#engaged deckerstar

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ mourning your lost days as a bachelor

Drabble 09 / ?

Setting: Post s5, maybe post s6?

Word count: 1.4K

Rating: M

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Author’s note: Rated M for Chloe’s dirty mind. Also, I wrote a great deal of this while drunk on champagne, so please forgive me.

Read it on Ao3

Lucifer grabs the drink Patrick just poured him and lifts it to his lips as he turns around to face his club. It’s buzzing as usual, the crowd moving to the pulsing bass while indulging in all kinds of debauchery. To the far right, a Bride-to-be sign glitters atop the head of a young, positively sozzled woman. In another time, he’d already be over there by now, drawing out the desires of her and her jealous, self-pitying girlfriends. Now, he just thinks of his own bride-to-be. Wishes she were here. Or that he were with her, snuggled up on their couch, drinking that cheap red wine she for some odd reason enjoys and stealing fruity kisses here and there.

‘Mourning your lost days as a bachelor?’

His lips instantly spread into a smile at the sound of her voice, his hands reaching for her waist before their eyes even meet.

‘What a delightful surprise,’ he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. She smiles against his mouth and brings her fingers to his stubble, her ring brushing against his cheek. She tastes like mint gum and lip gloss and something distinctively her. He deepens the kiss for just a second.  

‘There wasn’t that much paperwork after all, and Trixie’s with Dan,’ she explains when they pull apart.

She’s wearing a little black dress that hugs her perfect curves deliciously and reveals her long, bare legs. It’s quite amazing, how she manages to take away his breath every time he looks at her. Even more amazing that he gets to look at her, every day for the rest of-

‘Wait, doesn’t that mean we have the house to ourselves?’

She nods, biting her lip, and the instant effect it has on him is almost embarrassing.

‘What on Earth are we doing here, then? My face should be buried between your thighs right now!’

She snorts at his bluntness, used to it by now. Still, a blush creeps up her cheeks. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, a glint in her eyes.

‘You’re not even gonna buy me a drink first?’

Beneath the playfulness, he can tell she actually wants this, him and her in his nightclub, flirting and drinking. And how could he possibly say no to that?

‘Sorry, where are my manners?’ Lucifer apologises, and in the same instant, a large beer, her favourite, is placed in front of them.

‘For the Missus,’ Patrick says, winking at them both. Chloe thanks him with a smile and takes a long, sexily unladylike swig.

They sit and chat about nothing and everything, fingers intertwined on his thigh, as clubgoers in varying states of inebriation come and go around them. Chloe’s about to order another beer when Lucifer drags her out on the floor. They move together, inelegantly and not quite in sync with the music thanks to the Detective’s two left feet and her lacking sense of rhythm—but it’s okay. It’s more than okay, actually; it’s fun. Even more so when she turns around in his arms and starts rubbing her bum up against him.

He groans in her ear, his grip on her hip tightening. She twirls awkwardly under his arm to face him again and puts a little distance between them, a smirk on her face.

Tease.

Just as he’s pulled her closer, their fronts now pressed together, the music changes.

‘Oh, I love this song!’ Lucifer’s face lights up as the familiar beat and catchy tune fill the club. ‘Such an artist, he was.’ His smile is suspiciously wistful.

‘You slept with him, didn’t you?’

He looks down at her, grinning.

‘Why, Detective.’ He bends his neck, bringing his mouth to her ear. ‘I’m not usually one to shag and tell’—Chloe rolls her eyes—‘but yes of course.’

His confession is a hot breath against the side of her face, his lips brushing her earlobe, and Chloe doesn’t know how to respond to that, but it does make her think-

‘Are you- Are you gonna miss… that?’

He spins her around in an annoyingly smooth move so that her backside is pressed to his front again.

‘Miss what, darling?’ he asks, voice a little muffled as he kisses her neck.

‘You know.’ A series of not entirely disturbing images invade Chloe’s mind. ‘Men.’

