#hell my power might go out altogether | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

percki · 7 months ago

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on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar.

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

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kanbockoida · 6 months ago

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Third time’s the charm.

Adam x fem!Reader x Lucifer

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Masterlist

The warm atmosphere was long gone, replaced with something cold. Lucifer’s expression was one of sadness and guilt, feeling as if he was the reason the woman spiraled into a feeling of having been betrayed. Yet he didn’t know why he even told her about this entire thing. It was clear to him that this woman hated exterminations altogether, and the fact that her own husband didn’t tell her anything about moving them up six months early.

”Do you.. need fresh air? We could step outside if you’d like?” The Morningstar questioned, wanting to provide her comfort. The angel looked at the Fallen One, hands clammy and shaking with sorrow and panic.

Deep breath in, and deep breath out. Considering they were in hell, the concept of fresh air made her giggle, even if it seemed strained. “Does that even exist?” Her attempt at a joke was poor, but Lucifer didn’t seem to care as he sent her a tiny yet worried smile. It was silent for a moment, the distressed woman seemingly considering the offer, but she came to the conclusion that it might not be a good idea. “An angel walking around the streets of hell? That is a big target on my back there!” Y/N took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down somehow.

Lucifer had already taken notice of her behavior. He felt sorry for her. He felt for her.. with her. It was such a weird feeling, a feeling he had to suppress for now.

“My daughter.. she’d know how to help.” Lucifer thought out loud. He might not talk to his daughter often, but he is aware that she’s a good person. Hearing the Morningstar talk about his daughter piqued her interest, a tiny smile dancing on her lips. “You have a daughter?” Y/N questioned him, seemingly trying to strike up a friendly conversation.

And just like that, they clicked. How can someone, especially one who is known as the sin of pride, not talk about someone he’s proud of. “I do! Charlotte. Well, she prefers to be called Charlie. She is my pride and joy, I’d do anything to keep her safe.” The words just rolled out of his mouth without much hesitation, his eyes practically glistening with adoration. He went on and on, telling the third about his beloved daughter. Fun stories, silly stories, cute stories.. all of what he could possibly think of. Y/N had the time of her life listening to him go on and on.

Lucifer went on about his daughter, spilling everything he could think of. From Charlie’s idea of redeeming sinners, to stories where he created a little rubber duck army for her when she was a toddler. “Why ducks specifically?” Y/N seemed genuinely curious, a twinkle in her eyes indicating such. She loved all animals, birds just hold a special little place in her heart. “I’m so glad you asked. Ducks are amazing animals!” At the simple mention of the feathery buddies, Lucifer lit up with the purest form of adoration. “And rubber ducks? You can do anything you want with them, let your creativity flow. Ever heard of the magic-tastical backflipping rubber duck that spits fire?”

Y/N’s eyes couldn’t possibly widen more, but they did. Slamming her hands on the table, she let out an excited scream. “Shut up! That is so cool! What about a rubber duck with six wings?!” It was at that moment that Lucifer and Y/N had found something they had in common. A small list that was only meant to expand.

For hours all they did was talk, exchange stories about what they loved doing. It led to them having a true time of bonding by doing nothing. “What’s it like? You know.. creating something? Having the power to create what your heart desires?” Curiosity always got the best of her, especially when her interest was at an all-time high. A wistful smile formed across Lucifer’s lips, bittersweet memories clouding his mind at this one little question. “It’s fulfilling, that’s for sure. There are no limits to your dreams.. If you want to do something, you just do it. You want to make a six winged rubber duck? You can. Breakfast in bed but too lazy to get up? Not a problem.” It almost seemed as if Lucifer found part of his spark that day. He was and still is a dreamer with so many ideas.

Just for a few more moments their comfortable atmosphere surrounded them, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. This whole ‘meeting’ consisted of them talking and bonding, it was bound to come to an end sooner or later. Looking at the time, Y/N let out a soft sigh which was followed by a tiny pout. “It’s getting rather late.. I should probably get going soon. I’ve had.. a lot of fun talking to you, Lucifer. I hope I’ll.. get to see you again?” Her smile was angelic as she looked at him, eyes softening more than they already had been.

Reality set in rather quickly for the pair, leading them to quiet up for a moment. It wasn’t usual for either of them to get along with someone so quickly. For Y/N, making friends in heaven was difficult considering her position along with being married to Adam, so this? This was nice. No condescending tones, no side eyes. Just relishing in the moment. It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone she could lend an ear to.

”I’ve had a great time with you as well, Y/N. I do hope I get to see you again soon! Please, stay safe up there?” Lucifer pleaded, a grin so gentle it was barely noticeable stretching across his lips once more. This day was the day he had smiled the most compared to the past decades.

Nothing ever lasts forever, which was why he was just a little scared. The past years have not been kind to him, so meeting someone as kind hearted as the angel before him was a blessing indeed. The Morningstar didn’t have many friends, if any at all, so having Y/N was such a nice and fulfilling feeling. Sure, he had his daughter.. but Charlie has a girlfriend and she has a hotel to run. There was little to no time for him.. and he can’t depend on his daughter forever. Having Y/N was.. a nice feeling indeed.

“I’ll stay safe if you promise to do the same, alright?”

“I never break my promises.”

A promise was made that night. A promise the two secretly swore to never break.

Y/N and Lucifer bid their goodbyes before departing to their homes through two separate portals. Neither of them knew they already missed each other’s company.

Later that night, the woman had decided to finally return to her husband. She could feel how miserable he was, yet that misery had turned into anger, then back to despair not too long ago. Upon entering her home, she was met with her husband lazily lounging on the couch. She probably wasn’t quiet when she entered the house, since Adam’s head immediately shot up upon her arrival. “Flower..? You’re back!” Standing up, Adam instantly stumbled over to his wife, gathering his emotions as well as he possibly could. Y/N only let out a sigh, the words her husband had said to her not once leaving her thoughts, as well as the information she had gotten from Lucifer prior. Maybe it was a mistake coming back?

”I.. couldn’t leave you for long. That aside, we need to have a talk.” Her voice was cold as ice, words cutting through the air like shards that could cut through even the toughest of materials. The married couple took a seat in the living room, Y/N’s expression almost a void of emotion. “What happened to ‘I’ll always tell you everything’, Adam? Moving up the extermination? Why would you do that?!” By the look on her partner’s face, he clearly wasn’t expecting this. Letting his ego take the wheel, Adam scoffed, leaning onto the couch in a lazy and comfortable manner. “Babe, what’s the big deal? So what if the extermination is six months earlier? They’re sinners. They don’t deserve a second chance. Besides, how do you even know? Did Sera tell you?”

At this very moment, the wife almost lost her cool. Sera knew? Was this her doing, after all? How dare he say such a thing? Especially when there is someone actively trying to redeem sinners? She couldn’t understand him or his logic. “What about you? You got a second chance at love. Two second chances, actually. If you deserve a second chance, I think others do too, especially when they try to better themselves!”

Her words struck something inside him. Something that made him react almost defensively. Adam still hasn’t gotten over the past. He promised. He promised he would talk to her if his thoughts were getting the better of him when they had their first ever argument.

”I’m the first fucking man, of course I deserve more chances. It’s not my fault that my exes left me for another man! They’re sinners. Those cunts are in hell for a reason, babe. They don’t belong up here. Now be a good little wife and stay by my side, got it?” By the sound of his voice, Adam tried to make himself seem strong by any means necessary. Afraid. The first man was afraid of what the future holds and he is withholding this from his beloved. He didn’t want to talk about it, feeling as if it was pointless anyway.

Since Adam didn’t want to speak up about his emotions and actively suppressed them, not even Y/N could feel the fear and pain in Adam’s heart. So how was she supposed to know what’s happening in his mind? “Do not dare to talk to me that way, Adam. You’re my husband and I love you with all my heart, but I will not tolerate you talking to me this way. Just because you’re the first man doesn’t mean you get to do whatever!”

Scoffing, Adam stood up straight, his wings ruffling in irritation at her words. He was so sick of hearing them, thinking that redemption is nothing but a waste of time. “I’m going to say whatever the fuck I want, got it? You’re my wife, and I love you, but you don’t know the complete story.”

That itself was a lie. Adam had opened up about everything during the time they were married. Y/N was aware of everything, so why was he deflecting?

”Sugar, please talk to me.. You’re never like this.” Her words got cut off immediately by Adam’s sudden snap, his usual gentle eyes blown wide with fury and something she couldn’t quite decipher.

”Shut up! Don’t try to force something out of me that isn’t there! The extermination is in six months and I want you as far away from it as possible. I don’t want you to go to your job during it. Anything else is not up for debate.”

Storming off, Adam simply slammed the bedroom door behind him like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Y/N was conflicted, to say the least. Why was her beloved husband suddenly acting like an overgrown manchild? Where was her gentle giant that would cling onto her while she cooked? Where was her darling husband that would hold her hand even while watching movies? The man she once loved was nothing but a shell of himself. Once confident and full of warmth, now distant and almost irritable.

Her heart ached at the realization. Adam, her Adam.. his once gentle nature had hardened, leaving behind a stranger she failed to recognize.

She just stood there, completely gobsmacked by this entire situation, letting his words slowly sink in. Her entire mood had been ruined by this entire interaction. “What is happening..?”

#hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #stories #writing #fanfic #what the fuck

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guujikaroko · 3 months ago

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So, it turns out the stress I was going through these days was partly because of my period. This world is truly not kind to women at all. To cope with the embarrassment of emotional imbalance, I started thinking about how the gacha girls go through their periods.

Lumine is probably the one who suffers the most. Her main source of income is the Adventurers' Guild, so she's always out and about, and I get the feeling she wouldn't stop because of cramps or anything else. In fact, it's possible she learned to power through it. It's probably hard to put her down.

Stelle... Stelle with PMS is a scary thought. I can see her having some horrible mood swings. And there's like a 50% chance she doesn't remember how to deal with it because of the Stellaron shenanigans, the poor thing. At the very least, everyone in the Astral Express is kind and willing to help.

And then there's Gudako. Lmao, her biggest problem isn't even the period, it's all the fussy Servants. Someone smells blood on her and all hell breaks loose. Paracelsus would definitely try some shady medicine. Asclepius probably tries to get her cured of her period for the rest of her life. One of the dream Servants tries to trap Gudako in a world where she doesn't have to feel cramps. Arjuna Alter might try to use Mahapralaya and destroy the concept of menstruation altogether. It's just a mess.

