Archive of Our Own

The following times he saw her had been purposeful.

She had hair the color of the straw she ran through, eyes as blue as the sky she danced beneath. Skin as creamy and soft as the milk she bathed in, and her smile was as vibrant and alluring as the flowers that tickled her palms. She was everything he was not, and he had never felt an addiction so potent.

It wasn't uncommon for him to wander up to the land of the living, to see all the things he never saw under the fertile soil. His world was dark and, despite its many inhabitants, lifeless. Nothing grew, nothing breathed, and no sunlight ever made it down to his depths. The Styx had a moon-like glow, and that was all the light he had. Perpetually night. Perpetually lonely.

He hardly ever wandered up before he saw her, but since that day, he found himself amongst living things more than he had since he had been resigned to the Underworld. It wasn't much of a hardship, but he missed the warmth of the sun from time to time, the presence of anything other than the dead.

When he first saw her, his attention had been caught by the sound of giggling nearby. He had been circling around a knobby oak tree, appreciating how something so bent and asymmetrical could exist in a field of golden wheat and blooming flowers. It had almost sounded like singing, not that he could remember what singing sounded like, but from what he could, the light laughter had been melodic, enchanting, magical. He took a few steps away from the shade of the tree, the sun bright on his pale skin, and he saw the flow of hair first, then the twirl of the dress as the figure spun around with flowers in her hands, butterflies dancing around her.

He was awestruck. He had never seen such beauty before, had never experienced anything so wholesome and jubilant as the girl dancing amongst the fluttering insects with an infectious smile on her pink lips. He hadn't noticed he was looming, and when the girl's gaze chased after a stray butterfly, her eyes landed on him, and widened in surprise. Her parted lips quickly curved up in a friendly smile, though, and she gently waved at him, delicate fingers in the air, hair blowing in the breeze. A strange sensation overcame him, and he could only relate it to fear, a feeling he hadn't experienced in too many years to count. There was something else, though, a strange tickling in his stomach. It reminded him on the butterflies floating around the girl: light and fluttering.

He didn't return the gesture, instead he retreated back towards the tree, where he could will himself back down to where he belonged, away from such grace and happiness. He could hear her calling out, voice just as pretty as the laughing, and then it was gone, along with everything else the sun touched. His eyes adjusted to the dark, the vision of the girl stamped onto the dark stone surrounding him with every blink. A sun-burned impression that faded once he made it to the ferry.

He was the last on the ship, a few souls standing there, dread in their dead eyes, and he refused to acknowledge them, even when they looked at him as if he held the answers to the afterlife. He didn't. He just ran their hell.

Mazikeen gave him a curious look, the large hood on her cloak shadowing the more inhuman side of her face, the side that wasn't dark and beautiful. "What did you see?"

Lucifer ducked his head, trying to hide the smile that was curving his lips up. He thought the darkness could hide the wonder in his eyes, but he was wrong. Mazikeen had a way of reading others; she always knew where the souls needed to be dropped off. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he answered once he felt his voice wouldn't give him away. He braved a peek up, and the expression on the half-exposed part of Mazikeen's face was enough to know he wasn't so deceptive.

"You have a ridiculous grin on your face," she stated, no trace of mockery in her tone at all. If anything, she was amused.

"I do not," he retorted, eyes casting down once again. He could feel his cheeks warming, and it was a strange sensation, but not unwelcomed.

"Okay, don't tell me, then," she huffed, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He looked back up at his only friend as the boat started to move, gliding through the ghostly river at a pace slow enough to make the journey into the afterlife as gentle and as eerie as possible. "It looks good on you," she added, and his entire face warmed at her words. He pressed his lips together to keep from grinning, but he knew she was right. He was smiling, and it was something he never did.

On his next trip up, Lucifer told himself that he wouldn't run that time. The girl had seen him, and she had tried to greet him. Granted, she didn't know who he was, or where he resided, but she seemed friendly and willing to meet him. He could allow himself a bit of happiness. He could allow himself the company of someone so beautiful it physically hurt. When he appeared by the oak tree, starting to realize he considered it to be his tree, he couldn't see her, but the distant sound of a soft voice humming kindled a fire low in his belly, the butterfly-feeling in his stomach again.

He followed the delightful sound, swatting a bee away from his face with all the disdain he could muster. There were some things about the living world he didn't find interesting. Insects were one of them. The closer he got, he heard splashing, and a cold feeling saturated his stomach. The only splashing he ever heard was trapped souls trying to escape the Styx, thrashing up, beating hands on the side of Mazikeen's ferry, unsure why they were subjected to float in flowing nothingness forever.

He had to remind himself that he wasn't in the Underworld, that the splashing he heard wasn't from the Styx, that he was surrounded by sunlight and life, not darkness and death. Making his way through tall grass and wheat, he saw the beginnings of a small lake, surrounded by blossomed flowers and birds, a few deer grazing amongst the tender clover. The fauna wasn't the source of the splashing, nor the humming, and as he stepped closer, he could see a lithe figure dancing, knee deep in the lake, splashing water around her, sunlight making the falling water look like raining crystals.

Her gauzy, white dress was damp, clinging close to her form, growing more and more translucent as water continued to soak through it. He could see the color of her skin through the thin material, could see the curve of her body, noticed it to be vastly different from his own. She was all soft and gentle edges, while his body was hard and sharp angles. Her chest was round and supple, bouncing with each movement, and he found himself staring, transfixed, something happening in his groin. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like he should look away, like he shouldn't watch her as she danced in the, sun, in the water, surrounded by all things beautiful and warm.

There was a thin crown of flowers atop her head, slightly tilted from all of her movement, but it was fitting, a crown on her head. Her tanned skin was glowing, glittering with water droplets, and he was so distracted by the glint on the expanses of her skin that he didn't notice that she had stopped moving, that she was staring right at him with a huge smile. When he noticed, the urge to flee was strong, but he forced his feet to stay, to hold their ground. He was the king of the Underworld, he couldn't let a simple girl make him run. No matter how devastatingly pretty.

"Hi," she called out to him, waving a hand in the air, water falling from her fingertips and trailing down the length of her arm. Cowardly, he raised a hand, just holding it up in the air, acknowledging her greeting. He couldn't bring himself to speak, his nerves making the words cling in his throat, but he didn't to leave, didn't want her to leave. He wanted to meet her, to get close to her.

