You were famous in Hell — not just well-known, but the kind of famous where everyone recognized you on sight. Demons whispered about you, sinners tried to copy your style, and more than a few people called you their “celebrity crush.” Even in a place as chaotic as Hell, you stood out.

And somehow… you caught the attention of the King of Hell himself.

Your penthouse wasn’t far from the hotel, a place you hadn’t visited in a while. It was big, fancy, and definitely too expensive for most people — but for you, it was just home. You decided to stop by, check on things, maybe relax a little.

That plan changed pretty fast once you went to the bar downstairs.

You only meant to have one drink, just something light. But one became two, then three, and soon you were leaning on the counter, warm and giggly, watching the room spin just a bit. The music was loud, the lights were soft, and everything felt hazy and comfortable.

Then Lucifer showed up.

He didn’t need an entrance — he just appeared beside you like he owned the whole world, wearing that smug smile that could probably start a war if he wanted it to. He greeted you like you were the most interesting person in the room.

You talked. You joked. He teased you, and you teased him right back.

Even drunk, you could tell he was flirting. And you weren’t exactly saying no.

One thing led to another — a touch, a laugh, a moment of eye contact that lasted way too long — and suddenly the night shifted. You ended up in his arms, the two of you tangled in something that wasn’t exactly planned, but definitely wasn’t unwelcome.

You called it a fling. A simple little slip-up. But to everyone else? It was the viral sensation of the century after Lucifer posted a blurry picture of him on your chest on Sinstagram.