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It began, as many of Lucifer Morningstar’s misadventures did, with one small request that should have been harmless.
“Lucifer,” Chloe had said that morning, mug of coffee in hand and a far too-innocent smile on her face, “Trixie’s class is doing Career Day. She asked if you’d come talk about your job.”
Lucifer blinked at her over his own espresso. “My job? Darling, you mean consulting for the LAPD? Or owning Lux? Or reigning over the eternal fires of Hell? Because only one of those, technically, is a job.”
Chloe gave him that Detective look — the one that suggested he was missing something obvious. “She means the LAPD thing. You know she thinks you’re cool.”
He grinned. “Naturally. I am cool.”
“Please don’t traumatize the children,” she added, kissing his cheek on her way out the door.
Lucifer scoffed. “Traumatize? Me? Detective, I’m the very picture of charm.”
---
Two hours later, Lucifer Morningstar stood in a brightly decorated classroom that smelled faintly of crayons, glue, and despair politely clapping after a firefighter explained what he did for work.
The desks were tiny. The chairs were tinier. And twenty small humans stared at him with the unimpressed expression of a crowd used to adults talking about boring topics.
“Okay, everyone,” the teacher chirped. “This is Trixie’s family, Mr. Morningstar! He’s here to tell us about his job.”
Lucifer clapped his hands once, flashing his signature grin. “Greetings, everyone! I’m Lucifer Morningstar. I consult for the LAPD, and I own a rather fabulous nightclub called Lux.”
He paused, expecting at least one gasp of awe.
Instead, a boy in the front row raised an eyebrow. “So you have two jobs?”
Lucifer frowned. “Yes, well, technically—”
“Does that mean you’re poor?” the boy interrupted.
Lucifer froze. “I— excuse me?” did children just not have manners he wondered as the classroom erupted into giggles.
“My dad says people only get two jobs if they can’t pay rent,” the boy added proudly, like he’d just cracked a difficult case.
Lucifer drew himself up, affronted. “I’ll have you know I consult for the LAPD purely for fun. I’m not some desperate mortal slaving away to pay bills. I have—” he gestured vaguely “—enough money to live more than comfortably”
A girl near the back raised her hand. “Then why do you even work?”
Lucifer opened his mouth, hesitated, and realized he didn’t have a particularly sensible answer. “Because... its interesting” he settled on. “And because the Detective— er, your local law enforcement — would be lost without my expertise.”
“Sounds boring,” said another kid.
Lucifer blinked. “Boring? Boring? I’ll have you know I’ve solved dozens of murder cases. There’s blood, betrayal, drama—
Cool” half the class squealed.
He smiled his signature grin”well I'm glad some of you think it's cool."
Trixie, sitting near the front with her chin in her hands, beamed up at him. “He’s funny,” she stage-whispered to her friend.
---
It was going very well,he had just finished a story of a case and all the children were captivated when a freckled boy raised his hand.
“Do you have a lot of money, Mister Morningstar?”
Lucifer blinked. “How did we— we were just talking about homicide. How did this become about my finances?”
The boy shrugged. “Money’s more interesting.”
Lucifer sighed dramatically. “Fine. Yes. I suppose I do have... a fair amount.”
“How much?” another demanded.
“Enough,” Lucifer said firmly.
“Enough to buy a yacht?”
“Several.”
“Enough to buy a house?”
Lucifer scoffed. “Darling, I own an entire building.”
“Oooooh,” several children chorused, impressed.
“Do you have a private jet?” asked one.
“Yes.. but I dont see how--.”
The children gasped. Whispers of whoa emitting from the children and parents.
Lucifer cleared his throat. “Again, these details do not reflect on my profession. But if you insist, very well… yes, I have the means to travel efficiently. Next question?”
“Do you know Kayne west?” asked a bold kid.
“Yes.he is banned from my club for being handsy towards my staff. So I kicked him out. He was really pis-annoyed at me but oh well. Sophie didn't deserve to feel uncomfortable and she's a really nice girl ”
The class murmured. Abit confused but mostly more curious
“Have you met the president?” asked another child.
