It was as though the very sight of the radio offended him.

“Is everything alright?” Adam asked, concern lacing his voice as he watched Lucifer step closer to the device, his movements slow and deliberate.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a strained smile. “Where did you get this?” he asked, voice low and tightly controlled.

Adam blinked, a bit taken aback by Lucifer’s sudden shift in mood. He twisted on his side of the bed, grabbing the small card that had come with the radio and handing it over. “It was sent to me by an admirer. I thought it was sweet,” Adam explained, still unsure why Lucifer was reacting so oddly. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Incredibly,” Lucifer replied, though his voice was far from warm. His eyes flickered over the card, the tension in his shoulders growing more pronounced. He breathed sharply through his nose, and his grip on the card tightened as if it were something dangerous. “But Adam,” he added through clenched teeth, “I don’t like having electric things in the bedroom.”

Adam frowned, glancing back at the radio. “But it’s battery-powered…” he said, his tone soft, confused.

Lucifer’s smile grew even tighter, a strained mockery of his usual charm. “Please, Addie,” he said, voice dripping with forced sweetness, “can’t we move it out of the room?”

Adam hummed thoughtfully, sitting up and beginning to crawl off the bed. “I don’t see what the harm would be, but—”

Before he could finish, Lucifer lunged forward, snatching the radio from its place before Adam could touch it. “I’ll handle it!” he said, too brightly, his voice almost unnervingly cheerful. “You stay right here, love. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Adam blinked, startled by Lucifer’s sudden intensity, watching him leave the room with the radio clutched tightly in his hands. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Adam muttered to himself, brow furrowed, “What’s Lucifer’s deal with radios?”

Outside in the darkened corridor, Lucifer’s expression immediately soured. His once-pleasant facade dropped like a mask, revealing a look of pure contempt. He held the radio at arm’s length, glaring at it as though it were something foul.

“You are unwelcome here,” Lucifer hissed, shaking the radio as static crackled ominously from its speakers. “This tavern belongs to me, and you have no place in it.”

The static grew louder, warbling with distortion before a voice, smooth and taunting, crackled through the speaker. “Oh, Lucifer, always so territorial. You’re being far too possessive over such an unimpressive human.”

Lucifer’s grip tightened, his claws slowly extending as he seethed.

“Watch your tongue,” he spat, eyes glowing with a dangerous light. “I don’t care if you’re friends with Charlie. This place is mine.”

A soft, amused laugh echoed from the radio, the static almost mocking. “Ah, poor Lucifer. You’ve gone soft, haven’t you? Such big talk for someone who’s let a human cloud their judgment. Does he even know what you are?”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, his pupils narrowing into slits as a low growl rumbled in his chest.

“What I am is none of your concern,” he said coldly, his voice thick with menace. “And you…”

He shook the radio again, his lips curling into a snarl. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

The voice on the other end laughed again, more softly this time, but it was cut short as Lucifer slammed the radio against the wall. The wood splintered, static screeched, and the radio fell silent.

Breathing heavily, Lucifer watched as the pieces of the radio fizzled out, its presence snuffed like a candle. His gaze lingered on the broken device for a moment longer before he turned, the dim light of the hallway casting long shadows across his form.

With a satisfied smirk, Lucifer whispered, “I warned you.”

He straightened, smoothing his appearance before heading back to Adam. The tension that had gripped him moments ago seemed to melt away, replaced with the smooth, self-assured confidence he wore like armor. He re-entered the room quietly, slipping back under the covers beside Adam, who had fallen into a light sleep.

Lucifer snuggled closer to him, his tail curling possessively around Adam’s leg as he whispered, “Don’t worry, my love. I’m back now, no stupid radios can get to you now~”

Adam stirred slightly, mumbling in his sleep, unaware of the darkness that had just been purged from his tavern—or the demon he had unknowingly allowed into his bed. Lucifer smirked to himself, his cool lips brushing against Adam’s ear as he murmured, “I’ll make sure you’ll only want me~”

The next morning, Adam woke to the soft, golden light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the comforting weight of the blankets cocooning him, but something tugged at the edges of his mind—the radio. He blinked, glancing over at the bedside table where the lovely old-fashioned radio had been placed the night before. It was gone.

Adam frowned and sat up slowly, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. The room felt a little quieter, almost unnervingly so, without the faint static hum the radio had given off. He turned to Lucifer, who was lounging on the other side of the bed, his golden-red eyes half-lidded with contentment. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Lucifer?” Adam began, his voice soft as he glanced around the room. “Where did you put the radio?”

Lucifer’s eyes flickered, a sharp gleam passing through them before his expression softened into a bright, almost too-bright smile. He stretched leisurely, his movements fluid and graceful, as though the question amused him.

“Oh, darling,” Lucifer purred, his voice rich and honeyed, “don’t worry about that. It’s taken care of.”

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as his other hand reached out to rest gently on Adam’s thigh. His touch was warm, deliberate, and a little too intimate.

Adam's brow furrowed for a moment, but before he could press further, Lucifer leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Adam’s ear. “Why don’t we talk about something far more interesting?” he whispered, his fingers brushing lightly along Adam’s arm, sending a shiver through him. “Like us.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard as Lucifer’s fingers continued their soft, teasing caress. His cheeks blossomed into a bright, rosy red, the heat rushing to his face almost instantly. He let out a sharp intake of breath, his pulse quickening as Lucifer’s touch sent a flurry of warmth spiralling through him.

