#talking to the big boss himself « lucifer / threads. »

[applctini]

TAGS !!

i am the devil that you forgot « lucifer / visage. » decorated in sin &&. dressed in pride « lucifer / aes. » a viper's tongue &&. your endless amounts of hubris. « lucifer / musings. » a dreamer whose forgotten to wish on his stars « lucifer / headcanons. » talking to the big boss himself « lucifer / threads. » a king's never late everyone else is simply early « lucifer / first. » your dreams haven't destroyed the world just yet « lucifer / eden. » evil took its root &&. you're responsible for protecting souls « lucifer / guardian angel. » still the boss in town && your blood sweat and tears belong to me « lucifer / human. » i've been thrown out &&. i've been burned « lucifer / fallen. » it's my madness so fall for me even more. it's my madness it's making you even crazier « radioapple / rcdigo. »

[obeymeshallwedate-latinplayer]

Traditional costumes (Part 1) (GN!MC)

Hello there my darlings How´s it going? First of all, I must say the following:

OMG YASS! YASS I CAN DO IT!!! There are so many that It´s sad I can only put 11 of them but YES YES I´LL DO IT. I´m actually really excited about this, that we will have to parts of it! 

Second: Thank you!!! Today we are 308 followers!!!! For me having this number of followers it´s still a dream, and I really loved so much the idea of the typical costume, that it will be a 308 followers special divided in 2 parts, welcome to the first part. Thank you for following! I will keep doing my very best!!

Lucifer (Jarocho Veracruz)

Lucifer was walking by, when he saw you taking care of a big white dress, the first thing he thought “A brides dress?” He wasn´t enterally wrong, but he wasn´t right.

He asked you nicely what were you doing and why did you have a bride’s dress. The only thing you could do was laugh, Lucifer might be the all mighty one above the seven brothers, but sometimes he was too naïve. Or maybe that was just your imagination.

He saw the embroidery in the apron that was over the skirt, and he wondered: How many hours it took to do that embroidery?  Even the skirt was way to thick, and sometimes he forgot that humans had many ways to dress up. He touched the fabric, even that red fabric was so beautiful How was it called? Rebozo?

He looked so intrigued that you decided to tell the story about the dress.

“In the colony time, Veracruz were one of the most important ports around the world. Spanish women stayed in Papaloma´s river basin, the wore big old dresses, with thick fabric, but in Veracruz that doesn´t take place, not back then not even now, it´s beach and it has a humid climate. The Spanish and creoles used to dress a colorful skirt and an apron with embroidery flowers, also a shawl with lace, and silk ribbons, even a hand fan, by the other hand, indigenous and mestizas women used to use flowery skirts and blanket blouses with a rebozo and their hair were braided. But the dress of the Spanish and the creoles didn´t work out, the weather was so hot that they simply decided to use cotton and organdy. But I guess, this “new” dress was used for the creoles wedding dress. Now a days is typical to be use in folkloric dances.”

For someone like Lucifer, he didn´t waste a second, and he dreamt, maybe in some years you could use that dress on your wedding day.

Mammon. (Charro Jalisco)

He was sneaking into your room, for sure he was searching something to steal and then sell it, maybe the great Mammom would buy something for you, something nice. His human must use something nice, maybe a necklace. He knew that you kept your precious little something in the closet, so he check it, and oh surprise, that ain´t little.

That was a heavy suit for a human your size, and are those silver buttons? He was actually impressed, he looked to every single detail in the costume, that hat is actually so beautiful that he needed to use it, no matter what, he needed to put that in his head.

That´s why you discover him, he was in front of your mirror, you took a mentally note, he needed a charro suit to, maybe you will teach him the folklore dance. When he heard you laugh he started to blush, saying that he wasn´t doing nothing at all. 

“Mammon. Would you like to hear the story of this suit?” His eyes had that childish sparkle, and he immediately sat in your bed, waiting for the story.

“The charro suit started from decades away, in the colonial time, must say in the XVI century, with a very fine work, with gold and silver buttons, embroidery of golden thread. But, you know, only the wealthy ones could use the accessories, the intelligent ones, would make their owns, with maybe some paint, and creating the best suit of them all, just like the saying says. “El charro de cuero se viste, por ser lo que más resiste”.   Now a days mariachis and dancers use it, and also some horse riders for exhibitions. “

Mammon was as happy as a child, he needed that suit from old centuries, maybe Lucifer had one.

