The room was quiet, save for the faint shuffle of paper Lucifer had abandoned long ago just to sit here with you. The Avatar of Pride—stoic, untouchable, always in control—was reclined in his chair, the hard lines of his usual composure melted into something softer, something only you ever got to see.

You pressed a small sticker against his cheek, smoothing it with your fingertip. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold. Didn’t move to stop you. Instead, his crimson eyes followed every motion, his lips tugging into the faintest smile as if the act itself was more precious than anything else in his universe.

Normally, he was the one commanding others, never bending, never allowing even a hair out of place. But with you? He sat perfectly still, letting you adorn his face with stars, hearts, and silly little animals, as though each one was a mark of devotion rather than mischief.

“Are you satisfied yet?” he asked at last, but his voice was gentle, his tone far from the clipped authority he used with his brothers. The question wasn’t really for him—it was for you.

Lucifer’s gaze softened further, pride long forgotten in the warmth of the moment. You were the only one he allowed to see him like this: stripped of titles, stripped of thorns, nothing but a man hopelessly in love. And as your fingers lingered against his skin, he looked at you as though you weren’t just his soft spot—you were his entire world.