#cage sconce | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doumadono · 1 month ago

Text

Warnings: dark ending, smut, exhibitionism, blood, overstimulation, p in v, creampie, death

Summary: as the high priestess, you lead a ritual to summon the powerful King of Curses, offering your body and soul as a willing sacrifice, only to meet your inevitable demise at the hands of the very deity you revere

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

The torches crackled and hissed in their sconces, bathing the ancient temple in flickering light and casting shadows that danced across the walls. Your heart pounded against your ribs like a caged animal, the anticipation making your palms sweat as you stood in front of the altar, your fingers fumbling slightly with the crimson silk robe draped over your shoulders. You weren’t supposed to be nervous, not when you had performed similar rituals countless times before - but tonight was different.

Around you, the other believers swayed in unison, their eyes closed, their lips moving in fervent, whispered chants. Their voices rose and fell, a symphony of devotion that vibrated through your bones, a palpable force that seemed to draw power from the very air itself. You could feel it - thrumming through your veins, wrapping around your heart, filling your lungs until every breath you took felt heavy with anticipation.

Tonight, you were calling upon the King of Curses himself.

"Brothers, sisters," you called out, your voice commanding yet gentle, a whisper that carried power, "tonight, we offer ourselves to him. Our bodies, our souls - everything belongs to our Lord Sukuna."

Your words were met with a chorus of whispered agreements, their voices merging into one, an endless, hypnotic hum that resonated through the chamber. You took a step forward, the hem of your crimson robes trailing across the cold stone. You could feel it - a rising tide of energy that thrummed beneath your feet, creeping up your legs, twisting around your spine like a serpent.

The silk robe draped over your shoulders was barely a barrier, translucent, whisper-thin, catching the dim light of the torches and clinging to the curves of your body. It was the only thing shielding you from the eyes of other believers. As you moved, it slid against your skin like a lover’s touch, revealing glimpses of bare flesh, the swell of your hips, the curve of your breasts and the perky nipples that hardened due to the cold air in the chamber.

You had studied ancient texts, whispered tales passed down through generations, and listened to the trembling voices of elders. They spoke of a creature, a god-like demon, who could bring salvation or damnation with a flick of his wrist. And you needed him. You needed his power, his strength, to protect what was left of your home from the relentless enemy forces that threatened to devour everything you loved.

Your master had always warned you that summoning such a powerful entity could be dangerous. In fact, most would consider it sheer madness. But you had practiced, studied, and prepared every day for this moment. And the time had finally come.

You took a deep breath, pushing the doubts and fear from your mind. The ritual demanded absolute confidence, unwavering faith, and total submission. "Great Ryomen Sukuna," you began, your voice strong despite the fear coursing through your veins, "I call upon you, the one true King of Curses, to grace us with your presence. We offer our devotion, our loyalty, and our souls as tribute."

The wind seemed to howl in response, the flames of the torches flickering more violently as if acknowledging your words.

There was no turning back now.

You repeated the incantation, your tone growing more fervent, your body swaying with the rhythm of the ancient words.

The wind howled around you stronger, rustling your hair and the hem of your ceremonial robe. With trembling fingers, you took the knife from the altar, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. "O, King of Curses," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath, "I offer you my blood, my flesh, my soul. Come forth and answer our call."

Without hesitation, you sliced across your palm, the sting sharp but brief. Blood welled up and dripped onto the cracked stone altar, seeping into the ancient symbols you had painstakingly carved into its surface. The ground trembled beneath you, as though the earth itself recognized the power you sought to unleash.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, the wind died down, the air becoming unnervingly still, and a sense of dread settled over you like a thick, suffocating blanket. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt an overwhelming presence, one that pressed against your very soul and made your body ache with fear.

From the back of the altar, a shadow stirred, a darkness so thick it seemed to swallow the flickering torchlight. The air grew heavy, stifling, and a hush fell over the temple as the believers knelt lower, trembling in anticipation. From the depths of that black void, a figure emerged - slowly, deliberately, as though he had all the time in the world to make his presence known.