Leviathan (Azteca Tenochtitlán (This city does not longer exist, it´s not even a state) ) 

  Levi was sitting in the living room, when he heard something, were does bells? No way that noise wasn´t a bell one, it was more like a bone sound, so he followed the sound, and there you where, in the garden, with your full costume, dancing for the gods and for practice, you didn´t want to forget the dance your ancestors made so many centuries away.

When you felt the presence of him you turned around and smiled at him. “Levi, do you like my Hueseras? My grandpa made them for me! Aren´t them cute? Oh maybe you prefer the penacho? It´s so hard to find the Quetzal feathers.” He just stopped breathing, you looked just like that final boss of the game: “Trying to avoid to be a sacrifice for the Gods and keeping my heart on my chest.”

He just nodded, after that a big silence started between the two of you. So you decided to keep dancing, and he was just there watching you, with stars in his eyes, and you decided to tell him the story about the clothing,

“Before the conquest, my ancestors used to use beautiful clothing, with animal skin and feathers of birds, they made each outfit for each person in the social pyramid, the Tlatoani used the Penachos, also some bishops did it too, and head military ones, usually the military were decorated with  gold and seashells, and a difficult headpieces, women if they weren´t in the high society used to use Huipiles and Quexquémitl, with skirts and natural pigments.”

Levi was amazed, just like in his game, but this time he needed a translator to understand those words you said, he wanted to use one of them too.

“Now, how about I teach you how to dance.”

Satan.  (Traje elegante Nuevo León) 

Satan had been invited to an opening from a new restaurant in Devildom, sometimes he would ask himself if it was fine for him to go alone for this type of events. Today he wanted to take you out for a nice dinner. Formal clothing, or that´s what it says in the invitation, well you had the fanciest clothing in the whole world just in your closet, so you took it out, you prepared yourself and you were ready to go. The avatar of wrath didn´t mention a thing, although you clothing of tonight was stunning and tons of looks were on you that night, after few drinks, and you telling every demon, that the mezcal of your country was ten times better than the drink in the Devildom, some of those demons actually asked. “Why are you in a custom?” Oh dear, not even Satan could make something when you picked the microphone. “Demons, this ain´t a costume, now, sit and listen to the story of this magnificent outfit. It all started in the colonial age in Mexico, Nuevo León did not had that extraordinary change from the conquest, actually the indigenous were nomads and we don´t have much of their cultural information.  Women and men needed to have a hard character. In 1960 the dress maker Ramón Validosera made this beautiful suit for all of us, in 1970 it was one of the most important yet one of the greatest folkloric costumes in Mexico. This suit was made for the ones that will work hard enough in the fields, even though the women one is more complex than the male one.” After the explanation they stopped watching you with smirks in their faces, they actually asked if you could take a photo with them. When the party was over, Satan took your hand and escort you back to the house. “You didn´t mention that the suit was made for a beer festival”. He told you, and you laugh. “It wasn’t necessary. And it will be our secrete.”

Asmo ( China poblana Puebla)

Asmo had this epiphany, he had seen a folkloric dance of Mexico so long ago, and he just remembered it, he was sitting in one of the library armchairs, watching an old photo album, wondering if you were in the house, he started to seek you. When he heard you in Levi´s room he took you away.

“Mc! You are from Puebla, right?” You made a silent nod. “So, do you own one of the folkloric dress?” The question leaves you thinking. “I guess, but is in the human realm.” With those words Asmo actually begged Lucifer for authorization to go into the human realm.

When you arrived into your house, Asmo asked you nicely if you could tell him all about the dress. “Well, the story starts in the Colonial age, the legend says, that a chines woman was sold as a slave, but ended up in the hands of the richest. Actually she wasn´t chines nor from Puebla, she was a princes from Mongolia, but they were in a war so she was captured and sold as a slave, from hand to hand was sold, just like Malinche, anyway she found a good person that protected her, and then she married a merchant in Puebla, after that she lived until her 70´s. Her clothing was so beautiful and weird for the age, in one part beautiful Indigenous colors and in the other Spanish silk, with big ornaments in her hair. After some years they improve the dress, It consists of a white short-sleeved shirt, low on the chest, made of fine cotton embroidered with various colorful motifs. The skirt is a long skirt of thick fabric in dark red, with embroidery on the front that reproduce the national symbols: the eagle devouring the serpent perched on a cactus, or the Aztec calendar. The outfit is completed by a fine silk shawl in the tones of the colors of our national flag; and the one that requires the bun braided with tricolor bows, several necklaces of paper beads and large gold earrings.”

