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esmealux · 3 years

Note

Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and—when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.

#writing #deckerstar fanfiction #deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer on netflix #fluff #smut #established deckerstar #lucifer is god #post 5b #post s5 #two part drabble game

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detectivedeckerstar · 4 years

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Lucifer: How's the most beautiful person in the world doing today?

Chloe: *looking up from her paperwork* I don't know, how are you?

Lucifer- *visibly skaken* iM fINe

#Lucifer #lucifer morningstar #detective chloe decker #chloe decker #deckerstar #established deckerstar

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luciferprompts · 5 years

Note

Lucifer and Chloe are dating. Lucifer starts having panic attacks thinking Chloe will eventually throw him away like his Dad did. How long before Chloe notices? What happens?

#prompt #deckerstar #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #established deckerstar #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #Anonymous

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swishandflickwit · 5 years

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Lucifer — The Simplicity of Weaving 1/1

Summary: Trixie gets herself into a tangle. Good thing her Devil babysitter is no stranger to a bad hair day.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 3.5k+

Warnings: Established Deckerstar (but no appearance from Chloe). Future fic. Step-Satan shenanigans. Kinda.

AN: Oh look, I wrote another Lucifer & Trixie bonding fic. What a surprise not!

Hahaha, but a little break from The Devil's Lucky Number series for some family fluff, yes? Hope you enjoy this one!

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

“With your mum in court for the remainder of the day and it being so hot and all—seriously though,” he huffs. “These scorching temperatures could put even Hell to shame. I mean, contrary to popular belief, it isn’t even that hot down there, you know? It’s all dark and ashen and about as ‘fiery’ as a drenched skunk—which sounds and smells as bad as you’re imagining, nay—worse. So if you think beige is a drab color…”

He’s fiddling with his cufflinks, toying with the idea of foregoing aesthetic for once (not that it would ever leave him, not even if he tried; he couldn’t, after all, be faulted for his effortless beauty no matter what vestments he may—or may not—be wearing) and opting for a more casual attire to battle this steady onslaught of a heat wave cresting over Los Angeles with no immediate end in sight.

It’s probably why he isn’t prepared for what greets him when he opens the door to Beatrice’s chamber—

“Anyway, I was thinking we head on down to Lux and grab ourselves some ice—"

—and expels a rather undignified shriek as a result.

“What—!”

“Listen,” she starts, her tone measured and her hands held out in front of her in calm supplication. Like he is some rampant, skittish animal that has somehow wandered from home, and needs to be returned to its natural habitat. “It’s not… that… bad…?”

Lucifer shuts his gaping mouth with an audible click, only to dissolve into spluttering speech instead.

“Beatrice, child—what have you done to your hair?” he exclaims, loftily musing that if there ever is a question between them both of who, in that moment, most resembled a wild animal, it certainly isn’t him.

“I swear I was following the instructions!” she waves towards her phone screen, propped upon the mirror of her dresser and opened on a Youtube tutorial for—

“A French braid?” he cries, voice dripping with incredulity.

“I just wanted to look like Elsa!”

“I do hate to break it to you,” he says, mouth puckered in a grimace. “But it’s looking more Grand Pabbie Troll than Majestic Ice Queen right now.”

He stands corrected. The frost to her glare could restore what little remains of the polar ice caps and freeze him on the spot if she possessed an affinity for such gelid destruction. But she didn’t, and being the sire of a Miracle could not gift her even that.

Small mercies and all.

“I’m in so much trouble,” she wails.

He sighs. It is his turn to appeal to her with more than a modicum of wariness as he meets her eyes in the looking glass and approaches her from behind.

“It can’t be much worse than the chocolate cake incident or the doll debacle.”

With soothing hands, he takes her by the shoulders and eases her back onto her chair, though he needn’t have bothered with the gentleness. As she lists against the wood with all the dejectedness of a usurped sovereign, he surveys the damage. At first glance, it does look quite atrocious—her coffee-colored locks teased and twisted into gnarly knots so they look more bird’s nest than actual, human hair. But further inspection shows it not so unsalvageable, her grubby, ten-year old hands thankfully still inexpert to inflict any lasting harm. At least she didn’t cut anything—then they’d have both suffered the wrath of the detective.

He shudders, before realizing he is the Devil and he cowers before no one that isn’t a slight but tough blonde, blue-eyed, five foot six inches badass cop. He squares his shoulders—a soldier bracing for battle.

“Right.”

From the array of headdress materials spread atop the vanity, he selects his weapon—the sturdiest-looking comb, or as sturdy as plastic can be. He would prefer one of silver or at the very least wood. This pink, sparkling, wide-tooth monstrosity would have to suffice, he laments.

“Now,” he grabs another stool and situates himself to his task, his figure a tower at her back even when seated. “Let’s see if we can’t sort this out, hmm?”

Her eyes widen with desperation.

“Oh Lucifer, you have to fix it,” she practically screams. “You have to!”

“Alright, alright,” he pitches his articulations low to convey his reassurance. It doesn’t erase his bewilderment, however, and at the quizzical brow he directs at her through the mirror she clams up.

Her reticence is an unusual occurrence, but the silence that trails in her wake is no less comforting as it allows him to dedicate his full attention to wrangling her wavy mop into some semblance of order.

He forges a meticulous path from her scalp to her roots, prying tangles apart before smoothing them over with the comb. His hands are light and dexterous as only a skilled piano player can be. Not once does she cry out in pain, of that he makes certain. With every knot unraveled, the panic in her gaze recedes, till every wavy strand is restored and her breathing is even in near repose from his ministrations.

“See?” he murmurs, returning the comb before resting his hands on her shoulders once more. “All better. Nothing a little Devil’s touch couldn’t fix.”

Her relief is palpable in the way she leans into his touch.

“Thanks,” she sighs.

“So what’s this about looking like Elsa?” He rubs kindly at the spot between her shoulder blades when she tenses. “I thought we were on a Moana bender this week.”

Her cheeks blotch with the strain of her blush.

“We are,” she asserts, a little too quickly. “I guess it isn’t really about Elsa. I just… wanted to try a French braid.”

He hums and lets more than a couple of heartbeats pass before replying.

“You know perfectly well Elsa’s from Norway. Do you honestly expect me to believe she’d go for a French braid instead of a Dutch one?”

“But all the Youtubers say—”

“Oh, yes, because anyone willing enough to saddle themselves with the internet persona of ‘TwinkleTendrils87’ is such an authority on the conversion of animation to reality hairstyle. No,” he rolls his eyes. “Don’t think so.”

Her protest withers on her tongue. He smirks, waiting for her own orbs—which she had averted once he began his inquisition—to meet his.

“So do you want to try that again?”

“You can always tell,” she grumbles, unable to abate the accusation that bleeds through her intonations.

He grins.

“The title of Prince of Lies does hold true to some extent,” he drawls. At her pinched visage, he gives her an encouraging pat. “Well, go on. Tell Lucifer what ails you.” His face suddenly hardens. “Is someone giving you trouble at school again?”

She groans.

“If I tell you, do you promise you won’t get mad?”

“Darling, you know I don’t get mad,” he grins, all teeth and bite. “I get even.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Okay, so… maybe I do both but if it means all that much to you then yes, I solemnly swear not to get angry at or even with you.”

He raises his hands in surrender, humor returning as the edges of his mouth soften with fondness. She returns it with a radiant one of her own, swiveling on her seat so he receives the full wattage of her smile.

But as quickly as it comes, it dims too.