Sukuna emerged from the darkness, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. He towered over all, a god among mortals, cloaked in light, flowing robes that barely concealed the powerful form beneath. His muscular body, honed and perfect, moved with the grace of a predator, every step deliberate, echoing with the weight of his authority. His skin was pale, but not with any human fragility - it was alabaster, almost ethereal, in contrast to the black, intricate markings that wound across his chest, arms, and neck. Those tattoos, like dark serpents, seemed to shift with the flickering light, symbols of his immense power and ancient origins, each line coiling and twisting like chains of darkness binding the god of curses.

But it was his face that captured you - the sight of him, fully revealed. His hair, a wild, chaotic pinkish-red hue, framed his angular features, strands catching in the torchlight like flames burning in the night. The color was unnatural, vibrant, a stark contrast to the coldness of his expression. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones gave him an undeniable, cruel beauty, a face that seemed carved by the gods themselves for the sole purpose of commanding and conquering.

His eyes, though - those were what ensnared you. Crimson and burning with an unholy light, they bore into you with terrifying intensity, gleaming with malevolence and ancient hunger. Four of them, two set above the other, creating a gaze that felt impossible to escape, as if they saw through everything - your soul, your mind, your very existence laid bare before him.

Two pairs of arms remained folded across his chest, the motion languid, casual, as though he had all the time in the world. His hands, adorned with black markings like the rest of his body, exuded a dangerous aura, as though each movement was capable of bending reality itself to his will.

His gaze swept over the temple, pausing only when it found you. Beneath the thin silk robe draped over your naked form, your skin prickled under his scrutiny. His eyes lingered, dark amusement playing in the depths of his four crimson orbs. His lips curled into a cruel, knowing smile, a smirk that told you he had seen this moment long before you had ever whispered his name. "Well," Sukuna's voice was deep, resonating with the power of an ancient god. "It’s been a long time since anyone dared to summon me in such a way. I thought all of my worshippers had been swallowed by the sands of time. And yet here you are, kneeling before me like a lamb to the slaughter, sacrificing yourself so willingly, little priestess.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to tremble under his scrutiny. "I am here to serve you, my Lord Sukuna," you uttered, bowing deeply until your forehead nearly touched the stone floor. "I have dedicated my life to you, and I wish to offer myself as your vessel. I am yours to command."

Sukuna's laugh was harsh, echoing through the chamber like thunder. "Is that so? And what makes you think that you, a mere mortal, could be worthy of serving me?"

"I have prepared for this moment my entire life," you answered, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "I am willing to give you everything - my body, my soul, my very existence - if it pleases you, my Lord."

"Hmmm." Sukuna stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they roamed over your form. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a tangible aura of power that made your skin tingle. He towered over you, the sheer presence of him enough to make you feel like an insect beneath his heel. "Stand," he ordered, and you obeyed, rising to your feet with as much grace as you could muster.

He reached out with one of his many hands, the claws grazing your cheek, drawing a single line of blood. He observed the crimson droplet with a glint of amusement before pressing his thumb to your lips. "Lick it," he commanded, and without hesitation, you parted your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the coppery tang of your own blood.

"Interesting," Sukuna mused, watching you with a predatory intensity. "You do not cower or flinch. Are you not afraid of me, little priestess?"

"I am," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But my fear is nothing compared to my desire to serve you, my Lord."

His laughter reverberated through the temple once more, and this time, you could sense a hint of genuine amusement beneath the mockery. "Very well. Let’s see if you can truly entertain me."

In a blink, Sukuna's fingers curled around your throat, lifting you off your feet as if you weighed nothing.

You gasped, your hands instinctively gripping his wrist, but you didn’t struggle. You couldn’t - wouldn’t.

He brought you closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Do you know what happens to those who disappoint me?" he whispered, his tone dark and laced with malice.