“L-Lucifer,” Adam stammered, shyly looking down at his hands, trying to hide the way his lips quirked into a small, bashful smile.

Lucifer, clearly delighted by Adam’s reaction, leaned in even closer, his lips ghosting the edge of Adam’s jaw as he whispered, “Oh, Addie... you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

His fingers slid further up Adam’s arm, drawing little patterns on his skin. “You’ve been working so hard lately. Let me take care of you.”

Adam swallowed thickly, his heart skipping a beat as Lucifer’s words wrapped around him like silk. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with a tension that was both exciting and confusing. Adam had never been good with such open flirtation, and the way Lucifer looked at him—as if he were the only thing in the world that mattered—made his head spin.

“Y-you really think so?” Adam asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to meet Lucifer’s gaze, but the intensity in those golden-red eyes made him glance away, his smile growing wider despite his attempts to stay composed.

Lucifer chuckled softly, his lips brushing dangerously close to Adam’s ear, sending another shiver down his spine.

“Of course, I do,” he murmured, his voice a low purr.

 “You deserve to be cherished, my sweet Adam. You deserve all the affection I can give you.” His fingers slid to the back of Adam’s neck, his touch firm yet tender, pulling him in closer.

Adam's breath hitched, his entire body tingling with the warmth that Lucifer’s presence seemed to radiate. His mind raced, caught between the fluttering nerves in his chest and the soft, reassuring comfort of Lucifer’s touch. He wasn’t used to being the centre of someone’s attention like this, and Lucifer’s relentless charm left him feeling unsteady, though undeniably drawn in.

“W-we really should get back to work,” Adam finally managed to say, his voice shaky, though his body betrayed him as he leaned ever so slightly into Lucifer’s touch.

Lucifer’s smile widened, wicked and knowing, as if he could sense Adam’s reluctance wavering. He shifted, bringing himself closer, until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Oh, work can wait,” Lucifer whispered, his lips dangerously close to Adam’s, his breath warm against his skin. “Why not indulge a little, hmm? You’ve been so busy running this tavern… let me make you feel special.”

Adam’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, his face burning with the intensity of the moment. The room seemed smaller, warmer, as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. His green eyes flickered up to meet Lucifer’s gaze, and in that instant, he felt himself teetering on the edge of something dangerously tempting.

Lucifer’s thumb brushed against Adam’s lips, his voice soft and enticing as he whispered, “Wouldn’t you like that, Addie? To let go for a little while? Let me take care of you, just like I always do.”

Adam swallowed hard, his pulse racing as Lucifer’s words wrapped around him like a velvet glove. He knew he should pull away, that there were a hundred things that needed his attention, but in that moment, all he could think about was how close Lucifer was, how warm his touch felt, how much he wanted to close the distance between them.

With a soft, shaky breath, Adam nodded, his lips parting ever so slightly as he whispered, “I... I would.”

Lucifer’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against Adam’s in a feather-light kiss. It was teasing, tender, but enough to send Adam’s mind reeling.

“That’s my good boy,” Lucifer purred, his tail wrapping possessively around Adam’s waist as he pulled him in closer. “I’ll make sure you never feel less then anybody ever again.”

Breathlessly, Adam looped his arms around Lucifer’s neck, the tips of his fingers tracing lightly over the nape of his skin as he pulled him closer. His heart hammered against his chest, the intensity of the moment filling him with a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. The air between them was charged, heavy with the weight of unsaid promises and whispered desires.

Adam's lips brushed back against Lucifer's, tentative at first but growing bolder as he felt Lucifer’s warmth seeping into him. A soft smile tugged at Adam’s mouth, his voice dropping into a playful, almost teasing murmur as he whispered, “And I’ll make sure you never feel lonely again, Luci~”

Lucifer froze for a second, the nickname rolling off Adam’s tongue with a tenderness that caught even him off guard. His golden-red eyes flickered with something dangerous, a possessive gleam as his lips curled into a grin that was both predatory and charmed. He let out a low, rumbling purr from deep within his chest, his tail swaying behind him with cat-like satisfaction.

“Oh, Adam,” Lucifer purred, his voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something more intense. “You’re playing with fire, you know that?” His fingers curled around the small of Adam’s back, pulling him flush against him. “But I must admit... I like it.”

Adam felt a thrill run through him as he gazed into Lucifer's eyes, the heat of their closeness leaving him breathless. The connection between them, once unspoken and tenuous, was now powerfully charged with the spark of something more profound. The tavern, the bustling guests, the overwhelming workload—all of it faded away in that moment. All that existed was the two of them, entwined in this strange, magnetic pull neither could fully understand.

Lucifer’s hand slid slowly up Adam’s spine, his touch sending shivers down his body as he pressed his lips more firmly against Adam’s. This kiss wasn’t teasing or light—it was consuming, demanding, filled with an unspoken promise that made Adam’s heart race even faster. The fire between them roared, its flames licking at the edges of something forbidden, but neither of them seemed to care.