He brings them face to face again, dark eyes blinking and brows furrowed in confusion.

‘Detective, are you asking me whether I’ll miss getting dicked once I officially vow to share my bed with only you, forever and always?’

Chloe looks down at their dancing feet. ‘Well, if you want to put it that way.’

Lucifer laughs, equally surprised and amazed.

‘No,’ he answers, his tone suddenly serious, yet still lined with drunken happiness.

‘No?’

He brings his hand from where it’s splayed across her lower back to her face, tenderly brushing his thumb across her cheek.

‘I do not and will not miss it,’ he assures her, eyes twinkling. ‘In fact, I don’t miss anything about my sex life, BC.’

Before she even thinks about asking, he leans down and, in a sultry whisper, clarifies, ‘Before Chloe.’ Then he places a kiss behind her ear, slow and wet.

‘Ah.’

He smirks and lets his hand glide from her face to her collarbone, pausing for a second before continuing across her breast, the side of her ribs, behind her back, and down to her ass—all the while still moving to the beat. He hums into the crook of her neck, his beard tickling her skin, and she puts a hand on his chest to steady herself. Her heartbeat quickens, a symptom of both physical exercise and having Lucifer wrapped around her, all mouth and hands.

‘No, but seriously, darling,’ he says, meeting her eyes in the half-darkness of the club. He suddenly feels the need to stress this, even though she probably already knows. She looks back at him, tipsy and dazed. Her golden ring, her star, glows softly on her finger, her hand warm against his chest. ‘I’ve always found sex to be fun, but with you…’

He considers her face as he searches for the words, admires her soft eyes and curious smile. His hand—the one that’s not splayed out across her delectable derriere—curls around her waist, pushing her impossibly closer. He relishes her warmth and nearness and the sway of her hips—how good it feels. How good she feels. He smiles at her, slow and vulnerable.

‘With you, it’s much more than just fun—much more than just sex. It’s…’

Mind-blowing. Poetic. Comforting. Ambrosial. Giddying. Glorious. Incredible. Meaningful.

‘Love,’ she finishes for him.

He nods, lips tugging up into a lopsided grin.

They dance some more, swinging and bopping to the music. At one point, he wraps both arms around her, hugging her as their bodies move together, and it’s nowhere near as perfected as their dance between the sheets, but it’s sweet and hot and he never wants to let go.

Neither does she, it seems, her hands roaming his chest and back, hungrily. With a mischievous smirk, she unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt, her fingers skimming down his torso to rest at his belt buckle.

‘Well, if you ever do miss… getting dicked…’ Her voice is drenched with sin, her eyes blown to black as her fingers dip into his slacks. They brush against his lower abdomen before they crawl around to his backside and, ever so lightly, come to rest between his cheeks. Then, with a force that makes him grunt, she thrusts her hips into his.  ‘All you have to do is ask.’

Lucifer looks at her, lips parted in shock and wonder. Their dancing comes to an abrupt halt. Even unbuttoned at the top, his shirt suddenly feels too tight. His trousers are even worse. His pulse thrums in his ears.

‘Detective?’ he breathes, a question and a prayer.

With a truly wicked smile, she brings her fingers to the outside of his slacks and squeezes his ass in her small hand. He responds with a choked moan.

Slowly, she pulls away, leaving him in the middle of the dance floor, frozen and aching.

She’s only a couple of feet away when she glances over her shoulder.

‘You coming?’

He whimpers, scrambles after her as she heads for the elevator, and silently wonders what he ever did to deserve Chloe Decker. 

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ asking for the parents’ offspring’s blessing 

Drabble 01 / ?

Setting: Post s5, maybe post s6? (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Word count: 440

Rating: G

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other. 

‘I can’t wait to tell Trixie.’ Chloe moves her hand a little against his chest, watching how the ring almost glows, even as the sun crawls lazily behind the horizon. ‘She’ll be ecstatic.’