She lifts her legs and tucks them crisscross beneath her to prop an elbow on her thigh. She rests her cheek on a fist as she tilts her chin up and arrests him with her molten, solemn stare.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

He blinks, slowly… deliberately.

“Is this a trick question?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!” He shakes his head, baffled. “Aren’t you a little too young to be concerned about this?”

“I’m almost eleven,” she protests.

“Case in point, you haven’t even reached your teen years, for Dad’s sake! You could at least wait till your face is a Jackson Pollock of acne before getting all angsty. Not that you should be worried about such things.” He waves a flippant hand. “You are a Decker woman, hooker name notwithstanding, and all Decker women have clear skin.”

“Pretty sure I only understood half that sentence…”

“What I’m trying to say, rather poorly I suppose, but what’s new, eh?”

He waggles his eyebrows and though slight, it coaxes a smile to curl at the corners of her lips.

“You shouldn’t have to be thinking about this, much more be bothered by it.” He frowns. “What’s brought this on?”

With her free hand, she picks at the laces of her sneakers so intently, he thinks she won’t answer. His heart starts thumping to the beat of anxiety as he realizes that providing comfort to a ten-year old isn’t exactly part of his skillset and he is severely out of his league on this. But just as he’s about to suggest Beatrice speak with her mother once she returns, words trickle out of her mouth with all the ferocity of a broken dam and he is powerless against the onslaught of her unveiled insecurities.

“It didn’t used to, honest. But all my friends…” she sniffs and to his mounting terror, a suspiciously wet gleam fills those chocolate-molten orbs. “It’s all they ever wanna talk about anymore. It’s always make-up this or hairstyle that and all the latest fashion trends and how to get more followers on their Snapchat.” She throws her hands up with such awkward abruptness, Lucifer must lean back to avoid being casualty to her ire. “I just wanna play hopscotch and talk about Barbie Dreamhouse and fangirl over Rapunzel and Eugene! Is that too much to ask?” she blows a stray tendril from her forehead. “Well I guess so, since the only thing that matters to them is who the prettiest one in the group is.” And with that remark, all the vexation drains from her mien, till only a sadness that should have been foreign to her at such a tender age, remains.

“But one thing’s for sure—it’s definitely not me,” she sighs, a couple of teardrops hugging the curve of her cheeks, “which they love to point out.”

At the sight of the droplets coursing her face, he sees red. He has to remind himself that these are children, and the detective will not approve his slaughtering of the youth—no matter how justified it may be.

Squalid miscreants, he inwardly fumes. Vapid, insolent, pediculous, scalawags! Who do those brats think they are? How dare they—

Ensconced as he is in his rising fury on her behalf, his attempt at comfort is thwarted by the growl in his throat as he utters, “Dry your eyes, Beatrice.”

Unperturbed, and most probably used to his mercurial mood swings (and isn’t that a marvel that she doesn’t run away each time?), she does as told—albeit, the gloominess in her countenance remains.

“I take it these are the same birds from your last sleepover? Mary Beth and the two other ones? Bethany with the y and Bethanie with the i-e?”

Ridiculous, he scorns. Just as Lucifer has an abundance of Brittany acquaintances, Beatrice is saddled with multiple companions whose monikers involve some form of ‘Beth’ in it. At least his duplicates’ names had the same spelling!

Her hesitance is a palpable energy in the quiet that follows, but at his prodding scowl she eventually nods her affirmation.

With lightning heat boiling in his blood he doesn’t trust himself to issue any wholesome advice, so he bids her without speaking to face the mirror again.

“What are you doing?” she braves to ask through watery inflections as he begins dividing her hair into three parts.

“I won’t lie to you by feeding you some sentimental drivel like ‘it’s what’s on the inside that matters’ because humans are fickle things and only few have been exempt from such norms—humans such as your mother and yourself.”

He ignores the crease between her brows, his explanation in the way his hands are intent on their unceasing rhythm of weaving her tresses into a proper Dutch braid that starts on one side of her head and continues to hug the curve of her nape.

“Not to say that the idea is totally unfounded, mind. Beauty, true beauty, lies deep within a person’s soul. I should know,” he winks. “I’ve glimpsed into many a repugnant soul in my time, after all.”

She sticks her tongue out in disgust. He returns the gesture till her expression dissolves into chuckles. With a satisfied nod, he clears his throat before resuming.

“But there is a certain… power in making an impression with the use of one’s appearance. Exhibit A,” he smirks, briefly retracting a hand to gesture at himself. She giggles again, but it quickly fades at his considering perusal.

“Those girls,” a generous term, he thinks with a sneer. “Your so-called ‘friends’? Well, you don’t have to be Dr. Martin to discern that those cads are jealous of your beauty—the natural and inherent kind. And let’s not forget your quick wit. Top of the class, are you not?”

She neither confirms or denies, but she blushes and it’s all the answer he needs.

“Course you are!” he heartily praises.

Not that he can take credit, but his grin is smug enough for them both all the same.

“While I would love to march right into your classroom and give those bloody Beths a piece of my mind before decimating those shallow cows on the spot—”

“Lucifer,” she scolds, reminiscent of the detective, right down to the infinitesimal twist to her lips that betrays her mirth.

“I realize it won’t exactly win me any favors with your mother, so—hand me that elastic, would you, love? There’s a good girl—” he binds the end of the braid. “Here’s a lesson from Old Scratch—the greatest revenge is to be the best version of yourself, especially when you don’t even have to change a thing. Well…”

He cannot help the flourish of his hand as he trails it along the length of her hair, a ripple of stardust in his wake. Beatrice gasps.

“Maybe a little one.”

His beam could power the whole of Los Angeles along with the awe in her scrutiny as she spins at all angles to admire his work.

Ah, he always was a prideful one.

“W-where—how?”

“Who do you think Mazikeen got her styling tips from when we first got here?” he claims with hues of incredulity, as if it ought to be common knowledge that Demons, unless taught, had atrocious fashion sense when left to their own devices. “And when you have as many sisters as I do, and they all pester you at any given hour of the day because, and I quote, ‘no one does it better’,” he preens. “You learn a thing or two about coiffure, or rather, they learned and I got a lot of practice.”

“It’s beautiful,” she cries, her twisted russet locks the color of a dusk-ridden sky. The tiny drops of effulgence he had woven wink faintly at first glance but then burn with the resplendence of a thousand suns when they lace with the natural light.

“No, dear heart.”

When she turns to him, he holds her gaze steady so she cannot doubt his sincerity.

“You are.”

“But—”

He shakes his head and leaves no room for argument.

“I only enhanced what was all ready there. Have you ever known me to lie?”

“No,” she states simply, a small smile stealing along the breadth of her lips.

“Besides,” he lets his warmth diffuse into her dainty hands as he engulfs them with his own.

“I was the spark that set this universe and the ones after it ablaze. All that is light—within and without, between now and beyond—once lived, and continues to ignite, through me. So believe me when I say that of all the suns and stars in the whole of Creation.”

His lips find the crown of her head.

“You shine the brightest.”

He vowed not to be angry nor to get even with her, and when it comes to the Devil, his word is his bond.

A new school day dawns and with it, Lucifer styles her a new plait but the artfully streamed rivulets of stardust along the length of her auburn hair are unchanged.

And when he picks her up from school later on, he expects the envy that oozes out of the trio of Beths—the imps glaring longingly with all the subtlety of a stampede, as they first narrow onto the shimmer of Beatrice’s braided mane, then at him and his conspicuous show of wealth.

