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Summary:

Look, Chloe’s not technically stalking him. She’s just... aggressively monitoring his emotional health via strangers on Twitter.

Totally normal. Definitely fine. No one’s crying.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

She was in a foul mood that day.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the thoughts that wouldn’t stop swirling in her head, spinning louder than the city traffic outside her window. Coffee hadn’t helped—rushed and bitter. Neither had the shower, which only managed to wash away the physical exhaustion, not the weight behind her eyes. Even her favorite hoodie, soft from a hundred washes, hadn’t given her the comfort it usually did.

It all felt wrong. Off.

She should’ve been at the precinct by now. Or maybe, if she was honest with herself, at Lux—where she often ended up on days like this, looking for answers she’d never admit she wanted. But instead, her hands had moved on their own. The car had taken a turn she didn’t plan, and before she even processed what she was doing, she was standing in front of her apartment door. Alone.

And yet not really.

Her head was a storm of feelings she couldn’t pin down. Regret. Confusion. That ache in her chest that came with thinking about him. The Devil. Lucifer. The man who was somehow both the most impossible person she knew… and the one she couldn’t stop thinking about.

She pushed open the door, stepped inside the stillness, and let it close behind her with a soft click.

She didn’t know what exactly pulled her toward her laptop.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that avoiding the subject wasn’t making it go away. Or maybe—just maybe—it was that part of her that still cared. The part that refused to shut up, no matter how many times she told it to get over it.

She opened it. Clicked the browser. Typed it in muscle memory.

The account popped up instantly.

She hadn’t looked at it in a long time. A year, give or take. It had first shown up on her radar when she was still figuring him out—back when he was just a walking, talking headache with charm for days and a habit of making everything way too complicated.

Back then, it was just photos of him at Lux. Flashy suits, dazzling lights, expensive drinks. Candid videos of him performing on stage, all velvet voice and devilish grins. The kind of account people usually made for celebrities. Beyoncé-tier people. Icons.

But apparently, so was he.

She remembered scrolling through it back then, snorting at the captions, rolling her eyes at the fan theories. Then she had closed the tab, shut her laptop, and told herself it didn’t matter.

Except it did.

She remembered it again over a year later, in that strange, hazy time where “maybe” started turning into “what if.” The account hadn't changed much—but this time, she looked. Really looked.

There were new pictures now. Ones of him alone at the bar, head tilted down, glass of whiskey in hand, eyes distant. Ones that made her chest tighten without permission. And then—there it was. A photo she hadn’t expected to see.

Them. Dancing at Lux. That night. The night she’d saved him, saved the club. The Clash was playing, and they had spun and laughed like they were the only two people in the room. The photo caught them mid-twirl—her grinning, him looking at her like the world had stopped moving.

She downloaded it immediately.

It became her wallpaper.

She told herself it was because she looked good in it. Or maybe because it reminded her of the victory. The adrenaline. The relief.

But she knew the real reason. She didn’t say it out loud, but she knew.

They looked happy.

She’d even go as far as to say… in love.

Then things fell apart, like they always seemed to. She tried to forget about the account. About the photo. About him.

She changed her wallpaper eventually. Not to something distant—no. Just to another memory. A picture of her, him, and Trixie, taken during one of their chaotic game nights. Lollipops in their mouths, doodles scribbled on their cheeks. He was behind the camera, and you could tell—it was one of those rare photos where the emotion bled through the lens.

Trixie was grinning like a goblin. She was mid-laugh, head tilted back at something ridiculous he’d said. And he… he wasn’t even looking at the camera.

He was looking at her.

With this expression that was so soft, so open, so genuine, it knocked the breath out of her the first time she noticed it.

She didn’t change that wallpaper. Not even when she got engaged to someone else.

That should’ve told her something.

The thing about him was that you never really knew what you were getting. One minute, he was the charming nightclub owner who could light up a room and the next, he was the Devil himself in all his glory.

She remembered when the truth hit her like a punch in the gut. His face. The face that made her question everything she thought she knew about him.

She hadn’t been prepared for the storm it unleashed.

After that, the world turned upside down.

Rome. Vatican archives. Secret plans. The kind of stuff you see in spy or thriller movies but never imagine living.

She could barely keep track of her own thoughts, let alone what was real and what was manipulation.

When she finally made it back to Los Angeles, the pieces didn’t fit anymore.

She had driven him away—the one person she’d wanted to keep close. The one person who mattered most.

And yet… she found herself drawn back to that account like a moth to a flame.