When you finished the story Asmo was tearing, a poor young woman who was sold by a men, but she found true love, was just, too beautiful.

After that he made you use the dress and well, the rest is story.

Let´s learn some Spanish and more than that:

Malinche: Indigenous women that helped Hernán Cortés for the conquest in Mexico. And it´s also a volcanos name, so be careful when you talk about her, you might be talking about the volcano. 

Huaseras: Bells that are included in the aztec dance, also known as: Ayoyotl. 

Penacho: Set of raised feathers that certain birds have on top of their heads

Quetzal: Bird from Mexico, in Nahuatl the name means long tail of bright feathers. 

Tlatoani: Head of the Aztec society, something like a president. 

El charro de cuero se viste, por ser lo que más resiste” :  The leather charro dresses, for being the thing that resists the most

Rebozo: Shawl or cloak of cotton, wool or silk of various colors, used by some village women to cover their heads, shoulders, chest and back as a coat; It is also used to wrap and carry a child.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH23

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: There’s angst and much fluff in this. I enjoyed writing it. And of course, NSFW

WC: 3963

SERIES MASTERLIST

Y/N has lived with him for almost a month now and ever since, he has made sure to come home every night. Suddenly, being home sounds more appealing than it ever did.  

Ellen is still grieving, closing the Roadhouse down for good until she’s ready. Which is understandable. The funeral was a small ceremony, with just her closest friend. Dean didn’t attend, even if he was invited too, he just didn’t feel like he had the right to.

Lucifer is a thing from the past by now. Turns out the Feds found the place where he keeps most of the girls and instead of giving himself up to his fate, Lucifer had rather put a bullet through his own skull. So that least that’s a thing less to worry about and Dean doesn’t need to lock Y/N up in a golden cage. Not that she wanted to be locked up anyway, she always found a way to sneak out while Lucifer was still alive, which gave him a couple of heart palpitations.

Dean put Y/N in charge of one of his bars. Had almost had to force her to do it because she refuses to accept help (in any form) from him. It’s always been like that and honestly, even if it’s great and all but he’s getting tired of it. Had to promise her that it’s just for her to have something to do until she can decide what she wants to do next and not because he wants to be the possessive boyfriend who wants to keep tabs on her. He thinks it has a lot to do with the stalker boyfriend she had before, because she absolutely hates to know that someone could watch her every move. 

On a rainy day a couple of days ago, they were lounging on the sofa when she asked him out of the blue, if it would be weird to sign up for art classes at the community college. She thinks that she’s too old but he encouraged her as best he could. The next day, he had cleared out a room for her to set up her art studio in.

She does a lot of portraits, a whole lot of her portraits are of him. Or Cuddles. Or him with Cuddles in bed because sometimes, she leaves the door open when she’s up before him, and the cat comes in to nestle against his body. Dean can be mad all he wants but she just doesn’t care and Cuddles seizes the opportunity every damn time.

There are also fights they have. Of course there are. It’s mostly because he’s doing something stupid that makes her blood boil. Like running late for a date night he promised that he could make, or staying in his office too long when he said that he’ll just be a minute taking the call. There’s also a lot of petty fights he could list off the top of his head. Most of the time she’d slam doors, but there were also times where she just took the car and was gone for hours. He absolutely hates it when she just up and leaves. He can live with slamming doors but her going away, that terrifies him the most. She always comes back though, and he’ll sit down, cheers her up as best he can, and in the end, he could always make her laugh. 

He had made it a habit not to let her go to sleep angry so they tend to talk things through when they are both lying in the dark, maybe it’s easier that way. Easier when you can’t see but can only feel. Apparently, he’s a talker now, too. 

***

He’s sitting on the sofa, his hands fidgeting with his phone while he waits for her to come home. She’d told him that she’ll go dress shopping for the fundraiser. But apparently, she met a male companion which he found out about when one of his men saw her sitting in a café with said guy.

“Hey,” she greets him as she walks in, dropping her shopping bag at the door and Dean stands up.