"No, my Lord," you replied, your voice choked but unwavering.

"They die," he mused simply, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Painfully. Slowly. And I enjoy every second of it."

He released you, and you crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. But even in the face of such raw power, you felt no regret. You pushed yourself back up onto your knees, bowing your head. "I will not disappoint you, my Lord," you promised.

"Prove it," Sukuna growled, gesturing toward the altar. "Strip."

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the sash of your robe, but you obeyed, letting the silk slide from your shoulders to pool around your feet. You stood before him, naked and vulnerable, feeling the weight of his gaze as it roamed over every inch of your body.

Despite your nakedness exposed to the cold air of the temple and the eyes of the other believers kneeling around you, you felt no shame, no fear. Their gazes, if they dared to lift their heads from the stone floor, meant nothing in the grandness of this moment. You had prepared for this - body, mind, and soul. Each prayer, each offering, every ritual bath had cleansed you of doubt, stripped you of earthly concerns. Your purpose was singular, unwavering. It wasn’t their eyes that mattered; only his. You stood bare not only in flesh but in spirit, ready to fulfill the sacred role of high priestess, ready to meet the eyes of the god you had summoned. This was the moment you had waited for, and no mortal gaze could shake your resolve.

Sukuna took his time, savoring the sight of you, and a dark chuckle escaped his lips. "Such a delicate little thing," he murmured, almost as if to himself. "I wonder how long you'll last before you break."

He approached you, each step sending a jolt of electricity through the air, and with a flick of his wrist, you were laid out on the altar, your back against the cool stone. The sensation was jarring, but you didn’t dare protest.

Sukuna’s hands traced the length of your body, his touch both gentle and brutal as he gripped the plush of your skin occasionally as if he were mapping out all the ways he could destroy you. His smile widened, revealing sharp, pointed teeth that gleamed in the dim light. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth claiming yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You could feel his other hands moving, one pinning your wrists above your head, another spreading your legs wide for him, and the last caressing the soft flesh of your inner thigh, drawing out a shiver that left you weak.

He played with your hard nipples a bit, then reached up and stuck a finger in your mouth.

You sucked on it for a second, and then the king of curses pulled it out and smeared the wetness on your left nipple.

Once it was wet, he blew on it, and it hardened even further.

You moaned softly, sucking your lower lip into your mouth, rubbing your thighs together.

He parted your legs unceremoniously.

As his fingers brushed against your pussy lips, you gasped, your body instinctively reacting to the sensation. "Please…" you begged, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

"Please, what?" Sukuna taunted, nipping at your lower lip, drawing blood and drinking it willingly. "You’ll need to be more specific, little priestess."

"Please, take me," you pleaded, the desperation evident in your voice. "Make me yours, my Lord Sukuna."

Sukuna’s grin was feral, and without warning, he thrust two fingers inside you despite the resistance of your tight pussy, making you cry out in both pleasure and pain. "Such a pretty little thing," he cooed mockingly. "So eager to be ruined." He moved his fingers with a deliberate slowness, savoring every reaction, every gasp, and moan that escaped your lips while his thumb brushed over your clit.

It was overwhelming: the heat, the sensation, the knowledge that you were entirely at his mercy. Your legs were already trembling like leaves on the cold autumn wind. You writhed beneath him, your body straining against the hold of his hand on your wrists, and he watched you with those crimson eyes, drinking in your every movement.

"Beg," Sukuna commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Beg for me, and I might consider being gentle."

"Please," you whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Please, my Lord. I want you. I need you."

He laughed, the sound vibrating through your very bones. "Very well," he purred, "I’ll grant you your wish." He pushed his white hakama pants down his muscular legs, revealing the monstrous size of his member. His cockhead bounced back firmly against his toned abdomen, an audible slap as flesh met flesh. He slowly jerked himself several times, watching you writhing in anticipation, gently playing with your breasts as you looked him right in his crimson eyes. His cock got rock hard nearly instantly. Ryomen positioned himself at your entrance, and with a single, brutal thrust, he filled you completely, the angry, red tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he settled himself within your wetness.