Lucifer wrinkled his nose. “No. And I do not see the point in such an encounter. Why would I want to talk to an idiot who looks like a satsuma.”
---
The teacher, valiantly trying to regain control, cleared her throat. “Perhaps, Mr. Morningstar, you could tell the class what skills someone might need for your line of work?”
Lucifer straightened his jacket. “Well, one must be charming, confident, impeccably dressed, and blessed with an unshakable sense of style—”
“Those aren’t skills,” said a girl with pigtails.
Lucifer blinked. “Of course they are! You can’t learn style.”
“My mom says you can if you watch YouTube.”
He glared. “Well, your mother is wrong.”
The children giggled again, sensing weakness.
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen at the police station?” asked a small boy.
Lucifer brightened. “Ah, an excellent question. Once, a man tried to rob a bank dressed as a banana—”
“Was it you?” someone shouted.
“No!”
“Do you drink coffee like the police?”
“Only if it’s imported and made by an actual barista.”
“Do you eat donuts?”
Lucifer looked horrified. “Do I look like a man who eats fried dough?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah.”
Lucifer took a steadying breath. “You, have no appreciation for fine taste.”
The boy shrugged. “Donuts are fine taste.”
Lucifer muttered something under his breath about preferring Hellfire to homeroom.
---
Things truly unraveled when someone asked about his car.
“I drive a 1962 Corvette Stingray,” he announced proudly. “black. A work of art.”
One of the boys tilted his head. “That’s, like, old.”
Lucifer blinked. “Classic, child. Not old.”
“Does it have Bluetooth?”
“No.”
“Then it’s old.”
Another kid snickered. “My dad’s car has Wi-Fi.”
Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Does your father’s car have soul?”
“Yeah, it has cup holders.”
Lucifer gasped softly, as though mortally wounded. “Cup holders! That is not soul!”
The class laughed.
"And anyway" Lucifer continued "I own more cars and they do have cup holders its just my favourite car over the others.
---
After what felt like an eternity (but was actually twenty minutes), Lucifer attempted to reclaim his authority one final time.
“Right,” he said, leaning against the desk — and immediately regretted it when it creaked ominously. “Any final questions before I leave you to your glitter and crayons?”
A hand shot up. “Are you really named Lucifer? Like... the Devil?”
The class went dead silent.
Lucifer froze for half a second, then smiled smoothly. “Yes. But don’t worry, I’m the nice one.”
A beat. Then one girl whispered, “My grandma says the Devil’s bad.”
Lucifer smiled sweetly. “Well, your grandma hasn’t met me, has she?”
The teacher gave him a nervous look. “M-maybe let’s not go into theology, Mr. Morningstar—”
But the damage was done.
“You can’t be the Devil!” said a boy near the front. “You don’t even have horns!”
Lucifer tilted his head. “You’d be surprised.”
“Prove it!” someone yelled.
“I most certainly will not!”
“Show us your horns!”
The teacher tried to regain control “Everyone this isnt very nice towards mr morningstar”
“Show us!”
Lucifer groaned, muttering under his breath, “Father give me strength.”
Trixie was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair.
The teacher finally intervened. “Okay, class, that’s enough! Let’s thank Mr. Morningstar for visiting today!”
The kids clapped half-heartedly — mostly because they were still whispering ‘show us your horns’ under their breath.
Lucifer gave a stiff little bow. “You’re welcome, you tiny gremlins. May your futures be less disappointing than your manners.”
---
On the way out, Trixie caught up to him, still giggling. “You did great, Luci.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re mocking me.”
“Maybe a little.” She grinned. “They liked you, though.”
“Liked me? They questioned my wealth, insulted my car, and slandered Lux!”
Trixie shrugged. “That means they liked you.”
Lucifer sighed, straightening his jacket. “Remind me never to step foot in a school again. I’d sooner return to Hell.”
As he swept dramatically down the hallway, still muttering about “uncultured youth” and “cup holders,” the classroom door closed behind him — and Trixie couldn’t help but smile.