‘Well, she was, yes,’ Lucifer tells her. His eyes are still twinkling with warm gold—have been so since the moment she said ‘yes’.

‘You already talked to her?’ She leans back in his embrace to get a better look at him and watches his eyebrows arch up in mock-indignation.

‘Did you really expect me to marry her mother without asking for her blessing first?’

For the third time since Lucifer has been down on one knee in the sand, Chloe feels tears welling up in her eyes against her will.

‘What did she say?’ she asks, curious, voice a little shaky.

‘“Took your time.”’

They both snort and chuckle. 

‘Then she said she wouldn’t mind at all if I married you, because, according to your offspring, I make you happy.’ His eyes are soft with raw joy as he looks at her, and her heart soars.

‘You do,’ she whispers in confirmation, and if Lucifer notices the tear spilling onto her cheek, he doesn’t comment on it. His eyes haven’t been entirely dry either.

In fact, they’re a little damp now. She can’t blame him, though; in a lower voice, he tells her, ‘She also said she would love to officially have me as her step-Devil.’

Chloe laughs through the tears that are now falling freely down her face. For a second, Lucifer looks as if he might follow her, but he manages to compose himself, swipes his thumb across her cheeks, and adds with a slight smile, ‘She also offered to be my best man, but I sadly had to decline, since I already promised Maze the role. But I suppose the urchin would make a fine groomsman.’

Chloe raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest. (She doesn’t miss how Lucifer’s gaze flickers to the golden ring on her finger, nor how his heart seems to swell at the sight.) 

‘What makes you think Trix would be on your side?’

He simply smirks at that. ‘Oh, darling, make no mistake; the little rascal has been on my side since the day she gave me your phone number.’

It’s true, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of being right; she’s already stroked his ego enough for today by agreeing to spend the rest of her life with him. So instead of attempting at a witty comeback, she grabs his face and kisses him senseless.

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ choosing a florist

Drabble 04 / ?

Setting: Sometime after s5

Word count: 1.1 K

Rating: G

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Author’s note: So this turned out a little longer than expected. Hope you don’t mind too much. Also, the urge to illustrate this one was real, but sadly I don’t really have the skills. If anyone wants to have a go at it, I would love to see what you come up with. 

‘Okay, so now, we just need to get a warrant, search Hernandez’ apartment, and then… hopefully… we’ll…’ Chloe gradually loses her train of thought as they turn the corner and see her desk. Or rather, the circa twenty enormous bouquets of flowers it’s buried under.

‘Wow,’ Dan utters beside her. ‘Must have been one big-ass fight.

Warily, Chloe approaches the blooming table. There are all kinds of arrangements. Classic, simple ones made of roses in either light or mixed colours; wild and vibrant sprays of poppies, daisies, and cornflowers; one with lilies and eucalyptus; bright, vernal bouquets; ones that are golden and summery. Some are tight and neat. Some look like they’ve been plucked in a dreamy meadow and casually arranged. They all light up the grey precinct like a colourful beacon of life. And clutter up her desk so she can’t get to the case file.

‘We haven’t been fighting,’ Chloe muses out loud, narrowing her eyes at the array of flowers. ‘He’s actually been behaving himself lately.’

‘Anniversary?’ Dan suggests.

She thinks for a second, counts backwards, recalls their most meaningful moments (and moments Lucifer for some reason would consider meaningful). ‘No. Not for another two months.’

Using a pen to lift and push aside some of the petals, she inspects her gift carefully. ‘Maybe someone’s trying to get our attention? It would make sense. I mean, hedge shears, the matching tulip tattoos, now this.’ Dan nods in agreement. Chloe eyes the flowers again, more suspicious now. ‘I better ask Ella to test a sample of them, make sure they’re not poisoned.’

‘Oh, good! They came!’ an all too familiar voice then exclaims behind her. She hears the owner’s hasty steps, Louboutins clacking against linoleum, before she senses him by her side, taking in the floral ensemble with a pleased smile. ‘Lovely.’