His heart is racing stupidly fast, he threads a hand through his hair. “Where were you?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as accusatory as it did.

“What do you mean?” 

“Who’s the guy you were with?” Dean bites his tongue, closes his eyes because he really didn’t want to be that kind of boyfriend. He reminds himself that she trusts him so at least he should show her the courtesy of trusting her as much. There’s something nagging away at the inside of him, though. Maybe because someone else knew about it before she even told him.

“Are you spying on me?” She gets loud and there’s something in her eyes which Dean detects as disappointment.

Dean scratches at his scruff, “No, but one of my men saw you. It’s just a little weird that my men know more than I do.” There, he said it.

“I can’t believe we’re arguing about this!” 

“Well, maybe we don’t have to argue when you tell me who it was?”

“Did your man also tell you that there was another person at my table? That it was a regular from the Roadhouse and his wife? They were in town for a pregnancy scan and the woman pees so much that she rarely sits still for fucking ten minutes? They just asked if I wanted to get coffee with them and they were telling me their good news!”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes, he’s trying to come up with something. Something that would justify what he accused her of but his brain stays empty. To be fair, he didn’t really accuse her of anything but they both know where this would lead to, even if Dean really doesn’t want to admit it.

“I thought so.” She just says and turns around to leave.

He couldn’t even tell her to stay.

*

Dean tried his best, he really did. Told Bobby to bring around food, got out and bought some flowers and chocolate. Got her favorite wine out of the pantry and opened it. He then waits, and really hopes that she’ll come home tonight too. Like she always does.

As Dean predicted, she comes home not even five minutes after he finishes setting everything up. Walks in with her short legs and from the way she walks, he can tell that she’s still mad.

She stops when she sees the things he pulled out of his sleeves and breaks down crying. 

That went well, Dean thinks. He really didn’t want to make her cry. He’s halfway across the room to pick her up from the floor but she told him to stay where he is. 

She moves to lean her back against the wall, pulls her knees up and hugs them against her chest. “You know, every time I argue with you, I get into the car and drive. I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is that I want to get away from you and go to my best friend, tell them how stupid and ridiculous you are, how you get on my nerves, how you drive me fucking crazy!”

Dean walks over, sits on the floor across from her, his back resting against the kitchen counter. He doesn’t say anything, just listens.

“And then I realize that I have no best friend I can whine and complain about you. I have no one to tell what an idiot you’ve been. No one to tell how happy you make me, no one to tell that I think I might love you.”

He was not prepared to hear that. 

She goes on, “Then, after driving around for a while, I realize that I actually do have a best friend. And the friend is you. You’re the one I wanna talk to when I’m happy. You’re the one I wanna talk to when I’m sad. You get it, you know me. And that’s it, you’re my best friend and my boyfriend and then it hits me that this is not right. It’s not healthy!”

“What if it is?” Dean asks, and adds, “What if I can be both to you and you’re everything to me? Are we less of a couple because we turn to each other? Does that invalidate our relationship and friendship?”

“I don’t know,” She sighs, “I just know that I need my best friend to trash talk about you right now.”

Dean gets up to get two food containers, pours wine into two glasses and carries it all over to the floor. She just looks at him like he’s crazy. He let her take the glass and food container out of his hand before he sits down next to her. 

Y/N picks at her fries, pushes one of them into her mouth. 

He takes a bite out of his burger, talks while he chews, “Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?”

She snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, he’s being ridiculous. He was jealous because one of his men saw me drinking coffee with a guy.” She plays along, and air quotes the word ‘guy’.

“One of his men? Who the hell has men?”

“Yeah, he’s apparently a big bad guy that everyone fears but in reality he’s really a cinnamon roll.”

Dean snorts so loud the food almost drops out of his mouth. 

“Ugh. What an idiot,” Dean says. “Did he tell you that he was sorry?”

“He actually didn’t, but he showed me. Getting me flowers and all that shit.”

Dean takes a sip of wine to wash down the food with, “What a loser, doesn’t he know that you don’t even like flowers?” 

“Right? He probably thinks it’s cute.” She says.

“My advice as a best friend?” He says and tilts his head towards her, sees her raising an eyebrow. “It pains me to say this but maybe you should leave him.”

She chuckles, lowers her face and picks at her fries again. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I love him.”