#now that i think about it i don't remember the last time menstruation was even mentioned in any fiction i've seen #is it kinda weird? yeah #i know that living in a world where no periods exist would be absolutely fantastic #but i feel like addressing menstruation would be interesting #plus i think it has a lot of comedy potential #genshin impact #honkai star rail #fate/grand order #genshin #hsr #fgo #genshin lumine #hsr stelle #fujimaru ritsuka #gudako

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cuffmeinblack · 1 year ago

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A dress to remember

Garreth Weasley x Sebastian Sallow

2.5k words

Summary: Sebastian surprises Garreth with an outfit he knows will get the Gryffindor's attention.

A/n: I don't believe I wrote this. All because of this sketch. Thanks, Krabat.

Garreth returned to his dormitory after a long day, sore and aching from Quidditch practice and head throbbing from the revision he'd forced himself to do before bed. The room was thankfully quiet, his roommates still downstairs in the common room playing a tense game of wizard's chess. He was grateful for the solitude, but it wasn't meant to be, as he noticed the curtains around his bed were closed—a sure sign that he was not, in fact, alone. His heart had already started pounding in anticipation of who he'd find on his bed, but the grin he'd plastered on his face turned into an expression of complete shock as he peeled back the fabric.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Garreth stuttered, staring slack-jawed at Sebastian.

There was nothing new about the Slytherin sneaking into his bedroom late at night, using his superior stealth and powers of persuasion to gain access to the tower. Usually, however, he was in his uniform, or on rare occasions he'd shed his clothes on the bed altogether when he was feeling particularly needy. Sebastian dropped the book he was casually perusing, offering Garreth a satisfied smirk as he lay back against the headboard.

What he was dressed in was…obscene. Reminiscent of an outfit for a house maid in Muggle households but far shorter. The black dress was punctuated with enticing lace that skimmed his freckled thighs and a tiny little apron attached to the front that served no practical purpose. Sebastian bent a leg on the mattress, giving Garreth a better view of what was, or wasn't, underneath.

"Are you just going to stand there gawping, Weasley?"

Garreth's blood had rushed away from his head so quickly that he stumbled dizzily, his cock already straining against his trousers as he clambered onto the bed, whipping the curtains closed and muttering a silencing charm. The noise that left Garreth's throat as Sebastian spread his legs was nothing short of a predatory growl, dripping with lust. Never had he thought the sight of the boy in such a provocative piece of women's attire would stir his desire so deeply. He'd always liked his legs, of course, and that perfect little arse that was now very easily accessible.

"Fucking hell," Garreth whispered, positioning himself over Sebastian.

Garreth's hands ran over his parted legs, groaning as he realised they were now completely hairless. He'd really gone all out, and yet Garreth knew that Sebastian would try to make him work for his reward.

"Enjoying the view?" the brunet teased, fluffing his hair with a brush of his fingers.

"Very much so. You make such a pretty little maid."

Sebastian was already hard in anticipation, his erection twitching beneath the flimsy fabric skirt. Garreth gave him a devilish smile as he came level to his face, pressing his groin against Sebastian's, who stifled a moan, dark eyes flashing with desire.

"Thought you might. You always were such a pervert, Weasley."

Garreth kissed him teasingly, a mere brush of lips and exchange of breath.

"Says the boy who begs to be choked by my cock," Garreth chided, rolling his hips and earning him an audible groan. "You'd look pretty sucking me off in that dress."

"What do I get out of it?"

"You get me making you come all night."

Sebastian smirked again, making clear his intention of not moving by throwing an arm behind his head. The cocky Slytherin couldn't control the instinctive thrust of his hips, though, seeking the friction he clearly needed. Garreth would need to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, starting with unbuttoning his straining trousers and ridding himself of the shirt that suddenly felt so restrictive.

Sebastian watched with a feigned disinterest, though he licked his lips as his eyes fell on Garreth's stiff length standing proudly against his abdomen. He shuffled up the bed, straddling Sebastian's chest and gripping the chestnut mane to guide those delicious lips towards his waiting cock.

"Open up, darling."

Sebastian gave him a bored look and rolled his eyes, but parted his lips, taking Garreth's tip into his warm, wet mouth. Garreth groaned as he watched the spectacle, his gaze skimming the lace of the brunet's neckline and noticing the purple bruises he'd bestowed a few days previous peeking from the fabric. He really did look fantastic in whatever the hell he was wearing, especially when his brown eyes peered up at Garreth so enticingly as his mouth worked wonders around his swollen head.

The way Sebastian's moans vibrated against his cock and the hands that gripped Garreth's thighs with a bruising grip, he knew the Slytherin was enjoying himself, no matter what he said. His tongue flicked and swirled over Garreth's tip before plunging down, taking him deeper and deeper into his mouth. Garreth swore and threw back his head, muttering praises as he gripped Sebastian's hair, pulling his head in rhythm to the bobbing back and forth. Garreth's hips rocked, seeking that tight little throat he'd trained so well until he couldn't wait any longer.

He held Sebastian's head with both hands as the brunet looked up at him, anticipating the intrusion. He knew that look; simultaneously furious in his indignation and begging to be violated. He pushed his cock deeper into his lover's throat with every roll of his hips, until Garreth was practically grinding against his face and tears streamed down Sebastian's flushed cheeks. It felt incredible, absolutely mind-alteringly fantastic, the way his tight throat muscles contracted around the tip of his cock. He took Garreth so well, his gag reflex subdued through months of practice.

Garreth looked down as he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, willing himself to stop fucking the Slytherin's throat—he wanted to save himself. With a groan and a tremendous amount of self-control and regret, Garreth pushed into his throat a final time and held Sebastian in place, until the boy smacked his legs in protest, flying off of his cock with a loud pop.

"F-fuck," Sebastian gasped, coughing and spluttering.

He took a few moments to compose himself before returning his signature glare at Garreth, who was busy trying to will himself not to finish right there. The sight of Sebastian flushed, furious and wet with tears wasn't helping the matter.

"You owe me for that."

Garreth wasn't about to argue, he'd been aching to get his mouth on those thighs since he'd first laid eyes upon them under that ludicrously short dress. The only way he could think of improving his ensemble was a display of pretty bruises and bite marks—he was absolutely ravenous to take that smooth, freckled skin into his mouth. With lightning speed, Garreth slid down the bed, grabbing Sebastian's calves and yanking him down the mattress as he swore at him, though the sounds were dulled as Garreth noticed the movement had made the dress ride up, exposing Sebastian's swollen, dripping cock.

Fuck. There'd be time for that in due course. Dipping his head, Garreth dove between Sebastian's legs, planting firm, needy and tongue-heavy kisses on the soft skin of his inner thighs. Sebastian moaned beautifully, a melodic whine that set Garreth's head spinning as he began to suck on the perfectly dotted skin. He pushed the Slytherin's legs up into a bent position, sliding his hand down to grip his perfect little arse, kneading the flesh in rhythm to his mouth. Sebastian was losing himself before Garreth even pressed a finger to his entrance, by then he was gone.

"Yes, fuck…," Sebastian whimpered whilst his hand tugged at his neglected cock.

"I haven't even touched your cock yet," Garreth chuckled.

"So hurry up and suck it," Sebastian spat.

"Not with that attitude," Garreth replied, admiring the blooming red marks he'd left on the boy's thighs.

His finger circled Sebastian's entrance as the Slytherin glared down at him, a hand finding Garreth's hair and tugging greedily.

"Come on, say it," Garreth whispered, not allowing himself to be led.

"Please…fuck…," Sebastian moaned.

Still pumping his hand around his thick girth, the wet slaps that filled the canopied bed made Garreth salivate with desire. Garreth pushed the skirt further up Sebastian's waist, apron and all, fingers tracing the contours of his hip bones.

"Please, what?" Garreth prompted.

"Please…suck me off," he replied begrudgingly.

"Better."

Garreth pulled Sebastian's wrist to release his hand, taking his cock in his own to admire the view before wrapping his lips around him. Sebastian whined as Garreth flicked his tongue over his slit, relishing in the taste of his salty precum that practically dripped from him. Garreth's lustful gaze fixed on the squirming boy above him, a smile creeping into his face as he watched Sebastian's parted lips whispering the most lewd pleas and his skin flushing scarlet.

Garreth groped around the bed for his wand, not letting his rhythm let up as he sucked Sebastian's cock, drawing those delicious noises from him that Garreth craved as much as the air he breathed. Fuck, where was his wand? His hand grasped the handle of Sebastian's instead, with an inward shrug he cast a non-verbal lubrication charm aimed at Sebastian's entrance. Instead of the steady stream of slippery liquid, the wand furiously shot globs of it everywhere, prompting Garreth to withdraw from the brunet's cock in shock.

"What the hell?!" Sebastian shouted, mid-groan, his voice raspy and breathless.

"It's your fucking wand!" Garreth exclaimed, tossing the instrument to the side and wiping up some of the excess from Sebastian's thighs.

"Don't blame my…"

Sebastian's retort was cut short by Garreth's finger plunging into his tight hole, slipping easily with the aid of the copious amounts of lubrication. The boy keened, abandoning his glare and flinging his head back against the pillow as Garreth entered another digit, feeling that satisfying stretch. He kept his fingers still, waiting for the Slytherin to get riled up and beg for him to move like he knew he would. It was a game of cat and mouse, but Sebastian was such a needy little mouse he often crumbled quickly once Garreth was inside him.

"Don't you dare, Weasley."

Ah, there it was.

"Want me to do this?" Garreth whispered, curling his fingers to gently brush over his sweet spot.

"Shit, yes…more."

"Say the magic wo…"

Sebastian had grabbed his wand, pointing it at Garreth's face with fury in his dark eyes, his hips wriggling uselessly against Garreth's retreating fingers. Garreth chuckled, withdrawing his hand before plunging his digits back inside, circling and teasing the fleshy pad that made the Slytherin moan his name—his first name. That's how Garreth knew he was his. Returning his mouth to Sebastian's weeping cock, he placed gentle kisses along his length, occasionally adding a swipe of his tongue but focusing his attention on stretching him, preparing him for the reason Sebastian had slithered into his bed tonight.

His gasping little moans and tugs at Garreth's hair intensified as he added a third finger and Garreth's own need threatened to overwhelm him. His cock leaked onto the bed sheets below him, throbbing and desperate to be inside Sebastian. He was ready, slippery and clenching needily around Garreth's fingers until he pulled them out, swiftly towering over the smaller boy and rolling him over with a great heave with his strong arms.

"Bend over for me," Garreth rasped, kneeling either side of his legs and pulling up Sebastian's hips.

