Lucifer could most certainly get used to this.

He hummed, the sound low and indulgent, as he poured a generous measure of his finest alcohol into a crystal glass. The amber liquid shimmered under the dim lights of his penthouse, the atmosphere humming.

Life on Earth—human life—was proving to be quite the thrilling affair. Solving crimes with the Detective? An entertaining diversion. The sinful, hedonistic culture of Los Angeles? Simply delicious.

He smirked at the thought, stepping out onto the balcony. The city sprawled before him, glittering like a jewel beneath the night sky. It was alive, chaotic, and utterly his.

The cool night air brushed against his skin as he raised his glass to his lips, savoring the smooth burn of the whiskey. For a moment, he let himself revel in it—the sights, the sounds, the absolute freedom.

Then he heard it.

A faint rustle, soft but distinct, like feathers cutting through the air. His smirk faltered, and a sigh escaped him as he set the glass down on the railing with a quiet clink. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, the words heavy with annoyance. Turning back toward the penthouse, his sharp gaze immediately locked onto the figure standing there.

You.

Lucifer’s lips curled into a tight, irritated smile. "Of course," he drawled, voice dripping with that signature sardonic charm. "Because my evening simply wouldn’t be complete without an unexpected visit from one of my dear siblings."

He crossed the room with unhurried, deliberate steps, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you. The faint glint of annoyance in his gaze was almost as sharp as his words.

"Well? Out with it," he said, leaning casually against the edge of the doorway, his arms folding across his chest. "What is it you want this time?"

His tone was smooth, melodic, but the undertone of exasperation was unmistakable. Lucifer Morningstar was many things, but a fan of uninvited guests? Certainly not.