That’s it. He can’t just sit still anymore, pushes his food container and glass out of reach, his hands grabbing her then, manhandling her onto his lap. Her fingers come up to play with the buttons of his shirt. 

“You do?” He asks, he’s sure she can feel his heart beating underneath the palm of her hands on his chest.

“Yeah,” Y/N’s head is lowered down, she’s avoiding his eyes.

He pushes his fingers underneath her chin, making her look up and waits until she focuses her eyes on his.

“I think he loves you too.”

There’s a smile on her face, and he thinks fucking finally because it’s real torture not to see that beautiful smile. 

He pulls her down by the back of her neck, kisses her soft and sweet. 

“You do?” She asks when they part.

Dean chuckles, “Always have. I fell in love the night I saw you and you smiled at me because I think you knew.”

***

Tonight, as soon as he walks through the door, he immediately has to pick up her jacket from the floor to hang it over the hook at the entrance. On his way to the bedroom, he finds her discarded pants. Dean picks that up too, carries it into the bedroom and places it on her side of the bed. Her top is on the floor to the entrance of the bathroom. He goes in, finds more things on the floor. Her bra, her socks, her panties which made a straight line to the bathtub. 

There’s bubbles everywhere as he came to stand before her. Y/N looks up at him, a grin on her face and bubbles on her nose. He purses his lips into a smile, trying not to think that she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “You leaving your clothes lying around is not a good way to turn me on.”

“No?” She asks with that innocent look in her eyes. 

Strangely it works, even if they both know that she’s not innocent. Not at all. At least not when she begs for him to fuck her faster. Not at all innocent, when she wants him to spank her harder. 

“That’s not fair,” He breathes out, feels defeated.

“What?” She says but she knows because that grin on her face got cocky all of a sudden.

He starts to take off his suit jacket, pulls his shirt out of his pants and unbuttons it, slips it over his head because he can’t be bothered to unbutton them all the way. He looks at her before he unbuckles his belt and there’s a smile of a winner on her face. He hates it, wants to kiss it away. 

Dean drops his pants, takes off his socks and at last, frees his half hard cock. He can’t help it. Still gets hard immediately whenever he sees her. 

“I’m calling big spoon!” She says, moves back and pats the water in front of her to tell him where he has to be.

He rolls his eyes, “You don’t call big spoon.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Dean says, gets in — of course in front of her, and adds, “That’s not how it works!”

“Well, it works for me,” Y/N shrugs before hugging him around his upper body, places her chin on his shoulder. Her hands find the loofah she once bought for the bathtub, and rubs it along his chest and arms. Dean leans back a little more, closing his eyes. “Why is there blood at the back of your ear?”

Shit, he didn’t wash himself good enough at the bunker, was in too much of a hurry to get home.

“Deal gone wrong,” He says, doesn’t lie to her but also sparing her the details. 

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask more, only washes the blood away with the loofah. And Dean’s thankful for that, thankful that she never freaks out when she sees him coming home with blood stains, when he sometimes comes home when the sun’s already up. She’d be asking why but she never presses for more details. Details that Dean would give her if she really wants to know but he’s glad that she never asks.

“How do you feel?” She asks as she places little kisses on his neck and shoulders. 

Her hands skids down his abdomen along his hips, strokes his thighs with just the tip of her nails. It does something to him, he can’t lie.

“Better now.” He says and closes his eyes. “Feels go— holy shit!”

Y/N has one hand around his cock, one cradling his balls at the same time and she laughs into the back of his neck.

“Does this feel good too?” She licks at his throat, sucks at his pulse point.

“Super good.” He closes his eyes back again.

After a while Dean can’t help but fuck up into her fist. He turns his upper body around, seals his lips around hers and kisses her hungrily as she continues to jerk him off.

“Baby,” He’s breathing hard, pulls himself together, doesn’t want to come yet. “I really want to come in you.” 

He likes that the most. Coming inside of her so deep that she leaks him a day later. He loves the thought of her going about her day with his cum leaking out of her, feels a weird sense of pride.

“Come on,” He stands up and gets out of the tub, fishes her out of it and carries her over to the shower. He turns on the shower head and drops her down, helping her clean herself and him from excess bubbles.

Dean’s towels himself off and holds a towel ready for her, wraps her in it and carries her out to the bedroom.