When he wouldn't answer, she giggled and started towards the edge of the lake, towards him. He gulped as her dress was no longer floating on top of the water once she was on the bank. The fabric clung to her body, like a second skin, and he could see the rounded curve of her hips, the length of her thighs, her bare ankles and feet as she stepped through the grass. Her hair was damp and falling in waves around her face, over her shoulders, the ends skirting near her elbows and mid back. He noticed the slightly darker points on her chest, visible through the sheer fabric, and he didn't know why it made his whole body thrum, why he felt warmer, why he started to sweat for reasons other than the sun's heat.

She walked right up to him, a smile on her face, eyes alight in wonder, and he saw no fear in them. It was the other way around; he was afraid, not of her, but of her rejection once she knew who he was, what he was. He was used to everyone fearing him, hating him, and her kind smile and friendliness made him weary, but he craved it. The attention was new, and it was intoxicating the way her eyes sparkled with interest, with certainty.

"I'm Chloe," she said, tilting her head up at him, looking him in the eyes, and she was so small up close, so delicate and fragile-looking, but her spirit didn't fit that description. She came right up to him, a dark stranger, without an inkling of fear or reservation. She was all fire and confidence, and he wished for just an ounce of such traits.

"I'm –" he started, trailing off. He knew that as soon as he said his name, she would run away, she would leave him, maybe spit in his direction, tell him to go back to where he belonged. Curse him for bringing his darkness up to her thriving land.

"I know who you are, Lucifer," she said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He froze in place, not that he was doing much moving, but he could feel the sting of rejection on the edge of her tongue, ready to bite. "I'm glad you didn't run away this time."

He looked up in shock to see her lips quirked in a playful smirk. "You know who I am?"

"Of course, silly" she chastised, reaching out to try and nudge his shoulder, but he flinched away, not even sure why he avoided touch so aggressively. She took it in stride, her eyes losing some of their joy but the smile remained on her lips. "You're kind of hard to miss."

He wasn't sure how to take that. His lack of experience with communication and nonverbal cues was a detriment, but she was smiling. Chloe, he thought to himself. A name to the pretty face that haunted him in his waking life in the dark, sang sweetly to him in his dreams. "You don't seem scared." Lucifer clenched his hands at his sides, waiting to be corrected, but his words were never fixed. He looked at her quizzically, taking in the way her body was light and moving, unlike his rigid, tense form.

"You're the one who did the running," Chloe pointed out, and that was fair. He had run off, like most things that get caught where they don't belong tend to do. "Do I scare you?" She tilted her head to the side, eyeing him up and down, and he couldn't help but notice how her gaze lingered on his lips before reaching his eyes again.

"I –" he stammered, brows pinching together as he tried to find the words he was looking for. She was waiting for him, expression calm and anticipatory, but she seemed to understand. He wondered how she did that; how she could just look at him and know what he was feeling. He didn't even know half the time. "You make me nervous," he admitted, because it was the truth. It wasn't fear that drove him into stillness, or made his heart beat wildly in his chest. It was something else, something different, but not far off.

She seemed to mull over his words, eyes looking up and to the right, the bright pink tip of her tongue sticking out against her lip, over the white shine of teeth. "Okay, I can work with nervous," she says after a few moments of pure agony for Lucifer. She winked at him and it forced him to look down at the ground to see if his stomach had fallen out like it felt it had. Looking down also hid the warmth that was flushing on his cheeks, too.

Lucifer looked back up to Chloe dancing her fingers in front of her, magically, a dark stem with beautiful, small, royal-blue flowers on the end. There was both yellow and white in the centers of them, and when she stretched out her arm, he took the stem with an uneasy hand. She nodded and that seemed to soothe his worry, and he held the gift out in front of himself, studying the depth of the blues, the contrast of the dark stem to such vivid colored petals.

"I hope to keep seeing you, Lucifer," Chloe said, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek, blunt nails scratching against his stubble. "The sun looks nice on your skin."

Lucifer was left standing, mouth agape, watching as she gracefully walked through the tall grass, hands grazing the tops, disappearing into the sunlit horizon. He couldn't remember the last time he had been touched by something as warm as her hand. He couldn't remember the last time he had even been touched. He knew then that he was damned to suffer her absence whenever he returned to the cold, damp dark of his own world. It was a torture he was willing to endure, for those few, sweet moments of her company. A girl, a goddess, who gave flowers to the god of the Underworld.

As he expected, the flowers died moments after entering the land of the dead, but he still placed the wilted petals and weakened stem in his quarters, to get just a hint of her smell whenever he pressed it to his nose and closed his eyes.

Lucifer was less nervous on his next trip up. Chloe was waiting for him by the oak tree, sitting on a branch, swinging her bare feet through the air, smiling brightly when he was close enough to see it. She held out her hand, waiting patiently as Lucifer stared at it before his mind understood the gesture for help. Her delicate, warm hand fit perfectly into his palm, his much larger fingers wrapping around her knuckles. His breath was caught in his throat as she slid down onto the ground before him, and he figured she didn't need his help getting down. The thought that she wanted to touch him was too much to consider, so he pushed the thought away, focusing on the sway of her dress, the bronze glow on her cheeks from the sun.

"Follow me," she chimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she spun around. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to ensure he was behind her, they both knew he would follow her anywhere, but he appreciated the sentiment. Another glimpse at her features haloed in gold. "I made us a picnic," she added after a few steps, leading them to a small patch of grass she had flattened with a thin, white blanket. On top of the fabric was an assortment of feta, olives, olive oil, figs, honey, and breads. Next to the food sat a clay decanter, which he assumed held wine.

They didn't need to eat, of course, but the taste of food and drink was an indulgence that the gods enjoyed frequently. Lucifer was the only one who didn't surround himself in such luxuries. Wine was a staple in the Underworld for himself and Mazikeen, but that was it. It had been so long since he had tasted anything other than stale air, and he knew he wouldn't be able to thank her enough.

Chloe twirled around, folding her legs beneath her, sitting on the blanket as the skirt of her dress billowed around her. She patted the spot next to her, and Lucifer, hesitantly, sat where he was told. He watched as she poured wine into two bowls before handing him one. She held hers up in the air, waiting for him to do the same. "To new friends," she cheered, tipping her bowl against his before taking a sip. She hummed at the taste, and he had to admit, it was delicious, both in flavor and the sounds it made her emit.