She kicks into a run when she sees him leaning against the hood of the ‘vette, and it is a testament to his fondness that he no longer flinches upon the collision of her svelte frame into his legs nor does he retract from the winding of her gangly arms around his waist.

With her face buried into his suit and the girls’ stares still trained on them, he takes this opportunity to brandish the sunglasses from his eyes. He purposefully allows the brown to fade to red, as his eyes flare with the fury of the million pyres of Hell, and he meets each dirty look with a glower of his own.

To their merit, they do not scream (he blames the distance), but their blanched faces and quaking limbs are a balm to his petty, petty soul—however temporary or minuscule. They ought to be grateful for their naivety and his leniency. Still.

“Good day?” he inquires sweetly as he returns his sunglasses to their perch on his face before opening the passenger door for her. She waits till he is seated behind the wheel before she answers.

“It was great!”

He passes her another pair of shades that he only ever reserves for her. She puts them on with a flourish.

“Even better now that you’re here!”

Unbeknownst to the detective’s daughter, he shoots one last devilish grin at the cowering trio of caked-faced-trying-too-hard swines. His canines glint with malicious glee beneath the simmering L.A. sun.

He did vow not to be angry nor to get even with Beatrice.

“Excellent.”

Such a shame that the same promise does not extend to her friends.

At her insistence, he tucks her in that night.

They don’t say anything once the evening’s chapter is finished, but it is as he folds her into the blankets that she murmurs, “You are too, you know.”

He quirks an amused brow.

“What are you on about now, child?”

She smiles, delicate fingers cupping at his cheeks when he leans over to unnecessarily fluff her pillows. He freezes at her touch, even when he is tickled by her digits scratching nimbly at his scruff. There is such innocence in the gesture, he is suddenly filled with shame to be at her presence.

“Beatrice,” he whispers, breath tinged with perplexity.

“You’re beautiful, too. Has anyone ever told you that?”

He wants to riposte with an arrogant quip or a jaunty remark, but finds he cannot speak through the lump in his throat nor the leaden weight on his tongue.

“Can’t say that they have,” he tries though it sounds more whine than tease. “But I am a fine specimen in human standards—”

She shakes her head. “I mean, even with your other face.”

He laughs, a tinge of hysteria to the sound. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see what you did to my friends,” her hands tighten around his cheeks in a show of gratitude.

“No one is allowed to hurt you,” he says easily.

“Not that you could control that, but that’s what I mean. You are beautiful, inside and out, and I hope you know it. ‘Kay?”

She lets go, and he inhales greedily at the air like a drowning man who’s broken through the ocean’s surface. It is how he finds the strength to reply, softly, as her eyes droop and her breathing evens into slumber.

“Thank you.”

It is as he reaches the frame of her door that she delivers one final blow that tips him over the edge and straight into this little girl’s heart, obliterating whatever chasm he might have fooled himself into believing he ought to maintain between them.

“I do love you, Lucifer.”

“I know,” he avers, all the while denying the waver to his speech. How wonderful, he muses, swept by the tranquility of her acceptance and awash as he is in the grace that her love reinvigorates in him. It is why he is only a little surprised, when he searches within for the torment and self-loathing and finds himself absent of both in lieu of the hope and faith and incandescence her presence has gradually pervaded him with, to discover—he believes her.

He believes in the veracity of her pronouncement. He believes in the purity of her caress and he believes in the ardor behind his own pledge when he avows, “And I you, Beatrice.”

His voice is the melody that carries her to the land of dreams, the carillon that will henceforth guide her to sanctuary as he intertwines the part of his soul that doesn’t belong to Chloe, to hers.

“And I you.”

AN: HAHAHA. WHAT EVEN.

(It wasn’t supposed to be feels-y at the end but Trix had a mind of her own smh)

Come say hi to me!

#lucifer #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer morningstar & trixie decker #lucifer morningstar & trixie decker friendship #lucifer morningstar & trixie decker bonding #lucifer ff #low key #protective!lucifer #step-satan shenanigans #post-reveal #established deckerstar #future fic #this was supposed to be #a fun fic about hair braids #and lucifer giving shit to bullies #why do i even bother lmao #they just do what they want #with no input from me whatsoever hahaha #swishandflickwit ff

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differenceenginegirl · 5 years

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Movie Night and Lovesacs

This started as a ficlet about Lucifer being very mature about a beanbag brand name, and then it turned into fluff with the group I've dubbed the Celestial Insiders once they all find out. Based off this post from @thewollfgang. Also on AO3 here.

The movie night was Ella’s idea. After they’d all recovered from learning the truth, there had been many more conversations on what quintessentially human things the Celestials hadn’t done, and they’d ended up with a long list of classic films they hadn’t seen. Trixie and Ella had insisted they start with some classic Disney, so they all descended on Lucifer’s penthouse one Saturday afternoon for a mini marathon of classics.

When they arrived, the penthouse had been transformed. The couch was pushed right out of the way, and in its place were three enormous beanbags around the coffee table where a couple of large bowls of popcorn were already sat. Lucifer was sat in one of them, lounging back with a huge grin on his face. "I didn't know you had giant beanbags Lucifer!" Ella said, rushing over and flopping into one of the unoccupied ones. "I bought them for movie nights Miss Lopez, but they're not beanbags. They're Lovesacs." he replied sending a flirty look in Chloe's direction. She gave him a Look, and he was quick to respond. "That's the brand name Detective. They aren't se- um, 'adult' furniture, the covers would be a nightmare to clean. I'll admit I did buy them because of the name, but they are insanely comfortable." he explained, and Chloe was pleased that he remembered how she'd asked him to refer to sex things around Trixie. "He's right! They're so comfy! Come join us." Ella piped up from where she'd almost disappeared into her chosen seat. After she spoke, the others came over and claimed their spots for the movie.

Maze and Linda took the remaining empty one, Dan joined Ella, and Chloe joined her boyfriend. After a moment, Trixie joined them too, plonking herself down on Lucifer’s other side. Once everyone was settled in, most of the humans loudly agreeing with Lucifer and Ella's assessment of the comfort, he clicked a button on a remote to dim the lights, and hit play on the first movie of their marathon, The Little Mermaid.

About halfway through the movie, Lucifer leant in close to Chloe. "Later, we could see what it's like to make love on a Lovesac. I reckon we could get some interesting positions." he whispered into her ear, the swift elbow to his ribs doing nothing to abate the smirk on his lips. "Lucifer! Trixie's right there!" she hissed, fixing him with a brief glare before turning back to the movie. "Alright Chloe. I’ll shut up," he replied, mirth sparkling in his eyes, "But after everyone’s left-" She shot him another glare, and he chuckled.

A few movies later, almost everyone was asleep, snuggled down into the softness of the Lovesacs. As people had started to drop off, Lucifer had brought out blankets and offered people a bed in one of his many spare rooms, but everyone declined. As the credits finished on the final movie of the night, he turned to Chloe, careful not to disturb Trixie. "Do you want to go to bed Detective?" "Nuh-uh. Comfy here." she murmured, snuggling closer into him. "Let me get you a blanket, love." "Stay here." she mumbled, tightening her embrace, and he smiled at her sleepy affection. After a moment, he shifted slightly and unfurled his wings, careful not to hit Trixie with them, and curled one protectively around Chloe. "Sleep well Chloe." he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

#lucifer #my fic #fic #thewollfgang #ao3 #established deckerstar #celestial insiders

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psychicninja90 · 6 years

Text

Complex Carbohydrates

“Lucifer I swear to your Dad if you bring me one more salad—“

Lucifer frowned and his big brown eyes widened adorably and she almost—almost—gave in. She rubbed her stomach thinking she would have another pair of brown puppy eyes to deal with soon. She already had two. She looked up at the ceiling and glared. A third one was so not playing fair.