Garreth ran a hand over the delicate black lace that ran down the back of the dress, groaning as his fingers skimmed the neatly tied bow that held the apron on his slim waist. The pièce de résistance was the skirt that perfectly framed his gorgeously pert little arse that waited for him. Garreth smacked his cheek hard, drawing a muffled groan from Sebastian as Garreth lined his cock up with his entrance, smearing the mess of lubricant and his arousal over the tip.

"Such a little s-slut," Garreth muttered as he pushed inside Sebastian.

Gods, he was so tight.

"Yes, fuck…"

Garreth gave the brunet another slap as he pushed in further, matching groans filling the canopy bed as his swollen head was enveloped fully by Sebastian's walls.

"Mmmh-...more…"

Garreth wasn't about to argue with the command, gripping Sebastian's hips and pulling him onto his cock until he was flush with his behind before starting to move. Rolling his hips, steadily and slowly at first, Garreth just watched the boy beneath him in wonder, his face turned and pressed into the pillow, gazing up at Garreth with hooded eyes. Every time he praised Sebastian, he would whine and sigh his approval, his eyes glazed and eyebrows peaked, wordlessly begging for more.

"Such a good boy taking me like this," Garreth whispered.

"Y-yeah…"

Garreth growled, pounding into Sebastian with increased vigour, his fingertips digging into the flesh of his behind and around his hips as he drove deep inside his tight hole. He felt exquisite, and looked even more so, the image of the Slytherin bent over taking Garreth's cock in that dress would be ingrained in his mind forever. Sebastian asked for more, harder, faster until he was drooling onto the pillow in a thoroughly fucked daze.

Garreth was so close—he shut his eyes to keep himself from exploding too soon but the indecent image flashed in front of his eyes and his legs buckled. Sebastian wasn't far behind, his hole twitching around Garreth's cock as his hands balled into fists around the bed sheets, his mouth uttering pleas, expletives and Garreth over and over again. The steady slapping of their skin was barely audible over the noise from their mouths.

"Come on…come on, Sebastian…"

The brunet whimpered a final time before he reached his climax, moaning long and loud as his body convulsed. Garreth fucked him through his orgasm, losing himself in his lover's delectible moans as his eyes stayed tightly shut. The clenching around his cock was pulling him over the edge and as soon as he opened his eyes to see Sebastian delirious and gasping, he lost the battle.

He pulled out just in time, shooting his load all over the back of Sebastian's dress and lower back, the ropes of cum coating his behind as the pulses of his orgasm ebbed away, leaving Garreth gasping and slumped over Sebastian's limp figure. They collapsed shortly afterwards, Sebastian showing his rare affectionate side as he slid onto Garreth's chest with a satisfied sigh. Garreth's fingers laced through the soft chestnut hair brushing his neck, gently stroking the knackered Slytherin's head as they lay in companionable silence.

"I think you best be cleaning yourself up, my little maid," Garreth chuckled.

"Fuck off, Weasley."

Ah well, it couldn't last forever.

#garreth weasley #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x garreth weasley #weaslow #sebastian sallow smut #garreth weasley smut

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deadite-central · 4 months ago

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Time for some more Fishman Island gushing/thoughts because like I said, I love this arc

The entire flashback shows us different reactions to the racism that fishmen face. How different people deal with it, how it shapes their lives, their morals, their dreams. On one hand we have Fisher Tiger, who cannot bring himself to love humans, and refuses to let human blood be transfused to him, even if it meant he died. However, he doesn’t let that shape how he interacts with the world. He still lets Koala on the ship because he knows that no child deserves to be a slave. No one deserves that life. Then, you have Arlong, who believes that all of this justifies his utter hatred for humanity, how they should be the ones to suffer like he and the other fishmen did. While it makes sense why someone like Arlong would come out of the environment he was in, it doesn’t change the fact that what he did to Nami’s village was absolutely vile.

And finally, Queen Otohime. She understands that a war with humanity is going to bring them nowhere, and instead, she wants to change the world using political power. She takes a bullet for a celestial dragon because she doesn’t want all of the chances fishmen have for a better tomorrow be ruined. Something she had no idea would in the future save her daughter’s life. Otohime believes that they need to work for a better future, to show their children that hatred isn’t the way, because those very children are the ones who will shape the world when they’re older. She might have been an idealist who hadn’t shown enough care for the Fishman District, but her efforts were very real.

Back to the present, Hody gets an absolute reality check when the people of Fishman Island would rather have their home destroyed than let him rule it. It’s not like he cares about the people of the Island either way. But then Luffy comes swinging, absolutely perfectly landing a kick, starting the fight

And finally, the Straw Hats are altogether (even with Jinbei, who only joins them in the future, which I find lovely) ready to take on the New Fishmen Pirates, but also allowing the people to choose for themselves if they are the good guys. Luffy has no intention of parading himself and the Straw Hats as heroes, because what he cares about is freedom, including the freedom to choose what you see him as

Onto the fight with Hody himself, we find out more about his view of the world: he doesn’t actually care about fishmen. He only wants to get divine revenge for what they went through. He needs humans to be inherently evil to justify his conquest for blood, and he couldn’t give less of a shit how many fishmen die in the process. Humans never actually hurt him, but he was raised in an environment that made him believe all of this. This is how he, and many others in the fishmen district lived. That’s why you can’t just abandon a group of people into a district and let their hate brew.

Luffy finally defeats him in the end, once again completely disproving Hody’s and Arlong’s belief that fishmen are inherently stronger than humans, and after a few more problems taken care of (including Shirahoshi talking to the Neptunians) Fishman Island is saved by a human who doesn’t even consider himself a hero

Getting back to the comedy, my favorite gag gets brought back, and in a great way too. Because Big Mom gets introduced, and holy hell is she terrifying here. Luffy obviously doesn’t care, cause he’s Luffy, and talks back to her, finally resulting in saying he’ll defeat her, and the payoff for that will come much, much later

And to finish things of, just like Otohime believed, the children are the future, and they already have different views than their powers. Because while sure, there are still terrible humans, the Celestial Dragons exist, and surface isn’t completely safe. But there are people like Luffy, who the kids themselves see as their hero. And with the fishman district kids also getting another chance, maybe soon fishmen will be able to live their lives without the fear they used to have

#one piece #op reading corner #fishman island #fisher tiger #queen otohime #arlong #hody jones #monkey d luffy #other things i also adore are nami’s and jinbei’s dynamic #and the situation surrounding the ponegliff #such a good arc

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year ago

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Daddy's little cumdump

Request: Been toying with the thought of a dom!Tony lately, maybe he’s the readers boss or just with some DBF! energy? 😌 They definitely fuck! With a bit of slapping or spanking, hair pulling too and maybe just a little (or a lot) degradation 🫠😩❤️

AN: @lauratang - you asked for filth and here it is. I do not apologise for this one iota….

Beta’d by @mxaether

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and banner by me

Masterlist

Summary: A summer internship with your Dad’s boss and friend, with the man you’ve had a crush on the past 4 years? What could possibly go right wrong?

Relationship: Boss and DBF! Tony Stark x Intern Reader

WC: 2k

CW: Age gap (reader early 20’s, Tony mid-late 40’s), power imbalance, forbidden relationship, Tony has BDE (and a BD), spanking, hair pulling, rough sex, unprotected sex, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, degradation, Daddy kink, cum play, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, mention of sex toys, mention of exhibitionism.

Smack!

The heavy hand came down on the meat of your right asscheek and you let out a noise halfway between a shriek and groan. All the time he continued to plough into you from behind, his thick cock rubbing against your walls in the best way.

“You’re just dumb for it, aren’t you sweetheart? You’d let me do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you, as long as I promised to stick my dick in you somewhere.”

His grip was harsh in your hair, holding your head back, and making you bend into a bow shape. The pain was a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure shooting through you.

Smack!

Another slap to your ass, the other side this time.

“I didn’t hear you answer, babygirl. Use your big girl words for Daddy. Agree you’re a dumb slut.”

You let out a low whine, your pussy somehow getting even wetter at his words.

“‘M a dumb slut, Daddy. Want your dick in me all the time.”

He snorted in amusement from behind you.

“Now, there’s a thought. Wouldn’t it be nice to have you sitting on my lap, bouncing up and down when I’m in a meeting. In front of everyone. Even your father…”

Oh fuck! Your walls clenched, as a mixture of arousal and shame rushed through you, and you heard him chuckle.

Tony Stark. Your father’s best friend and colleague, and your boss for the summer.

You’d met him for the first time when you were 19, home for the summer from your first year of college. While you’d been away expanding your mind your father had scored a new job in the R&D department of Stark Industries.

It hadn’t meant much to you at first, other than a bit of fan-girling over the fact that your father actually saw Tony Stark regularly. However, the charismatic face of the company had decided to hold a company picnic for 4th July weekend, and it was there that you’d been introduced to him.

You’d been shy, ducking your head and trying to hide behind your hair as your heart had been beating loudly in your chest, you swore that your parents would hear it. You knew what Tony Stark looked like, of course, had seen him in the media, but meeting him in the flesh was altogether a different thing. He’d been dressed down, in scruffy jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt, but he still managed to knock all the air from your chest with one smile.

He’d been convivial, taking your Mom’s hand, kissing it, flattering her just the right amount to make your Dad beam with pride. Then your dad had introduced you, waxing lyrical about your college achievements so far.

Tony had shaken your hand and then smiled at your Dad before bumping his shoulder.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree then. Careful, bud. She might run you out of a job if she keeps on.”

All three of them had laughed out loud, your Dad reminding him you were studying marketing, and therefore no threat to him, and your Mom giving you a jovial shoulder hug, but you’d just wanted the ground to open up and swallow you, because the sinful thoughts you’d been having were gonna send you straight to hell anyway. You’d somehow gotten through the day, sticking close to your mom as much as you could, and pretending not to notice the man who was goddamn Iron Man, because your body had been pulsing with a hereto unknown level of desire.

Luckily, or unluckily, you didn’t see him again for a full year, until the next corporate picnic. You’d hoped that with the passing of a year he wouldn’t affect you so much, but you’d had no such luck. His effortless charm and handsome face had been as distracting as previously, and you hadn’t known whether you’d wanted him to pay you attention or ignore you entirely - when he’d spoken to you, you’d barely been able to get a word out past your suddenly parched lips, but once he’d gone, circulating amongst his guests, you’d hadn’t been able to take your eyes off him. The cycle had continued for a further two years until you’d finally returned to live with your parents again, having gained your Bachelors degree in Marketing.

Getting a job was the next hurdle for your life, but you’d frozen in panic when your Dad had gleefully announced that he’d managed to organise for you to have a summer internship at S.I., assisting Tony directly, no less. Which is what had led you to where you were now.