Adam responded eagerly, his hands tightening around Lucifer’s neck, fingers threading through his silky black hair. His breath hitched as Lucifer’s lips left his, trailing down his jaw and to his throat, each kiss sending sparks through his skin. He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as Lucifer’s teeth grazed his pulse point, the sensation both electrifying and intoxicating.

“You’re mine now, Addie,” Lucifer whispered against his skin, his voice a soft growl, filled with possessive hunger. His lips moved lower, brushing the sensitive skin at the base of Adam’s throat. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Adam gasped, his mind spinning as Lucifer’s words wrapped around him like a velvet trap, tightening with each kiss, each caress. He didn’t fight it, didn’t pull away—instead, he leaned into Lucifer, giving himself over to the dangerous allure of the fallen angel in his arms.

“Good,” Adam murmured breathlessly, a playful glint in his eyes as he gazed at Lucifer. “Because I’m not letting you go either.”

Lucifer’s grin widened, sharp and gleaming like the edge of a blade, his eyes darkening with delight at Adam’s response. He tilted his head, brushing a strand of hair from Adam’s face with a gentleness that was at odds with the intensity burning beneath his skin.

“You’ll regret saying that one day,” Lucifer teased, his voice low and velvety. But his eyes gleamed with pride, as though Adam’s words had struck something deep inside him—something that had been longing to be claimed. “But for now... I’ll take it as a promise.”

Lucifer’s lips crashed back into Adam’s, the kiss hungrier this time, more urgent, as though he were trying to devour every part of him, leaving nothing untouched. He tightened his grip on Adam, pulling him even closer.

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the sensation of being so completely enveloped by Lucifer both thrilling and terrifying. But as he kissed Lucifer back, his own fingers exploring the soft ridges of his back, his own desire took hold of him. He felt a strange sense of belonging, as though he had been waiting for this moment—this person—all along.

Lucifer pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against Adam’s lips.

“We’re going to be so good together, Addie,” he whispered, his voice filled with a dark promise. “You and me, ruling this tavern, this world... just you wait.”

Adam smiled, his lips brushing against Lucifer’s in a soft, lingering kiss before he whispered back, “Then let’s make it happen.”

Later that evening, Lucifer stood by the bar, his eyes dark and brooding, watching the busy tavern with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was the same kind of smile he reserved for the “Karens” of the tavern—the difficult guests who demanded everything but never appreciated anything. He despised having to put it on, but tonight, that bitter smile was for someone else entirely.

Across the room, Charlie was animatedly gesturing, her excitement powerful as she introduced him—Alastor.

The moment Lucifer laid eyes on the grinning figure; his stomach churned with irritation. Alastor, with his old-fashioned suit and unsettling permanent grin, strolled into the tavern as if he owned the place. His aura, humming with mischief and something darker, radiated through the room. The moment Charlie had mentioned her "old friend" was coming to help promote the tavern, Lucifer had felt the first stirrings of bitterness.

Now, seeing Alastor standing there, soaking in Charlie’s attention and admiration, Lucifer’s invisible tail twitched in barely concealed frustration. His golden-red eyes flickered dangerously, but he kept that strained smile plastered on his face as Charlie eagerly grabbed Adam by the arm and dragged him across the room.

"Come on, Adam!" she exclaimed, beaming as she pulled him forward. “I want you to meet Alastor! He’s going to help us promote the tavern—this is going to be huge for us!”

Lucifer’s grip tightened around the glass he was holding, the strain causing a faint crack to appear in the delicate crystal. Promote the tavern? The tavern didn’t need more guests, not since he had come into the picture. Business had been thriving—flourishing under his careful watch, his manipulation of fate itself.

But now Alastor? What could that pompous, grinning radio demon possibly offer that Lucifer hadn’t already provided?

Alastor’s eerie, ever-present grin widened as he turned to face Adam, offering a smooth, overly polite bow. “Ah, the famous Adam I’ve heard so much about! A pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve been dying to see what all the fuss is about~”

His voice dripped with a singsong charm, tinged with something far more sinister beneath the surface.

Adam, ever polite, extended his hand, though the unease was clear in his eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, glancing at Charlie, then back at the enigmatic figure before him.

Lucifer watched the exchange from the bar, his fingers digging into the countertop. His irritation only deepened as Alastor took Adam’s hand, shaking it with an exaggerated flourish, as though every moment was part of some grand, twisted performance. The way Alastor’s eyes gleamed, the smugness in his tone—it grated on Lucifer’s every nerve.

Fucking asshole! Even after I gave him that warning, he still dared to show up! Lucifer thought darkly, his smile tightening even more as his patience thinned.

Alastor wasn’t just some flashy distraction. He was a wildcard—an unpredictable force. And worse, he had history with Charlie, a closeness that Lucifer could feel was already weaving its way into the heart of his tavern.

Charlie continued to gush excitedly, explaining her plans with Alastor to help the tavern reach new heights, oblivious to Lucifer’s darkening mood.

Lucifer swallowed down his growing anger, forcing his features to remain composed, even as his thoughts turned more venomous. Alastor had barely been in the tavern for five minutes, and already he was trying to charm his way into Adam’s good graces. It was insulting.