“My darling I simply want what is best for you and our fetus. We decided that your diet would change when you became pregnant.”

When they had decided they wanted a child and that they would give it try, Lucifer had read every book printed on the subject, along with every website and brochure, and he interrogated the doctor at every visit.

It was both endearing and annoying, two things Lucifer excelled at and his Dad help her she loved him for it, but she was honestly worried her doctor would fire them.

“First, we know we’re having a girl so you can stop calling her ‘our fetus’.”

“That’s technically what she is—“

“—And second I think it’s sweet that you are so into this, but you closely monitoring my folic acid intake is driving me crazy and I don’t want our child to be fatherless.”

He frowned. “But salad is good for you and the spawn.”

“So is red meat and dairy. Carbs. I want carbs, Lucifer.”

He pouted and she melted. Maybe she was being a little unreasonable, but was it so terrible to want a fracking bear claw every now and then? It wasn’t like she was going to eat the whole box.

She sighed, gently placed the salad on her desk and took his oversized hands to settle them on her belly. Immediately she felt the tension in his hands lessen a little.

“Look I’m nervous too. I’m older now and things could happen. And I know you’re trying to help.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “You are being helpful...”

His lips quirked up a little, but his eyes were still downcast. She bit her lip, thinking.

“Tell you what.” She picked up the salad and his eyes immediately lit up. “I’ll eat this salad and any other one you give me without complaint as long as they come with some pizza or pasta or meat and potatoes or something. Please.”

His mouth lifted up into a full grin. “And fruit. Fruit is important too.”

She smiled back at him. “And fruit. Deal?”

“Deal.” He smile brilliantly and kissed her forehead, her lips, then her belly. “Be back in a few minutes.”

With a whoosh he disappeared and a small white feather drifted idly down from where he had stood. She snatched it up and rolled her eyes. He had to stop doing that or people would get suspicious.

As quickly as he had left he returned with another whoosh and a box of something hot and smelling of mozzarella, tomato, and basil.

‘Please don’t be a pizza salad,’ she thought as she went to take the box from him.

To her relief, he opened it for her to reveal the steaming, cheesy contents. “Your complex carbohydrates, my love.”

“Thank you, my husband.”

She gave him a lingering kiss then dug into her first slice. As soon as the flavors hit her tongue she hummed her approval.

“Mmm, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had! Where did you get it? Little Italy?”

“Actual Italy.”

At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “If I’m going to give you indulgent food it may as well be the best. With organic fresh ingredients to boot.”

She chuckled and stroked his face. “I love you.”

His eyes grew misty as they always did whenever she said that. “I love you too,” he murmured.

Leaning down he kissed her...and swiped a slice of her pizza. “Hey!”

Dodging her swat he scooped her up in his free arm and kissed her again.

By Katlin H.

#deckerstar fluff #fluffy deckerstar #pregnant chloe #@psychicninja90 #my writing #deckerstar family #lucifer and chloe #lucifer fanfic #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer x chloe #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #la doesnt have a little Italy #but they have a Maggiano’s Little Italy restuarant so...#future fic #established deckerstar

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pellaaearien · 6 years

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The World is Unraveling - Master Post

Chloe knows the truth, and she and Lucifer have made the decision to move forward together. But their resolve is tested when Goddess’ determination to go home threatens to throw a wrench in the works. Will Chloe be able to handle all the Celestial nonsense that comes along with being a part of Lucifer’s life?

Season two finale rewrite, part of the In Other Words series, sequel to The Devil You Know.

Rating: T Genre: Romance Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar/Chloe Decker Words: 22, 535

Ao3

Chapter One: Sympathy for the Devil

Chapter Two: Gonna have fun tonight

Interlude

Chapter Three: If your world falls apart

Chapter Four: Just to bring you home

Chapter Five: I’ll light the fire

Chapter Six: Start a riot

Eternal gratitude and undying love to @wollfgangsblog and @ariaadagio for the beta read! You both rock!

Banner courtesy of @wollfgangsblog <3

#lucifer on fox #lucifer fanfic #deckerstar #deckerstar fanfiction #lucifer x chloe #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #goddess/mum #established deckerstar #powercouple deckerstar #chloe knows #in other words series #pella writes

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casuallydeliciousphilosopher · 6 years

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3!!

Fic Prompt 3: “It’s three in the morning.” Requested by an anon.

So, there were a lot of places this could have gone, but I decided to make it fluffy and happy. So ensues an established, in-the-know Deckerstar sickfic. Bonus kudos to you if you pick up on the tiny Spiderman reference hiding in here ;) Enjoy!

Chloe was pulled from her dreams when the feeling of a large hand shaking her shoulder began to rouse her from the wonderful haze of sleep. Nothing hurt when she was asleep, but now that she was being pulled into consciousness she was quickly reminded of the pain radiating through her skull, the unbearable itch in the back of her throat, the uncomfortable twist in her stomach; and most of all, the overwhelming cold that made her body rack with an involuntary shudder. She slowly cracked an eye open, the glaring red numbers on her alarm clock cutting through the dark like a lighthouse cutting through the ocean fog. She groaned when she read the time, burying her face deeper into her pillow as she prayed that sleep would return to her quickly, lest she be forced to lay there in pain until the sun eventually rose. She’d only just began to relax once more when the hand was shaking her shoulder again, pulling a grumpy grumble from the sleepy detective.

“Chloe?” A concerned voice broke the silence quietly, and she groaned at the noise, her head throbbing painfully. “You need to wake up, darling.” The voice continued, and it took her a moment to register just whose voice it was, but the thick British accent was a dead giveaway.

“It’s three in the morning,” Chloe grumbled before burying her head deeper into her pillow in hopes that it would do something to help dull Lucifer’s voice which was much too loud at the moment.

“Yes, I’m aware, but —”

“No buts. Go away,” Chloe cut Lucifer off before he could continue. Why didn’t her boyfriend seem to understand that humans needed significantly more sleep than angels did? Under normal circumstances she would’ve been able to tolerate him, but not right now, everything hurt and it was just so cold. She momentarily wondered if Lucifer stole all of the blankets from her for the umpteenth time this week, but her train of thought was cut short by another viscous bought of chills.

“Darling,” Lucifer spoke up once again, his hand wrapping around her upper arm as he rolled her onto her back with ease despite her groaning protests and her feeble struggling. “You need to take more medicine. It’s been six hours,” Lucifer continued, his voice pounding against her skull just before she heard the click of a bedside lamp being turned on and light flooded through the room, making her squint painfully as she let out another groan. She slowly managed to recollect her memories of the previous day, her and Lucifer were supposed to go on a date, but she’d felt like crap and when she took her temperature she’d quickly learned that she had a one-hundred and one-degree fever. She’d taken the proper medications and went about her day despite the discomfort, she couldn’t shirk her responsibilities just because she had the flu. But as the day went on her condition only worsened, and by the time only a few hours remained until she was supposed to meet up with her boyfriend she’d accepted that she was in no condition for a night out.