‘Care to explain?’ Chloe demands, secretly pleased that the score of bouquets is from her idiot boyfriend— idiot fiancé, and not a message from a potential murderer.

Lucifer looks at her, blatantly satisfied with his grand gesture. ‘Well, I figured since you were too caught up with work to do any wedding planning, I’d have the wedding planning come to you.’

She feels bad then. Since she said yes to him on the beach four months ago, he’s been annoyingly obsessive overly excited about planning their big day. Meanwhile, Chloe has been prioritising work over cake tasting and dress fitting. It’s not that she doesn’t care. It’s just that, no matter what kind of china they’ll be eating from or what wine they’ll be drinking, it won’t make the day better. Not when she’ll already be marrying the complete ass of a man she calls the love of her life. But she realises now that her not showing interest in the whole planning process might be a little inconsiderate. Sure, Lucifer is one of the vainest people to ever have existed—he probably invented vanity—but she knows it’s not (just) about living up to his reputation of having impeccable taste and knowing how to throw a sick party. It’s about showing the world how much this wedding means to him. 

Or, well, how much she means to him.

‘Would you mind go checking on that warrant?’ she asks Dan, who smiles knowingly before leaving her and Lucifer alone by her desk. She turns to the tall frame standing beside her and places a hand on his lower back, bending her neck to catch his gaze. ‘So, what, we need to choose one of these?’

His whole face lights up. ‘I thought you were busy, Detective.’

‘I have time to pick a florist with you,’ she tells him with a smile and steps closer to her desk to examine each bouquet closely. She takes her time assessing them, not just to humour him, but because she’s suddenly determined to find just the right one. And she does. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but now it catches her eye. It’s not too ‘princessy’, nor too rustic, but perfectly romantic: Maroon peonies and dahlias mixed with white poppies and roses. Her knowledge on botany is limited, so any symbolic meaning behind the specific flowers is lost on her, but the stark contrast between light and dark is compelling, and… representative, in a way. A beautiful, fitting metaphor.

‘How about these?’ she asks, holding up the bouquet for him to see. He comes to stand behind her and looks down at the arrangement in her hands from over her shoulder.

‘Excellent choice, darling,’ he croons in her ear.

She turns around, putting down the flowers, and peeks up at him through her eyelashes. ‘Maybe you could wear that maroon pocket square you have—you know, to match?’ She lets her hand glide up his torso till it rests on the left side of his chest, pressing just enough to feel the wall of muscle beneath the Armani. A familiar smirk spreads on his face. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he murmurs, his dark eyes flickering down to her mouth. Involuntarily, her teeth sink down into her lip, and the way he gulps in response makes her blood hum. For a second, she thinks about getting up on her tiptoes and stealing a kiss from him, right in the middle of the precinct.

But she doesn’t. Not because she’s worried what people would think of their PDA (it’s hardly a secret that they’re together now that he’s told practically everyone that they’re ‘betrothed’). But because she needs him to stay focused, and God knows he won’t recover for the next two hours if she claims him like that in public.

She clears her throat and pats him lightly on the chest before removing her hand and taking a slight step back. ‘Right now, we need to catch a serial killer though,’ she reminds him. He looks like she's dumped a bucket of ice cold water over him. ‘Right,’ he breathes.‘

They go to leave the precinct, their fingers brushing against each other as they walk. They’re almost by the elevator when Lucifer stops a woman passing by. ‘Ah, Pauline! When you’re not occupied, would you mind handing out the flowers at Detective Decker’s desk to everyone who seems in need of an aromatic pick-me-up?’—Pauline smiles fondly at him and nods—‘Wonderful. Thanks, darling.’

‘You’re giving away my flowers?’ Chloe asks him, mostly playfully, as they step into the elevator.

‘Now, don’t be greedy, Detective. You already have more than any of these people will ever have.’