Within a week he’d cornered you in his office, and let you know he knew how you felt, had been watching you watch him over the last few years, and said if you wanted to do something about it, all you had to do was ask - he was captivated by you too. Your internship wasn’t at risk, and neither was your father’s job - he’d made that clear. The ball had been fully in your court.

You’d dithered for a few days, not feeling as though what was happening was real. He was older than you (although not as old as your Dad) and was, obviously, exceptionally powerful. You weren’t a shy virgin, having had a boyfriend in senior year of high-school and had a few dalliances while at college, but you’d have been the first to admit that the sex had never been as mind blowing as you’d been led to believe it would be. To be honest, it was that thought which had decided you on your path, because if sex could actually feel the way it was described in books and movies, then you’d had no doubt that Tony would make it feel that way.

Monday morning of your second week had rolled around and as Tony had returned from his first meeting, and flashed you a smile as he’d walked past your desk, you’d gotten up, followed him into his office, shut the door and dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Aren’t you an eager little thing?”

The condescending drawl had gone straight to your pussy as your fingers had fumbled with his belt and the fly of his Armani suit pants. When you’d freed his cock, you’d come to a grinding halt, the thick warmth of it lying in your hand and your mouth open in a small ‘o’. Tony had titled your chin up with his index finger and when you’d looked at him you’d seen he was smirking.

“Don’t be intimidated, sweetheart. I’m sure you can manage it, a clever girl like you. Come on, give it a go.”

You’d done so. You’d licked up and down his length, before swirling your tongue around his tip and then taking him in your mouth. He’d tasted wonderful, and as you’d bobbed your head up and down, jerking the lower half of his cock with your hand, Tony’s broad hand had stroked over your head and his lips had started to spew filth.

“That’s it, baby girl. You take what you want, what you need. And you do need it, don’t you. Aah-aah, not too fast. Savour it. Savour it. It’s not a race. Take your time.”

You’d done as he’d told you, slowing your movements, and, fuck, it had done something to you. You’d felt every ridge, every vein, as his cock had moved through your lips and over your tongue. Without realising it, you’d let out a little moan, when you’d tasted the drops of pre-cum that had leaked from his tip. You’d heard a thunk, and a glance up had revealed that Tony had let his head fall back against the wall behind him, but your attention had returned almost immediately to the task at hand.

“That’s it. Isn’t that better?” He must have looked down at you, because he’d chuckled again. “You gone dumb on me already, sweetheart? No thoughts in your head at all now apart from having my cock inside you. Just… aah… think how good it will feeling when I’m deep in your pussy… fuck. Yes… come on… you’re gonna swallow it all, like a good cumdump, aren’t you? Swallow all of my cum. Don’t waste a drop…”

He’d cum with a groan, flooding your mouth and you’d tried your best to comply with his demand. You’d licked all over his softening cock, cleaning him up, and when you’d finally tucked him away you’d realised that your pussy was throbbing with need. Tony had seemed to immediately know what you’d needed. He’d pulled you up, and spun you both so your back was now to the wall. He’d swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth, and then pressed it between your lips. You’d sucked on it automatically and he’d smirked.

“Told you not to waste any, baby girl. Now, let Daddy help you out. You must be drenched and aching after that.”

His other hand stuck its way up your skirt, deftly pulling your panties to the side and sinking one finger straight into your soaked pussy all the way up to the third knuckle. The thumb in your mouth muffled your moan, and you’d sucked on the digit harder as he’d pumped his finger. Within a few strokes, one finger became two, and then became three. Your hands had clung to Tony’s suit jacket as his fingers had filled you. When he’d taken his thumb from your mouth you’d whined, but he’d covered your lips with his own, kissing you, claiming you, and you’d cum on his fingers as his tongue had tangled with your own.

That had been three weeks ago, and nearly every day the pair of you had fucked in the office. You’d also had your theory proven correct - it wasn’t sex that hadn’t been as good as you thought, it had been those you’d been doing it with. Tony, however, could turn you on with just a touch, and could drag wave after wave of pleasure from you. It was addictive. He’d also unlocked kinks within you that you didn’t know you had. You called him Daddy, the taboo nature of it sending a thrill through you every time the word left your mouth, and his sweet but condescending degradation left you soaked and in need of new underwear.

Today you’d managed to keep your hands off each other until lunch time. Tony had buzzed your desk from his office at 12.30, and you’d picked up your notepad and pen as cover before heading inside and closing the door behind you.

He’d pulled you into a deep kiss, hands popping the buttons of your blouse and groping at your tits, before he’d roughly spun you and bent you over his desk. Your skirt had been pushed up and your panties dragged down your legs, which were then kicked apart to allow him access to your already dripping cunt. His plunging fingers had stretched you out quickly, before he’d sheathed his cock in you to the hilt, and set up a punishing pace.

Now here you were, agreeing you were a dumb slut.

He’d already wrung one orgasm from you, the evidence coating your thighs and you knew you were close to another. He never edged you, preferring instead to make you more and more delirious from overstimulation. At least today he wasn’t cupping a bullet vibe right over your clit - you’d had to spend the rest of the day sitting at your desk after that one…

The tension in your body and the clenching of your pussy gave you away to him, and he chuckled darkly.

“You gonna cum again, baby girl? Gonna cum on Daddy’s fat dick? Yeah, you are, aren’t you? Come on. Milk it. Make me cum too. You’re so greedy for it. Need your pussy full of cum to keep you happy when it’s not full of cock.”

“Yes, Daddy. Need your cum. Cum in me. Please!” You broke off with a whine, your pussy spasming, your own cum rolling down your thighs and your vision going black. You heard Tony’s own cry of completion, felt him continue to pound into you as he filled you with rope after rope of cum until it too was leaking out of you, mingling with your own.

You didn’t like to think about what would happen when the summer came to an end. Would Tony still want to see you when you were no longer a convenient fuck? And what would your parents say if they found out?

Your worries disappeared though, driven from your head, when Tony pulled his cock from you, but immediately replaced it with his fingers, pushing your combined cum back into your puffy cunt.

“You’ve got another one for me, haven’t you sweetheart? Gotta stuff that cum deep into you so you don’t lose any later on when you’re taking the meeting notes and your panties are in my pocket…”

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark fic #late writes #fic request #dbf!Tony Stark #Boss!Tony Stark

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hms-no-fun · 4 months ago

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Do your political views influence your writing? and if they do, how so?

this is sort of a tough question. i mean obviously my political views affect my writing, i believe that's true of every writer. the "how" is throwing me for a bit of a loop though. maybe partly because pretty much my only public-facing writing at this point is godfeels, which really isn't indicative of the kind of stuff i spent my entire pre-transition life writing. which actually makes it harder for me to introspect on the subject because transition brought with it political radicalization. i'm not just a woman now, i'm a communist, and i've spent a lot more time thinking about propaganda and hierarchies and economic power dynamics. so i'm definitely more intentional about this stuff now... what the hell, let's give it the ol college try

i'm typically drawn to characters in working/middle-class positions, because those are the people i've spent most of my life around. everything i write is at least partially autobiographical, as seen in the vast majority of my pre-transition protagonists being sad adolescent/twenty-something boys crumbling under the weight of social expectations they have no interest in meeting but can't imagine an alternative to. it is frankly extremely funny how much of my early fiction was about characters who desperately wanted to transition but utterly lacked the language & framework for doing so... because i also lacked that knowledge. i have multiple hundred+ page books that i never finished because i guess i couldn't even let myself imagine what the logical conclusion would be.

in my subjects, i've always had opinionated characters who got mad about social ills. a loooooot of my old short stories started with characters arguing about politics. i was raised secular and grew up in the bible belt during the bush years. i've always had a strong moral compass and a tendency to Say Shit, and that absolutely comes through in everything i write. it's an impulse i have to tamp down on a lot, because as tempting as it is to get all your hits in whenever you can, a lot of times they come across as infantile and pointless. you know, dude standing up and giving a Big Important Speech about whatever social ill you happened to read about on tumblr that day. sometimes you can get good stuff from that you've really gotta earn it.

my current work is definitely a lot more coherently political than my old stuff. obviously the witchkind legion is my attempt to imagine a post-scarcity communist utopia that is still deeply flawed in its own unique ways. come home, wolf was a gesture in a similar direction albeit on a smaller scale, imagining a communist nation funding a rewilding initiative in collaboration with a historically oppressed werewolf population. i guess i'm thinking a lot more about The Material Conditions these days. pure character drama just doesn't do it for me anymore, it feels disconnected from the real. i want to know where my characters live and how expensive the food is. and i want my stories to be saying interesting things as much as possible, instead of repeating tired tropes out of a lack of introspection.

when i went through a Social Justice arc in my mid-twenties, i really became aware of the fact that all my stories were about straight white dudes in suburban environments. i started noticing accidental racism & sexism & homophobia & etc etc all over the place, laundered in through various unquestioned assumptions and a fairly sheltered upbringing. in hindsight this is a big reason i stopped writing fiction altogether from 2013 to 2019, that i felt totally trapped by my inherited biases. funny how much changed when i came out as transgender! these days the trick is finding ways to utilize that experience constructively. for instance, as someone who once used the r-slur with gleeful thoughtless disregard, how might i go about incorporating that experience into my writing thoughtfully? there's an understandable tendency in young writers to course correct hard around The Problematic, that i think can very often result in sterile text that's too timid to grapple with real issues. there's a learning experience attached to realizing that the r-slur (for instance) isn't just a word but a historical object, a linguistic bludgeon with valances far beyond anything within my limited sphere of experience. just because i don't use that word anymore doesn't mean other people don't, and those other people are not necessarily any more Bad than *i* was as a teenager. combined & uneven development and all that.

so now with the Upsilon Kids i'm trying to deliberately explore Problematic & Troubled Teens from a place of empathy and personal experience. i'm not setting out to Make A Point mind you, but a point will be made regardless so i might as well put some thought into it. this is another place where it's REALLY IMPORTANT to have a check on your political impulses. it's extremely easy for the desire to Make A Point completely override character voice and dramatic consistency. this is why we practice and try new things and challenge ourselves as writers, so we never feel like we've got it all Figured Out for too long.

well i hope that was a useful and not totally embarrassing answer because i'm going cross-eyed now and i absolutely don't have the attention span to proofread all that lmao

#sarahposts

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tonydaddingham · 1 year ago

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im losing my MIND bUT here you go have some thoughts on the second coming

so we start with the below screenshots from the trailer where we have a statue of gabriel close up holding the crucifix, and then the next shot with beelzebub where there is no cross and instead what looks to be a bundle in its arms (i don't think it's a shadow bc it looks too opaque, too human shaped (think voldemort in goblet of fire lmao) AND the lighting from above on the stone would be more illuminated???)

the clue to where this is in the storyline however is that gabriel looks to be dressed in his lighter coloured heaven clothes, so before he loses his memory/flashback?

so this is presumably where gabriel has arrived on earth to retrieve jesus, possibly tucks him into a pristine moving-day cardboard box (i feel like the 'this way up' is both literal in that one shouldnt hold christ upside down as well as being a direction to deliver it to heaven?)

and given that gabriel heralded the birth of jesus in the first place, its perhaps all hinged on gabriel himself that the second coming happens, ergo if they eradicate gabriel, then there's no second coming, and therefore there's no tilting of the scales to favour heaven in the eventual war that will follow

anyway i reckon there must be a tussle with beelzebub or demons in general in the graveyard because then it seems like beelzebub gets discorporated possibly in the graveyard (hence the marker in the opening sequence) and gets temporarily demoted back in hell for losing gabriel/jesus (leaving a power vacuum for shax???)

update: AYOO @goth-maudra had them eagle EYES and spotted this!!!!