Dropping her off onto the bed, he unwraps the towel around her body, feels like a kid unwrapping its present.

“How do you want me?” Y/N whispers in a playful seductive voice and honestly whenever she uses that voice, he’s ready to give her the world.

He rids himself from his towel, bends down to kiss her. “How do you want me?” Taking her question and throwing it right back at her. 

Dean’s really okay with everything she wants. She’s been experimenting more lately, and had told him that he’s awakened kinks in her she never knew she had. So far spanking and choking are still high on her list, and Dean’s perfectly fine with that. Sometimes she asks to choke him too, and god, he really doesn’t know how he deserves her.

She reads a lot of magazines, and decides that some kinks are really weird and she’s not gonna touch them with a 10-inch pole. However he was surprised that one day when she was sucking his dick, she wanted to go further down. Said she heard it was supposed to feel good for men, and she said it with that seductive playful tone in her voice that Dean couldn’t find it in his heart to deny her that, even if he would have tried. That was the story of how she rimmed his asshole. And to his surprise, he really really enjoyed it and came so hard, he thought he passed out.

“I want you to fuck me from behind.” She has her hand clasped over her face, still feels embarrassed to say things like that and it’s really cute.

“Then get up on all fours.”

He watches her climb up their bed, watch her position herself to face the mirror, because that’s how it is, he still wants to be able to see her and the only condition that he would fuck her from behind is if there’s a mirror somewhere. 

Dean follows her, walking closer on his knees. “On your elbows, sweetheart.” He says and places his hands on both her ass cheeks, spreading them, kneading them. “Christ, look at you, so fucking perfect.”

He brings his hand down, spanking her twice in successive strikes. The light from their bedside tables illuminates the room enough for him to see his hand-prints. He kneads at her flesh, red and pulsing. 

“Fuck,” He says it more to himself as he lowers his face, licks into her pussy, his nose buried in her ass-crack, while his hands spreads her wide open. 

Y/N whimpers and withers, grinding her ass against his face so much that Dean needs to remind her to stay still by spanking her twice more. “Babe, you gotta let me do this in my own time.”

“I want you to fuck me.” She whines, and then she even begs, “Please?”

He lifts his head from her cunt and whispers, “I barely prepped you,” 

“Don’t need prep, I’m ready, likes it when it hurts a little, please, Dean!”

He’s so fucking gone. He knows he should put his foot down, knows he should tell her that she’ll be sore if she won’t let him do this but he’s also fucking weak for her. How can he deny her this?

“I swear, if you’re sore tomorrow I’m not gonna take care of you.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he doesn’t think that it came across that way because who is he kidding? Of course he’s gonna sit down with her and massage her to make things better. 

Dean pushes in two fingers, feels that she’s plenty wet. That’s never been a problem with her anyway, but still.

He spits into the palm of his hands, strokes himself some more before he positions his dick at her entrance. Spreading her ass cheeks, he pushes in, watches as his dick disappears into her wet pussy, groans at how good it feels. 

“You feel so good.” He says, his voice a little broken.

She keens before him, “More. More, Dean. I want you deep.”

Jesus Christ!

He works his hips forward, only stops when he bottoms out. Has to still as not to fucking come but she’s having none of it, works herself forward and back, starts to fuck herself on him. 

“Baby, fuck,” Dean breathes hard, once, twice. Brings his hands down, spanks her once more, just because he can.

“Faster, Dean.”

He brings his hands down again, let them rest on her cheeks and uses it for leverage as he moves his hips faster, harder until he has to slow down because she’s wearing him out.

“On your chest, baby, ass up, stay on your knees.” He says, pushing her forward. “Just like that.”

She has her face on the mattress but her eyes still stare at him through the mirror. 

“Hands back here, spread your ass for me.”

Her hands come up to the back, hold her ass cheeks apart and Dean can see his dick stretching her pussy as it goes in and out. What a fucking beautiful sight.

“That’s it,” He whispers, has to keep himself from drooling. “Good girl,”

There’s a clench of her pussy. Happens every time he praises her. It became his weakness too. 

He sucks in his middle finger, makes it wet and works it along her rim before resting it against her asshole. He pushes in a little, feels it opening up to hug the tip of his finger. “Where’s my finger, baby?”

Y/N’s mumbling something incoherent at first and he has to ask again.

“In— in my ass.”

