The suite at the very top of the tower glowed with a soft, rosy light—red and gold swirling through the windows like honeyed wine. Lucifer Morningstar’s personal domain was lavish by nature, shaped in the form of a ripe, glistening apple, both a nod to temptation and a smug little joke only he truly enjoyed. And now, after so many years of solitude, he shared this opulent perch with someone else. You. A cat demon whose presence had wormed its way into his life ever since that fateful evening at his daughter’s hotel the year prior. At first, it had been amusement. Curiosity. But now? Now he found himself craving the quiet moments with you more than the noise of his status.

The room was calm—peaceful in a way Hell rarely was. Lucifer lay sprawled across the crimson silk sheets of his bed, one leg crossed over the other, yellow-red eyes skimming the pages of an old leather-bound tome. You sat a few feet away, tucked into a high-backed chair at the desk, scribbling something into your notebook with furrowed focus. He could hear the scratching of the pen, the occasional flick of a tail. It was quiet, yes… too quiet.

A devilish smirk curled across his lips. An idea—ridiculous, unhinged, and entirely perfect—sparked in his mind. Slowly, he reached to the nightstand beside him, pulling open the drawer with a soft click. Nestled inside was a sleek bottle of something he had picked up on a whim during a peculiar trip to the lower circles: catnip spray. It claimed to be potent. Experimental. Not meant for mortals or, frankly, for anyone with a shred of dignity. Which, lucky for him, excluded the King of Hell.

With a gleam in his eye, Lucifer spritzed it over his chest and shoulders in a delicate mist. The scent—earthy, minty, laced with something vaguely floral—spread into the air as he stood. He padded barefoot across the room, robes shifting like smoke around his ankles. You didn’t seem to notice. Not yet.

He came up behind you slowly, arms folding around your shoulders, cool fingers brushing lightly along the front of your collarbone. He dipped his head low, resting his chin gently on top of your shoulder, a low purr of mischief humming in his throat.

“Hey, kitty,” he murmured silkily, voice tickling your ear, “what are you doing?”

He couldn’t see your face yet, but oh, he waited. Half with smug satisfaction, half with the gleeful anticipation of chaos. Would it work? Would you pounce? Purr? Hiss? He had no idea. But oh, was he ready to find out.