#deckerstar fluff

Read the story on AO3

First chapter is light, funny and fluffy.

Second chapter is another level though 🔞

A Pretty Huge Crush

Here is a short Deckerstar h/c piece initially shared with @lets-get-rickety-rekt , who has been a continued source of comfort, encouragement, companionship, and all-around inspiration throughout the last several months (hell, all of 2020). Thank you, Charles <3 Your seasick Dan fic is in the works, I promise!

~*~*~ tw: brief emeto (but that’s probably your thing if you follow me!)

Woke up thinking about sick lucifer and hesitantly comforting chloe

S5, established deckerstar, at the penthouse. The balcony doors are wide open, letting in the full inky-indigo of the night and all its crisp fresh air. Traffic noise several stories below echoes with the honks and accelerations and shouts and sirens of the city at night.

Lucifer's sitting in the chair facing his balcony, trousers on but jacket discarded. His white Burberry undershirt is undone at the collar and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he is pale, glistening faintly with perspiration in the moonlight, bathed in the soft amber backglow of one of several ambient lamps.

He shivers, trembling visibly, weakened in a way he hasn't felt in centuries. Nausea has him in its insidious grip. It tightens his stomach in sickening cramps, constricts his throat as if he's struggling to swallow something huge, makes him shudder with undignified pants as he clutches an empty ice bucket, the waiting more awful than these physical sensations - bloody torturous, even.

But then, from somewhere off to his side, he hears her voice, remembers he's not alone, and feels comforted by her presence.

"Lucifer?" Chloe ventures, her voice as soft as her touch as she lays her hand on his shoulder, fingers delicate as moth wings. "Are you gonna be sick again?"

His eyes squeeze shut, and his only answer is a short groan, which she takes as an affirmative and responds to by spreading out her hand in a soothing arc across his shoulders, rubbing his back.

The comfort is exactly what he needs right now, and he relinquishes to his body's demands, doubling over with a final clenching heave of his stomach.

It's brief, but it's terrible, and leaves him a shaky gasping mess, mouth open and slick with bile, and he doesn't remember ever feeling so ungainly and disgusting in a long time. He's nearly forgotten how much of a strain this is.

Chloe is there, though, right there, rubbing his back, whispering encouragement as he coughs and gags. "Okay," he hears her murmuring, over and over, and through the ringing in his ears and convulsive clenching of his empty stomach, he feels her stroke his disheveled hair and cup his forehead as he bends over the bucket.

She gently lowers the bucket from his face when it appears he is done, and the cool night breeze wafting in from the balcony is a welcome respite for his damp face.

"Here," she tells him, voice still soft, raising aloft the untouched glass of water she'd fetched minutes ago. "Here you go.'

The thought of swallowing anything right now tightens his throat with a nauseating suddenness, and for one terrible moment he thinks he might be sick again, squeezing his eyes shut with a shuddering little moan.

He feels Chloe resume rubbing his back, and hears her set the glass back down without argument.

"Hang on," she says, suddenly, and he feels her hand lift as she abruptly walks away, and the warmth on his back is replaced by a chill in its absence.

He opens his eyes, blinking through the tears, and he turns to watch her go, shivering and helpless as a newborn searching for its mother.

Distantly, he hears water running, and for some reason it relaxes him. He utters a weary sigh and settles back into his chair, gazing blankly out at the night sky, wishing he were enveloped in its utter oblivion as a corporeal force of celestial energy once more.

But he isn't that, not now, hasn't been for eons. He is, for all intents and purposes, mortal. Felled not by his father, but by choice – for love, instead of punishment.

“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.

Is it crazy that I miss you?

“Wanna keep me company?”

Lucifer blinks. If she had asked him to join her in the hot tub a week ago, he would have said, Don’t tease, Detective, but that was before she slept in his bed, and before they started holding hands, before she’d kissed him on the cheek, and before their text messages started getting flirty. So, now, he asks, “Are you… serious?”

Could You Knock Maybe?

Lucifer keeps his mouth on hers as he pushes the open shirt to her sides and over her shoulders, his hand sneaking higher up her thigh, about to finally slip between her legs—

When the elevator dings.