You cried out, arching off the altar, your fingers digging into the stone as he began to move, each thrust harder, faster, and more demanding than the last.

The pain was there, sharp and searing, but it was drowned out by the pleasure, the feeling of being completely and utterly claimed by the King of Curses. "You belong to me now," Sukuna growled, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck after he leaned in. "You’ll serve me, obey me, worship me until the day you die."

"Yes," you gasped, clinging to him, feeling your release building, the heat coiling tighter and tighter within your abdomen. "Yes, my Lord, always."

Sukuna's laughter was the last thing you heard before he drove you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure so intense it felt as though you might shatter. And as you fell apart in his arms, the only thought that lingered in your mind was that you were finally his.

The world around you blurred as your body quivered beneath Sukuna’s relentless assault, every nerve alight with sensation.

His nails - sharp and jagged - scraped across your skin, leaving thin red lines in their wake. He grope your breasts, squeezing them between his calloused digits, brushing the nipples with the pads of his thumbs. "You're so fragile," Sukuna murmured, almost as if in awe as he kept of fucking your already overstimulated pussy. "So breakable. Yet you begged for this. Tell me, does it hurt?" He improved your position and hoisted your legs up onto his muscular shoulders. Sukuna began a fierce pounding, hammering away from the start.

"Y-Yes," you stammered, your voice hoarse from screaming, from crying out his name. "But it feels so good. My pussy is so sore, my Lord!”

He chuckled darkly, leaning in close until his breath ghosted across the column of your neck. "That's because you belong to me now, little priestess," he whispered, each word a venomous promise. "I will make you mine over and over again until there is nothing left of you but a shell that worships my very existence."

After abruptly pulling out of you, he flipped you over, dropping you on all fours. He quickly positioned himself behind you, his fat, swollen, cockhead pressed against your wet needy pussy so hard it almost forced you open.

Grabbing your hips, his rough fingers digging into your fleshy hips that supported your fat fuckable ass, he threw himself toward. The power of his thrust would've forced you off the altar if not for Sukuna holding you in place. Your entire body surged forward as a cock too big to take was forced into you with unstoppable strength. Sukuna’s hand shot to grab your hair and pull you head back, arching your back against his chest as he kept on slamming into the tightness of your core. His other hand moved to wrap tightly around your neck.

The muscles in his arms bulged as he quickened his pace, slamming into you with a force that sent shockwaves through your sweaty body. ''There will be no breaks for you tonight, little whore of mine. I want to fuck this fucking cunt of yours non-stop, do you understand?”

You gave a nod and made a quiet sound, and Sukuna pushed his cock in deeper, making you squeal a muffled cry as you bit on your lower lip, drawing blood from the flesh.

The wet slamming of your bodies filled the huge chamber.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel him. The sensation of his heat, his strength, and his utter dominance was enough to drive you to madness.

Soon, you were flipped on your back again, and immediately his massive cock pushed back into your abused pussy. His eyes burned with violent lust, yours were filled with a satisfaction like you'd just achieved your life's work.

One of his free hands moved up, tangling in your hair, jerking your head back so that you were forced to look into his eyes. Those crimson orbs gleamed with sadistic pleasure, reflecting the flickering flames around you, and you were certain you'd never seen anything more terrifying or beautiful in your life. "Say it," Sukuna commanded, his voice ragged. "Say that you belong to me."

"I… I belong to you," you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks, the rawness of your voice echoing in the chamber. "I am yours, my Lord Sukuna." You took immense pleasure in being watched by the other believers. Your body, already beautiful on its own, became a sight to behold when joined by Sukuna's presence.

The satisfaction in his expression was palpable, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as much a claim as it was a punishment. He kissed you with the same brutal intensity that he took you, his tongue invading your mouth, leaving no room for resistance, no space for doubt. His other mouth, placed on his abdomen decided to have some fun too, so the slimy tongue darted out to lap at your clitoris.