"We hardly know each other," Lucifer said, and he regretted it the moment the words spilled from his lips like sickness. How could he go against what she said? Why was he so self-destructive?

"Well, that's what this is for," Chloe argued, holding her hands out and gesturing to the spread she had made for them. "So we can get to know each other. What? You don't want to be my friend?" He could see that she was mocking him, but her smile was sweet.

"I would very much like to be your friend," Lucifer stated, bowing his head down, and it was, finally, her turn to blush. They ate small bites of the food Chloe had set out for them, drank more wine, enjoyed the sunshine and the singing birds. A bee even flew by Lucifer and he didn't try to kill it, instead he let it land on a flower next to him, watched as it drank nectar and collected pollen before buzzing off. Everything felt warm and bright, even their conversation. Lucifer was more than content sitting and listening to Chloe talk about her flowers, offering up small bits of information about himself to keep the dialogue (mostly) balanced. He found it easy to be around her, like he didn't have to keep his guard up. Like he could remember how he used to be before he was cast-out to be surrounded by dead things and tormented souls.

"Want to see something I like to do?" she asked after a while, like a secret. He raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she could be talking about, but he nodded his head. He'd listen to anything she told him. He watched as she grabbed a fig half, holding it in one hand as the other grabbed a cube of feta and dipped it in the honey. She placed the honeyed cheese on the fruit and popped the whole thing in her mouth, moaning as she chewed the large bite.

Lucifer felt something tighten in his chest, his stomach growing warm, and he argued to himself that it was just the wine, but he knew it wasn't. She sucked remnants of honey off her thumb as she continued to chew, trying to hide her giggles as his clearly bewildered expression. There was a flash of mischief in her eyes as she arranged another bite of her secret combination, but instead of bringing it to her lips, she held it out in front of her, shoving it towards Lucifer as honey started to drip. She widened her eyes and squealed with her mouth closed, and Lucifer sat in horrified uncertainty until she rolled her eyes and pressed the treat to his lips.

He made a surprised noise when his mouth opened, but the fullness quickly muffled any sound, and he could feel his lips close around the tips of her fingers, felt them linger, before she pulled them away, licking off honey as she watched him eat. He chewed, and it took no more than four masticating motions for him to know how he felt about her concoction. "That is absolutely vile," he said around his mouthful, watching as she feigned offense before bursting out in a fit of laughter. He swallowed the food, scoffing as the taste clung to his tongue like moss on a tree. Forgoing the bowl, he grabbed the jar of wine and drank straight from it, his action causing Chloe to laugh even more. It felt rewarding to make her that happy, to make the corners of her eyes crinkle in glee.

Their picnic was the most fun he'd ever had.

When the sun was starting to set, and it was time for him to return to the land of the dead, Chloe walked him over to the oak tree, arms swinging through the cooler evening breeze. "The flowers I gave you last time," she started, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Did they help you remember me?"

Lucifer was floored by the prospect of needing anything more than the vision of her to remember her. "Chloe, I could forget you not," he said, slightly proud with stable his voice sounded. The slight grin on his faltered, and Chloe's eyebrows scrunched together in response. "Unfortunately, they died soon after I returned to the Underworld. But I kept them! They're just not as vibrant as before, no longer full of life."

Although there was no changing their fate, Lucifer felt a tinge of guilt at the admission, like he should have found a way to keep life sustained down in the depths. It would be for folly, though. Nothing lived down there, not even light. Not even happiness.

After a few seconds of consideration, Chloe's expression changed, her eyes glittering as she beamed at him. "That's what I'll call them!" she shouted, reaching out and grabbing both of his hands with hers. He looked down at the contact, still as jarring and enveloping as it had been earlier. "Forget-me-nots!"

"You… you had just made those? For me?" He was stunned. He knew she made new flowers all the time, but the thought of her conjuring up such beauty and intricacy on his behalf was implausible.

She shrugged, nonchalantly, and he felt a lump in his throat. "I wanted to give you something special."

He stared at her in awe, and the ache in his chest grew, but it wasn't unpleasant. He didn't know what it felt like, other than a sweet pain he longed for. Whenever he was with her, he wished for the time to never end. "No one has ever given me anything, let alone made me anything."

The look on her face wasn't pity, but he could see the sadness, the sympathy, maybe, but she quickly blinked it away, smiling proudly. "Well, now you have me," she said, rising up on her toes and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek; soft skin against rough stubble. He wanted to tell her that no one had ever kissed him either, but found words too difficult in that moment. Instead, he smiled, cheeks warming in a blush, as she had explained the pink under his eyes to be.

He could hardly remember what life was without her, and in that moment, he knew he never wanted to remember that feeling.

They continued to meet frequently, always in her land, always amongst the sun and flowers she made. It left a long-lasting smile on his face that even Mazikeen had grown accustomed to. She teased him about it, naturally, but didn't push him for details. He wasn't quite ready to tell her about Chloe. He wanted the goddess to be his secret for a little while longer.

In all his time in the Underworld, he had never run into another god. There was his brother, of course, the god of gods, but that was more for formality. To help fix problems that only Lucifer's questionable ethics could assist in. Other than that, the others on Olympus found it unnecessary to interact with him. An inconvenience they couldn't make through their immortal lives. It used to bother him, of course, but he had grown cold since then.

Chloe made him feel again, however. She was the heat thawing his heart, his soul, and he craved it more than anything. He couldn't wait to go up and see her, and leaving her every time felt like a stab to his center. She touched him more and more, holding his hand like it was nothing, like he deserved her attention, her affection. She hadn't kissed his cheek again, and he found himself curious about returning the favor. How would his lips feel pressed against the soft skin of her face, against her plush, plum-tinted lips?

"You've inspired a bunch of new flowers, you know," Chloe spoke up one particularly sunny day. They were laying in the grass, eyes closed and letting the warmth soak deep into their bones. It felt like thawing after a long winter for Lucifer. He heard her shuffle, and when he cracked one eye open, he saw her sitting up, propped on her elbows, smiling down at him. "I'll show them to you, but you have to bring me something."

He didn't miss the coy smirk on her lips. "From where?" he asked, sitting up and posting himself with one arm behind him. He had no idea how she thought he could get anything from her land that she already couldn't have. When she didn't answer, he fought to keep his eyes from growing wide. "The Underworld?" he questioned incredulously. He couldn't fathom why she would want anything from there. "You want me to bring you something from the Underworld?" He couldn't believe it.