“In your ass, that’s right. Do you like it there?”

“Shit, yes!” The flush of her face spreads to her upper back. “You can go deeper, the pressure is so good.”

Dean chuckles, “You’re fucking amazing,” 

He starts to fuck her harder again as he works his middle finger in. Wonders if she would let him fuck that hole too, thinks that if she would he wouldn’t survive it because it’s so tight his dick would probably fall off.

When Dean can’t take it anymore, he pulls his finger out of her asshole, spanks her once, twice, before he works his hand around her hip, gripping her tight.

“I’m close. Go on, touch yourself.” 

She props herself back on her elbow, brings a hand to her mouth, licks at her fingers before she brings it between her legs to rub at her clit. 

Her face is all red, it has spread to her throat too and she’s close. He knows it because it got significantly tighter in there.

Dean fucks into her as deep he can, feels his balls drawing up, there’s a tingle in his spine.

“Oh god,” Y/N says, “You’re so deep, fuck.”

She comes then, collapsing onto her chest and buries her face into the mattress, if Dean had closed his eyes to come a second earlier, he would have missed seeing her face. 

He bottoms out, pushes as deep as his dick would go and comes inside of her before he collapses on her back, holds himself up a little as not to crush her. He kisses her shoulder, the nape of her neck.

“I think my soul just left my body.” He breathes and she laughs at that. 

Dean rolls down and away from her to give her some space and hears her whine because his dick slips out. She always hates that feeling. Dean doesn’t particularly love it either. 

He’s laying on his back and spreads his arm to let her nestle herself beside him. His fingers lazily strokes her back, up and down along her spine. “You’re so perfect it kills me.”

She places her chin on his chest, looks him in the eye. “La petite mort.”

And he thinks, yes, that’s fitting. 

CH24

[wilwywaylan]

"You know you can't refuse me anything I ask of you." - either Lucifer / Bhaal or the two techno-zombie creating husbands going around the dieselpunk thing 8)

It's in Chaos' office that he sees him for the first time. He's been called at an ungodly hour, at was serves as dawn in that part of the Underworld, and urged to come to talk to his new master. Which doesn't do anything for his mood. He's angry at everything, his back still hurts even after those years and will probably keep hurting for a long time, and he'd rather sleep for a century or two and try to forget everything. But Chaos has demanded, so Lucifer got over the tiredness, the pain and the anger, and obliged him.

When he pushes the door, after waving Lilith away when she tried to say something, Chaos is already there, feet up on the desk, and a gobelet already in hand, filled with a weird concoction whose odor is already giving him a headache. Lucifer is tempted to slam the door shut, and to hell with it (couldn't his brain stop for just two dam.... frigging minutes ?).

But the other man, sitting on the other side of the desk, captures his attention. The eyes are the first part he notices. Of course, having lived in Hell for a handful of centuries, he's used to pupils all the colors of the rainbow. The man's are golden, bordering on orange, and the light coming from Chaos' desk lamp makes them glow like amber gemstones. The pupils are slit, just two black lines dividing the gold. His hair is mussed and looks unkempt, but maybe that's just a trick of the light. Or maybe that strange grey color is natural, he doesn't know. It's not helped by the rags he's wearing, barely better than scraps, and the tattered scarf covering part of his face. All in all, beside the weird eyes, a very uninteresting sight.

Weirded out, Lucifer turns towards Chaos. The fact that the Master of Hell's smile is already impossibly wide when the conversation hasn't begun yet is not a good sign of things to come. With a grand gesture, he shows him the other man, and announce :

- My dear Lucifer, may I introduce you to your new partner ? Bhaal, this is Lucifer, your boss. Lucifer, this is Bhaal.

Lucifer would have cringed at the affection, but the information is way more shocking.

- Excuse me, he says in his most controled voice, but what are you saying ?

Something moves at the edge of his vision, and he spins around. Immediatly, he takes a fighting stance. His hair starts glowing a little brighter, and he feels the familiar burn of energy run through his veins. It almost feels *good*, a feeling of power, of might that he's almost forgotten. He's ready to call the word, to summon his blade of fire in his hand.

But he doesn't. Not even because he's not an angel anymore, and he doesn't have a blade of fire to call like that (or at least, it doesn't answer to that name anymore). But because there's absolutly nothing. The strange man in ragged clothes is looking at him like he's insane. At least that's the impression he gives. Lucifer is about to apologize, when something moves again against the wall. No, not against the wall. *On* the wall.