She doesn’t respond to that, knowing he’ll (needlessly) clarify what he means in three, two-

‘Me.’

Chloe rolls her eyes and presses the button closing the doors. He’s right, though. He does make her feel like she’s got everything anyone could ever wish for, and more. But she doesn’t tell him that, of course. Not until their wedding day.

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ purchasing attire

Drabble 05 / ?

Setting: Sometime after s5

Word count: 500 (+ 100)

Rating: T

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Author’s note: Couldn’t help but include a little bonus something in this one. 

‘Twenty-five thousand dollars? On a tuxedo?! Lucifer!’

He looks completely unabashed as they stand in their kitchen, a crumbled and slightly stained receipt laid out on the counter—proof that he has spent more than twice her monthly salary on one outfit.

‘What?’ he asks innocently. ‘Did you seriously expect me to go off the rack, Detective? For our nuptials, of all occasions?’

Chloe shakes her head at him, not as an answer to his question but in response to how utterly absurd he is.

‘Speaking of,’ Lucifer says, returning his attention to the espresso machine and completely ignoring her obvious irritation, ‘have you talked to Carolina yet?’

He starts the coffee grinder, forcing Chloe to shout over the obnoxious roaring. ‘Lucifer, I am not having my wedding dress designed by Carolina frigging Herrera!’

The whirring stops and he offers her nothing but an unapologetic smile. ‘Well, you’re welcome.’ His eyes are focused on her as he tamps the grounds now in the portafilter, looking her up and down her.  ‘I just want you to wear something you’re comfortable in. Something that does your exquisite body justice.’

‘And I’ll find just that,’ she assures him. ‘In a store. To a price below 1,000 dollars.’

‘You know, the cost really isn’t an iss-’

‘I know, Lucifer. Thank you.’

His lips tug slightly up at the corner before he resumes finishing his coffee. For a second, they both just quietly watch the dark liquid spill into his ‘#1 step-Devil’ mug. Automatically, he grabs the bottle of brandy from its permanent spot next to the machine, adds a generous amount to his steaming coffee, and comes to join her by the sink.

There’s a fondness in his warm, brown eyes as he looks at her, his gaze softer than before. ‘Whatever you find, love, I’m positive you’ll look absolutely heart-stopping. I mean, at this point, I’m so far gone, you could show up in your sweats and that filthy rag you call a t-shirt, and you’d still take my breath away.’

He hands her the mug for her to have a sip, and she does, smiling at him over the brim.

‘Well, I’m glad,’ she says half-teasingly, brushing her fingers against his as she gives him back his (heavily) brandy-laced coffee. ‘I’ve heard it can be quite difficult finding just the right dress. It’s good to have a back-up.’

He looks genuinely conflicted for a moment, but then there’s a tell-tale glint in his eye and a smirk on his stupidly handsome face. ‘If nothing suits your fancy, you could always just wear, you know. Nothing.’  

She grins at him, despite herself. ‘Wouldn’t you like that?’

He lets out a low, lascivious chuckle and sets down his mug on top of the almost-forgotten receipt. ‘Oh, I most certainly would,’ he murmurs, lips pressed to her neck. His fingers start unbuttoning her shirt, and she has absolutely no intention of stopping him.

+

‘You clean up nicely,’ he whispers in her ear as her hand is placed in his. She knows he attempts at a playful tone, but his glistening eyes and his smile, more heartfelt than ever, get in the way. She leans close to him as their family and friends settle down behind them. ‘You don’t look to bad yourself.’ Her eyes glide over him, heat already prickling behind them. ‘But still a waste of money, I think. I still very much prefer your birthday suit.’

Their officiant clears his throat, and Chloe looks ahead, but not before catching the delirious grin on her very-soon-to-be husband’s face.

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ booking a venue 

Drabble 02 / ?

Setting: Post s5, maybe post s6? Takes place after this drabble.