Just as Alastor released Adam’s hand, his gaze drifted towards Lucifer, and for the briefest moment, their eyes locked. The smile Alastor wore twitched, and Lucifer could feel the challenge in it—a silent acknowledgment of the tension between them.

“Ah, Lucifer,” Alastor greeted with a mockingly gracious nod. “It’s been so long. I didn’t realize you’d become such a... fixture here.”

“Oh, I’ve made myself quite comfortable,” he replied, voice deceptively smooth. Lucifer’s jaw clenched, “And you?”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction. “What brings you here after all this time?”

Alastor’s grin only widened, and Lucifer hated the way it didn’t falter for even a second.

“Why, to help, of course!” he said brightly. “Charlie asked, and I simply couldn’t refuse. The potential here, Lucifer... it’s truly remarkable.”

The words were innocent enough, but Lucifer could hear the undercurrent of smugness in his tone. Alastor wasn’t here just to help—he was here to leave his mark, to claim some of the glory Lucifer had already built.

Adam, still standing between the two demons, sensed the tension but seemed unsure of what to do. His eyes darted between them, and when Lucifer finally looked at him, his heart softened—just slightly. Adam’s confusion, his unspoken plea for things to be fine, tugged at Lucifer’s possessive streak.

Lucifer smiled—this time, not so tight-lipped—and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Adam’s waist in a protective, almost territorial gesture.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll work perfectly together,” Lucifer purred, his voice silkier now, meant only for Adam and Alastor to hear. “After all, I’m quite invested in this place. And I take care of my investments.”

Alastor chuckled, the sound low and amused, as if Lucifer’s words were nothing more than an entertaining jest.

“Of course, Lucifer,” he said, his grin never wavering. “I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way.”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed dangerously, and for a split second, his horns were visible and seemed to glint in the dim tavern light. His smile returned, but this time, it was sharper—more predatory.

“Good,” he said softly, his voice a velvet threat. “Because I’d hate for things to get... complicated.”

Charlie, oblivious to the brewing storm between the two, clapped her hands together. “Great! I’m so glad you two are going to get along!”

Adam stood awkwardly, caught between the thick tension that seemed to swirl around Lucifer and Alastor. The two demons clearly had history—bitter, ancient history that Adam could sense even without knowing the details. It made him uncomfortable, a shiver of unease creeping up his spine as he glanced between them. But despite the undercurrent of hostility, he forced a smile, reminding himself that this was a golden opportunity for his tavern.

Charlie’s excitement had been infectious, her belief in Alastor’s ability to help undeniable. So when Alastor offered his assistance, Adam—naïvely, perhaps—accepted it. He barely noticed the way Lucifer’s face twisted with displeasure, the sharp glint in his eyes darkening as Adam agreed. Even when Alastor, ever the showman, swept both Adam and Charlie away with a flourish, Lucifer’s simmering anger went unnoticed.

But Vaggie noticed.

Standing beside Lucifer, her arms crossed and her usual no-nonsense demeanor intact, she let out a dry snort. “He gets on my nerves too,” she muttered, her eyes trailing after Alastor with a distaste that matched Lucifer’s.

Lucifer glanced at her from the corner of his sharp, burning gaze, slightly relieved that he wasn’t alone in his bitterness. “Tell me again how much Charlie cares for him?” he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable.

Vaggie groaned, pinching the bridge of her hooked nose in frustration. “Way too much.”

Lucifer grunted, folding his arms. “Fuck.”

Vaggie let out a breathy agreement, nodding. It was a rare moment of solidarity between the two of them—both unwilling to cross Charlie’s deep affection for the Radio Demon, yet clearly fed up with his presence. Alastor’s charm might have won over Charlie and even Adam, but Lucifer and Vaggie saw the twisted undercurrents beneath the surface.

As the two watched from across the room, Alastor produced a contract from thin air, his ever-present grin widening as he presented it to Adam for review. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed sharply at the sight, his tail flicking with agitation. The scene screamed of trouble, and he knew better than to trust anything that came from Alastor’s hand.

Vaggie straightened up, eyeing the contract warily. “Well, better go make sure there’s no... undertones in that,” she muttered, already moving to intervene.

Lucifer snorted, his voice dripping with dry amusement. “Way ahead of you, Maggie.”

She twitched, side-eyeing him. “Vaggie.”

Lucifer waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “That’s what I said.”

He started walking towards Adam and Alastor with purpose, his footsteps silent but full of intent. Just before he reached them, he tossed over his shoulder, “Now excuse me, I’ve got to make sure my future husband doesn’t accidentally sign his soul away.”

Vaggie blinked, caught off guard by the casual declaration. “Husband? Since when?”

Lucifer cast her a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Since always. He just isn’t aware of it yet.”

Vaggie let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head in exasperation. “Guess it’s true what they say—like father, like daughter.”

Lucifer didn’t respond, his focus solely on Adam, who was innocently thumbing through the pages of the contract, blissfully unaware of the dangers lurking within it. Alastor stood beside him, watching with an almost predatory patience, his grin never faltering.

With a swift, deliberate motion, Lucifer slid up behind Adam, wrapping an arm possessively around his waist. “Darling, are we reading contracts without me now?” he purred, his voice smooth as silk but cold as ice. His touch was gentle, but there was an unmistakable tension in the way he pulled Adam just a bit closer.