"Yes, I do," she responded defiantly, tilting her nose up towards the sky. Lucifer loved the way the light framed her profile, and his brain was buzzing with the use of that word. Had he ever thought that word before? "So, will you bring me something?" She turned to look at him, hopeful, teeth sinking into her plush bottom lip. He had never wished to be a set of calcium deposits with nerves more.

"I…. I'll see what I can do," he answered, and she hummed a pleased sound before lying back down in the grass. Lucifer indulged in looking at her a little more before rejoining her. If she knew, she didn't care, and he was grateful for that.

When he hopped off the ferry, a pep in his step that Mazikeen rolled her eyes at, not able to hide the half-smile on the fleshy side of her face, he went to work on a gift for Chloe. There wasn't much in the way of gathering materials to make anything, however, he had always been drawn to the shiny black of an onyx, the rich red of a ruby. Stone and iron were plentiful in the Underworld, and he had always been skilled in forging.

Being immortal made time inconsequential. He wasn't sure how many hours he had spent on the gift, but he didn't stop until he felt it was as perfect as it could be, as she deserved. He held the delicate, but sturdy, bracelet between his thumbs and forefingers, looking it over, making sure it was smooth and uniform. The polished onyx gleamed against the blackened iron band in small, raised beads, leading to the center piece of the bracelet. He had inlaid a ruby, leaving it rough and uncut, a jagged hung of crimson stone contrasting beautifully against the smoothness of the forged iron and polished onyx. It glimmered and gleamed, even in the dim glow of the Underworld, and he could imagine how vibrant it would be in the sun, against her tanned skin. Without much thought, he brought the ruby to his lips, planting a small kiss to the gem. It was the first thing he had ever made for someone, and he was proud of it. It was dark, a vast difference from the bright colors and vivid light of her world, but he felt like it belonged on her, even as a small reminder of himself on her skin.

It wasn't an entirely selfless gift. He wanted to see her wearing something that he made, from the Underworld, that the other gods could see and know who gave it to her.

His next visit saw them staying close to the oak tree he was so fond of. She sat beneath it, playing with the bark, as he leaned against the strong trunk. Even in silence, her company was better than anything else. He when it was quiet, still, because he felt he could hear her energy, thrumming like a heartbeat through the air, the flowers, the flowing grass. She was everything, in everything, on this side of the world. Even the littler birds that seemed to circle her were full of her light.

She looked up at him from where she sat, legs folded to her side, petting the petals of a delicate, yellow flower, and smiled. He knew then he had to give her the bracelet. It had been burning a hole in his robe the whole time, wanting to be where it belonged. "I brought you something, like you asked," he piped up, and her smile grew wider. He could see the joy in her eyes as she stood before him, waiting patiently and expectantly. She was stunning, and he knew he would give her everything he could.

He stuck his hand in his pocket, fingers closing around the bracelet. He watched as she put her hands behind her back, going up on her toes as she stared at his closed hand, biting her bottom lip. Holding his breath, he turned his hand over so that when he opened his fingers, her gift was resting on his palm, dainty and dark.

When he dared to look up, Chloe's expression was awed. Her mouth was open, in a delicate O, her eyes were wide and glittering with the beginnings of tears, and she swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure what the tears were about, and he almost closed his hand, ashamed that he couldn't see just how horrible the black and red stuck out against all the pastel colors, but she grasped his wrist in one hand, the other hovering over her gift.

"Did you make this?" she asked, voice soft and small. She looked into his eyes and he could see unshed tears resting along her lower lids.

"There's not much I could bring from the Underworld," he started, shifting from one foot to the other. "Plus, I figured since you made me something, I could return the favor." One side of his mouth turned up as he shrugged. Her hand over his was almost shaking, and her bare wrist was just begging to have something adorn it, to decorate such a striking canvas. "May I?" he asked, raising a brow, and when she nodded, staring at him the entire time, he slid the iron over her hand, letting it hang on her wrist, the rough ruby nearly shimmering in the sun.

"I love it," she said, even more softly, before lunging forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. He stood, shocked, unsure what to do besides catch her, but his hands seemed to find her waist on their own, and when he squeezed her to him, she sighed into the embrace. Nothing could feel better. Nothing felt more right than that, Chloe in his arms. Just as soon as he was feeling comfortable in the close embrace, she pulled back, just enough so she could look into his eyes, their faces impossibly close, and all he could do is hold his breath to keep from doing something reckless. "Can I kiss you?" she asked, the tip of her nose on his, her breath against his lips.

"Please," he breathed, and she smiled, so pretty and warm, before pressing her lips to his. It was electric, every second of it, and he felt her move against him, her lips shifting, so he followed suit, until the arms around his neck tightened and he gasped into it. Her tongue slid into his mouth at the barest of openings, and he could do nothing but groan at the taste of her, at the feel of her tongue against his. He could feel her smile against him before pulling back, and the sensation was immediately lost, the wet heat of her mouth no longer on his. He missed it as soon as it was gone.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," Chloe admitted, licking her lips, tongue close enough to graze along the dip below his bottom lip. He didn't know how to respond to that, other than nod his head. He had thought of it, too, without having the experience to understanding what he was longing for. She seemed to notice his hesitation, his awkward stance of stiff limbs and rigid lips, and instead of laughing she grinned, leaning down to press the side of her face against his chest. "Have you ever been kissed like that before?"

Lucifer chuckled, in spite of himself, wrapping his arms more firmly around her. He adored the feeling of her against him, sun-lit soul warming up his dead one. "That obvious?" he asked, and it was more rhetorical, he didn't really need an answer when they both knew it to be true.

"Yes," she replied, and Lucifer scoffed before she chuckled and cuddled up closer to him. He felt something fond warm up in his chest, too deep to be from her skin. "But it's sweet. I like it."

"Sweet?" he asked indignantly. There was no heat behind the question, and that earned him a jab in the ribs; another thing he had grown way too fond of. The jesting.

"Oh, how could it be?" she gasped, pushing away from him, bringing her hands to either side of her face, appearing mortified. "The big, bad King of the Underworld: sweet, kind," she started, stepping up to him again, placing her hands on his cheeks, pulling him down. "Innocent." She kissed his lips again, and he moaned, a breathy, barely audible sound. "You deserve to feel alive, Lucifer."