This time, she followed it, turned on notifications, hoping for a glimpse of him, a sign that maybe, just maybe, he was still fighting.

But the feed was mostly silence. Except for a few videos of him at the piano, endlessly playing “Creep” by Radiohead. A haunting loop of his brokenness.

She watched three of those clips before the tears took over. 

Then, slowly, the account began to come alive again.

More photos of the coffee shop where he used to buy her morning brew. But the images were different now.

 

He was alone.

 

Sitting, staring at nothing.

 

At the beach—their beach—the place where she kissed him for the first time.

 

His gaze wasn’t on the waves—it was turned inward, lost somewhere she couldn’t reach.

The comments were still there, firing off fan theories and jokes.

But no one saw the sadness lurking beneath the surface.

No one knew what she did.

No one had heard his genuine laugh when she cracked one of her stupid jokes.

No one had seen him scarfing down Cool Ranch Puffs like they were going out of business.

No one had caught the sparkle in his eyes whenever Dan fell for a prank.

No one had witnessed his soft smile as he listened to Ella talk about something nerdy.

And definitely, no one had seen the way he looked at her—the way she saw it—the way he looked like she was the whole damn universe.

 

Then came Ella.

The one person who never respected boundaries—almost as much as him.

She caught Ella glancing at her phone over her shoulder during lunch.

The secret was out.

 

Well, fuck.

 

===

 

She looked at Ella.

Ella met her gaze, eyebrows slightly raised, lips twitching like she was holding back a comment that screamed "still hung up on your Devil, huh?"

“Don’t,” Chloe muttered, voice low.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ella replied innocently, though the smirk tugging at her mouth said otherwise.

“You didn’t have to. Your face is screaming it.”

Chloe tried to turn away, escape the conversation before it started, but Ella’s hand gently landed on her shoulder, grounding her.

“Chloe, I’m not here to make fun of you. I know you miss him. I do too. We all do. Even Dan—though he’ll never admit it.” Ella’s voice softened. “I just… what happened between you two? I’ve been trying to figure it out, but you’re both locked up tighter than a Vatican vault.”

Vatican, how ironic.

But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

Ella hadn’t gotten the full picture. No one had. One minute Chloe was engaged to Pierce—who turned out to be the damn Sinnerman, which still felt like a fever dream—and the next, Charlotte was gone, and Chloe and Lucifer were acting like something irrevocable had passed between them.

Ella still remembered that one talk, the one where Chloe admitted she ended things with Pierce because of Lucifer. And, ironically, that Lucifer was also the reason she had started dating the guy in the first place.

Then Lucifer took down Pierce, and Chloe vanished—off on some well-deserved, mysterious vacation. But what really messed with Ella’s brain was the part where Chloe made her promise not to tell Lucifer where she was.

 

Seriously—what the hell, girl?

 

And then Chloe came back. Lucifer planned this whole elaborate, swoon-worthy date that made Ella hope—again—that maybe her two stubborn best friends were finally getting their crap together.

 

But nope.

Lucifer vanished. Gone. AWOL like a damn ghost.

 

Now, as Chloe sat there, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She blinked fast, like she could outpace the memories threatening to take over. But it was all too much.

Every time she looked at his empty chair, his untouched piano, the space he once filled so effortlessly, she was hit with the same agonizing thought—what if?

Nights blurred together with her whispering apologies into her pillow, crying until her throat was raw, haunted by the image of his face—twisted in hurt, in betrayal.

 

How could you do this to me? To me?

 

“I really hurt him, Ella,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I did something terrible… and I don’t know if we can ever come back from it.”

Ella’s soft smile was a fragile thing, like the last flicker of a candle in a storm, and her hand landed on Chloe’s shoulder with the kind of warmth that begged, please don’t shut down again.

“Maybe… stop stalking him from the shadows and just… talk to him?”

Chloe swallowed hard, the taste of regret sour and sharp on her tongue. “Honestly? I don’t even know if there’s anything I could say that would make him forgive me. Like, what words even fix a heart I shattered? Maybe it’s already broken beyond repair.”

The tears came without warning, hot and heavy, blurring her vision. She clawed at them, desperate to keep them at bay, but they poured in anyway—silent storms she wasn’t ready to weather.

“How do you know if you don’t try?”

Ella’s words hit her like a slap wrapped in velvet. Chloe’s chest tightened, and for a moment, all she could do was stare, helpless and hollow-eyed. She was trapped in a loop of what ifs and could haves, and the weight was crushing.