Word count: 610

Rating: T

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Author’s note: This is not so much ‘booking a venue’ as it is ‘discussing it casually in the afterglow of “we-just-got-engaged”-sex’.

‘No church,’ Lucifer suddenly says behind her, his solemn voice a stark contrast to their sweet bliss; they’re wrapped up in each other’s naked bodies, still a little out of breath. He’s playing lazily with her fingers, his thumb occasionally brushing over her new piece of jewellery, as if to convince himself it’s all real.

‘Agreed,’ she replies to his request and turns on her side to face him. His hair is one big mess of dark, unruly curls, just how she likes it. Sure, he looks nice in a three-piece-suit, but nothing compares to seeing him all ruffled up from kisses and sex and, in this case, salt water. (He’d sprayed her with the champagne he’d brought ‘in case you said yes’ and suggested they skinny dip to get her clean. She’d been too drunk on love and happiness to say no.)

His fingertip swipes over the sparkling gem on her ring again. ‘City Hall?’ she proposes then, just to watch him squirm. It works; his ministrations on her hand stop and he looks at her with mild horror. ‘Is that what you really want?’

She manages to keep her face serious for a second before snorting and chuckling. ‘No,’ she reassures him, watching him let out a sigh of relief, ‘been there, done that.’

He blinks a that, as if he’d forgotten this won’t be her first wedding. Then he smiles at her. ‘Well, if that’s the rule we’re going by, I suppose a drive-through chapel in Vegas is out of the question, as well.’

They both laugh; they can do that now.

Not letting go of her left hand, he pulls her impossibly closer and places an open-mouthed kiss on her temple. Her eyes fall shut in sheer joy.

‘Would you like something more exotic?’ he asks, his rough, swollen lips wandering down the side of her face. ‘I know a lovely spot on the Amalfi coast.’ He says it like he’s offering to take her to a nice restaurant downtown, and not a foreign country six thousand miles away.

‘I’m sure it would be pretty,’ she muses, imagining it for a second. ‘But I don’t have much of a connection with Italy. I mean, I’ve been there,’ she reminds him, and his jaw flexes at the memory. ‘Wasn’t exactly my favourite holiday.’

‘Right, maybe not, then,’ he agrees. She lifts her hand to brush her fingers across his stubbled cheek, and he smiles warmly at her. ‘But sooner or later, I’m taking you there, because it truly is magnificent. The food, the wine, la lingua—the atmosphere alone is an aphrodisiac! I’d hate for you to miss out on that just because you once stumbled upon an exorcist in Rome.’

‘Okay,’ she complies, and smiles. ‘Someday.’ He grins at her. ‘But I’d love to just stay in LA for the wedding. Do it somewhere quiet. On the beach, maybe,’ she suggests with a shrug, ‘or the backyard.’

His grin turns lascivious then. ‘Oh, you know I’m always up for doing it on the beach, darling.’ And yes, she knows that; the small grains of sand clinging to her inner thighs serve as perfect proof. With a tell-tale glint in his eyes, he untangles their fingers and lets his hand travel down her side till his warm palm rests on her butt. A fingertip brushes across her crack. ‘Your backyard, as well.’

She rolls her eyes, but scoots closer to him, her hips automatically seeking his as heat spreads through her body.

‘You’re impossible,’ she tells him.

His smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it only grows wider. ‘Well, joke’s on you, Detective. You’re the one marrying me.’

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ choosing a mode of transportation

Drabble 07 / ?

Setting: Sometime after s5

Word count: 530

Rating: M

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Author’s note: I believe we're still at a T-rating for this one, but if I'm wrong, please let me know! I'm finding it hard to find the line between T and M. Edit: It has been brought to my attention that we’re closer to an M-rating than a T.