He jerked his head back, hopeful disbelief on his features, his own eyes growing wet. No one had ever told him he deserved anything more than the pit under the world, never deserved to feel the sun, never deserved companionship and closeness. To think he had been deprived of intimacy for so long he truly had no idea how it even worked. She made him want all of those things, the things he grew to stop caring about. The things that had been held out of his reach for so long, he lost interest. Until he saw her that one day, an immeasurable amount of time ago.

"Let me help you feel alive," she whispered against his mouth, and he opened up for her, letting her lick into his mouth in a slow-burning heat. The sun was setting, it was time to part ways, and when he left her at the oak tree, it was the first time he struggled to let her go. The promise of more for them got him through it, gave his rosy cheeks a redder hue that Mazikeen noticed, raising a single arched eyebrow at before turning to look at the Styx. She was good in that aspect, respecting boundaries and secrets. She existed to ferry the dead to their eternal cell, the plight of anything alive was simply insignificant to her. He couldn't blame her, but he could see her interest in what was causing the pink on his cheeks, his inability to get a big enough breath, the dreamy look he knew he carried in his eyes.

She never seemed displeased by any of it. Only suspicious.

He never saw her without the bracelet, and it always made his stomach swoop to see her wearing it, to see the glittering red and gleaming black radiate in the sunlight. She told him about the flowers he had inspired, the ones that bloomed at night, that didn't need the sun to be pretty and glowing. She described them as white, trumpet-like blooms that opened when the moon came up. She called them moonflowers, Hell's Bells, for their shape, and she knocked his shoulder at the more comical name. She said she would show him, if he took her down to the Underworld. She wanted to see where he lived

"Why, Chloe?" he had asked, pleading her to reconsider. She was so bright and lively. She didn't need to see what was below… what was waiting for every mortal after death, after they left her world to go to his. "Why would you want to go there?"

"You live there," she had argued, her chin tilted up in the way it always did when she was being insistent, determined. "I want to see that part of you, Lucifer, why is that so bad?"

He sighed, lowering his chin to his chest, unable to meet her eyes. He saw her fingers before he felt them, and those delicate digits lifted his chin back up. She was so close, and he could feel his resolve waning. Her power of him terrified him to his core, but it was the warmest feeling he had ever experienced. He would lower himself to her feet before he ever disappointed her. "It's not a pretty place. It's dark, cold, nothing like this," he said, a final plea, motioning to all the wonderful life and light around them. "It's nothing like you."

Maybe it was because she didn't care that it was nothing like the world she had spun, or maybe it was because he knew he could never say no to her. When he opened the ground up, her hand in his, he told her it looked like falling, but it wasn't. She had put on a brave face, and he adored that, squeezing his hand before taking the first step. When her bare feet had touched the cold stone, her eyes squinting in the dark, he had been prepared to open the Earth again, let her rise back to where she belonged, but she tugged him forward. Instead of fear or disgust, he saw wonder in her eyes as she took it all in: the moon-like glow of the beginning of the Styx, the way the water swirled with a mist that was both eerie and entrancing, how black everything was.

Her hands traced along stone walls and he swore he could see a light in the wake of her fingers, as if she were breathing life into the place. Mazikeen was waiting on her boat, and the look on her face was something Lucifer would not be forgetting for a while. Mazikeen glared at Lucifer, eyes wide, lips parted, and it was hard to read if she were angry or surprised on just one visible side of her face. They approached her slowly, but Chloe was bouncing on her feet, experiencing something new and exciting, not the Underworld, not a dead, decaying place.

Mazikeen stopped them at the mouth of the boat, looking towards Lucifer for an answer. Living things, other than himself, never came down to the Underworld. Mazikeen's job was to ferry the dead, not provide a ride for the living. He knew better than to assume it would be free, so he took a coin from his robe and handed it to her. She accepted the payment, but still looked confused weary, and then Chloe moved to stand in front of Lucifer, smiling at Mazikeen like they were well acquainted. Lucifer could do nothing but stare at Mazikeen, eyes slightly widened with apology.

"Mazikeen, you ferry the dead in the Underworld," Chloe said, as if reciting some lore she had grown up listening to. The Ferryman lifted her chin, looking down at Chloe through the lashes of her flesh eye, her skeletal, sinuous side still hidden. "I asked Lucifer to bring me here, I just want to see where he lives."

"I've never ferried a living soul before, no less an immortal one," Mazikeen admitted, seeming more intrigued at the prospect. She glanced at Lucifer, and he quirked a small smile. Whatever she read from that expression softened her own, and she looked back over to Chloe with less suspicion.

"I would like to offer a payment of my own," Chloe stated, holding her hands out in front of her, waiting for Mazikeen's approval. The Ferryman nodded and watched as Chloe's fingers spun in front of her until a small, white flower formed between her fingers. Mazikeen's eyes widened in shock, the visible side of her mouth falling open. Though Lucifer was unused to living things, Mazikeen had never seen them, and the sight of a flower in the Underworld was enough to bring even her to her knees. Chloe gave the flower to Mazikeen, who took it hesitantly, unsure how to hold it.

She grasped the stem, too afraid to move, to ruin the illusion she was sure it had to be. "Now watch," Chloe added with a mischievous smile fingers dancing over the flower in Mazikeen's grasp. Beads of sparkling dew formed on the tips of her fingers, dropping down onto the flower, transforming it. The Ferryman gasped, and Lucifer was amazed at the change, as well. The white petals turned translucent, showing thin, white lines through the now-clear petals, looking like the flower's skeleton. Mazikeen stared down at the flower in awe, even as it began to wilt and die. She closed her hand around it and brought it to her chest, and Lucifer could have sworn that Chloe was close to tears from happiness.

"The water made it look like bones," Mazikeen said, voice tight and soft, sounding nothing like her ordinary assertive tone.

"I've called it the skeleton flower," Chloe chimed, grinning wide and radiantly. "I wanted to show you that even something that was ghostly and skeletal could be pretty." Her face fell to a more understanding, serious smile as Mazikeen looked up at her with wonder. She looked back at Lucifer, and he could see the question in her eyes. He nodded, answering the unsaid question that she was the reason for Lucifer's cheerier moods, and Mazikeen stepped aside, letting them board.