“Look, Chloe… I get it. I’m probably the last person who should be giving relationship advice—remember the last ‘perfect match’ I pushed you toward? Crime lord vibes, very ‘cops-and-robbers’ nightmare fuel. But this isn’t just some random dude. This is Lucifer. The guy who’d burn the whole world down before letting anyone else suffer. And if anyone on this planet actually matters to him, it’s you. Even when he’s a mess, even when he’s hurt, you’re still the one thing he holds onto.”

And that was the damn tragedy—he cared so damn much that it blinded him. He couldn’t see through her lies, her desperate act. How could he ever trust her again when she’d twisted his love into a weapon against himself?

“Ella… I appreciate you, really. But I don’t think this is a good idea. I need to stop chasing ghosts. Lucifer’s gone from my life, and I have to find a way to live with that. Somehow.”

But Ella’s eyes didn’t lie. They were filled with doubt—like she knew Chloe was lying to herself.

“I want you both to be happy. And I know, with every damn fiber of my being, that the only way that happens is together.”

Chloe laughed, but it was a hollow, brittle sound—like a ghost of a laugh, echoing off the walls of her shattered heart. She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers into knots, the nervous tick she’d had since forever.

“Well, that’s not going to happen…”

“If he doesn’t know how you feel, nothing will change. He might say no, and that would suck, but at least you won’t be stuck in this limbo anymore. Because right now? The way he looks breaks me. He’s already drowning in heartbreak, and you’re still standing on the shore, too scared to jump in.”

Ella’s words landed like a bomb, shattering the fragile walls Chloe had built around herself. She looked up, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, only to find Ella already halfway out the door, disappearing back to her lab like a guardian angel who knew the hardest battles were hers to fight alone.

Would it really hurt to try?

 

===

 

She didn’t know exactly when or how she’d ended up at LUX. One second she was pacing her apartment, the next she was standing in front of the elevator, staring at the button like it held all the answers she was too terrified to ask.

Her thumb hovered, her breath shallow. Calm down. Just breathe. One step at a time.

What was she even going to say to him?

 

Hey, sorry I manipulated your feelings and tried to send you back to Hell, wanna grab a drink?

 

Yeah. That would go over well.

 

She inhaled, deep and shaky, trying to gather the scattered pieces of herself—but the elevator doors had other plans. They hissed open before she could wrangle her courage into anything remotely functional.

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

Chloe had seen Lucifer’s moods manifest in every inch of this place before—sometimes loud, explosive, the chaos of his soul painted across shattered glasses and music cranked to drown out the ache. Other times? Desolate. A shell. Like the man himself had moved out and left only memories behind.

This was worse.

It was… pristine. Cold. Museum-level perfect. The bar was fully stocked, not a single bottle out of place. The furniture looked untouched. Everything gleamed, polished within an inch of its life—as if someone had tried to clean away the pain but only ended up making it shine.

It didn’t look lived in. It looked abandoned—by emotion, by warmth, by him.

She took slow, uncertain steps toward the center of the room, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in her ears. Just a few feet from the piano now. She was about to call out when—

He emerged.

Lucifer stepped out of the bedroom, sleeves half-rolled up his forearms, the deep burgundy of his shirt catching the low light like blood and velvet. His hair was immaculate. His stubble had that perfect, deliberate mess to it—five o’clock shadow cut from marble. And for a second, she forgot how to breathe.

He was heartbreak incarnate.

He looked up, and time snapped like a rubber band. Their eyes met—really met—for the first time in over a month. No photos. No videos. Just him.

And oh, God.

She hadn't expected that. The raw sorrow in his gaze was like staring into a storm. He always wore masks so well—charming, flippant, impossibly guarded—but his eyes? His eyes had never learned to lie.

“Hi,” she said, and it came out thin, too high-pitched, full of splinters.

He didn’t answer right away. Just… stared. Like he wasn’t sure she was real. Like if he blinked, she’d disappear.

Finally, after what felt like years trapped in that fragile silence, he spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice cracked down the middle—confusion, grief, hope, all tangled together.

She looked down, her fingers twisting into anxious knots, the way they always did when she was unraveling.

“I… hoped we could talk.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see. After everything I did, I… I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”

Still, he didn’t speak. Just stood there, arms by his sides, waiting.

She swallowed hard, eyes burning.

“Look, I know I hurt you. I know I did. And I’m not here asking for forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. But I couldn’t keep pretending that it’s fine—because it’s not. I can’t stop thinking about you, Lucifer. You’re in my head every damn day and it’s driving me crazy.”