WE SEE YOU SHAX 💅

update 18/07: ayo fucking called it???

but gabriel either gets possessed by jesus (see: funny as fuck) or something just generally happens to him in this fight that makes him lose his memory and possibly lose track of the box, so the whole thing gets all messed up and noone knows where jesus has gotten to... but god sends aziraphale a clue (✨✨A cLuE✨✨) to tracking it down, in the shape of the everyday record and the resurrectionist pub address (lmao is jesus in the JUKEBOX???) on a fucking post-it note

or maybe hell had something to do with gabriel losing his memory (shax? idk but that could be the motive for her getting chummy with crowley in the first place) (i promise I'm not hating on shax my beloved but she SCARES me) in an effort to stall the second coming and now they're trying to retrieve and kill goob to forestall it altogether

but what they didnt count on is a smart, fastidious, nosy lil angel boy sticking his oar in and getting there first, and being a good enough person to hide goob in the first place but i disgress

and beelzebub, knowing that there's a retired angel on earth and gabriel might naturally gravitate towards there, infiltrates the bookshop as a wee fly (funny af in the goob clip of him swatting them with books BUT also the fly is like centre placement in beelzebub's character poster... COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT) and feeds this back to shax, so shax gets chummy with the demon that she replaced 👀👀 and tries to get him to turn on aziraphale and pressure him to luring goob out of the shop so hell can get to him, pressing crowley's Jealousy and Possessiveness buttons to her advantage

now idk how i feel about goob getting lost/leaving the shop and aziraphale has to track him down by going to Edinburgh, ill need to ruminate on this more, but crowley saying 'ooooh hell won't like that' and infiltrating (see: strolling blithely into heaven cosplaying bill nighy in love actually) makes me HOPE that he is still fighting the good fight but something is niggling at me as to why he ends up on the throne in hell and NOT in the bookshop when the demon attack is taking place, that makes me think major angst will happen and crowley ends up inadvertently supporting hell in getting goob and preventing the second coming

sigh now i need to go update my episode timeline how the fUCK do i summarise this

#good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley #aziraphale #the second coming #good omens speculation #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy

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guys-in-distress-database · 3 months ago

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Top 15 GID Scenes: Genshin Impact

(I didn't forget. I was on vacation and couldn't get the images I needed).

This one might be surprising to see on my list of top 15 scenes, but I ADORE this scene. Few scenes got me as excited as this one did, and not for the reasons you might think.

I don't play Genshin Impact. Hell, I barely know a thing about it. But when someone posted this scene to the forum, I was obsessed. It was like lightning in a bottle for me.

In Chapter II of Act II, Thoma, a boy you've befriended during the story, is arrested by Raiden Shogun, the leader of Inazuma, who desires the powerful object he carries. Once you learn of his arrest, you can then trigger a cutscene where he is tied up on his knees, awaiting his fate. The Traveler intervenes, but is stopped from freeing him by Raiden Shogun, triggering a boss fight. After the boss fight, the Traveler is defeated and a desperate Thoma uses a discarded spear to cut through his bonds in order to save his friend.

What I love about this scene is that it's just a great example of video game bondage. Video game bondage is a tad notorious for being half-assed. Because of all the loopholes devs go through to save themselves extra work, they often don't properly apply bonds or exclude them altogether. This scene goes all out. Not only do the ropes look like they're attached to Thoma's character model, but there's a lot of extended shots of them, including when he's freeing himself. His animations are fantastic, with how he struggles and moves on his knees being particularly great. I just also love how it's an example of a captive being both submissive and active in the same scene.

It's an overall great scene.

#top 15 #genshin impact #thoma #gid #whump

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diablo-that-first-spark · 3 months ago

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Hell has frozen over: I am deviating from the lore

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my dearest cupcakes, you read that correctly. Hell is indeed an icy wasteland now and the Seven Evils need full winter gear to function. I am officially ignoring certain parts of the lore and deviating back to a previous version of them.

For those who don’t really know me, here’s why this is a big deal:

Lore is sacred.

Respect the goddamn source material.

These are the two golden rules I always follow, no matter the fanart or fanfiction I create (I’m talking about serious attempts here, not jokey sketches or memes, of course). I do not trample over established lore and rules in a world, just because I want to tell my story. I always do my best to make my story and characters work within the guidelines already set by the original creators. I don’t retcon backstories, I don’t blackwash, I especially don’t rainbow-wash, all of these are shameful practices in my eyes, and I would not be caught dead doing them.

Anyway.

With Diablo 4 out and its spin-off stories being published, I am finally forced to partially let go of the “Lore is sacred” golden rule… or at the very least, stay true to a former version of said lore. Namely, the Diablo 3 and the Sin War trilogy versions.

Now, it is obvious that Blizzard is doing its best to ignore D3 altogether in D4, outside of bringing back a few older locations like Maghda’s boss arena or the Forgotten Overlook. Returning D3 characters would rather die than mention anything from that game, while D2 characters (who should be dead 3 times over by this point) can’t shut the hell up about their former adventures.

It is also an undisputed fact that D3 is the least popular entry in the franchise among the hardcore non-fanart-creating part of the fandom. A sad fact, but a fact nonetheless.

Now, I am not saying Blizzard is a shit company, they don’t know what they are doing, I know better. No. Stories change. Things get retconned. Characters rewritten. Course-correction is necessary. That happens to almost every long-running story, it is entirely normal.

I just don’t like these changes, I think they take away from the lore overall. Attempts to erase my favorite entry from the franchise won’t make me happy, naturally, even if I wholeheartedly understand the purely logical and business reasons behind it.

So! Not to mince words, here is a list of every retcon I can think of from the top of my head, that I am going to apply to That First Spark:

1) Nephalem are weak no-name peasants who look perfectly human

Going by D3 and Sin War rules, in TFS nephalem are absolute powerhouses who survive insane shit being thrown at them, just because they are nephalem. Their power level is either off the charts or much higher than normal, both in magic and in physical strength. As a personal preference, I will also make the First Generation Nephalem (namely, Rathma) a little bit inhuman. I lllloved it when we still believed Elias would be Rathma, his design was perfect for the role. I will give Rathma a bit of a redesign for Act IV but his slight but disturbing inhuman appearance will remain so. No full-blown furry designs, that is just ridiculous, good lord.

(One day, I might write a rant about the current state of the Nephalem-era of history, because it is an absolute travesty. One day.)

2) Inarius is just a “lieutenant” of Tyrael

Yeah, nah, eff that. Rhythm brothers, till the day I die.

3) Rathma becomes the First Necromancer after he corrects a very plot-convenient mistake.

(Not going into more detail because the Rathma graphic novel is still very new.)

I’m going back to the original lore, which is far more interesting: Linarian had started a rebellion among his generation, after he realized their children were born weaker because of Inarius’ meddling. The rebellion goes horribly wrong, Inarius manages to kill most of the first generation nephalem with the aid of the Worldstone then he disappears and suffers a fate of isolation that eventually breaks his mind. On the other side, Linarian goes insane over the guilt of leading his fellow nephalem to their deaths, until the dragon Trag’Oul finds him and teaches him of the Balance, giving him the name “Rathma” (“Keeper of the Balance”).

None of this is made up by me, btw. This is how the lore was in the Sin War trilogy books.

4) Demons can be born/manufactured from the blood of angels

That is just the dumbest stuff Diablo Immortal has ever pulled, like hell I will work with that.

5) Lyndon didn’t kill Rea, instead he allows her to make his life hell

Hells, I already retconned it with the ending of Act I, without even trying. I saw into the future with this!

On a personal note: this is the most terrible story line they could have given to Lyndon, I hate everything about it, and I wish it to the deepest pits of hell. He deserves better. Grimdark is utter trash.

6) Lilith is an unkillable boss bitch that walks away from lethal crippling injuries like it’s nothing

Oh do not worry, she is going to be an absolute nightmare to take down. Quiet and co. will have to work for it hard. But originally Lilith has never been the “strahng wahmen unkillable boss bitch” modern day trope, and she won’t be that in TFS either. I have to be clever with what kind of injuries she may or may not receive.

7) Kingsport is on the south-western shore of the Western Continent

TFS works with the Diablo 3 version of the world map. If there is a location that is needed for the story, which shows up on the D4 map, but not the D3 map, I will bring that one detail in. There is nothing big behind this decision, I just grew used to the D3 map.

8) Lilith initiates the Purge of the Renegades because of Linarian's vision her son told her about

I am working with the Book of Cain version: Lilith assumes Inarius is already plotting the genocide of the children when he withdraws to meditate on the right choice. So she kills every angel and demon so that should Inarius want to destroy the children, he would remain utterly alone on a dead world. Her gambit would pay off in the end, although not before Inarius banishes her.

---

I am sure there will be a bit more retcons down the line, but for now, these are the critical nodes I see from here.

It probably doesn’t sound too bad for you, and I agree, I am probably making a mountain out of a mole-hill here. However, I have my own code to follow in creative works, and I honestly feel like this deviation from my usual methods warrants a heads-up.

So, anyway, back to the drawing board! I wish I had an ETA to give you cupcakes about the arrival of Act IV, but unfortunately I don’t. Thank you for your continuous patience!

2024.08.26.

#that firsth spark #diablo fanfiction #changes in the lore #I'm not happy about this goddamnit #but a writer gotta do what a writer gotta do

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alastorsteatimeritual · 5 months ago

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Summary: With war on their doorstep, Lucifer begins to question whether his first line of defense is up to the task and decides to put that to the test. Testing that begins to bring about the idea that perhaps his deal with Alastor does not work quite the way he thought it would.

