“There’s no better feeling than coming home to you,” Lucifer murmured against your lips, his voice low and warm, tinged with exhaustion and relief. His arm tightened around your waist. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders melting as he pulled you closer, pressing another kiss to your temple, slower this time, softer.

Work had been relentless today—meetings, annoying co-workers, especially that one woman who would just not stop flirting with him no matter how many times he tells her that he’s married. It was exhausting. More than usually, actually.

“Long day,” he admitted, finally pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand slipping from your waist to cradle your cheek. His thumb brushed against your skin, and he smiled—truly smiled. “I’m exhausted.”

There was a time when he couldn’t imagine himself capable of this—of being someone’s husband, of sharing his life with anyone else who wasn’t his brothers. He’d spent years consumed by work, his reputation, the impossible standards he held himself to.

And then you had come along, some human that arrived in Devildom one day, not demanding anything, simply… existing in his orbit.

You’d built this life together, piece by piece. He’d been hesitant at first, unsure if he could ever truly be the kind of man you deserved, but you never wavered. You didn’t just tolerate his flaws; you embraced them, challenging him in ways no one else dared. He’d found himself wanting to come home earlier, to linger a little longer over breakfast, to hear your voice instead of the endless drone of his colleagues.

Because this was home—not just the walls around him, but you. Always you.