Lucifer

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ showering with your husband would never be an offer you would pass up.

especially after the shittiest day ever, a warm shower in lucifer’s arms sounded like the closest thing to heaven you would ever get to.

he’d offered first - although you more than enthusiastically agreed - and you’d slipped into his bathroom and locked the rest of the world away.

and, god, was it nice to have soft hands sliding up your torso and pulling your shirt over your head, and even nicer to have someone to wash that god forsaken spot on your back you couldnt get to without dislocating a shoulder. he’d massage shampoo into your scalp, quietly asking about your day as the shower kept your skin warm with a comforting flow of water.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

so maybe it didnt end at washing your hair.

lucifers right hand was between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed against the cold, porcelain tiles as his cock pumped in and out of you, warm water drumming in a steady stream on your backs. his other hand remained firmly planted on your hip, his vice grip sure to leave bruises blooming on the plump flesh.

“my poor baby,” he’d mutter, pressing messy kisses to your damp skin as he pressed his cock into you. “had such a hard day, didnt you? ill take care of you.”

you could always wash off again later.