You felt the pressure building again, that unbearable coil tightening in your core, threatening to snap at any moment. "Please!" you gasped, your nails digging into his skin, your body arching against him in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer. "Please, my Lord, let me… let me…!"

"Not yet," he snarled, his grip tightening painfully on your wrists. "You will not come until I allow it. Do you understand?"

You nodded frantically, the desperation evident in every fiber of your being. "Y-Yes, my Lord.”

"Good," Sukuna purred, thrusting harder, deeper, his movements growing more erratic, more frenzied. The sound of your flesh meeting echoed in the chamber, mingling with your ragged breaths and the low growls that rumbled from his chest. And still, he denied you, holding you on the precipice of pleasure, refusing to let you fall over that edge. His dick brushed all of the right spots deep within your pussy, and since you were dripping wet at that point, some of your juices were pushed out of you by his massive length.

"Please…" you whimpered, your entire body trembling, your mind unraveling as you teetered on the brink. "I can't… I can’t…"

"Beg," he demanded, and the cruelty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. "Beg me for your release."

"Please, my Lord Sukuna," you sobbed, your voice breaking, your vision blurring as the tears streamed down your face. "Please, I beg you. I need it. I need you."

For a moment, he said nothing, merely watching you with that infuriatingly calm expression, his crimson eyes glowing with a light that seemed to come from another world. And then, without warning, he drove into you one final time, his body tensing, muscles rippling as he found his own release, spilling his thick, warm cum within you in nearly five massive spurts. The sensation was overwhelming, like fire spreading through your veins, igniting every nerve, every cell in your body. Slowly he withdrew the whole length of his cock and jerked himself while he kept on spraying thick liquid all over your helpless body. He covered your abdomen in hot cum until you were completely drenched in white, sticky goo. "Now," he growled, his voice rough and ragged. "Now, you may come."

It was all the permission you needed. The coil snapped, and you shattered, your body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over you in an endless, merciless torrent. You screamed, your voice hoarse and raw, the sound echoing through the temple, mingling with Sukuna’s own guttural groans as he continued to pound you, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from your trembling form, not minding the hot tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. You shuddered in orgasm, cumming just from looking from under your half-closed eyelids, and imagining your Lord Sukuna fucking you again. "My body was made for you, my Lord.”

You were dimly aware of his hands on your body, caressing you, grounding you as you slowly came down from that euphoric high. Your vision blurred, your body limp, utterly spent, and you collapsed against the altar, unable to do anything but lie there, gasping for breath.

Sukuna’s fingers traced lazy patterns across your skin, and despite the roughness, there was a gentleness to his touch now, a possessiveness that made your heart flutter. "You did well," he murmured, his tone almost tender. "You pleased your lord."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Thank you, my Lord," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he heard it.

He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips once more, this time in a kiss that was slow, lingering, a silent acknowledgment of what you had just shared. Looking directly at where you were connected, Sukuna pulled his semi-hard cock out of you, grinning like a kid while watching how your mixed cum dribbled out of your reddened, abused hole. He scooped some on the pad of his index finger and took a closer look at the slimy, pearly white liquid slowly streaming down his digit. He pushed his finger past his parted lips, tasting himself and you on his tongue. “Such a delicious, little lamb,” he praised within a grunt that rumbled deep in his chest.

His fingers still traced across your skin, but their touch now carried a different weight.

You sensed the shift immediately, though your body, still dazed from the euphoria, struggled to react.

“Such a good little lamb,” he mused, his voice low and silky. “But even the most loyal lambs must be sacrificed.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but your body was too weak, too drained to move. You had known from the start what this ritual would cost you. You had prepared for it, accepted it. And yet, as you lay beneath him, his shadow swallowing you whole, that acceptance turned to a quiet, desperate hope for more - more time, more moments, more of him.