"Was that one of your new ones?" Lucifer whispered against her ear after they had pushed away from the dock, gliding down the river Styx eerily slow.

Chloe looked up at him, a pleased expression across her pretty features, draping Lucifer's arm around her waist. "Yeah, but I have a group of them I saved for last." She winked at him before looking back out onto the misty water, amazement in her eyes. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a twisted sort of pride in her eagerness to see the Underworld, how she looked upon it like it was full of intrigue and wonder. For a moment, he let his mind think about how it would be if she were there all the time. Would it feel lively and bright in the sunlight that seemed to radiate from her being? Would she be able to keep him warm at night when distressed souls could be heard wailing in the quiet?

There wasn't much to show her of the Underworld. The Styx was the main attraction in his carnival of woe, but Chloe gazed upon it all as if it were something reverent, misunderstood. It shouldn't have been so endearing, shouldn't have made his chest ache and his throat feel like he had swallowed a pomegranate whole, but it did. As he looked around, noticing certain nuances he couldn't remember ever seeing, it was like he was seeing it through her eyes. Seeing how the twinkling of the moon-like light, the permanent mist that rolled throughout the place, the moans of the dead that sometimes sounded more peaceful than tortured.

They walked past the Asphodel Meadows, an ironic name since the only relation to a beautiful meadow was the way the souls swayed in the nonexistent wind, forever bound to as insignificant an afterlife as their living one. The Mourning Fields were sorrowful, and Lucifer could see the sympathy in Chloe's eyes as she gazed upon the dead that had loved but had never known what it felt like to be loved in return. It was just as sad as the name; souls crying and begging, forever, tortured by their own unrequited feelings. The Elysium was the second most important aspect of the Underworld. It was full of souls that had lived a supreme life, heroic, important, and it was more paradise for such elite than distressed eternity. It was the one place he felt no sympathy for. They didn't need it. His estranged family of gods had deemed them worthy of a great afterlife, and that sickened him to no end. He had no wish to take Chloe there, and she didn't push the subject.

When they finally reached his quarters, his area of the Underworld that no souls walked along, he felt a sense of nervousness that he hadn't felt since early in their friendship. There wasn't much: no comfortable places of passing the endless time, nothing that showed who he was outside of King of the Underworld. There was no bed because they didn't require sleep, although he had longed for a place to lounge like they did in the grass above. It was peaceful, though, in his dark, quiet patch in the land of the dead.

"So this is where you spend your time?" she asked, and there was no patronizing tone to her words, no hint that she felt any sort of superiority towards him. She twirled around in the open space, the gauzy material of her dress glowing in contrast against the dark stone. There were a few trinkets that littered the walls, little places where an indentation left a small shelf. There were a few animal skulls that reminded him how different living creatures were, there were various stones from the world above that he didn't have to worry about changing. There were jugs of wine, some plain and some decorated, and there was a singular mound of downy feathers encased by a rich, burgundy velvet. It was the only indulgence he allowed himself to have down there, the only thing to provide him comfort in the dark.

"Most of it," he responded after a few moments, pulling his gaze away from her form, looking upon his minimal living quarters, his domicile. He motioned towards a darker corner, where a huge pile of books lay hidden by shadows. "I read a lot," he adds, unsure really why he found that pertinent. She smiles at his answer anyway, making her way over to the books and peeking at a few of the covers. It was one of his favorite parts of the mortal world, aside from Chloe's touch to it, books and art. Music was another, but he hadn't found a dead soul able to play a material instrument yet.

"Who's your favorite?" she asks, and he knows she was talking about authors because she was still flipping through the books, the covers, the pages, smiling down at it like someone had found a secret. "Let me guess," she started, while he was still going over the multitude of answers in his head. It wasn't like anyone had ever asked him what he thought. "Plato." She raised one eyebrow, although she knew the guess was correct.

"How could you tell?" he asked, trying to keep the grin off his face. He started to step closer to her, slow and deliberate, giving her an out to back away. Having her in his domain was affecting him more than he had expected. He liked seeing her there, selfishly, of course. She was like a sun to the dark place, an infinite meadow in a desolate land.

"He makes room for cynical thought," she said, simultaneously stepping closer to him. "He talks about death with reverence. For a mortal, he is welcomingly comfortable with the idea that love can be as destructive as wonderful." She was close to him, their breaths sharing the same air, and his stomach swooped at her words. It was true, that was what drew him to the philosopher. He didn't make Lucifer feel alienated in his hall of souls, didn't make Lucifer feel ashamed of what he was required to do with his godhood. "He understands that there is more to life than sunshine and flowers, that the sun needs the moon just as much as the moon needs the sun." They were so close, all he needed to do was lean down to press his mouth to hers; he wanted nothing more than to do that. He lowered his head but was stopped by a delicate hand on his chest, his breath hitched, waiting.

"Can I show you the other flowers?" she asked quietly, her voice full of intention. He closed his eyes for a second, steeling himself with a deep breath. He felt like the moon in her orbit, being pulled in, unable to stop from doing what she wanted, what she commanded. Unable to keep her from being the center of his universe. He swallowed audibly, nodding his head and opening his eyes, looking down into the blue made darker by their surroundings as her hands starting working her magic, her creationism.

She produced a bouquet of vibrantly colored flowers, small bulbs of yellow, purple, pink, and white and they watched together as they died, drying, retaining all of their color as if they were still living. She smiled vividly down at her creation, the colors glowing on her skin from the white-sheen of the Underworld. "I call them Immortelles, Everlasting," she said, her voice like a commentary of the art held in her hands. "They stay colorful in death, they stay almost the same as they were." She was talking but he barely heard her. Even if it wasn't a gift for him, he couldn't help but feel a lump in his throat, seeing such beauty in the Underworld had been a dream, a delusion he knew not to believe in. He had never imagined a goddess of spring could ever want him, would ever come to his domain, would ever make something beautiful in all the tragedy he was surrounded by. The buds wilted and dried, remaining the same, just barely a difference. "See, dead things can be beautiful."

He was rendered speechless but a bunch of pretty, dead flowers and a goddess too good for anyone, least his doomed soul. Even with that knowledge, he couldn't stop himself from bending down, capturing her mouth in a kiss he had grown to understand and wrapping his arms around her. She dropped the dried bouquet unceremoniously, draping her arms around his neck before hopping up. It was like their bodies spoke to each other as he caught her, large hands cupping her thighs, holding her form effortlessly off the ground, against his own.