She’d called him after that to cancel their plans, immediately earning a volley of questions that she’d been forced to answer; she’d reassured him that he’d done nothing wrong, that everything was alright, and no, her car had not broken down again. Of course, Lucifer was so insistent that she eventually just came out with it and told him that she was down with a cold, probably the same one that Trixie had a mere three days ago. She’d told him time and time again that he should just stay at Lux, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself; and besides, Trixie would more than pleased with the opportunity to ‘play doctor’. But of course he’d refused to listen to her, and a mere thirty minutes later he was at her doorstep with a styrofoam container filled with chicken noodle soup and a concerned expression plastered across his face. She had to admit that he’d been more than helpful despite his minimal experience dealing with sick humans, and he’d done a pretty decent job overall; if anything he was too concerned.

He’d tried to convince her to go to the doctor more times than she cared to recall, and then he meticulously read over each label adorning the bottles of medication that Chloe had been taking, and she’d found it adorable that the big bad devil was so worried about a little cold. But at this point, his unnecessary coddling was becoming incredibly frustrating. She needed sleep more than she needed another mouthful of fever reducers and cough syrup. She grumbled sleepily when Lucifer shoved a thermometer into her mouth, earning herself a very motherly response of, “Well do you want to get better or not?”. As soon as it started beeping and Lucifer took a look at it he made a discontented humming noise before immediately turning to the various bottles of pills and syrups spread out across the nightstand beside him.

Before she knew it Chloe was being handed two large blue pills and a small plastic cup filled with bright red ‘cherry’ flavored cough syrup. “Why are you torturing me like this?” She mumbled grumpily as she managed to sit up. Chloe lifted the flimsy plastic cup to her lips and grimaced as she swallowed the thick concoction that definitely didn’t taste like any cherry she’d ever encountered during her thirty-six years on this planet. “Should’ve let me stay asleep.” She added resentfully when he offered her a glass of water.

“I’m only looking out for you,” Lucifer replied softly while she gratefully took a long sip of the water, happy to wash the taste of the cough syrup away. “We both know I’d never be able to forgive myself if your feeble human body gave out on my watch.” He continued as she popped both of the pills into her mouth before swallowing them down with several gulps of water.

“I’m not feeble,” Chloe grumbled before downing the last dredges of water in her glass. She shoved the glass vaguely in Lucifer’s direction and groaned when another sharp pain resonated through her skull.

“Not typically.” Her boyfriend replied as he took the glass from her before immediately continuing, “But I’m reconsidering at the moment.”.

Chloe growled under her breath as she flopped back against the bed, pulling the covers up over her head as she turned so that she was facing away from her boyfriend. “Jerk.” She mumbled, earning a soft chuckle from the man just before she heard the bedside lamp click off and felt him lay back down beside her.

“Well, goodnight to you too darling.”

The sunlight filtering through the drapes was what finally woke Chloe up, she slowly blinked in the light, thankfully realizing that she didn’t feel nearly as bad as she did last night. Her throat was still a little raw and she still felt nauseous, but considering how she felt yesterday she was willing to call that a win. The next thing that she registered was the absolutely heavenly smell filling her room, just a hint of vanilla mixed with something buttery; it was almost enough to pique her nonexistent appetite. The muted sound of Trixie’s laughter reached her ears, and it was enough to spur her to get up out of bed, she quickly freshened up a bit in the bathroom before padding downstairs.

“Good morning mommy!” Trixie’s bright voice greeted her the second she stepped into the kitchen, the sound immediately pulling Lucifer’s attention from the bowl of batter before him as he quickly looked over at her before flashing her one of his trademark grins. Chloe returned his smile quickly as she closed the distance between herself and her daughter who was currently perched at the kitchen bar.

“Hey, baby,” Chloe greeted her child, giving her a quick hug before sitting down beside her. “What’s going on in here?” She asked as she turned her attention back to her boyfriend, he opened his mouth to reply but Trixie was answering before he could get a word out.

“Lucifer’s making waffles!” Trixie exclaimed, a gappy smile filling her face, and Chloe chuckled softly at her daughter’s overwhelming enthusiasm.

“Of course you have to make waffles when I feel too sick eat them,” Chloe shook her head as she fixed her gaze on her boyfriend.

“It was what the little miscreant desired,” Lucifer defended when the waffle iron beeped and he turned around to tend to it. “I promise I’ll make it up to you when you’re feeling better.” He added, his voice holding a sultry undertone that alluded to the promise of ‘breakfast in bed’ in the near future. “Speaking of, it’s time,” Lucifer added, his tone apologetic as he turned to face her, plucking the dreaded thermometer out of his shirt’s breast pocket before holding it out towards her.

Chloe took the tiny device with a reluctant sigh, turning it on with the push of a button before obediently tucking it under her tongue. Thirty seconds seemed to drag on for an eternity as Lucifer tended to breakfast and Trixie impatiently fidgeted in her chair. Chloe was relieved when the thermometer finally beeped, pulling it from her mouth and letting out a breath of relief when she noticed that it read 97.9 degrees, perhaps Lucifer would stop forcing cough syrup and pills down her throat now. Her boyfriend took the thermometer from her a moment later, the concern on his features relaxing as he read the numbers on the display. “How are you feeling?” He questioned quietly as he rested the plastic device on the kitchen island.

“A lot better. Nauseous. But better,” Chloe answered honestly as Lucifer reached out, resting one of his hands on top of hers, his thumb brushing back and forth across her skin slowly as he nodded softly at her words.

“Do you want anything?”

Chloe mulled over the question for a moment before responding, “Coffee sounds good.”.

A smile grew on Lucifer’s face at her answer, a quiet half-chuckle escaping him. “Perhaps orange juice instead?” He offered, and although the thought of going without her morning caffeine made her good spirits deflate a bit she knew that Lucifer was right, some vitamin C would do her good. Chloe nodded her agreement a moment later, smiling when her boyfriend squeezed her hand gently before pulling away and returning his attention to breakfast.

It only took a short moment for Lucifer to finish the last waffle and present Trixie with her plate, earning a squeal of delight from the child who dug into the food like a ravenous pack of wolves. Lucifer took his seat beside Chloe a moment later, his own helping of waffles and a tall glass of orange juice in hand. They all settled into a comfortable silence as they focused on their food, and Chloe managed to make it halfway through her glass of orange juice before her eyes settled on the neon green numbers on the microwave. She spluttered into her glass in shock, immediately earning a concerned glance from both her daughter and her boyfriend as they stopped eating to stare at her for a moment.

“It’s ten thirty! Monkey, you were supposed to be at school two hours ago,” Chloe explained, her words coming out in a jumbled rush as she quickly got out of her chair, silently cursing the fact that she was still in pajamas and would have to change before rushing her little one off to school. However, before she could even begin to make her way towards her bedroom to put on some suitable clothes Lucifer’s hand was resting on her upper arm in an almost reassuring manner.

“Darling, it’s alright. I called her in sick today,” Lucifer spoke up the moment her eyes settled on his face. The words made Chloe pause for a second before immediately shaking her head as she stared her partner down through narrowed eyes.

“Lucifer, I have work in a few hours. Maze is out on a job. Nobody is going to be around to watch her,” Chloe explained, her voice growing tense as she stepped out from under his touch. She knew that he meant well, but God, sometimes he really just made things worse. She only made it a few feet towards the staircase before she heard Lucifer let out a lofty sigh as the legs of his chair scraped against the ground, announcing that he’d abandoned his seat.