Adam blinked, looking up at Lucifer with a mixture of confusion and relief. “I was just... going over it. Alastor said it’s all about the promotion deals for the tavern.”

Alastor chuckled, his voice lilting. “Oh, don’t worry, Lucifer. It’s all perfectly legitimate.”

Lucifer’s smile tightened. “I’m sure it is,” he said sweetly, though his eyes never left the contract. “But you know how these things can be. Sometimes the devil really is in the details.”

Alastor’s grin twitched ever so slightly, a subtle crack in his mask of confidence. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” he said, his tone still saccharine, but there was a flicker of something darker beneath it.

Lucifer’s eyes glinted with the challenge. “Of course not.”

Adam, caught between the two demons, couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling building in his chest. He glanced at the contract again, then back at Lucifer, sensing the tension between them. His voice came out quieter than usual.

“Should I... not sign it?”

Lucifer’s grin softened, becoming more affectionate as he leaned in closer. “Oh, love, it’s entirely up to you. Just know that I’m always looking out for your best interests.”

He let his fingers trail down Adam’s arm, a not-so-subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between them. Adam’s cheeks flushed, his heart skipping a beat as he found himself leaning into Lucifer’s touch.

Vaggie sighed deeply, tying her hair up with practiced ease. She clicked her tongue, her sharp gaze flickering between Lucifer and Alastor, who were locked in a silent but palpable battle of wills. If she didn’t step in soon, there’d be more than just bruised egos. The last thing anyone needed was Adam’s heart failing on him the moment he found out his peaceful tavern was now being run by demons. Worse still, discovering his doting boyfriend was none other than the King of Hell, and his so-called best friend? The Princess herself.

Vaggie rolled her shoulders, muttering under her breath, "Only in this madhouse would someone as innocent as Adam get wrapped up in all this mess."

Her mind flashed to her own days as an executioner, a warrior of the heavens. Though she had fallen long ago, those instincts still pulsed within her, and she was more than capable of keeping two alley cats like Lucifer and Alastor from tearing each other apart. As she secured her crimson ribbon, tightening it with a firm tug, she prepared to step in—before things escalated.

Meanwhile, across the room, Husk and Angel Dust had already made themselves comfortable. Angel lounged lazily on a barstool, a mischievous grin curling his lips as his long legs swung back and forth, while Husk nursed a drink, his eyes barely glancing up from the glass.

“Five bucks says Lucifer snaps first,” Angel Dust purred, flicking a manicured claw towards the tension simmering between the two demons. His smile was wide, gleaming with anticipation.

Husk snorted, not bothering to look up. “You kiddin’ me? Alastor’s too smug to back down. He’ll push Lucifer over the edge first.”

He downed another sip, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in exasperation. “That’s when Vaggie steps in and punches both of ‘em in the face.”

Angel giggled, eyes lighting up. “Oh, I’d pay good money to see that.”

Their shared amusement only grew as they entertained their next prediction.

“And what about Charlie?” Angel mused, stretching luxuriously. “You think she accidentally sets something on fire again?”

“Definitely,” Husk replied flatly. “Her hair’ll go up first. It always does.”

The two shared a conspiratorial look, laughing quietly to themselves, but it was Adam's reaction that interested them the most. Angel Dust leaned in closer, lowering his voice as he whispered, "But the real question is... what happens when sweet, innocent Adam finally puts the pieces together? You think he’ll faint, or just run for the hills?”

Husk chuckled darkly. “Faint. No question. Poor guy’s probably gonna keel over the second he finds out his entire tavern staff’s straight outta Hell.”

Angel Dust tossed his head back, laughing as if the very idea thrilled him. “Oh, I can’t wait to see his face.”

Vaggie, overhearing the conversation, shot them both a murderous glare, her fingers twitching as if itching to follow through with Husk’s prediction. She had no time for their bets or casual amusement—she had a fight to stop. With a final glance back at the room, she took a deep breath and made her way over to the two demons, her patience already thin.

Lucifer and Alastor’s verbal sparring continued in hushed tones. Alastor’s grin never faltered, though his eyes gleamed with something far darker.

“My, my, Lucifer,” Alastor purred, his voice saccharine sweet, “You seem terribly protective of this little tavern. Could it be... you’ve actually gone soft?”

Lucifer’s smile, still tight-lipped, didn’t waver, but the sharp glint in his eyes spoke volumes.

 “I’m merely protective of what’s mine,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. His tail twitched behind him, the tip flicking like an agitated cat ready to strike. “And as long as you’re in my tavern, Alastor, I suggest you remember that.”

Alastor’s grin only widened; the sharp points of his teeth gleaming.

“Oh, but of course, Your Majesty,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Adam, standing between them, felt the tension wrap around him like a suffocating blanket. He tried to smile, but it came out shaky, his voice weak. “Uh... maybe we should take a breather? You know, get back to this later?”

Before things could get any worse, Vaggie stepped in with a cold, steely glare that cut through the air.

“Enough,” she said, her voice firm and no-nonsense. “This is Adam’s tavern, not a playground for you two to settle old grudges. So, unless you both want to explain to Charlie why her beloved tavern went up in flames, I suggest you back off.”