They kissed like that for a handful of delicious minutes, tongues dancing together, writhing like their bodies were trying to do. Lucifer could feel Chloe's legs flex, try to straighten, so he lowered her legs down to stand before him, hands moving to the tops of his shoulders, resting there gently. She stared into his eyes, deeply and full of emotion, dragging her hands down and over his chest, his stomach, until they slid off the sides of his hips. He watched as she brought her hands to her own shoulders, toying with the clasps on her gown before undoing them with a soft click. He wanted to look but her eyes were boring into his, yet she didn't reprimand him when his gaze wandered to newly exposed skin.

Her dress fell from her shoulders like cascading water into a puddle at her feet, leaving her bare and breathtaking; every bit of her exposed to Lucifer, and Lucifer alone. His gasp was unmistakable; the way his eyes darted down and over her body, roaming like an anxious, lost traveler, was enough to make her smile. She was shameless in her nakedness, as she should be. The only reason he understood why she wore clothes was that he didn't want anyone to see how he saw her then. He wanted it for himself; was okay with that naïve desire.

"Do you want me?" she asked, finally forcing his eyes back up to hers, lingering on her lips a moment longer than necessary in the process.

"Yes," he replied, truthful as ever, his hands flexing at his sides, tingling with urgency to touch her, to feel all of that soft, supple flesh that was holy and all things he didn't deserve, but would take her charity, nonetheless.

"I want you, too," she admitted, openly, brightly, like it had never been a secret. He felt the light pressure of her hands at his waist, holding the tie to his robe between elegant fingers. "Can I have you?" She bit her lower lip and he groaned, her words sending a pulsing rush of blood down to his hardening cock, tenting the fabric of his robe.

"Yes, please, take me," he breathed out, and he wasn't sure what caused his plea to be so sacrificial, but it felt right, sounded even better. It was like permission, and he felt her untie his robe before pushing it off of his shoulders, down his arms, until he had his own puddle of dark material at his feet. She gasped at the sight, and he felt his cheeks heat up, peachy pink, wondering if what she saw was worthy or disappointing. Unlike her dress, which gave just enough of a hint of her figure, Lucifer's robe hid his form beneath thick layers of dark fabric, only the breadths of his shoulders was noticeable.

Her hands ran down his chest, molding to all the curves of muscle and flesh she found there, fingers rippling over his abs, like she were playing a harp made of skin, her thumbs traced the identical lines along his hips, leading down to the dark curls that surrounded his member, his balls. It felt like worship, it felt like surrender, and he never wanted her to stop touching him if it meant he felt like that forever.

"You're stunning," she muttered, not looking him in the eyes, giving him the idea that she hadn't meant to say that out loud. He scoffed anyway, at the ridiculousness of it; he should be telling her that, and he felt guilty on that, but he was overwhelmed, and he had a rather physical way of expressing his attraction to her, anyway. "I'm serious," she argued, bringing him out of his thoughts, soft hands dragging along his hips, backwards, palms resting on the curved, dense muscle at the top of his ass. "Every part of you is beautiful." He couldn't help but notice where her eyes lingers as she said it, and he felt the flush melt down to his chest, the object of her attention bobbing at the attention.

Her eyes sparkled as they made their way up his body and back to his own, one of her hands moving to thread with his, the other wrapping around his cock, squeezing, forcing a strangled moan from deep within his chest. His eyes fluttered closed, but not before he could see the corners of her mouth twitch up, and he let himself sway into the sensation, into her grip, his fingers tightening between hers. "You affect me, as well," she admitted, starting to lightly stroke the hand on his cock up and down, twisting her wrist as her hand circled the head. He was helpless against it, his body twitching at the touch, the gentle pressure, forcing the air out of his lungs, making each breath in shuttering and loud.

She brought his hand down between her thighs, warm and soft, guiding his fingers through the fleshy folds of her sex. "Do you feel that?" she asked, casually, like he wasn't caressing the most intimate places on her body as she stroked his. The slick heat of her was too much, and he whimpered, face lowering to press his forehead to hers, begging for mercy, unsure how to ask for the painful throbbing of his full cock to ease. "It's because of you," she whispered, taking his whine as an answer. "It's all for you." She tilted her chin up to claim his mouth again, releasing his cock with a squeeze, wrapping her arms around his neck.

They were moving, and it took a moment for him to realize she was walking them backwards, towards the plush blanket on the ground. His hand was still between her legs, fingers feeling the textures and the different build of her anatomy. He felt a small bead of firmer flesh and he rubbed a small circle over it. Her reaction was breathtaking; she gasped, hands moving to grasp his biceps for purchase. Her head tilted back, exposing her throat, and she gasped in surprise. He would have thought he had hurt her if she hadn't begged for him to keep going, so he did.

Lucifer always prided himself as a quick learner; he was able to forge anything if he had looked at it once, and he was able to listen to her body, her gasps, and know just how to play that small bead of tissue above her slit. He had to wrap an arm around her back to keep her upright, and something about her responsiveness made his chest inflate, made his stomach warm, made some carnal fire alight in him. He never wanted to stop making those noises spill from her kiss-bitten lips.

"I need to feel you inside of me," she gasped out, halting his ministrations by grasping his wrist forcefully. He could smell the heat on her skin, the light glistening of sweat, and her eyes were mostly black, all the blue swallowed up by need. His own need was bobbing, the tip leaking, much less than the fluid that was nearly dripping between her legs, but pearly and wet nonetheless.

She started lowering to her knees, the hands on the nape of his neck dragging him down with her, and she laid him out on his back, straddling his hips with ease, pressing her wet, hot center down over his rigid cock, sliding it over, coating him. He grasped her hips, hands moving up to splay over her lean back as her hands pressed against his chest, nails digging in, a delicious sting. Holding his stare, she reached down between them with one hand, fingers guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. He swallowed, and she took that as permission, and as she sank down, slick heat sucking him in, air was pushed from his lungs and breathed into hers.