Teaser:

“Shiiiitt your majesty! Strong, incredibly flexible and that figure! To die for! I could make you the biggest star to ever walk this plane.” Valentino purred in his ear, hands suddenly splaying uncomfortably close to Lucifer’s hips. Did Alastor’s antlers grow bigger? And oh.. The Radio Dials were back. Wait.. why was Lucifer looking towards the Deer Demon when he should be focusing?

“ALRIGHT! That’s enough!” Lucifer said with a shudder and a grimace. He released the Vees from the trap and immediately sent a blast of Holy light every which way. It knocked the trio far away from him and left them groaning in the dirt. The king dusted himself off. “Angels have one big flaw and that is their ego. It is left unchecked given we are not prone to human limits. They will fight alone. You cannot handle them on your own so I need you to work together.

Vox was back on his feet and folded his arms. “I’m not going to work with any of these fuckers! We are Overlords, we don’t even like each other on a good day! I’ll stick to my crew.” He spat.

Lucifer huffed a frustrated breath and folded his wings out once more before flying over to Vox. He hovered at eyeheight and made quick work of painting a line on the screen, right across his eyes. The tv-demon spluttered and protested, trying to wipe the golden paint away but to no avail. He stumbled around, unable to balance himself properly, arms waving out in front of himself pathetically. Lucifer remained hovering in the air, hands on his hips and looking altogether disapproving.

“You might as well walk around like that if you’re going to be so blind. This isn’t about petty battles for turf. This is the ultimate battle. It’s conform or die but there is no walking away from this one. I cannot take all the angels myself. For this war and for the future of Hell you will need to put your differences aside and work together. Am I clear?” He spoke oddly authoritatively.

The Overlords pointedly looked away from him and the King sighed in exasperation. “Alright, I see you’re choosing the hard way. Let’s dial this bitch up a notch. And remember, I am only using the common angelic powers here, things that they can all do. I won’t use the ones that are specifically mine.”

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allegra-writes · 1 year ago

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"Various Storms and Saints" Part II

Armand x Daniel Molloy

NSFW

Warnings: Role play, power play, sex toys, consensual dub/non-con. Look, Armand is one kinky bastard.

Dedicated to @faerywhimsy because when one of the greatest writers of the fandom tells you they would like to read more of a certain story, you sit your ass down until midnight and GET IT DONE.

MY MASTERLIST

Daniel Molloy was too old for this shit. A short few decades ago, when he had been an intrepid reporter with too much courage and too little sense, he had never thought twice about grabbing a hammer and helping the Mauerspechte to tear down the wall, standing in front of the tanks in Iraq or sleeping inside the ruins of a dilapidated building while the bombs fell from the sky in Sarajevo. Hell, only twenty years before he had used his own body to shield a woman and her child from an angry mob in Gujarat, and it had been one of the best decisions he had ever made in his life. But now, with the big seventies biting his heels and a terminal disease prognosis, he was forced to admit maybe, just maybe, his Indiana Jones days were over. He was pretty sure he had dislocated his shoulder slamming it against the -not particularly sturdy- door, and he could feel his foot throbbing from where he had kicked the lock down. At least he had succeeded in that, even if the only reason were his trusty old Docs he had owned since the eighties and refused to throw away. He tried not to think about how pathetic it was the fact that those boots were his longest-standing relationship.

“Doctor Du Lac? Doctor Du Lac, stay with me!” Lightly slapping the cheeks of the young man lying on the grey couch, Daniel tried to keep him awake until the paramedics arrived. He had no idea what he had been given or how much of it, had no idea if he was about to overdose or if the loss of consciousness was the intended effect of whatever it was on his system. By the way the man’s wrists were tied together and his state of undress, he could infer it was, but there was no way to be sure. All he was sure of was Dr. Louis De Pointe Du Lac had gone, was still going, through something traumatic, and it was both a mercy and a cruel trick from fate that he had programmed their date for that exact day and time, that Daniel had for once arrived somewhere a little early, just in time to stop the attack from becoming something even worse, but too late to stop it from happening altogether.

“Mo- Molloy?”

That was good, recognition was good. It meant his brain was working, somewhat.

“What happened here? Do you remember anything?”

A mumble was all the reply Du Lac was capable of. Daniel had to lean until his face was mere inches away from his to be able to make out the words.

“L’estat…” Du Lac was repeating, like a litany, “l’estat, l’estat…”

Daniel cursed internally,

“I’m sorry, I can’t- I don’t speak French” He was fluid in Spanish and Italian, could manage Gujarati, Bosnian, Serbian, and even knew a few words in Ukrainian and Arabic, but French had always eluded him. Now, someone needed his help, was trying desperately to tell him something and Daniel didn’t have a clue what it might be. Taking out his phone, he quickly opened the app and recorded Du Lac’s slurred words. Maybe he would be able to figure them out later. “I’m sorry, son”

Daniel apologized again, but Du Lac didn’t seem to resent him, on the contrary, he was holding onto Daniel’s hand with as much strength as he could, his face filling with panic when the older man went to move away to let the paramedics in, only settling down once Daniel was in his line of vision again.

“Mister Molloy? I’m Tammy, you called 911, didn’t you?” An alarmingly young officer approached him as two METs loaded Du Lac onto a gurney.

“Yeah, I did” Daniel replied, feeling suddenly very tired. The adrenaline kick was finally fading.

“I have to ask, did you move him? Touched anything? Did you put him on the couch?”

Daniel shook his head,

“No, that’s where he was when I managed to break in, I took the throw blanket from the back of the couch to cover him, but other than that I didn’t touch anything, didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene”

The officer smiled approvingly, Daniel tried very hard not to feel condescended.

“Thank you, that will be very useful if the victim decides to report”

“Wait, if he decides to report?”

The officer seemed unphased,

“Well, the department might investigate anyway or transfer the case to our SVU if we find there is enough evidence to suspect a crime, but that will have to wait until we can talk to Mister De Pointe Du Lac”

“Enough evidence to suspect a crime? Exactly what do you think this is, some BDSM shit? some role-playing gone wrong?” Daniel could almost feel his blood pressure rising, “I heard the struggle, I had to break the god damned door! The guy was naked and tied up with zip ties for fucks sake!” he had been a queer man in the seventies, he knew what kink looked like, and this wasn’t it.

“Believe me, sir, I know how frustrating it can be, but it’s the procedure and there is nothing I can do to change it,” Her face softened, her tone turning concerned. Daniel didn’t know which one he despised more. “Now, you need to calm down. Are you feeling alright? Would you like me to tell one of the paramedics to check you out?”

Daniel shook his head again, biting his tongue so as not to bark at her that he was old, not decrepit. Fucking useless cops.

“Is there anyone you want me to call, maybe a family member? To come pick you up?”

With narrowed eyes, Daniel informed the officer that he was perfectly capable of making his own way home, thank you very much. As it was, if anybody back home found out what he had been up to, he would have enough hell to pay without an alarming call from the police.

Luckily for him, when Daniel arrived, he found the apartment empty, all the lights out, and a dirty coffee cup still on the counter, letting him know no one had been home since morning. Thank god for the small mercies, Daniel thought as he settled in his office, hoping to grade some papers for his university job, the one that actually paid the bills. Well, his bills anyway. However, he didn’t manage to read more than a handful of essays before the bell interrupted him.

“Aayat is that you? You lost your keys again-" Daniel stopped short in the middle of his sentence as he opened his front door, uncomprehending.

There, standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at him with huge Bambi eyes, was not his daughter as he had expected, but him.

Dressed casually in dark jeans, a vintage Loyola University sweatshirt, and black sneakers with red soles that betrayed their price tag, stood Armand Ahmedov, looking for all the world like the ordinary, everyday TA Daniel knew he wasn't.

There was nothing ordinary about that boy, not his lustrous black curls, nor his perfect golden brown skin, and definitely not his Caravaggio angel face. Armand was too pretty and too brilliant to be anything but trouble.

“Good evening, Professor Molloy” He greeted, overly formal, making Daniel frown.

“Armand, I’m not in the mood for-”

“Please, professor” The boy insisted, undeterred by Daniel’s sour face, “This will only take a minute”

Somehow, Daniel doubted that. He let him in anyway.

It was a somewhat awkward walk through the apartment and back into his office, though Daniel had no reason to be nervous. At least not yet. Decorum mandated that he sat at his desk, so he did exactly that. But Armand came to a stop before it, eyes still fixed on Daniel. Sighing, the old men motioned at the chair in front of him, then and only then Armand took his seat.

“So, mister Ahmedov, I assume this isn’t a social visit…”

Armand had the decency to look embarrassed,

“It isn’t, and I apologize, both for the late hour and for inconveniencing you in your home.” Yeah, right, Daniel thought. Yet he couldn’t deny that watching the normally stoic young man, proud to the point of arrogance, fidget anxiously with the sleeves of his too-big sweatshirt was kind of endearing.

“As I’m sure you noticed, I haven't turned in the last homework you assigned us yet…”

“No extensions” Daniel shot back automatically, “That’s the rule. A deadline is a deadline”

Armand blushed. He honest to god blushed.

“A- actually, between my other assignments and my job at the paper, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it at all”

Daniel scoffed,

“So what are you doing here? Do you expect me to just give you the credits for free?”

Armand gulped, lowering his eyes, suddenly unable to meet Daniel’s.

“Not… not for free, professor” He stammered, “I… I could make it up to you”

“I… what?”

The young brunet took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his courage before raising from his chair and rounding the desk. Instinctively, Daniel turned his chair toward him.

“I can make it up for you, professor” Armand repeated more firmly, letting his fingertips caress the dark mahogany of the desk. Daniel couldn’t help but zero on the movement. “Anything you want me to, I’ll do it”

“Armand…”

“I’ve noticed the way you look at me, professor” Armand interrupted his attempt at protesting, “The way your eyes linger on me, the way they trace my movements in the classroom. I like it. I like your attention on me”

Now that Daniel did not doubt. If it was something Armand seemed to thrive on, was attention.

But Daniel wasn’t that kind of man. He had never fantasized about sleeping with a student, in fact, he felt a deep disdain for those in the faculty who did get involved with a student. Even when all parts involved were adults, he could never get over the ick factor of it all.

“Listen, Armand-” He tried again, but the boy stepped forwards, boldly taking hold of Daniel’s knees and separating them to make room as he fell to his knees, and the little voice of conscience in Daniel’s head fell silent.