Her voice cracked.

“I shouldn’t have listened to Kinley. Or to my fear. I should’ve come to you. Talked to you. Instead, I buried it all and made it worse. One minute I was engaged to a literal crime lord slash biblical murderer, and the next I found out the man I’ve been in love with for longer than I’ll ever admit is—well—you.”

He gasped, but she was on a roll now, too raw to stop, too broken to care about grace.

“I wasn’t scared of you, Lucifer. I was scared of what loving you meant. Because every story, every lesson, every bedtime warning painted you as the villain. But that’s not who I know. That’s not you.”

She took a shaky step forward, eyes glassy.

“The guy I know eats Cool Ranch Puffs like he’s single-handedly funding the company. The guy I know steals Dan’s pudding and makes my daughter laugh so hard she snorts. The guy I know brings me coffee every morning, gets my order right without me saying a word. That’s you.”

Her voice faltered again, but she pushed through.

“The guy I love has saved my life more times than I can count—probably more than I’ll ever know. The guy I love gives the most thoughtful gifts and throws fake proms just to make up for what life never gave me. The guy I love thinks he’s unworthy of being loved, while he’s the most selfless, incredible man I’ve ever met.”

By now, the tears were streaming. She didn’t wipe them away. What was the point?

“I love you, Lucifer.” Her voice broke completely. “And maybe that changes nothing. Maybe it’s too late. But I needed you to hear it. From me. Just your Detective.”

She let the silence settle. Heavy. Final.

Because if this was the last time she ever saw him, she wasn’t going to leave anything unsaid.

 

Lucifer stood there, motionless.

 

For a moment, the silence stretched so thick she thought she might drown in it. His gaze was locked onto her like he was looking through her, trying to make sense of what just happened—what she just said. What she felt.

 

And then, finally, he moved.

 

Not with his usual swagger, no grand entrance, no teasing smirk. Just slow, cautious steps forward. Like he was approaching something delicate. Fragile. Sacred.

"You..." His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, as if the words burned on the way up. "You love me?"

There was a tremor there—something raw beneath the velvet.

She nodded, wiping tears that refused to stop falling. “Yes. I do. I—”

But he raised a hand gently, not to silence her, but like he needed a second. Maybe more.

“I spent weeks convincing myself I imagined it,” he said, quietly. “That the warmth in your eyes, the way you looked at me... it wasn’t real. That I misread it. Lied to myself. Because the truth—that you used my feelings to hurt me—that I could accept. That felt familiar. But love? No. That didn’t fit the narrative I’d built around myself.”

He looked down, the tiniest scoff escaping him. “And now here you are. Telling me I’m worthy of something I spent thousands of years believing I’d never have.”

He finally looked back up at her, and for once, the Devil looked completely human. Exposed. Heart on his sleeve, battle-worn and beautiful.

“I’m furious with you, Chloe. Not because you didn’t believe in me—but because I never stopped believing in you.”

He stepped closer, now only a breath away, and for a moment his voice dropped so low it felt like it vibrated in her bones.

“You shattered me. And yet... all I’ve done is miss you.”

He hesitated, searching her face. “So if this is real—if this isn’t another moment where you’ll run because you’re scared—then say it again.”

His eyes were glassy now too, voice a whisper:

 

“Tell me you love me.”

 

===

She swallowed hard, heart pounding like a bass drum in her chest. The weight of his words crashed over her like a tidal wave, but beneath it all, something fragile bloomed—a spark of hope.

“I love you, Lucifer,” she whispered, voice trembling but fierce. “Not just the idea of you, or the devil I thought you were, but you—all of you. The man who steals pudding, who remembers my coffee order, who saved me more times than I can count.”

Her fingers reached out, trembling, and hesitated before brushing against his sleeve. “I’m scared too,” she admitted, voice raw. “Scared because this... this feels like walking on a tightrope over hellfire. But I want to try. I want us to try.”

Lucifer’s eyes softened, that impossible mix of pain and something like relief flickering through them. His hand—steady and sure—closed over hers.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he said, voice low and rough, like every word was wrenched from deep inside. His hand still held hers, firm but gentle, grounding them both.

He took a slow breath, eyes searching hers like trying to memorize every flicker of emotion. “I don’t know if we can fix everything. Maybe we’re both too broken for that. But... I’m willing to try. If you are.”

A silence settled between them, heavy and real—no masks, no defenses.