His hand wrapped around your throat with deceptive gentleness, his grip firm but not yet cruel. Sukuna leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve served your purpose,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “And now, you’ll give me one final gift.”

A flash of panic surged through your exhausted body, but it was too late. His fingers tightened, cutting off your air, and his crimson eyes glowed with an almost loving intensity as he watched the life slowly being drained from yours. You clawed weakly at his wrist, but there was no malice in his actions - only inevitability.

As the darkness crept in, your vision narrowing to a pinpoint, Sukuna pressed one last kiss to your forehead. “Rest now,” he murmured, his voice soothing, as if he were putting you to sleep rather than ending your life. “You’ve earned it, satisfying your lord.”

The world dimmed, your body going limp as your final breath left you. The last thing you saw was his cruel, satisfied smile, and then - then was pure nothingness.

The temple fell silent, save for the distant murmur of the remaining believers, aware that their high priestess had become nothing more than a sacrifice, her blood and soul claimed by the king of curses.

As Sukuna’s laughter echoed through the vast temple, the gathered believers knelt in silent terror again. Their faces, once filled with awe and reverence, were now twisted in fear. They had witnessed the culmination of the ritual, the ultimate sacrifice of their high priestess - the one who had led them, who had spoken the will of their dark god. And now, she lay still, her lifeless body draped across the altar, pale and motionless, while Sukuna stood over her, drenched in the eerie glow of the temple’s firelight.

Some of the followers dared to look up, trembling, their eyes wide with horror. The sight of Sukuna towering above her was both majestic and terrifying - a god who had claimed his offering without hesitation or remorse. The air hung heavy with the smell of incense and the iron tang of blood, a solemn testament to the price of their devotion.

One brave soul, trembling with fear, took a step back, his face pale. Others followed, their belief shaken as they witnessed the brutal truth of the god they had summoned. Whispers broke out, hushed and frantic, the terror rising in their chests as they realized that if even their high priestess could fall to Sukuna’s insatiable hunger, then none of them were safe.

Sukuna turned his gaze on them, his crimson eyes gleaming with malevolent amusement, and in an instant, the whispering ceased. Every believer froze in place, their hearts racing as they cowered under his piercing stare.

"Frightened, are we?" he drawled, his voice low and mocking, sending a chill down their spines. His presence was overwhelming, dominating the space as he stepped away from your lifeless form, leaving it to rest as though it were nothing more than a discarded toy.

He scanned the kneeling figures, a smirk playing on his lips. "You shall be," he continued, his tone dripping with cruel satisfaction. "What did you think would happen when you called upon me? That I would take, and not demand more?"

The fear in their eyes only seemed to amuse him further. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his bare feet silent against the stone floor, but every movement radiated power. "This is what it means to serve me," he said, his voice a dangerous purr, each word like a blade slicing through the tense silence. "To give everything. Your bodies, your souls, your lives."

He paused, his gaze narrowing, daring any of them to defy him. None did. "But take heart," he added, almost teasing, his tone shifting as though speaking to children. "Your devotion has pleased me. You live, for now. Consider yourselves fortunate, mortals."

A dark chuckle escaped his throat. “Continue to worship me," Sukuna claimed, his voice turning cold. "But remember - this is the price. When your time comes, there will be no mercy."

With that final, ominous warning, Sukuna turned away from them, disappearing into the shadows that had birthed him, leaving his followers trembling in his wake.

The oppressive silence returned, broken only by the faint crackling of the temple’s torches and some quiet sobs, as the believers remained frozen in place, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

In the center of the altar, your body lay still, a solemn reminder of the fate that awaited those who dared to summon the King of Curses.

#sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk smut #anime smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna #dark content #jujustsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #smutty fanfiction #divider by cafekitsune

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photo1030 · 2 months ago

Note

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE

Summary: You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that.

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you.

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households.

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.”

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips.

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit.

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful.

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket.

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest.

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer.

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization.

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed.

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm.

