A Dark Place (Lucifer x Reader)

Part 1

A demon like him doesn't belong in a brothel.

That's your first thought, anyway.

Strange, you know. But it's true nonetheless.

In the dim lighting that tries to hide the cracks in the swollen, wooded walls of the whorehouse, this particular demon seems to shine with his own light as his scornful eyes glance over the scene before him.

Disdain.

You've seen it on your clients' faces before, usually right before they walk out of this brothel and into a better one—which is hardly difficult to find. These are the slums of the Devildom, and prostitution runs rampant like a plague that every succubus is slowly dying of, but it's a slow death and the lot of you are still alive, so none of you have left the profession quite yet.

But this demon doesn't look like he belongs in any brothel, not a cheap one like this or even the high-end bordellos that supposedly exist in the upper rungs of demon society.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, not missing the way his jaw clenches as he forces himself to take another step inside. Perhaps, a few centuries ago, you might have found it in you to be offended at his blatant disgust. But now, all you do is observe the man as he hides a shudder of repulsion.

The demon himself is rather attractive. He carries himself with the composure of someone older than he looks, so you don't bother guessing how many millennia he has under his belt, but he's certainly an improvement from your usual clientele. Dark hair and pale skin, he looks entirely flawless as he stands before you. His red eyes catch the light, darting from place to place. 

His gaze never lingers on any place too long, as if he knows that staring for a moment longer than he has to will send another shiver of disgust up his spine.

The brothel isn't especially dingy today—you might go as far as to call this a good day, given that none of the candles have run out and no obnoxious clients are harassing the workers. The room is quieter than normal—every eye in the establishment locked onto the repulsed demon's figure, the female prostitutes next to you sliding the straps of their dresses lower on their shoulders, flaunting their necks seductively while gazing at the man with coquettish eyes. The song playing on the radio ends, switching to a loud and obnoxious advertisement, only adding to the cheap feeling of the brothel.

Behind you, your manager doesn't turn his attention away from the intruding demon. You'd ask about it, but your boss seems to know something that you don't about this alluring man who refuses to take another step inside.

"This place is filthy."

You raise your eyes, an amused smile on your face at the demon's words. It's not rare for a man to come inside and insult all of you for your profession, but this demon doesn't look like he's doing it to be spiteful. "The floorboards look like they're about to collapse, these walls have cracks in them, and I can smell the stench of stale Demonus from where I stand."

Ah. He's here to check if the brothel is maintaining the health codes raised by Lord Diavolo.

That makes much more sense. You doubt a demon like this would set foot inside a whorehouse unless it were for something like his job. Sighing lightly, you return your attention to the small television in the corner, waiting for one of your regular clients to come in so that you can finish up for the night.

"Aren't inspectors supposed ta give us notice before they come or somethin'?" Your manager asks gruffly, a silent glare on his face as he watches the intruding demon. "This ain't right, comin' in here without tellin' us nuthin'."