The man's shadow is spreading on the wall, all scruffy hair and large scarf. A bit too high considering the light source, now that Lucifer thinks about it. While he's looking, the shadow moves, waves at him. Bhaal is still perfectly still. And the shadow grins. A white crescent appears in its mass, and spreads, unveiling very, *very* sharp teeth.

- What exactly *is* that thing ?

Lucifer didn't really mean to sound that indignant, but to be honest, it's the first time he's seen anything like this, and he's been through some very weird things here. Behind him, Chaos laughs, and he turns to face him. He doesn't glare at him, because no one glares at Chaos and live to tell the tale. The Master of Hell is still grinning, now, even larger than before, giving the strange shadow a run for its money. He gestures towards the wall and announces :

- This, my dear Lucifer, is a Shadow.

- I can see that, is the dry answer. What is a Shadow ?

- A demon living in someone's shadow. It can be very helpful.... if it works.

Bhaal lifts one eyebrow at that, and Lucifer repeats :

- If it works ?

- Well, they are still in the trial phase. But don't worry. Everything will be fine. Well, Bhaal and the Shadow will be your assistant. Helping you, following you around, he'll be your help ineverything. May I even say.... your shadow ?

Lucifer does a great job of not throwing the first paperweight at CHaos' head, and simply gets out in the most dignified way he can. Behind him, Bhaal's chair makes a noise across the floor, and soon, footsteps are following him. He doesn't need to look behind him. He'll never will.

~*~

Soft footsteps come behind him, and Lucifer doesn't need to turn his head to know that Bhaal is approaching. After spending so long with a person, you become atuned to them, so much that you don't even need to look at them to know how they feel. Right now, Bhaal is tired (his feet are draging a little on the carpet), but doesn't have anything on his mind (he's still walking at a good allure). Carrying a cup of tea, judging by the smell. The Shadow is sliding along, happily munching on the remains of a plate, causing a slight chime of broken china.

Lucifer extends his hand, and Bhaal puts the cup in it. He then falls into the couch facing him, more than he sits. The Shadow curls up at his feet like a big, black, purring and weirdly-shaped cat. Lucifer watches with a certain interest his partner stretch and yawn, the way his shirt rides up a bit when he does this, then the way he lays on the couch to get his knitting supplies. He pulls the needle out, untangles the yarn, and gets to work. The thread loops around his fingers, goes through the needles and comes out the other side as a scarf, a sweater or something else.

All those, gestures that Lucifer knows by heart now. The way Bhaal's fingers weave their strange, knitting magic, how his scarf moves slightly when he counts the stitches and his mumbling, and the small ticking of the needles, like a clock turning unusually fast. Gestures, noises, that he has internalized until they were as familiar as his own. Noises, gestures that paint a perfect image of a home. Warm, comforting, reassuring.

It takes at least an hour before Lucifer decides to break the silence.

- Bhaal, dear, could you bring me something to eat ?

The demon lifts his head, a look in the eye that seems to wonder why Lucifer doesn't get up and goes to the kitchen himself, since he knows where it is. The judge gestures towards the file open on his lap. Papers are scattered everywhere, in piles that threaten to spill if he moves too much. With a sigh, Bhaal puts his knitting aside, pushes the Shadow off his feet and get up. There's some noise in the kitchen, a banging of pots and pans, and soon, the smell of warm food fills the flat. A few minutes later, a bowl appears in Lucifer's field of vision, full of meat, vegetables and sauce. A favourite of Bhaal. The demon sits back with his own share, swats away the Shadow that comes to sniff it, and remarks :

- You're lucky I'm always ready to obey.

- You know you can't refuse me anything I ask of you, Lucifer answers.

His tone is joking, but there's a hint of seriousness under it, of something very important between them. Bhaal just smiles.

- Oh, I can refuse. Being your assistant means I have to assist you in your job. Your job as a procuror, and only your job.

- So...

- But, he interrupts, it doesn't mean I can't refuse because I want to do it.

There's a silence, only broken by the noise of spoons against the bowls. Then Lucifer remarks, at half-voice :

- I consider myself very lucky.

He doesn't need to look at Bhaal to know that he's smiling.