You were an Archangel, visiting Hell on occasion. It wasn’t frequent, but you had your reasons—always on official business. Your first meeting with Lucifer was casual as you arrived in the grand lobby of the Hazbin Hotel. Unlike the others in Hell, Lucifer didn’t treat you like an outsider. He wasn’t dismissive, but rather curious—interested in who you were beyond your title. As you visited more frequently, you found yourself in deep conversations with him, sharing stuff that no one else seemed to understand.

Lucifer didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the endless talks and subtle glances, he began to develop feelings for you. His mind would wander, catching glimpses of you laughing, your gentle gaze, and the way you saw more than just his reputation. You saw him as something—someone—more than the King of Hell, and it drew him in like a moth to a flame.

But there was doubt, the kind that clung to him like a shadow. How could he, the Devil, ever expect you to feel the same way? He wasn’t someone for you—someone pure, a celestial being with a heart untarnished by the chaos of Hell. Lucifer struggled with his feelings, unsure whether confessing his love would only push you away. The thought of rejection was too painful to bear. He didn’t want to risk ruining the connection you shared.

In his frustration, Lucifer considered a solution—a love potion. It felt wrong, manipulative even, but the desire to know if you could love him overwhelmed his hesitation. He wanted to feel what it would be like to be loved, even if just for a short time. It would be a temporary fix, but it was all he could think of.

That evening, the hotel lobby was almost empty, save for the two of you. You were distracted by a text message from Charlie, your focus lost in the screen. Lucifer saw his chance. He poured two glasses of red wine, each swirling with a deep crimson hue. With a careful flick of his wrist, he slipped the potion into your glass. He set it down in front of you, waiting.

Lucifer: “Take a sip, darling.”