Alastor chuckled lightly, bowing slightly to Vaggie. “Ah, always the voice of reason. How refreshing.”

Lucifer shot him a final glare but allowed Vaggie’s words to pull him back from the edge. He forced a smile, turning his attention fully to Adam.

“You’re right, Addie,” he murmured, his voice softening as he wrapped an arm around Adam’s waist. “Let’s take a breather. Forget this nonsense.”

Adam, caught off guard by the sudden shift, blinked, his cheeks warming again as Lucifer’s attention became more intimate. “Uh... yeah, that sounds good.”

Vaggie, satisfied that she’d managed to defuse the situation for now, shot a final warning glance at Alastor. “Don’t push it, out of fashion prick.”

Alastor’s grin widened, his red eyes gleaming with mischief as he tilted his head, amusement lacing his voice. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As Vaggie walked away to keep a closer eye on the situation, Angel Dust and Husk exchanged glances, both grinning.

“Well, no punches yet,” Angel Dust mused, eyes glinting.

“Give it time,” Husk muttered, smirking. “It’s only a matter of time before this place blows up.”

Angel Dust leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he watched the scene unfold with a satisfied smirk. “Guess we’ll just have to sit back and enjoy the show.”

Adam’s gaze softened as he looked out the window, his mind wandering back to that fateful night when he first met Lucifer. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet the memory was vivid—Lucifer, drenched in rain, looking so small and fragile, barely reacting to anything. The storm that had raged outside had seemed to mirror the emptiness in Lucifer’s eyes back then. He was reserved, distant, a shadow of the figure now standing beside him.

How strange, Adam mused, how much things had changed. Lucifer was like a completely different person these days—expressive, confident, and affectionate. His golden-red eyes sparkled with emotion, and his laugh, once so rare, had become a melody Adam couldn’t help but treasure.

With a hum, Adam’s attention was drawn back to the windows. Dark storm clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon, rolling in like a slow, inevitable tide. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, the sight stirring a familiar unease in his chest.

“Ah…” he exhaled softly, feeling a small shiver run down his spine. The air felt heavy, laden with the promise of another storm. “Looks like there’s another one brewing.”

Lucifer, standing close by, noticed the shift in Adam’s demeanour. His hand, warm and steady, found its way to Adam’s lower back, grounding him in the moment.

"Storms come and go, Addie," Lucifer murmured softly, his voice a low purr, though something dark flickered briefly behind his eyes. "But don’t worry. I’ll make sure this one doesn’t touch you."

Adam smiled, leaning into Lucifer's warmth, comforted by the reassurance. "I hope it’s not as bad as the last one. That storm was… unforgettable."

He chuckled lightly, though the memory of that rainy night lingered in his mind, the night when everything had begun.

Lucifer’s fingers traced lazy patterns along Adam’s back, but his gaze flickered to the storm clouds outside. His expression shifted, a momentary darkness flashing across his features, one Adam didn’t notice. Lucifer’s thoughts wandered back to that night too, though for very different reasons.

The rain had been his refuge then, a perfect cover for his entrance into Adam’s life. He had been weak, but not in the way Adam had thought. No, Lucifer had been biding his time, slipping into Adam’s world quietly, unnoticed. Now, standing here beside Adam, with the storm on the horizon, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Adam, so sweet, so oblivious, still had no idea who or what he had let into his tavern—or his heart.

But that suited Lucifer just fine.

The storm outside might have been brewing, but inside the tavern, everything was going according to plan. Lucifer’s fingers lingered at the nape of Adam’s neck; his touch soft but possessive.

 "Don’t think about the storm, love," he whispered, leaning in closer, his breath warm against Adam’s ear. "Just focus on me. Let me keep you safe."

Adam, still lost in thought, smiled at Lucifer’s words, his heart fluttering at the affection. He didn’t notice the faint smirk tugging at the corner of Lucifer’s lips, nor the way Lucifer’s eyes darkened as he glanced back at the looming clouds.

The storm might have been approaching, but Lucifer had every intention of ensuring Adam remained blissfully unaware of the chaos it might bring.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

land softly

Summary: Ghost & Soap are snowed in at a bed & breakfast. Fleabag voice: This is a love story. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Part 1 - Johnny meets a Giant

“Your destination is on the right,” the GPS chirps, and Johnny works hard to resist the urge to roll his eyes.  That doesn’t stop the involuntary cursing out loud, though, and with both hands on the wheel, Johnny sighs and looks at the rustic inn, cottage, whatever through the window.  

It’s…beautiful.  It stands starkly out against the white snow, looking like it belongs there, somehow, meek and delicate, yet like it knows how to hold its own, has had to hold its own against the dreary December weather.  

It’s no Marriot, but it’ll have to do. 

When he makes his way up the cobbled stone path leading to the front door and steps into the unlocked front room, he’s greeted by silence.  It’s toasty warm inside, attributable partly to the roaring fireplace, he’s sure, but also the cheesy 80s music that plays over an ancient radio.  Not a soul around, though and he walks up to the reception, but there’s no sign of one of those bells he can ring for someone’s attention.  Just before he can do something silly (like scream in frustration at his rotten luck), the front door opens and clicks quietly shut.