“I can make it good for you, professor” Armand’s voice coaxed, softly making its way to Daniel’s ears, muffled by his own blood racing inside his veins, not exactly in the direction of his head, “Let me make it good for you…”

Daniel shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. It was wrong and it was twisted, it was the lowest, the most despicable way of taking advantage of someone.

And he wanted it.

Looking down at the big doe eyes of the boy kneeling between his legs, Daniel realized he wanted it.

"Please, Professor Molloy" Armand pleaded, perfect little mouth puckered into a pout. The little shit, "I want you to do it. I want you to use me"

There was a beat, then two, as Daniel tried to get hold of the meager strands of his feeble self-control. And then he lounged.

Bending almost in half, Daniel crashed his mouth against Armand’s hot and moist one, plunging his tongue into it at once in a hungry, messy kiss. Armand offered no resistance, letting the older man ravage his mouth to his heart's content, only breaking the kiss when the need for oxygen forced him to. Emboldened by Daniel’s response, Armand went for the button of his slacks, but Daniel got hold of his wrists, stopping him.

“Professor, what’s wrong?”

Fuck, he sounded so young, so vulnerable. It made Daniel want to wreck him.

“You thought it would be so easy, didn’t you? That you’d walk into my house, begging all pretty, then suck my cock and I would give you an A, just like that?”

Armand frowned in confusion,

“I- I thought…”

“Get up”

“But-”

“Now!” Daniel commanded with as much authority as he could muster with a raging hard-on tenting his pants. The young TA scrambled to obey. Daniel noticed with satisfaction that he was sporting a bulge in his pants of his own.

“On the desk” He leaned back, making room for Armand to sit in front of him, “Legs open”

Daniel would be lying if he said it didn’t send a little thrill through him, to see the beautiful boy do as he was told, even going as far as placing his palms flat on the desk at either side of him, submissively, waiting to see what Daniel would do next.

He decided that what he wanted to do next was indulge.

“Take your sweatshirt off” Before the words were done leaving Daniel’s mouth, the boy’s maroon sweater and t-shirt were on the floor. Apparently, Armand was a very good boy. Who would have thought?

Of course, that was Daniel’s last coherent thought for a couple of minutes, the amount of bronze skin exposed enough to cause eighty-six billion neurons to go out of commission.

“Fuck, you truly are pretty”

Armand’s whole demeanor changed, softening somehow. Relaxing. And Daniel was rewarded with a deep, tender kiss. A sensuous affair of tongues sliding against each other, neither dominating nor dominated, kissing for the sake of kissing, for the sake of sucking the boy’s plush lower lip into his mouth and feeling his silky soft curls between his fingers, of coaxing those delicious sighs and little whines out of his throat. It whetted Daniel's appetite till he was ready to devour.

With an oh-so-gentle shove to Armand’s shoulder, Daniel laid him back on his cluttered desk like a feast, knocking over pens and papers and even his goddamned laptop. Nothing mattered to him more than the boy with the sun-kissed skin currently under him, moaning sweetly as Daniel bit bruises down his neck. It was a herculean effort to part from Armand long enough to tear those criminally tight jeans from his body, getting briefly tangled in his red soles before brute strength alone forced them to hit the floor with a thud, one after the other. The kid had committed to the role, Daniel had to give him that: The lack of underwear was somewhat expected, but to see him like that, to see Armand’s skin smooth, clean shaved everywhere, well… there was something so lewd, something so dirty about it, whatever was left of Daniel’s feeble self-control snapped. He gave Armand no warning, no chance of bracing himself before taking his entire length into his mouth, swallowing him whole, relishing in the wordless scream he let out.

Armand’s cock was long, all of him was, and so thick that, even if he relaxed his throat and breathed through his nose, Daniel had no chance of getting any air into his lungs unless he retreated a little. Armand didn’t seem to mind though, clutching at the edges of the desk so hard his knuckles were white, looking at Daniel through big, wet dark eyes.

“Pro- professor…”

Daniel smoothed a soothing, possessive touch down the boy’s sides, his ribs, his bony hipbones, before pinning them down to the wood, and starting to bob his head up and down, letting the mushroom head of Armand’s dick hit the back of his throat, swallowing around it on every other stroke. Those were efficient movements, designed to get the boy off as quickly and hard as possible. Professional movements perfected in dirty bathroom bars and dark alleyways during the seventies; Armand, experienced, proud, and worldly as he was, didn’t stand a chance. It took no time at all for his eyes to shut and hips to spasm, trying in vain to buck blindly into the mouth that never faltered, never went faster, but simply knew exactly just how to extract the pleasure out of him in the most economical way. The boy came with a shout, nearly causing Daniel to choke, little strings of milk white dripping down Armand’s cock even as Daniel chased them with his tongue. No one could say Daniel Molloy didn’t clean up his messes.

Once he was done, he didn’t waste any time in niceties, flipping up the dazed young man and manhandling him until he was bent over the desk, his chest against the cool wood and ass up in the air. Armand was much too tall for his feet to dangle over the floor, but he was too surprised and disoriented to find purchase on it anyway. It wasn’t until Daniel took his wrists and secured them to the small of his back with one of his pale, wrinkled hands that the boy started to struggle. Daniel released him, jumping back as if he had been electrocuted.

“Babe? Shit, are you ok?” When Armand didn’t reply at once, Daniel stepped around, ignoring his ancient, stiff knees as he lowered himself directly into Armand’s line of view.

To his surprise, his lover’s face, far from distressed, was smiling pleasantly, almost peacefully. However, it wasn’t entirely reassuring, Daniel himself was well acquainted with that hazy limbo, where the body felt floaty and the world blurry, and nothing that happened to him felt a hundred percent real. He knew how important it was the other person was completely conscientious not to cross any limit or betray your trust, even unintentionally, in such a vulnerable state.

“Babe, come back to me,” He demanded, snapping his fingers in Armand’s face, “tell me your color. I need you to tell me what is your color…”

That seemed to do the trick, his boy’s eyes slowly focusing on him,

“Green, Daniel. My color is green” He replied in an almost bored, mildly annoyed tone. Yup, his Armand was back alright, “consensual non-consent is something we agreed upon before, remember? My color is still very green”

“Right. Sorry, just checking”

Armand rose to his elbows.

“I appreciate your attentiveness,” he reassured his husband, “now shut up, and fuck me”

“Aye, aye, boss”

Just like that, Daniel slid back into character. Flattening his palm between Armand’s shoulders, he shoved him onto the desk again, letting his hand trail down all the way to his ass, where he grabbed handfuls of both cheeks on each of his hands, parting them to get a look at Armand��s tight little hole.

And he was pretty sure he almost had a heart attack.

There, resting between Armand's muscular buttocks, designed to be completely unnoticed under the clothes, rested an elongated stripe of silver metal, with a clear shiny stone right where Armand’s entrance would be. If Daniel had to take a guess, he'd bet the stone was real. Leave it to Armand to come to him wearing a diamond-encrusted buttplug.

“Jesus fucking Christ” Daniel muttered, feeling light-headed, to horny too even stand straight, “You’re going to be the death of me”

“Don’t say that, beloved” Armand protested, breaking character, “I would never do anything to hurt you”

“Hmmm… is that so?” Hooking his pointer and middle fingers on the little handle of Armand’s toy, Daniel pretended to consider his words, “And what would you do for me? What would you do for your dear professor?”

A long, pitiful sob left Armand’s lips as Daniel started to slide the toy in and out, slowly, fucking him with it. But he arched like a cat, offering his hole up, encouraging the professor to keep going.

“Anything” He finally moaned, “anything”

“Will you let me fuck this pretty little ass raw?”

Armand seemed to hesitate before replying, a little shakily,

“Yes, Professor Molloy”

“Very well then” Daniel played with the plug just a few more seconds before taking it all the way off and tossing it away somewhere into the shadows of the office. Then, he made a show of taking off his belt and unzipping his pants as unhurried and loudly as possible, savoring the anticipation, the growing tension in the boy's locked muscles.

"Lube?"

"Jeans' pocket"

Daniel slicked himself up and then squirted a generous amount of the viscous liquid straight onto Armand’s crack, watching the boy flinch a little at the coolness of it. Holding onto the boy’s hipbone, he lined his cock with his fluttering hole and pushed inside.

It was tight. Real fucking tight. Deliberately so, Daniel was sure of it. Armand was very well acquainted with his exact girth, there was no way he had chosen the wrong-sized plug by accident. Taking a steading breath, gritting his teeth, he undulated his hip, burying himself just a little deeper, but Armand’s body jerked forwards, instinctively scrambling away from the burning of the intrusion.

“Oh, no you won’t” Daniel breathed out, draping himself over the younger man’s back, letting the weight of his body trap Armand against the smooth, cold wood of the desk, “Isn’t this what you wanted, baby? You did this on purpose. You want it to hurt, you want to feel my big fat prick tear you apart…” The sweet, chaste kiss he planted on Armand’s shoulder somehow felt more perverse than anything they had been doing, “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy knows just how to give it to you”

Holding onto the boy’s shoulder for leverage, Daniel pushed in again, slow but inescapable, reclaiming the meager inches Armand had managed to gain back, muffling the boy’s cries with his lube-wet hand. Giving himself completely over to his dirty old man character, Daniel soothed mockingly into Armand’s ear,

"Relax, baby. It'll get better the more I fuck you"

He continued the corkscrew movements of his hips, even as Armand trashed beneath him, trying in vain to find the edge of the desk with his hands, wether to hold onto for leverage to dislodge Daniel off his back or simply to ground himself, Daniel didn’t know nor took the chance to find out. Soon as he was finally flush to the boy’s perky little ass, he withdrew, only to slam back in. There was nothing Armand could really do to fight him anyway, pinned as he was between his lover and the expensive mahogany he was staining with his sweat and his spit, falling from his parted lips as he was speared over and over by Daniel’s cock.

"Fuck… feels so good… could fuck this tight little ass for hours…" He was laying it in in earnest now, rocking the boy back and forth with the violence of his thrusts, knocking whatever stationery was left on his workspace over. Armand’s sobs had changed their pitch, his lover no longer able to hide the pleasure he was feeling at Daniel’s assault.

"Yes, just like that, scream my name… you sound as pretty as any whore…"

The moan that escaped Armand’s mouth at the name-calling was obscene. Daniel loved it.

"You like that, don't you?.. You like being my little whore, want daddy to use you till you're sore…" He reached under Armand then, hand wrapping around his still semi-soft cock, making him jump. Daniel chuckled darkly, "To sensitive, baby? Is it too much?"

