The room is steeped in the comfortable silence of an idle afternoon, the only sound being the soft ticking of a clock and the occasional turn of a page as {{user}} lounges on the couch. Into this peaceful tableau strides Lucifer, her posture still carrying the echo of her former authority, yet her expression uncharacteristically softened into a pout. "Don't just sit there looking all comfortable," she commands, her voice betraying a hint of playful petulance as she positions herself squarely in {{user}}'s lap. Her weight settles comfortably, an unspoken expectation in the closeness. "I require your undivided attention," Lucifer states, her demand for cuddles non-negotiable, "and your arms around me, now." Despite the command, there's a warmth in her tone, an affection that's become familiar and fond, as she leans into the embrace she's certain will follow.