“Chloe,” Lucifer’s voice broke the quiet with ease, his tone blatantly authoritative. It was the use of her first name, and the way her boyfriend’s stern voice demanded to be acknowledged, that made her stop in her tracks. “I called you in sick as well.” He explained, his voice growing much gentler as she felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. Chloe immediately turned at the admission, her mouth opening to protest the decision, but before she could get a word out Lucifer was resting his index finger against her lips, effectively shushing her. “I know that you’re too strong to show it, but you’re in pain.” He stated, and even though part of her wanted to deny his words, Chloe knew that he was right. She felt much better, but she was still tired, and sore, and probably more dehydrated than she cared to admit. “You need some time to rest and your body needs to recover,” Lucifer added, and she felt the last of her resolve to conquer the day crumble. She had to admit, it would be nice to take a day to relax, especially after pushing herself so hard yesterday. “And what better way to accomplish that than to spend the whole day with your spawn and your friendly neighborhood Satan?” Chloe laughed at the question, but her laugh quickly turned into a cough and Lucifer pulled her into his chest as he rubbed tiny, soothing circles against the small of her back.

As soon as Chloe recovered from the unexpected onslaught she mumbled her thanks to her boyfriend, who placed a kiss against her forehead before releasing her. Breakfast continued without a hitch from there on, Trixie was excited to have the day off, and she kept pestering the adults with questions about what they were going to do. Chloe was thankful that Lucifer shot down all of her daughter’s more ambitious suggestions, and eventually, Trixie’s begging managed to reduce the former Lord of Hell to an agreement of a Disney movie binge.

It didn’t take long for the small family to migrate to the living room, and Trixie had already amassed a small mountain of titles that she wanted to watch by the time Lucifer had provided Chloe with a small nest of blankets and pillows on the couch that she happily settled into before curling into Lucifer’s side as he sat down beside her. Trixie popped Beauty and the Best into the DVD player before cuddling into Chloe’s free side. The Detective didn’t pay much attention to the movie, she was more focused on the feeling of Lucifer’s fingers trailing lazy patterns across her bare forearms, but eventually, she succumbed to the ever-growing weight dragging her eyelids down.

She came to for a brief moment when someone jostled her, earning a quick apology from her boyfriend that she barely heard over ‘Under the Sea’ that was currently blaring through the TV speakers, but sleep pulled her back under before she could even think to utter a response. She wasn’t sure what time it was when she came to again, but when she cracked open her eyes she immediately noticed Moana playing on the television, and the heartwarming image of her boyfriend sitting on the ground beside her daughter as the two worked on Trixie’s latest coloring book together. She managed to stay conscious long enough to watch a few scenes, and Chloe smiled when Lucifer sang along to Maui’s song. The last thing she heard before sleep reclaimed her were Lucifer’s modified lyrics, “What can I say except you’re welcome, for the sun, the stars, free will. Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re welcom—”.

The next time Chloe came to she found Lucifer laying down on the couch beside her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he drew in deep, slow breaths. And, much to her delight, she quickly realized that the surreal warmth engulfing her was coming from the fluffy white cocoon of wings that were currently covering her from the midsection down. She smiled giddily at the sight, a yawn escaping her before she slowly freed one of her arms, careful not to jostle Lucifer in his sleep before reaching down and stroking her index finger down the length of one of his primaries. She made sure to be gentle, and to stroke only in a downward motion, she still remembered the first time she’d touched his wings, and the important lesson she’d learned that day as though it had happened just hours ago and not months upon months.

“Can I…can I touch them?” Chloe breathed quietly as she stepped forward, her hand reaching out towards the gorgeous, stunning white wings that were spread at Lucifer’s sides. How could he say that he was the Devil? He was the most angelic creature that she’d ever laid eyes on. She knew that she should probably be scared, she should have already fallen on her knees and begged God for forgiveness for any sins she’d ever committed, but the fear just didn’t exist; awe on the other hand, well, there was plenty of that to go around.

“If you want to…” Lucifer replied, his voice tight and almost unsure as he shifted his weight in a way that made Chloe think that he was nervous or something. She didn’t think about Lucifer’s reaction for too long though, because a moment later her fingertips were gracing his feathers and she was drawing in a shuddering breath at the feeling. She wanted to compare them to silk, but she knew that wasn’t right; no, they were like some mix of satin and velvet that was so much softer than anything she’d ever felt in her life. She quickly noticed Lucifer’s shaky inhale just before his voice broke the silence once more, “Just be careful abo—”.

He didn’t get to finish before Chloe was dragging her hand back up his feathers, sucking in a rough breath as she felt one of her fingers catch on one of his primaries, blood staining his feather and trickling over her finger almost immediately. “About that,” Lucifer finished as he reached out, taking her hand in both of his and immediately applying pressure to the pad of her finger in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“You cut me?” Chloe questioned, her voice taking on an indignant tone as she glared up at the supposedly ‘fallen’ angel.

“I didn’t mean to,” Lucifer replied immediately, his voice apologetic as he began to lead her over to the bar. “They’re weapons, they’re sharp.” He explained as he gestured for her to take a seat at one of the barstools before settling down on the one beside her.

“W-weapons?” She stammered slightly, confusion engulfing her for a moment as all of this new information about angels, and God, and an afterlife overwhelmed her temporarily. Lucifer hummed an affirmative as he grabbed a bottle of amber liquid and quickly poured a few drops over her cut, making her wince at the sting before he was putting pressure on the wound once again.

“Angels aren’t fluffy, harmless little creatures frolicking about in the clouds, Detective,” Lucifer explained gently, his eyes meeting hers before he continued, “They’re highly trained, very dangerous soldiers.”.

“Dangerous,” Chloe muttered under her breath as she quickly glanced at the marble floor beneath her. The word felt wrong when it was applied to Lucifer; he was her partner, her friend, and she hoped, one day in the future, maybe something more. But that had been before this sudden realization that he had wings, that he was apparently the Devil. She silently wondered if her and Lucifer could ever work now that she knew what he was. But had anything actually changed? He was still just Lucifer. Right?

Before she could wander too far down that train of thought she felt a finger wrap under her chin, tilting her head back up so she could look him in the eyes. “Not to you, darling,” Lucifer breathed, his voice gentle and his expression beseeching. “Never to you.” He added, and Chloe believed him, she did. She knew that Lucifer prided himself on his honesty, and she’d never seen him so earnest before. The Devil may be dangerous, but he wasn’t dangerous to her.

Chloe smiled at the memory as she lifted her hand and ran it over the strong band of muscles lining the top of his wing, making Lucifer nuzzle his face deeper into her hair as he made a muffled grumbling noise. She knew that he’d woken up when she felt him press a kiss against the top of her head before loosening his grip on her so he could pull back enough to look at her. “How are you feeling?” He rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep as he lifted his arm and ran his thumb across her cheekbone softly.

“Good,” Chloe answered honestly. She actually felt good as new, and she silently thanked Lucifer for taking the initiative to call her in sick today. She turned her head slightly to glance out of one of her windows, delighted to find that the sun was still up. Perhaps they could all do something with Trixie before returning to their regular schedules tomorrow, that was, after some ‘grown-up alone time’ with her boyfriend. “So…I’m feeling better…” Chloe trailed off suggestively, giving Lucifer a sultry smile as she pulled her hand from his wing and ran her fingers through his unruly dark hair.

Lucifer hummed softly at her words, placing a kiss against her forehead before pulling back slightly. “Do you want me to go make you waffles?” He questioned, his voice holding a teasing tone as his wings drew her body tighter against his own.