The man that walks in is less man and more giant.  He’s tall, but that’s like saying a bear standing up in front of you is tall.  Well, yeah.  

No, this man is tall and big, with broad shoulders and a massive chest.  A giant, truly.  A giant who’s currently glaring at Johnny.  A giant who’s glaring at Johnny…and who’s wearing a face mask ?

“Can I help you, mate?”  His voice is deep, rough, and it makes the hair on the back of Johnny’s neck stand up.  The man smells of smoke and spicy cologne, and his eyes take a leisurely pace looking at Johnny from top to toe.   

When the giant crosses his arms over his chest, Johnny’s eyes are drawn to how the movement dislodges flecks of snow from his shoulders.     

“Uh, ah don’t have a reservation, but have ye…got room for one?”

“Sign outside sayin’ we’re closed,” comes the short reply. “You missed it?”

Johnny sighs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling in exhaustion.  “No I–I didne miss it.  But I need somewhere to sleep tonight, alrate?  It’s cold, and ah’m lost.  Be on me way first thing in the mornin’.”

“We’re closed,” the giant insists, but his eyes flicker to the large windows anyway, and whatever he sees outside makes him sigh and his stance soften.  He uncrosses his arms, starts to take his coat off.  “Fine.  One night.���

“Thank ye kindly, mate,” Johnny murmurs.  He hands his own coat over when glove-covered and impatient fingers motion for it with another soft thanks .  “I’m John,” he says, while he hands over his drivers’ licence.  “Cold and lost, like I said.”

“One night, John.  Like I said.  Fill this out.”  While Johnny quickly jots down his personal information, the periphery of his vision shows the giant fidgeting with the edges of his gloves.  Tattooed skin peeks curiously out at Johnny, and when the fingers freeze, he quickly goes back to the form, a flush crawling up his neck in embarrassment.  

“King rooms are on the second floor,” the man says, giving the form a quick once over, and starts to walk deeper into the inn, though he freezes and whirls around suddenly to address Johnny.  “Need a hand wi’ those?”  Johnny looks down at his bags by his feet.  

Johnny could almost laugh.  “I’m alrate,” he confirms.  “You got a name?”

“Yes,” the giant says, and about turns, giving Johnny no choice but to follow.  

“Army?”  Johnny guesses, the giant’s posture and movements and rigidity a dead give away.  Also the muscles on muscles.  “Air Corps, meself,” he adds, and winces at the bitterness in his voice, hoping that he’s the only one who can hear it.  “Got out some time ago, though.”     

“Special Forces.”   

Johnny sighs and gives up, too exhausted to carry on the charade of being politely enquiring towards someone who clearly didn’t want the social interaction.  The big guy finally brings him to the end of the corridor, stopping and pointing at the two doors that he proceeds to open.  “Both king rooms, both the same.  You’re welcome to either.  John,” he adds, as though suddenly remembering his manners.  

Johnny glances inside and sees two pristine rooms, simple luxury in the middle of nowhere.  Only one has a bay window, though, and so he motions to that one.   He gets handed a key and his guide takes a step back.  “I’ll get out of ye way tomorrow mornin’, I promise.”

A stern good night is the only response he gets.  With that anti-climatic farewell, he hears the giant clomp his way downstairs, and then the inn goes entirely silent.     

For a fleeting minute, Johnny finds himself hoping for a blizzard.  There’s nothing he loves more than a mystery, after all.  He finds that, all things considered, he’s not too fussed about making it home in time for Christmas.  But there is someone he needs to call first. 

“Yer a fool, Johnny,” his sister chides before she even says hello.

“Hullo,” he says, chuckling, and she tuts in response.  

“Yer a fool,” she repeats.  “You’re not goin’ to make it home, pup, I know it.  I saw yer text!”

“Ah may not,” he admits.  “Ah’m so sorry!  I’ll try but the weather is just—”

“Dinnae fash, Johnny, ah get it.  Where are ye anyway?”

“This bed & breakfast in Yorkshire.  It’s alrate, I’ve got a roof above m’head for tonight.  And tomorrow, if ah need it!”

“But mam’s going to be—”

“Relieved.  Mam’s going to be relieved, she dinnae want me there in the first place.”

“Johnny…”

Johnny feels a little guilty making his sister endure Christmas with their parents, but at least she’ll have her husband and her toddler with her.  She’ll forgive him.  

Their mother?  Not so much.  

“It’s alrate, love, I get it.  I wouldnae make good company anyway.”  He grins.  “Give me little niece a kiss from her uncle Johnny, aye?  Tell her I love her.”  

“Tell her yerself!”  There’s a small pause, and Johnny’s grin drops, knowing what’s coming. “Ye’ll try ye best to come?”  Her voice is small and hopeful, and he feels a pressure inside his chest, making his heart squeeze painfully. 

“I will.”

They say their goodbyes and Johnny adds to the long list of promises he’s only been able to make.

[comfort-questing]

she'd guessed from the start that the three of them weren't all leaving the inn the next morning. she'd seen them arrive, the two in their rain-spattered cloaks supporting the third of their group between them, hood pulled low, and harsh breathing the only thing she'd heard from them as they passed her on the way to the counter. just a glimpse of a sallow, pain-drawn face as they'd paid the innkeeper and made their slow mutual way up the creaky staircase - and then she'd had to run because the table by the window needed another round of drinks.

she'd offered, to the man who came back downstairs later, his unshaven and bruised face harried: "you lot all right? you were looking a little rough just now, do you need anything?"

he hadn't seemed to expect an inquiry from the lowest-ranking barmaid, and startled a moment, but then answered easily enough. "is there any healer in this town?"