Read it on Ao3

‘So, I was thinking, rows of six on either side of the aisle, piano to the right, a little in front of the arch, and then, when the whole ‘until death do us part’-spectacle is over, we’ll ride off to the venue in my white Alfa. Or would you prefer the red Aston?’ Lucifer comes out of their bathroom as he talks, drying his damp hair with a towel—and naked as the day he was formed. Droplets still cling to his bare skin, which is distracting enough in itself, but it’s something else that makes Chloe’s breath hitch and her mind go blank.

‘My eyes are up here, Detective.’

He sounds almost offended, but—even as the sight of him has entranced her—Chloe can tell he’s feigning it; he’s more than delighted seeing her react like this.

‘This’ meaning her staring at… at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

‘Detective.’

Chloe reluctantly looks up at his face, too shocked (and too aroused) to be embarrassed. He looks back at her, half-peeved and half-amused. She clears her throat.

‘I’m sorry, you’re just, uh, making it… well, hard, to concentrate,’ she tells him, and if her eyes flicker down to the distraction she’s referring to, it’s not on purpose.

Looking down at himself, Lucifer raises an eyebrow as if he’d been oblivious to the state of his own body until this point.

‘Oh, I see,’ he murmurs with a smirk, but doesn’t wrap the towel around his waist or pick up a pair of boxers. Instead, he throws the towel in the hamper and just… stands there. But naked and fully-

‘Care to hold that thought, darling?’ he asks her, catching her (no doubt, hungry) gaze. There’s a glint in his eye, that tells her he thoroughly enjoys it, getting her all one-track-minded. But then his expression turns serious. ‘Now tell me, white Alfa or red Aston?’ He pads over to their (ridiculously large) bed and lies down on his side beside her, casually striking a pose—hand on his hip and one knee slightly bent. ‘Which would you like for our first ride together as newlyweds?’ His brown eyes twinkle and he looks so innocent the contrast to her dirty thoughts is almost comical.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, her eyes gliding down his body—his perfect, hard, naked body—and back up to his face, ‘I think you know what I’d like to ride.’

It’s so predictable and so blunt and so not something she’d normally say—but it’s been over a week(!) and he’s being unusually and frustratingly blind to her desires.

He looks confused for a second, his dark brows furrowing, and his cluelessness is so adorably out-of-character for him she wants to kiss him. But she doesn’t. Not yet, at least.

With a light push, she makes him lie flat on his back, and even as she hoists up her oversized t-shirt and straddles him, he looks up at her like he has no idea what’s going on—but he’s definitely not one to stop her. Then she sinks down over him, and realisation erupts from his parted lips in a pleased and throaty ‘oh’.

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ finding an officiant

Drabble 06 / ?

Setting: Sometime after s5

Word count: 420

Rating: G

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

Author’s note: The Deckerstar fluff is a little more indirect in this one, but you do get to see how completely smitten™ Lucifer is.

‘And you’re okay with this?’ Amenadiel asks, puzzled by his brother’s request.

‘What? Yes, of course, I am.’ Lucifer looks over at him with furrowed brows. ‘I wouldn’t be asking you if I wasn’t, now would I?’ He scoffs as he puts the tumbler to his lips and takes a swig.

‘I guess not.’

They both lean against the railing again, involuntarily mirroring each other. Below them, golden city lights brighten the dark sky and hide away the stars. Amenadiel regards his brother’s side profile for a brief second, sips his own drink, and gazes out at the night again, a smile on his face. ‘I just never saw it coming that my rebellious little brother would want God’s favourite son officiating his wedding.’

He senses Lucifer’s annoyed stare boring into his side. In contrast to his request, it’s comically predictable. As are the unholy words that follow, spat in (deliberately) poorly pronounced Enochian. ‘And don’t flatter yourself,’ Lucifer adds as an afterthought to his name-calling. ‘You’re simply the least intolerable option; anyone calling himself “Father” is an absolute no-go.’ He studies the liquor in his hand for a second before melancholically remarking, ‘Well, maybe except for Father Frank, if he’d still been around.’ He sighs, smiles wistfully, and continues in a lighter tone, ‘But he’s not. And I don’t want some rando pronouncing us devil and wife.’