He understood why all the gods and the mortals came together that way. It was a sensation like no other, and his only regret is that it took him so long to feel it. That he had no experience to give to her. If she cared about that, she didn't show, and as she rocked in his lap, rolling her hips over him, his cock sliding in and out at her pace, she bent over and kissed him. He groaned into it, biting at her bottom lip, eyebrows knitting together as she quickened her rhythm, the walls of muscle and flesh around him fluttering, like butterflies, and he swore he could see bright flashes of brilliant color as if they were somehow flying around in the Underworld.

Instinctually, his hands moved to her breasts, large hands covering the soft, pert flesh, the hardened buds of her nipples straining against his palm. He could feel a tugging in his loins, a tight coiling of something tensing inside him, making his hips rock into hers on their own accord. She nodded her head frantically, her walls tightening around his cock, making the coil in him bind tighter and tighter. They were moaning together, a litany of praises and want echoing through the stone, but he couldn't stop staring at her, not when she was flushed, writhing, glistening, and panting on top of him. She was like the sun, beautiful and bright, fatal if exposed to its brilliance for too long.

He wanted to burn, he wanted her rays to singe his skin, make the heat growing in his lower stomach burst alive, make the air in his lungs turn to vapor. "Hold on a little longer, Lucifer," she pleaded, a pretty sound, one hand in his hair, the other digging into the swell of his chest. He nodded, unsure of what he was supposed to hold on to, but he didn't want her to stop. He took his hands off her chest, wanting to watch her breasts bounce as she rode him, seeking her pleasure, and he was taken by how her nipples had darkened, like pomegranate seeds on rose petals. Leaning up to test the taste was only natural.

Chloe moaned lewdly as his mouth suctioned around a nipple, warm flesh between open teeth, tongue laving at the hard bud. He tasted only skin, but the heat of her flesh in his mouth was intoxicating, so he switched sides when he was satisfied with the attention to the other. Her hands dug in his hair as she cried out, his teeth grazing the handed flesh as her walls clamped down over his cock. He gasped, releasing her breast, mouth open along her sternum. He squeezed his arms around her as his senses started to explode, wave after wave of her wet heat convulsing over his, her body shivering with it, made his cock swell even more. He was sure the skin would break.

Before his he felt his skin would rip off his body from all of the sensation, there was an implosion, a supernova, and he could feel himself spilling inside of her, could feel the rush of it around his member, could feel his balls tight against his groin as pelvic muscles contracted sporadically. He could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing but his cock surrounded by Chloe; it was a certain sort of hell he would relish in for eternity.

His breath was hot against his face, rolling off her chest where his mouth was still pressed, open and gasping. He could feel her hands petting through his hair, coaxing him to relax, soothing his amped body. He loosened his hold on her body, feeling himself soften inside of her, not an entirely unpleasant feeling. She forced his face up, a hand under his chin, and he hoped she could see the awe in his eyes. The absolute worship and exaltation he felt for her. He wanted her to have it all, have all of him, the meager things he could offer her. She smiled down at him, looking blissful and sated as she bent down to kiss him. He took it, swallowing her breathy sighs, letting her tongue calm his trembling lips.

There was nothing he wouldn't give her.

For the first time, he felt his existence in the Underworld had been worth it, for that moment.

Lucifer never would have imagined something so wonderful could come from those that ostracized him an immeasurable amount of time ago. Chloe was all goddess, all sunshine, and she was just as radiant in the Underworld as she was beneath the sun, surrounded by her creations and the fauna they attracted.

She had decorated the land of the dead with her immortelles, and while the place was still dark and dreary, it wasn't nearly as drab and depressing as it had been. The dried flowers showed the beauty of death, the beauty of existence after life. She gave a sort of light to the place that had nothing to do with anything visual. It seemed warmer with her there, and though she couldn't stay for long, her presence could be felt throughout, no matter the time of year.

They had an arrangement, one that had come after many hours of arguing and compromising. She couldn't stay down there with him, that much was obvious, and he would have never requested that of her. She belonged up in the world, with all the living things; he couldn't imagine her without all of that. She was needed beyond her own desires. She couldn't abandon those that required her magic to survive: the flowers that gave pollen to the bees, which gave nourishment to people. Life required her assistance, and even he wasn't selfish enough to take that away from the mortals. He already had to take their loved ones, he wouldn't take their mourning flowers with him.

Half the year Chloe stayed above the cracked crust, bringing life and warmth to the lands and the living things. The other half of the year, where she could allow the world to cool and hibernate, she spent with him, down below, making the dead smile at Lucifer's side. He still visited her in her time in the world, of course, he couldn't stop himself. Leaving wasn't as bittersweet as it had been. He had her visit to look forward to every half-year. It was such a small amount of time to an immortal. It both passed and came in quick succession, and it felt more like leaving for a job and coming home after a long day.

The world was going, as it should. People were born, they lived, they discovered, and they died. Lucifer tried to talk to them more on their ferry ride with Mazikeen. He tried to give them hope, even though it was hopeless. There was no happiness for the average dead, only solitude and nothingness. It was better than suffering, and that helped him rest is overactive mind until his Chloe could be with him again, keeping him warm, helping him feel loved and alive.

"It's the only thing I've found that survives down here," Lucifer said, holding the bulbous fruit in his hands in amazement.

"It's said to come from Adonis' blood," Chloe chimed, stroking a finger over the smooth, red surface. "Maybe that's why."

Lucifer hummed in agreement. He didn't ponder it too much, he was just astounded to see a living fruit in his hands below the surface. "Let's open it." He grasped the round fruit in his hands, twisting them in opposite directions, applying pressure, until the shell broke apart, revealing the white pith and fleshy, ruby seeds within. He gave Chloe one half, and he inspected his own, trying to pick a single seed out with thick fingers. When he heard a wet, crunching sound, he looked up to see Chloe biting directly into the center of the fruit, grabbing the seeds out of the pith, lips stained red, juice running down her chin.

She giggled at him, chewing the seeds and sucking at the juices they produced. Lucifer abandoned his half, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Chloe's, his tongue slipping past her lips, juice dribbling between their mouths. He moaned into the flavor, chewing on his own stolen seed, and he could feel her smile against his mouth.

He would never need another thing, ever again, as long as he got to taste pomegranate from her lips whenever they could be together and keep that smile on her ruby lips.

The bracelet he gave her eons ago sparkled in the dim light, the ruby looking like a pomegranate seed, gleaming and dark. Indulgent, crimson, blood-like. Just like a pomegranate-soaked kiss.