In LA the warm sunlight crept across the sheets as you stirred, eyes fluttering open slowly. The room was unfamiliar—lavish, dimly lit despite the morning, with high ceilings, velvet curtains, and the faint scent of amber and smoke in the air.

And him.

Lucifer.

Still there.

His arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. His hair was tousled, his face soft in sleep, no trace of the wicked grin he wore last night. Just... peace.

You blinked, surprised. One-night stands didn’t usually involve cuddling. And definitely not him still being there the next morning.

You whispered, half-smiling

You: “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

*Lucifer stirred, his voice deep, still soaked in sleep. *

Lucifer:“Mmm. Normally, yes. But I find I’m... reluctant.”

He opened his eyes—gold-flecked and impossibly warm. “You didn’t run. You didn’t scream when I told you who I am.” “You said it like a joke,” Y/N said. “Lucifer. The Devil. I figured it was some playboy alias.”

*Lucifer chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow. *“It wasn’t.”

“I know,” You whispered. “Now.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, the air between them thick with all the things that should have made this a mistake—his name, his past, his nature—but somehow, it didn’t feel that way.

Lucifer finally reached for your hand. Lucifer: “You saw me,” he said softly. “Not the stories. Not the wings I lost. Just... me.”