“I’ve spent so long hiding behind the pain and anger,” he admitted, voice cracking just a little. “But hearing you say that, it... it means more than you know.”

Her heart clenched, tears spilling freely now, but this time they felt different—less like grief, more like release.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “And I want to be. With you.”

Lucifer’s eyes softened, shadows fading just enough to reveal something almost like hope.

“Then maybe... maybe this hell can be the start of something better.”

 

===

 

And it was.

 

The next time she looked up the account, nestled between a few regular photos of him were photos of them.

And one of them spoke louder than words.

They were at LUX. He’d just finished his performance for the night. When he stood from the piano bench, she walked straight to him and kissed him — in front of everyone.

The caption beneath the photo was simple, but it said everything.

 

"Lucifer Morningstar is off the market!"

 

The comments section exploded. It was wild how much chaos one photo could cause. And even though she’d never liked the spotlight, never cared for big audiences — this time, it didn’t bother her.

Because now, the whole world knew that the Devil was hers. And hers alone.

The road that led them here hadn’t been easy. It was messy — littered with heartbreak, miscommunication, and moments so dark she’d nearly given up. But after that night at the penthouse, things shifted. They finally started talking. Really talking. No more avoidance, no more half-truths. Just raw honesty, even when it hurt.

There were still fights, still nights full of doubt. But the love they held for each other was a force too strong to walk away from.

At one point, they even turned to Linda, unofficially crashing her office for what could only be described as ‘devilishly complicated couples therapy.’ And as reluctant as they both were at first, it helped. Having someone to mediate meant their conversations didn’t spiral into shouting matches or silence and slammed doors.

"What are you looking at?"

His voice pulled her from her thoughts — low and teasing, right against her ear, followed by a warm kiss to her neck.

"Just... admiring how the most eligible bachelor in LA is officially off the market," she said with a smirk, letting him wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the crook of her neck, his lips trailing soft kisses.

"Oh really? And who pulled off that miracle?" he murmured between kisses, each one slower, more intentional — until her breath caught in her throat. Damn him.

"Some retired actress," she managed, just as he nipped at her neck, soothing the spot with a skilled flick of his tongue.

"Lucky bastard," he whispered. "She must be something else."

She turned in his arms, looped her hands around his neck, and rose onto her tiptoes until their lips were almost touching.

"I think she’s pretty lucky, too," she whispered back. He chuckled, low and warm, before closing the gap between them.

When they broke apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together — just like that day, years ago, when he’d looked at her, stunned, and whispered, “This is real… isn’t it?

"I didn’t know you were such a fan," he teased, eyes dancing. "Thought you saw enough of me every day."

"I found the account when we started working together," she admitted. "And sometimes I looked it up — during our better moments. It was the only way I could see how you were doing after... you know."

She felt a flicker of nerves, even now, admitting it. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the hair at the nape of his neck, soothing. Maybe for him. Maybe for herself.

"It’s actually what made me come to you that night. Ella caught me scrolling and convinced me to stop running."

He went still. Then his grip on her waist tightened, and in the next breath, he was kissing her breathless.

"Good thing that’s behind us," he murmured, forehead pressed to hers again. "You don’t have to watch me through a screen anymore."

She smiled, eyes locked on his. "No. I don’t."

"I’m glad it led you back to me," he said, voice softer now.

"Me too. Because it let me finally tell you how much I love you."

"I love you too."

And just like before, they sealed their truth with a kiss — quiet and full of everything they didn’t need to say.

Even now, long after she had the real man right beside her, she still checked the account. Not because she needed it anymore. But because it made her smile.

The posts hadn’t stopped. Sure, the Devil was officially off the market, but the feed still showed glimpses of him — alone or with her. Sometimes it was LUX. Sometimes the beach, Trixie gleefully trying to wrestle him into the sand. Sometimes just morning coffee runs, or grocery shopping like any ordinary couple.

She didn’t need the photos anymore. But she still followed the account, notifications on and all. Maybe they’d have to take down the entire site to make her stop — and even then, she’d probably find a backup.

Because through the good and the bad, the storm and the calm, she still looked it up.

Notes:

Lately, there’s been a lot of angst on my profile, and this idea — in sketch form — has been sitting on my drive for quite a while.
I always wondered how the hell Chloe managed to do all that research on Lucifer in Season 1 and didn’t stumble across a single social media account about him.
So… here it is. Hope you enjoy it!
I honestly had such a good time writing this, and I’ll probably come back to this vibe with a few more shots in the future.

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