tomellis!lucifer (dc) x female reader
Summary: At LUX on St. Patrick’s Day, Lucifer tries to charm you (the reader) into kissing him with a “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” sticker. You tease and refuse, but the tension is playful—and he’s clearly not giving up.
A/N- Little St. Patrick's Day fic for y'all hope you enjoy this! Also I hope you're wearing green or else you're getting pinched. ;)
Music pulsed through LUX, green lights washing over the dance floor in honor of Saint Patrick's Day. Shamrocks hung from the high ceiling, the bar served obnoxiously green cocktails, and someone had convinced the DJ to mix Irish drinking songs with club beats.
Leaning against the bar was Mr. Temptation himself, Lucifer Morningstar. He was fully in the spirit, wearing a green dress shirt with a matching pocket square, adorned with gold cufflinks.
Lucifer swirled a glass of whiskey, watching you from across the bar. His gaze drifted around the club for a moment, people-watching, before inevitably landing back on you.
You stood on the other side, laughing with Maze, showing your spirit in your own way. Just a hint of green, subtle enough that someone would have to look twice to notice. You weren’t risking getting pinched, especially not by Maze.
Lucifer had seen countless beautiful people in his millennia of existence.
But you?
You were dangerously beautiful.
He pushed off the bar and made his way over, sliding in beside you like he owned the place, which, technically, he did.
“Good evening, darling.”
You glanced over your shoulder.
“Hi, Lucifer.”
Maze smirked and slipped away.
Traitor.
Lucifer leaned casually against the bar, lowering his voice just for you.
“You look positively sinful tonight.” His eyes dragged over you once, slow and deliberate. That was all he needed.
You rolled your eyes.
“It’s St. Patrick’s Day, Lucifer. Everyone’s dressed up.”
“Yes, but you…” He gestured vaguely, like he couldn’t quite put it into words. “You look like a walking Irish fantasy.”
You blinked.
“…What does that even mean?”
Lucifer reached into his pocket and slapped something onto his chest with dramatic flair, clearly proud of himself.
A bright green sticker.
You read it.
KISS ME, I’M IRISH.
You stared at him.
“…Lucifer.”
“Yes, love?”
“You’re not Irish.”
He tilted his head, completely unbothered.
“Well, technically, I’ve spent time in Ireland.”
“That does not make you Irish.”
“I once owned a pub there.”
“Still not Irish.”
“I drank with a leprechaun.”
You paused.
“…You did not drink with a leprechaun.”
Lucifer took a slow sip of whiskey, barely reacting.
“You can’t prove that.”
You laughed, shaking your head.
“That sticker is a lie.”
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something conspiratorial.
“Well, I had to improvise. ‘Kiss me, I’m the Devil’ didn’t feel very festive.”
You snorted.
“I’m not kissing you.”
Lucifer placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended, though the smirk never left his lips.
“Refusing the Devil on a holiday dedicated to luck and indulgence? How tragic.”
You pointed at the sticker.
“You’re committing cultural fraud.”
He leaned closer, voice smooth as silk.
“Darling, I’ve committed far worse.”
God, he was impossible. Any excuse to steal a kiss, and he’d take it, and honestly… you didn’t exactly mind.
You leaned in just enough, your voice teasing.
“Guess you’ll have to keep trying, Lucifer.”
His eyes darkened, amused and challenged all at once.
“Oh, darling…”
He leaned close enough that his voice brushed your ear, just audible over the music.
“I fully intend to.”