‘You want someone who knows you,’ Amenadiel concludes.

Lucifer glances at him and nods, reluctantly.

‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ Amenadiel finally says, like it’s no big deal and not at all a truly great honour to be the one uniting Chloe and Lucifer (Chloe and Lucifer!) in the bonds of holy matrimony. ‘But only because I deeply admire your choice of wife.’

‘Well, who else would I choose?’ Lucifer half-jokes back, his eyes twinkling. He downs the rest of his drink, stares out over the city, and releases an unmistakably happy sigh. When he speaks again, his voice is more serious, emotional—warm and smooth with love. ‘You know, there truly is no one I’d rather spend my life with.’

Amenadiel can't help but chuckle at that. ‘Oh, I know, Lucy. We all know.’ He takes a couple of steps closer to his brother, along the railing. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure you were the last person in the universe to find that out.’  

Lucifer looks at him, snorts, and utters that same profane term as he did before. Except this time, the tone it’s spoken in makes it sound almost endearing.

[esmealux]

Planning a Hell of a Wedding | ✓ picking the music

Drabble 03 / ?

Setting: Sometime after s5

Word count: 500

Rating: G

Summary of the series: The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. One is more passionate about it than the other.  (Works as a sequel to this fic.)

‘The Rolling Stones or U2?’

Chloe nearly drops the stack of clean sheets in her arms at the sound of Lucifer’s voice behind her. She really should put a bell around his neck.

‘I’m not playing “This or That” with you,’ she reminds him, pulling the freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer and into the basket at her feet. ‘Or “Would You Rather”. Not since you asked me to choose between having eyes for boobs or boobs for eyes.’

‘Well, I thought it was a rather substantial question. Existential, even.’ She senses him entering the laundry room, and then he’s by her side, crouching down next to her. He sticks his hand inside the dryer, and for a second, she thinks he just wants to help her with the chore. But then he pulls out one of her t-shirt bras and holds it over his eyes. ‘You see? Philosophical!’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snatches her bra from his hand. Lucifer chuckles, pleased by her annoyance, as always.

‘But I actually didn’t mean to play games with you, Detective,’ he admits, as he helps her fold a duvet cover. ‘I was simply interested in your opinion about the music.’

Chloe knits her brows. ‘The music?’

‘Yes, for our wedding,’ he clarifies, sending her a dirty look as he enounces the last word. Someone’s piqued. ‘The Rolling Stones or U2?

Chloe empties the dryer and lets the now full basket sit on the floor as she goes to load the washer for the second time today. Is it normal for a family of three to have this much laundry? She seriously doubts it. Either way, it doesn’t wash itself.

‘Uhm…’ she hums, thinking about his question. ‘Well, I don’t- I’m not such a big fan of cover bands, actually,’ she confesses. She feels his eyes on her as she pours detergent into the little slot in the machine, as if he’s waiting for her to… realise something.

‘Wait, you mean the actual…?’

He seems to be personally insulted by her doubt. ‘Have you ever known me to go for the knockoffs?’

‘No, Lucifer,’ she says firmly, more declining his offer than she’s answering his question. ‘We’re not having either U2 or The Rolling Stones perform at our wedding.’

‘Why not?’

She shoots him a look in reply before pressing the buttons starting the washing machine. When the clothes start tumbling around behind the glass, she goes to pick up the basket of clean laundry, lets it rest on her hip and pauses in front of Lucifer.  

‘But if you needed to cash in a favour from *NSYNC, I guess that would be okay. Or a really good DJ. Actually, I’m sure Jed wouldn’t mind playing a set or two.’

With that, Chloe leaves the laundry room, lips spreading into a smirk as she hears Lucifer call out behind her, ‘That’s not even funny, Detective!’

She peeks over her shoulder and takes in his disgruntled face. ‘Isn’t it?’