Armand buckled his hips but there was no escape for him, if he moved forward he jerked himself on Daniel’s hand, if he moved back, he only impaled himself further on his cock. Daniel never relented, never slowed his rhythm even as the boy started to shake, but he did offered a way out,

"You know what to say if you want it to stop…" He panted against Armand’s curls, "just say the word and it's over… What is-fuck… What is your color?"

"Green!" Armand yelled, grinding back to meet Daniel thrust for thrust, "greengreengreen… so green! Harder… Master, fuck me harder, please!"

Daniel cursed. Armand had never used that word before. It was obvious something had unlocked inside his husband, he was quivering and mewling under him, hand searching back for something. Daniel grabbed it, interlocking their fingers as he started milking Armand’s cock, fucking him as hard and fast as he was able to. Armand went limp under him, melting into the desk, moaning with abandon, clenching around Daniel’s cock in time with the movements of his hand on his own dick.

"You want it harder baby?.. " Daniel was barely coherent himself, too caught up in the feeling of Armand’s velvety heat around every inch of his cock, the perfect friction sending shock after shock of white hot pleasure through his old, frayed nerves. It was pure animal instinct, the way he shoved one of Armand’s knees up on the desk, changing the angle so he could shove himself deeper, tearing a new wave of cries out of his boy. His hand went still, simply cupping Armand’s dick, protecting it from getting smashed against the wood, but it didn’t matter, the back and forth movement of his thrusts providing enough stimulation as the bulbous head of his cock hit Armand’s prostate over and over again.

"That's it… come for me… come with me taking you like this… Fuck, Armand!.. So perfect, taking my cock so deep… Wanna fill you up… wanna come so deep I'll be spilling out of you for days…"

The dirty talk seemed to finally drive Armand over the edge, his muscles locking up, whole body tensing up, squeezing Daniel’s cock so tight it physically hurt. It was too much for the old man, who couldn't help but burst at the pressure, coming so hard, his vision went black for a few seconds. He collapsed on his lover’s back, gasping for air as Armand seemed to do the same.

"That was…"

"Yeah"

"I'm…" Daniel trailed off, making Armand chuckle. The older man closed his eyes, thinking he could die happy like that, with Armand’s laugh vibrating through his chest.

"I know, beloved. I know."

On shaking arms, Daniel lifted himself away from his husband’s body, but didn't make it very far, collapsing on the chair closest to him. Armand let out a little displeased noise at the loss of his lover’s warmth and weight. He rose immediately, on what Daniel was proud to notice, also very unsteady legs, just so he could go climb on his lap.

Daniel’s arms wrapped around him instantly, a reflex at that point, nothing felt as natural to him as having Armand in his arms anymore.

Burying his nose on the dark curls, he inquired,

"Are you ok, babe?"

The brunet on his lap laughed softly.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that? Need I remind you that this was my idea?"

"And how long exactly did you have this idea?" Daniel hummed thoughtfully, "Is this what you thought about in class? Me railing you on that desk?"

"In front of the entire class," Armand confirmed, unashamed, "but you didn't even look at me twice"

"That's bullshit and you know it," Daniel protested. Armand had made sure he noticed him, antagonizing him at every turn, challenging his every teaching, "But you're right, I would never had allow myself to think about one of my students like that"

Even after Armand stopped being one of his students, Daniel didn’t dare to think of him like that, to even dream he could have this with him. He had been attracted, of course, he had eyes and Armand was fucking gorgeous. But even after an entire summer of coffee sharing and debating about everything from the possibility of life after death to war, from the physiology of morality, to alien life and the fucking Fibonacci sequence, it had taken Armand crowding him against a wall in a deserted museum after hours, blindsiding him with a kiss that stole all of his breath away, for him to understand that the beautiful young man was trying to date him.

Of course, Daniel had been completely his after that.

"You made me wait so long, my beloved…" Armand complained, whiny and sulky. Daniel didn’t even try to resist the impulse to bite that pout off his lips.

"Hmmm but I made it worth your while after that, didn’t I?" He countered after they broke apart, nuzzling at the bronze skin of his husband’s neck. Armand retaliated by trading his long fingers through Daniel’s soft silver curls, nails scratching pleasantly at the sensitive skin of his scalp.

"That you did, lover mine. That you did…" After a couple of minutes went by without Daniel replying, he looked down. "Daniel, are you falling asleep?"

"No, of course not" The older man lied, opening his eyes for good measure. Armand did not buy it.

"You know, we have a perfectly good bed, one with a bespoke mattress that won't leave your back feeling sore in the morning…"

"Don't wanna move just yet" Daniel half explained, half decided, tightening his grip around Armand to stop him from moving either, "comfy now"

His husband sighed in fond exasperation,

"Fine. But only five more minutes."

"Aye, aye, boss"

The last thing Daniel saw before closing his eyes, was Armand’s besotted smile. yb

#interview with the vampire #fanfiction #armand x daniel molloy #lestat de lioncourt x louis de pointe du lac #smut #amc iwtv #old man daniel molloy cause old maniel can GET IT

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shallowseeker · 4 months ago

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I think it was you had this meta about how dean as when he's a leader has to be like a doctor that does surgery on his own family. This image stuck with me! I looked but tumblr won't let me find it. Was this yours? Do you know it off the top of your head?

I think you're talking about this? TFW are fascinating disaster parents and I dig it. There's a snippet at the end that compares Dean to a doctor operating on family.

///////

SNIPPET:

Dean craves safety and being protected, but that’s somewhat incompatible with protecting everyone

Dean never got to be valued and protected growing up, so he secretly craves that. But Sam is correct in his psycho-analysis. Dean’s neurosis is wanting to protect everyone, and this is often fundamentally, violently incompatible with letting your family fight alongside you.

All things considered, Dean rarely resorts to going lone wolf, like with the Mark of Cain. Despite his discomfort, he tries to marshal everyone under one roof, and that often results in a degree of my-way-or-the-highway type rigidity as a means of neurotically trying to keep everyone safe.

In fact, Cas often avoids this dilemma altogether by going lone wolf. (They all do this on occasion, but Cas's background as a soldier is especially tired to this. Mary, as a child soldier, has this issue, too. Jack has the same issue in AU earth when he tries to run away to confront Michael on his own.)

................ When the fights get too BIG (as they often do in Supernatural), Dean cannot ensure the safety of his loved ones, and he freaks the fuck out. When Dean can neither protect nor stop family/comrades from going into danger, you get these coping mechanisms:

Benching the player: “Wait, you might get hurt, so I’m gonna say that I don’t trust you to be in that fight at all so maybe you won't!" Sometimes, this need to kick people to the bench comes out as a barb: “You’re an incompetent baby who does stupid things. Baby in a trenchcoat. You’re an idiot. To Jack: You’re 98 pounds soaking wet.” etc etc.

Fatalism: “I’m powerless / this whole fight is meaningless / there’s nothing we can do / we have no choice.” All members of TFW slip into this in different ways. Giving up is a natural part of SPN, something that each family member goes through depending on the psychological wound of the moment.

Denial: Other times, Dean downplays the danger, which can result in meanness and occasionally a lack of support/neglect.

With regards to Cas, we see an even more colorful option deployed and one of my all-time favorites: goading him into being stronger. It's a barbed version of, “You can do it, Cas!”

SAM: Tell me again why you don’t just grab Adam and shazam the Hell out of there. CAS: Because there are at least five angels in there. DEAN: So? You’re fast. CAS: They’re faster. (CAS takes off his tie and wraps it around his palm. Dean looks on worriedly. ///Aside: Hilariously, two seconds later Dean is like WAIT YOU'RE GONNA TAKE ON FIVE ANGELS? :((((( )

Cas doesn't fit in his pre-conceived notions of anything

In early days, Dean is incredibly spun out and confused by Cas, who he wants to be protected by and protect. In the beginning, in season 4, he’s still wanting to think of Cas as invincible.

Post-Cas’s first death, Dean tries to pin him down as brother, and at times he even infantilizes Cas as he evolves into needing to protect him.

But bottom line, he just can’t make Cas FIT. He’s a comrade, but there are extra layers to their relationship that get confusing real fast. We get these Dean coping mechanisms in seasons 5-6 alone!

(A) Goad him into being more powerful and better so he’s safe

(B) insult him to underscore that he’s in danger and maybe shouldn’t be fighting at all

I think in season 8, Dean figures out what those extra layers are, and in season 9, they deal with rejecting each other by accident, and in season 10, they’re respectively dealing with their past traumas and baggage. Then, in seasons 11-12, they’re grappling with the whole embarrassing and terrifying fiasco of wanting to commit to each other.

But to my point about cosmic family members, there’s this simmering tension concerning the danger of celestial power running throughout. A feeling of:

“Dude you’re kinda scary and I instinctually know this because I’m a seasoned hunter. But I’m gonna keep ignoring that gut instinct because reasons.”

And confusingly, there’s also this feeling:

“I can’t really protect myself from you, since you’re stronger than me. And I’m not strong enough to protect you from your enemies… or stop you from leaving.

See this quote from season 8:

CAS: See, it wasn’t that I was weak. I was stronger than you. I pulled away. Nothing you could have done would have saved me, because I didn’t want to be saved. DEAN (distraught): What the Hell are you talking about?

Dean was SO upset that Cas let go. That he didn’t even try. (Dean and Cas often give up, but they become unhinged if the other partner gives up.) For someone like Dean, whose instinct is to squirrel away his family in a protective underground bunker? That’s a tension that feels devastating.

///

As a main character/battle commander, Dean knows that tactically, Jack and Cas will take on big, scary responsibilities by virtue of being, as season 15’s Belphegor so eloquently puts it, “the muscle.”

…and this is in direct conflict with Dean’s baseline need to protect everyone.

He doesn’t want to gamble with them at all. (See season 12's "We gambled with Cas, and now Amara's got him!") He wants to say, “you’re more than a weapon,” (13x14 Good Intentions script) and Cas wants to tell him, “in times of peace, I can be.”

DEAN: Cas, you’re more than a weapon– CAS: In times of peace I can be, but if (war) is coming…

....

TFW and the burden of leading

This, at times, makes Dean a rigid, unhinged leader. That’s because he’s too often sending his own fam into battle. And who wouldn’t be unhinged about that? There’s a reason we don’t operate on our own family members in a medical setting, for example.

When Dean is a leader, he can be like a dog with rabies foaming at the mouth, backed into a corner. It’s the worst.

Sam, on the other hand, fares pretty well as a leader, because he values independence so highly, and that kinda works for him. (He’s pragmatic and he dissociates very effectively.)

#old rambles #how do you remember this shit #i had to ctrl F my way through my archive lol #asks

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