"just Brant, he's the apothecary. little place under the giant oak tree by the cornfield. his door is shut for the night but you can go find him tomorrow if you need." it hadn't used to be just that, but town was a generous descriptor for whatever was going on in their clearing between the riverbend and the roadside. if you didn't work at the inn, or had your older brother or dad working at the inn, there wasn't much reason to stay around.

the man shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the crowded room. "we... met with some troublesome people on the way here. nobody likely to bother any of you good folk, of course, or in a place with others around. but..."

he must have observed her skeptical look, because he sighed, then, and when he spoke again his voice was softer still, as weary as his eyes.

"a stab wound from an associate of mine, three days ago. we had a disagreement and she got between us. it's the ... kind of thing she does."

there was a sorrow hanging all about his words that he didn't seem about to spill to a strange barmaid, and she didn't blame him for that, but she couldn't leave him alone in it either. she re-settled the tray in her aching arms. "if you need to, you can wake up Brant," she said. "he's had it happen before."

he didn't answer, but nodded, and turned to the door and the rainy night outside.

-

she didn't see them again until half-past ten o'clock, after the last of the supper dishes were washed and the only folk at the tables were the stragglers who'd probably fall asleep there anyway. Cook had given her leave for the night and Mari and Joan were off to their homes and families, and so there was nothing between her and her closet and sleeping cot besides her own meddlesome curiosity and strange pity.

still, she'd lingered in the hallway, and seen the door open, and the man from before and one of his friends (now drier than before but equally as unkempt as his companion) step out and close it softly behind them. his friend had a basin of water in his hands, and a bundle under his arm.

" - see in the morning," he was saying, and then, "Rhyes doesn't forget things like this."

"she won't be able to travel," said his friend, "that's clear enough - "

"did you find Brant, sir?" she said, maybe too suddenly because it made him jump, but they'd have to go past her to get to the stairs anyway.

"I did. thank you - " he paused.

"Talya, sir."

"Talya. yes."

and then, because they were both watching her with the distinct expression of people who desperately needed something to go well in their lives right then - "any way I can help?"

-

there were ways to help, it seemed. hot water, and rags, and another blanket. they let Talya in when she returned, perhaps a quarter of an hour later, their soft voices falling to silence at her knock.

they didn't seem to want to give her their names, those two men, and the hunted look in their eyes had only seemed to intensify over the hours. but she heard one of them murmur Merrim over the motionless figure on the bed, and saw her eyelids flicker open in response - wide muddled pale eyes unfocused in the lamplight, sliding from face to shadowed ceiling to closing door.

"it's all right," the man said, "she's a friend."

it gave Talya an obscure feeling of delight to be called a friend, nicer than hey you there or girl or whatever else. she set down the fresh basin of water on the three-legged table and undid the bundle of blanket and rags.

from the bed, the woman's gaze followed her, sweat-matted brown hair tousled around a fever-flushed face. she'd curled one hand around the man's hand where he knelt by her, and the other arm hidden under the blanket, bloodied bandages just barely visible at the shoulder.

"we can't stay." her voice was hoarse. "we can't - "

"you're not going anywhere," said the other man, from where he sat cross-legged by the door. "we'll figure it out."

"then - leave me and go - idiots," she said, with the air of someone who'd said it several times before, her eyes slipping shut again. "because if he - "

"shh, shh, let's wait till morning." the man rubbed a thumb across the back of her hand, then clambered up. "let's get the bandages changed, all right?"

there were a lot of layers of dirty, blood-clotted bandage to remove, and Talya helped, since one of the two men seemed intent on keeping watch by the closed door and startling at every footstep in the hallway instead. Merrim seemed to be asleep at first, but now and again the clench of the corners of her mouth, the shivery tensing and release of her body, betrayed the pain of it. the bitter, herbal scent of the balm they'd gotten from the apothecary didn't quite mask the stink of blood and a poorly-healing wound.

"I'm sorry," the man would whisper, now and again, and then, "should've been me."

"numbskull," said Merrim, barely to be heard, but with a twitch of her lips towards something like a smile.

cleaning the deep, messy stab-wound just beneath the hollow of her right shoulder made her cry out, though, in small sharp whimpers that made Talya cringe to hear. the man by the door would jump as well, glancing towards the door with each cry.

"do you think someone's after you - here?" Talya had to ask, in a momentary spurt of company loyalty and practicality. the innkeeper liked to know things like that.

"not yet," said one of the men, and "maybe," the other, almost on top of his companion.

well - no use asking that again. Talya had only to settle down by the bed, and in a sudden instinct reached out to stroke the back of Merrim's clenched fist, among the rumpled covers.

"you can sleep here tonight, anyway," she said, inanely, but perhaps the woman heard her; anyway, her fingers fluttered a little, and grasped at Talya's, sweat-slippery and desperate.

better to put off decision-making for a bit, maybe.