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour.

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness.

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again.

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below.

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air.

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you.

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed.

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man.

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests.

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in.

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence.

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn.

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth.

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you.

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you.

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head. “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.”

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say.

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party.

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?”

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way.

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm.

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry.

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear.

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host.

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is.

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago.

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off.

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features.

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face.

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes.

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air.

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again.

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness.

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede.

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind.

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms.

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next.

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave.

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing.

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly.

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours.

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions.

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow.

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind.

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.”

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #dutch van der linde

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shirefantasies · 11 months ago

Note

This is gonna be a weird one..

Azog and a human reader?

It can be smut or fluff.

Not weird, I like the challenge 😎 This is a fascinating concept to me I love human x non-human (as long as it’s still humanoid, I’m not a furry 😂) I’m sorry I don’t think this is very good though 😅😆 hope you still can enjoy!

Chains of Flesh- Azog the Defiler x Human!Reader

Warnings: minor language, implied past abuse

You had to be a liability. You suspected that from the moment they took you. That you could not fight well must mean little more than ill in your favor. Fighting was the last thing on your mind anyway as your body, consciousness fading fast, was slung onto the sloped back of a warg like a doll. You had fought enough in your days. Such was your last memory before you awoke.

Vines crept up stone walls. You had no memory of that place, no recognition as you clambered up from the battered cot frame. There was a haze in the air, a feeling like an unseen fog had drifted somehow inside and survived even the torch burning on a bent sconce outside the rusty bars. A prison cell?

Shuffling to the edge of the bars- though you dared not touch their jagged, soiled edges- availed you a greater view of your surroundings. A stone fortress of some kind, desolate and abandoned as it was, one hung with tight cages skeletons swung in. Clearly you didn’t have it so bad.

But why? What set you apart from men deemed little more than beasts? Greater importance or so stark a lack of threat?

Pounding footsteps had you straightening, stepping back again from the bars as boots echoed upon stone. Soon a pair of orcs stood before you and the first one, tall, dark, and broad, spoke slowly and intensely. His tongue was unknown to you, yet you knew it was the Black Speech; vile as it was said to be, the sound of it fascinated you.

The second, a shorter, leaner figure with scarred tan skin and an empty socket where his left eye once was, hissed in a quicker voice to you. “Information. You have it. Azog will deal with you.”

You’d heard that name before. Azog the Defiler was the sworn enemy of that dwarf named king, the one who’d brought destruction and strife to the town you unfortunately had called home. The bastard that called himself Mayor needed only one word of the riches beneath the mountain to change his tune completely on letting the town burn. If they wanted dirt on that villain and his filthy underling, they could have it and gladly.

The bars were wrest open and your upper arms seized by a leering orc on either side. Tempted as you were to smack the looks off their faces, you knew that would be a death sentence; instead, you bid them drag you up spiraling steps and toss you humiliatingly at the boots of the Pale Orc. His lip curled at the pair of underlings, then he looked at you with interest crossing his carved features. More Black Speech in a deep, richly imposing voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Tell us everything you know about the mountain,” the one translating demanded, “and tell us fast if you know what's good for you." Just to hammer his point in further, he pointed a quite redundant blade at your chest.

Even though it spiked your heart rate, you couldn't help rolling your eyes- you had yet to do anything but comply. Stepping forward as far as you could without impaling yourself, you ignored the faint pressure that jabbed you and spoke.

"They are only granted reentry on the one day. The one who calls himself king has the key. First priority goes to the main treasure room where the dragon is keeping his prize. After that, they reclaim the kingdom. It sounded like there were lower entries that may be blocked, so they have to go in right by where the dragon is, but I could be wrong.”

For what seemed like far longer than it had taken you, the shorter orc relayed his message to the Defiler, whose piercing blue gaze kept sliding to you. Azog spoke back as his eyes practically bore holes in your head, giving some command that sparked shock across the tan orc’s face.