Chloe smiled at the question, biting her lower lip and shaking her head as she returned her hand to Lucifer’s wing. “I think I’m more in the mood for a little dessert.” She replied as she buried her fingers deep into the fluffy, harmless down feathers lining the underside of his wing before tugging on them lightly, earning a deep groan from the Devil as his wing spasmed slightly.

“You insatiable little minx,” Lucifer growled before tilting her chin up and kissing her softly. Chloe smiled at the familiar feeling of smooth lips and rough stubble; she dragged her hand through his fluffy down feathers one last time before Lucifer pulled her hand away, pinning it above her head as he quietly rumbled, “So, are we in the mood for chocolate or vanilla?”.

#anonymous #deckerstar #deckerstar ff #deckerstar fanfiction #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer on fox #lucifer oneshot #lucifer ff #lucifer fanfiction #established deckerstar #in-the-know deckerstar #sick fic #prompt fic #trixie decker

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notatallomnipotentreader · 2 years

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😃

#*established #i liked deckerstar at the beginning but it got old kinda quick and the chemistry was not very there :/#them getting together/getting apart was kinda like watching 2 best friends being hetronormatised into a relationship bc males/females cant-#-ONLY be friends. jikes.#yikes*#. at some point she was legit gonna permantly put lucifer in one of the places she KNOWS he hates. even tho shes known him for years.#'trauma response' is one thing but notice how known of the other humans who found out never plotted his semi/attempted murder. huh.#chloe decker was just one huge red flag at the end.#her 'getting' lucifers powers and then being all pissy at him when hes upset that something hes had for seemingly all his life #-is gone. and he cannot get it back easily.#hm.#these are mostly just off the top of my head but. it could probably make a whole list of all the red flags chloe decker has. 😬#lucifer netflix #lucifer #meme #anti chloe decker #lucifer morningstar

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ao3feed-deckerstar · 1 year

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It feels like heaven to flirt with hell

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Q76yhaV

by Malauu_Ladynoir

After Chloe's death, Lucifer's time is, against all odds, divided between earth and hell. On the one hand, he tries to protect Trixie from an ex-boyfriend bent on revenge; and he must admit, it's easier said than done. On the other, Chloe's back at his side and he just wants to live a peaceful eternity with her. Yet, just like with Trixie, things don't go quite as planned.

Teaming with Detective Jr as an LAPD consultant, and reluctantly spending time away from the love of his life, will the Devil once again manage to save the day?

*Updated every friday

Words: 2667, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Deckerstar - An eternity in Hell

Fandoms: Lucifer (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker, Trixie Espinoza, Rory Morningstar, Amenadiel (Lucifer TV)

Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series Finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Protective Chloe Decker, Protective Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Trixie Espinoza Finds Out, Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar Bonding, POV Chloe Decker, POV Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Partnership, Crime Fighting, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Chloe Decker in Hell, Step-Parent Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar Fluff, Everybody loves Trixie Espinoza

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Q76yhaV

#deckerstar fanfiction #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic

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esmealux · 3 years

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for the drabble prompt, 6 and 2. something soft <3

I don't think this is what you had in mind, sweet anon, but you asked for something soft, and something soft is what you'll get. Hope you don't mind my alternative take too much ❤

This is a part of the Two-Part Drabble Game (and I'm still taking prompts!)

In bed at 2 AM, blissfully drowsy + 'I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.'

Moonlight bleeds through the thin linen curtains, casting a silvery sheen on the black silhouettes in their bedroom. The sound of waves kissing the shore slips in through the open window and joins the chorus of slow, heavy breaths. It’s almost like a lullaby, every note making Chloe’s eyelids heavier, pulling at her, inviting her into peaceful darkness.

‘I just want to let you that know I love you.’

Lucifer’s whisper, although impossibly gentle, stops her from finally drifting off. It’s okay, though. She doesn’t mind being kept awake if it's by his late-night confessions. In fact, it makes her sleepy lips tug up into a smile.

‘A lot,’ he adds in the same hushed voice, laced with awe and meaning. ‘Never forget that.’

She turns onto her side to look at him, and the moonlit sight that greets her has warm tears prickling in her eyes. Apparently, it wasn’t her he was talking to.

‘Should I take this personally?’ she asks him, exhaustion making it a hoarse, unmelodic mumble.

He looks up at her and offers an absent-minded ‘Hm?’ in return. A streak of light illuminates his face; even with a scruffy beard, tousled hair, and dark circles under his eyes, he looks annoyingly, heartwarmingly handsome.

‘It took you three years for you to say you loved me,’ she reminds him.

He doesn’t get it. (She doesn’t blame him; he’s about as sleep deprived as she is.)

Still in a monotonic murmur, she points out, ‘She was born four days ago, and you’ve already confessed your love to her. Twice.’

‘Do you always listen in on our private conversations?’ He tries to give her a disapproving look, but he can’t hide his smile—not even in the semi-darkness of their bedroom. ‘Besides, can you blame me?’ he asks her, smiling even more now. ‘I mean…’ With pride and adoration all over his face, he nods towards their baby, nestled between them. She’s staring up at her dad with wide eyes, her tiny hand still wrapped around his index finger.

‘No,’ Chloe whispers, her eyes lingering on the unbelievably cute face (who thought it was fair to let her have her father’s eyes?). Unable to resist, she carefully reaches over and brushes the back of her finger across her daughter’s soft cheek.

‘She really is perfection,’ Lucifer states quietly, like it’s a well-known fact. ‘Certainly our best collab.’

Chloe’s too tired to remind him that she did most of the work, so she just hums in agreement, a drowsy smile playing at the corner of her lips. It’s true; she is perfect.

They both watch as her eyes turn droopy, and her small chest starts rising with slower, deeper breaths. Just after loosening her grip on her dad’s finger, she finally closes her eyes and falls asleep. More careful than Chloe has ever seen him (maybe except for the first time he held his daughter), Lucifer leans over their baby and places a feather-light kiss to her forehead. Then he scoots a little closer, hyper-aware of not disturbing the sleeping infant, and reaches over to cup the side of Chloe’s face. Instinctively, she leans into his gentle touch, her eyes falling shut.

‘I love you, too’ he tells her, almost inaudibly. There’s a new ring to the words, an undertone that wasn’t there before—before she gave birth to his child. Even more so now, he says the words like it’s a lifelong promise, but also a heartfelt ‘thank you’. As if she’s given him the sun, the moon, and all of the stars, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever pay her back.

Little does he know there’s no debt to pay. Not when he’s already given her everything.

She’s about to tell him that when he, voice raspier than before, whispers, ‘A lot.’

Along with their daughter’s quiet snores, that’s the last thing she hears before she falls asleep, his hand on her cheek and a blissful smile on her face.

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howicantsing · 3 years

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i love that deckerstar never actually discuss marriage lucifer just calls her “future mrs. g” and puts his ring on her ring finger

#i really didn't think i could love ds more but here we are #they were so married this season #as much as i loved the slow burn i think i love the established relationship dynamic even more?#deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer spoilers #text

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luciferprompts · 6 years

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Chloe and Lucifer have gotten together, and everything is well, until Chloe informs Lucifer that she wants to have a child with him. Lucifer is horrified by the idea, and refuses point blank. After all, there are prophecies about that sort of thing. He tells her that if she wants another kid, she is free to get some donor sperm, or have another go at it with Dan. But he will not be a father, under any circumstances. What will Chloe do?

