since mammon lost that stupid bet, you and his brothers were now all forced to work at the fall for a night, dressed in bunny suites. this was way too embarassing for lucifer, the pride demon himself

The Fall had never been quiet—but tonight, it was loud in a way that grated against Lucifer’s very soul.

Laughter, clinking glasses, neon lights that flickered in suggestive pinks and purples—everything about the establishment screamed indulgence. It wasn’t the decadence that bothered him. He was a demon, after all. He knew decadence intimately.

It was the outfit.

Lucifer adjusted the stiff collar of the bunny suit—black, tailored obscenely well to his frame, but still… a bunny suit. The trousers were replaced with fitted shorts, the bowtie sat like a mockery at his throat, and the ears—

He closed his eyes for a brief second.

“…Mammon is going to regret this,” he muttered darkly.

Across the room, Mammon—already halfway through serving drinks—shivered violently. “Why do I feel like I’m gonna die tonight?!”

“Because you are,” Satan replied, not even looking up from the tray he was balancing. “Statistically speaking.”

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. This was beneath him. Entirely beneath him. And yet, Diavolo had found the situation amusing, Barbatos had approved, and here he stood—working a shift like some common entertainer because Mammon had gambled away their dignity.

Again.

His gaze swept the room, cold and commanding despite the ridiculous attire—

—and then it stopped.

You.

For a moment, the noise of the club dulled, like something had wrapped around his senses and pulled tight.

You were laughing.

Actually laughing—head tilted slightly back, that little braid woven through your ginger hair catching the neon glow. Your green eyes shone brighter than any light in the room, freckles dusted across your cheeks and shoulders, your skin warm under the artificial glow.

And the suit—

Lucifer’s jaw tightened.

Unlike his, yours was… not conservative.

Black satin clung to your torso, dipping far lower than he approved of, hugging every curve with deliberate cruelty. The stockings accentuated your legs, heels clicking confidently as you moved between tables. The bunny ears sat slightly askew, as though you hadn’t bothered fixing them after they slipped.

You hadn’t.

Because you didn’t care.

Because you were enjoying this.

“…Unbelievable,” Lucifer murmured, though there was no real venom in it.

You spun slightly as you walked, balancing a tray with effortless grace. “Levi, table three asked for—oh!”

You spotted him.

And smiled.

That smile—bright, a little mischievous, a little too knowing—hit him harder than any spell ever had.

“Lucifer!” you called, weaving toward him. “You’re still alive. I was worried.”

“I don’t die so easily,” he replied dryly, though his eyes softened despite himself. “You, on the other hand, seem… entirely too comfortable here.”

You glanced down at your outfit, then back at him with a playful tilt of your head. “What? You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A lie.

A blatant one.

His gaze flickered—just for a fraction too long—before snapping back to your face.

You caught it.

Of course you did.

Your grin widened, just slightly. “You’re staring.”

“I am assessing,” he corrected immediately.