“You show great promise and you seem like good fun… someone like you could be the perfect addition. A spy, even, too if you swear to us. What say you?” He bared his teeth as he spoke, rows of sharp, dark points. From behind him, Azog smiled, a look of smug curiosity that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t exactly want to find out what their methods were at answering denial, and besides… something told you they were not opposed to letting Laketown fall. And, if you were lucky, taking the men who mistreated you down with it. Swallowing, you shakily mirrored their dark smiles. “I’ll do it. I have enemies at the foot of the mountain. Lay waste to them.”

The tan orc spoke again. Moonlight shone upon them both. In one sudden motion the Pale Orc took hold of your arm in his one flesh hand, wrest it such that you were pulled into him. Somehow, though, he’d done it without hurting you. Pressed against him as you were, you may have been trapped, but as you felt the rapid beat of his large heart against the back of your head all you could feel was a rush. Azog’s hand ran up and down your arm.

The shorter, darker servant tilted his head. “Those Laketown scum have not been kind to you, have they?”

Heartbeat still thrumming against you, you just shook your head. Warmth coursed through your body. Azog’s metal hand traced gently along the curve of your neck, scratching the skin lightly. It brought a gasp to your lips, the cold sensation of metal upon skin. As soon as the air left you, though, he stopped.

He stopped. Let go slightly. Something Alfrid never would have done if you hadn’t punched him so hard he saw-

“Swear your allegiance to us, then,” Azog’s servant demanded with a grin, his harsh voice cutting through the stab of memories that had your chest heaving.

Shakily, you inhaled, breathing in time with the one who held you close. “What will you have me do?”

“Let the Pale Orc decide that. He’s the one who wants you,” he chuckled, smacking the shoulder of the taller, broader servant as they stomped away toward the door they’d hauled you through.

Only when they disappeared, door slamming at their backs, did Azog loosen his hold upon you all the way, fully releasing his chains of flesh as he watched you step back. He could have broken your neck, kept you at blade’s edge, but instead he just peered at you like a rare treasure he dare not break, lest his time of admiration then cease. You weren’t used to such a look- did he…?

“I am not the strongest servant you could have. But I think you know that, do you not? What is it you want? Is it my hate? I am tired of being downtrodden!” Your voice raised with each word, but you didn’t care. “I will fight to live, but only if I can do so with my dignity. What is it you want from me?”

Smiling again in that way that tingled your spine, the Pale Orc stepped forward once more to meet you, reaching out his hand. At first you flinched back, but heaving another breath you steeled your body and met his eyes again. No fear. If allegiance they desired, with courage you would offer it.

To your surprise, all the motion brought you was a new rush of warmth as he took hold of your cheek, thumb tracing the outline of the bone therein thoughtfully. His blue eyes glanced up, searched yours, and your heart lurched.

Why you could not say, perhaps the relief that flooded your very heart and soul at the question in his eyes, the chilling stab to your chest of realization that an orc could possess better manner than men, the sheer desire you felt to seal the waste of the place that harmed you so, but you found yourself nodding.

Moonlight shone off of that infamous glistening white skin, illuminating every scar carved deeply into its tone. Surprise colored Azog’s scarred face, then triumph once more as he surged forward. His lips were rough and you could feel the cut of his scars upon them as they moved to dominate yours. Fighting back, you found your own lips moving faster, your own stance straightening, though you dared not move your hands or loosen the Pale Orc’s grip upon your cheek. Best not have him changing his mind, after all.

Moments of warmth and shocking passion passed before Azog pulled away, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head. Keeping your foreheads pressed together, he gazed intently once more into your eyes.

You understood. From the high towers of his smote-out ruins the Pale Orc had sought one not just to do his will, but to stand at his side.

Now all you needed to do was pass the test.

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #azog #azog the defiler #azog x reader #gender neutral reader #ask #yourfatherlucifer #requested

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rainforestakiie · 1 month ago

Text

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.

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