Well, Chloe would have some options…

#prompt #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #established deckerstar #anon prompt

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matchstickdolly · 3 years

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Lucifer 5B: Cutting off Touch to Spite Your Fans

Spoiler warning: This post assumes you've watched all of Lucifer, season 5, part B.

CW: There's plenty I like about season 5, but this is a negative post. I know not everyone is up for negativity about the things they love. I also generally avoid it and (try to) keep my mouth shut about things I don’t like in most spaces. It’s good etiquette. But this is my space, and I have thoughts specifically about purity culture and the treatment of sexuality and trauma in fiction. You’ve been warned!

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I'm a professional writer (not in TV). I've worked with enough bad clients, editors, and other writers to recognize some hallmark behaviors in how both Fox and Netflix gave Lucifer's writers incredibly difficult, unfair, and frankly weird situations to create through.

Fox did them dirty, interfering and ordering too many eps in S3. Netflix did them dirty, ordering 10 eps for S4 when it clearly needed ~13. Then Netflix ordered 10 "final" eps for S5—then, just kidding(!), 6 more after they'd done their writing for the 10. (What the fuck?) And then Netflix ordered 10 more for a "final-final" S6 after the writers had done their best to tell their whole story in S5. (MORE what the fuck.)

Talk about whiplash for creators, and half of those who consume content don't even care to understand such creative pain.

So, there are problems on multiple fronts. There's much I'll forgive writers, accordingly. I go into most shows expecting plotting/pacing issues. I look, instead, for characters and relationships that will triumph over those issues.

Heart is what the show Lucifer has always had in spades, both in its characters and in the immensely committed, wonderful ways the actors have tried to realize the characters' humor, love, trauma, and—most importantly—struggle to find healing. Yet, when given the opportunity to show health alongside another in a relationship, the writers/directors of 5B chose to remove most sexual humor and physical intimacy from their female lead and bi/pan characters to, I feel, sanitize them and troll fans. What happened?

Well, for one, say hi to showrunner Joe Henderson bragging about how the writers decided to be colossal dicks to the fans who helped secure their jobs:

From CBR's 'Lucifer Showrunner Joe Henderson Dissects Season 5B's Chaos'

Have we not suffered sidelined/repressed female characters, "bury your gays," and, oh, Chloe fucking a serial killer enough? Must we also say hello to neutered relationships once characters find stable love (whether same or opposite sex)? The result of withdrawing more sexual humor and physical intimacy from paired characters is an uncomfortable suggestion that they're reformed by "pure" love—more chaste and aloof, more acceptable in polite society. This is only done to end-game committed relationships.*

The writers seem to think they're edging the viewers, but the reality is they're taking traumatized minority characters who rejoiced in sexual freedom, but lacked and craved an emotional connection, and showing they can't have both, or, if they find both, it will never last. They've taken hypersexual characters and said, here, even they can have the love and commitment they desire, but some physical intimacy, especially sexual intimacy, is what they must trade for it.

There's always one more case, phone call, or coincidence interrupting intimacy. Traumas or deaths deserving emotional and physical comfort go on to receive none or only one aspect. Done sometimes, it's fine. Done always, it's sick. Dan dies, and there's no hugging? Really?†

Don't craft characters who crave a full range of emotional and physical intimacy, only to rob them of related scenes every chance you get. That's not complexity. That's bad writing. To even achieve this in 5B, they must squash banter and sideline their female lead yet again.

What a gift to purity culture, which tells us to be more palatable by bottling and buttoning up. That sex should be taboo, but violence glorified. That there is no heated desire among "Good Women," that sexual minorities of all genders shouldn't experience it much at all.

5A is so good. At the very least, it's on the right path (clearly, since the plot payoff from 5x01 to 5x16 is great). It shows a couple working through difficulties and trauma, toward each other emotionally and physically. It even pokes fun at people who think an established relationship means the death of romantic and sexual appeal (a tired and hugely sexist trope). And then... And then 5B reverses that, pretending established relationships are barely physical during emotional struggle and that the honeymoon phase doesn't exist. It robs characters of joy and comfort through physical intimacy when they need it to move through or push beyond trauma.

It's telling that so many fan wishes for Deckerstar are about healing touch and existing in each other's spaces: amending Chloe's spicy PDA history with Cain, Chloe caring for Lucifer's wings, soft family scenes a la Monopoly night and shared meals, morning-afters, etc. Reasonable fans aren't asking for porn; they're asking for connection and humanity. They're asking for writers not to forget characters (and, yes, including hypersexual characters) on their way from Point A to Point B.

That 5B lacks these things isn't a "tee-hee frustrating" slow burn or a cockblock. It is, in so many scenes, excising from characters a core part of what nearly every human and fictional monster craves. And it's a slap in the face to the "found family" trope. When you remove or tamp down a casual physical intimacy that was previously there, characters and their relationships fall flat, even if only partially. They become blunt weapons creators wield against watchers or readers begging for scraps of warmth.

Minorities shouldn't be killed off with ease, and they shouldn't be stifled with ease, either.‡ And maybe there shouldn't be deep trauma driving a wedge in a romantic relationship if you're not going to explore it through that relationship, too—physical intimacy included.

I'm still reserving some judgment. I loved the family drama and the end. (Although, again, where was the physical intimacy? No intimacy when Chloe or Lucifer return from the dead? Really?) I see where they could do awesome things, and could have done more if not for network BS.

But I no longer trust Lucifer's writers and directors. They thought S5 was the end. And what they gave us of Deckerstar, of the relationship that symbolizes health and healing in their fictional world, is this: cold distance. And they got a kick out of doing it, apparently.

If this is a "love letter" to me as a fan, I'm burning it. I can only hope S6 course corrects. If not, the writers who made these choices shouldn't write sexual minority and/or traumatized characters again. If you don't understand most of us, you should stop fucking using us.

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* If you don't believe me about the differences between casual/short-term relationships and end-game relationships in Lucifer, go back and look at how Lucifer and Maze are with strangers in all the other seasons. Look at Chloe's sex dream, her propositioning of Lucifer in a library, her sex with Pierce in the evidence closet. Look at how much physical intimacy there is between Lucifer and Eve, and then between Eve and Maze (if only as a ploy). Across seasons, there are sex/kink jokes and scenes galore.

Compare this to how these same characters are portrayed when with their end-game loves. Notice the gentle pecks on the lips and the huge general drop in sexual humor between 5A and 5B. How boring. Where's the spice these characters had? Also, give me a damn break. Buttoning up in a relationship is contrary to four and a half seasons of emotional character work that's been communicating security in our relationships is personally freeing.

† I'm not just talking about sexual intimacy in this post, though that is a big part of it because of the characters. 5B lacked crucial found family scenes, too.

Chloe should have been at God's family dinner, but being so would have prevented more ham-fisted angst. Chloe never even has a one-on-one with God, probably because that would demand a straight answer about her miracle status, which I would guess will be used to drive yet another wedge between her and Lucifer next season, but we'll see.

In multiple before- and after-work scenes, there was no reason for Lucifer and Chloe to be apart more, even, than they were in S1 and S2. Monopoly night was in S3, for crying out loud. Most horrifying of all? No one touches Chloe after Dan's death, but Trixie. Meanwhile, Linda, Amenadiel, Ella, Maze, and Lucifer all receive physical comfort. No wonder Chloe's tired of being strong.

‡ If you don't think it's offensive that they stuffed all their wlw content for two hypersexual characters into a few clunky, irrational, and chaste scenes that rushed I love yous, a marriage-like proposal, and the mention of soulmates, I don't know what to tell you other than get off my lawn.

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