#??? potentially

[gutsby]

Watch Your Mouth

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Silence kink. Size kink. Breeding kink. Age gap. Joel is a lot more experienced (!) Finger sucking. Orgasm denial. Soft dom!Joel x10000.

Word count: 1.9k

Maybe a hand was too much.

A kiss to stifle your cries, a tongue between your lips to steal any trace of a whimper before it could ever leave. Joel knew by the way your wet, pliant hole stretched wider and wider for him with each thrust that you’d eventually quiet down—but he needed silence now.

And he’d get it when he clamped his palm over your mouth. At first, your brows lifted with surprise, then pinched inward like you didn’t understand, then twitched again, involuntarily, when the head of his cock cleared a path straight toward your cervix. You whimpered into his hand and made a point to dig your heels even deeper in his back. Joel had promised he’d be better about that.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled.

Another stab. Another whimper, only louder this time.

“Sorry, baby, I’m—” Joel stopped to fight back a groan of his own, before pressing his palm down with even more force, “—sorry, jus’ need ya real quiet right now, okay?”

You tried to nod, but the weight and stricture of his grip were as heavy as lead against your face. Add to that the soft, sawing motions of his cock going in and out of your cunt and the nudge of his oversized tip at your cervix, and it was all you could do to just lay there and take it. Joel knew this was brand new to you—he’d been your first not too long ago and the only partner since—so he eased back and lifted his hand when you gave it a tug.

Grey stubble was already licking at the corners of your mouth with Joel’s minuscule kisses of reassurance when you giggled and squeezed him tighter between your legs:

“I’m tryin’, Joel. Really, I am,” you whispered.

“I know, sweet pea,” he whispered back, “I know.”

He took the palm he’d used to stifle your moans and smoothed it over your cheek, coming to rest at one side so he could kiss you fully. Maybe a hand was too much.

He’d inculcate restraint some other way, and if it didn’t come easy, a few more fucks on the forest floor like this one would probably do the trick. Your mouth opened up for his tongue just like your cunt would open up for more of his cum and the rest of your body would surely follow suit, learning to control the noises of pleasure as needed.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured against your lips, feeling you clench around him and expel a breath rather than whine. He withdrew himself to the tip, then plunged back in, “Such a good, perfect girl for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

At length, you yelped into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. Rather than reprimand you with words or smother your lips with his palm, though, Joel kept fucking you gently.

“‘S’okay, pretty girl, it’s okay. I know that feels good.”

His mouth was next to your ear now, praises audible to no one else but you. It added a whole new dimension to your pleasure; Joel could tell from the way your walls constricted around him and choked him, sucked him in. The feeling nearly elicited a groan from his chest, but of course, he had all the resolve of a seasoned professional. Decades and decades of practice had done that for him.

“Joel,” you mewled.

Your face was screwed up in a grimace, eyes likely to be brimming with tears any second now. Joel slowed his pace once more, felt a pang of guilt for how big he felt inside you—how those decades and decades of practice set you drastically apart from each other in experience—and this time, he didn’t try to muffle your whines. He just stroked the top of your cheek with one thumb, and with the other, snaked a path between your body and his.

Admittedly, Joel was still learning about yours. He wasn’t sure if the whimpers you’d made were born wholly of pleasure or just a sense of being stretched out and filled. Because you yourself were still learning to be vocal, Joel figured he’d give the latter a stab. He started thumbing your clit in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

It worked, and it didn’t.

Your walls parted easily beneath the quiet ministrations of his thumb, opening yourself more to Joel’s thrusts, but they also tore a scream out of your throat—the kind that was liable to stir the leaves on every tree and alert any clicker within a two-mile radius to your presence.

The kind of outcome Joel had been trying to prevent when he’d brought you on patrol with him in the first place. The kind of sound he was trying to fuck out of your body completely; teach you to keep quiet and still for when the two of you inevitably got bored during perimeter watch and rolled the sleeping bag out to fuck.

Joel tensed above you and cast a quick look around. Sure, he’d picked a decently safe spot, but then you—

“Joel, I—”

Without thinking, the man stopped and stuck the first thing he could possibly fit in your mouth: his thumb. Whatever you’d been trying to say to him was promptly lost in a hum against his knuckle, lips enveloping the thick, callused digit like some tangy-flavored lolly. Joel’s hips sank back into yours, slowly, and he felt the reverberations of another moan spill over his finger.

He swallowed and stared. That shouldn’t have been nearly as sexy as you’d just made it seem, especially when your life and his hung in such a precarious position.

Joel dragged his cock back out and happened to graze a sensitive, spongy ridge inside you, which made you moan again. You hollowed your cheeks and gritted your teeth a bit more against his thumb, gripping Joel’s forearm for support as he continued to fuck you.

And, had you stayed like that a moment longer, you probably would’ve seen a shiny string of drool start to pool and stretch and fall out from one side of his mouth. Instead, Joel switched hands and popped the thumb that had been toying with your clit into your mouth, eyes glazed over with desire as they drank in the sight of you sucking his thumb again. The tip was still soaked with your warmth and slipped easily past your parted lips.

Another sound bubbled up your throat when you got a taste—Joel had always been in the habit of kissing you after eating you out, so you were well-acquainted with the flavor, but never had he fed you your own arousal on his finger. This felt obscene, something more than just pornographic as those deep, brown, lust-addled irises remained glued to where your lips closed around him.

“Y’like that, huh?” he said, voice reduced to a whisper once more while you nipped and suckled at the skin.

You bobbed your head to indicate yes, opened your mouth to tell him softly that you liked it so much—loved the taste and grit of his finger on your tongue, in fact. You wanted to show him you could be vocal, too, when Joel’s frame rose over yours a little more and seemed to blanket it entirely. Like he wanted to shield you, in a way.

“Shhhh, shhh…keep suckin’ like that. Stay still, okay?” Joel murmured, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this was a test. He was nodding, rutting gently between your legs, wedging his thumb deeper inside the wet, velvety contours of your mouth and waiting for a look from you to say that you understood.

You weren’t sure if you did, but you nodded anyway. Joel’s thumb made a wonderful sort of makeshift gag as he continued to thrust inside of you, his body somehow lowering to get even closer to yours. When he’d gotten sufficiently near, he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth—now stuffed with his thumb and leaking spit—and muttered something about how good you were for him, how nicely you fit around his cock. Then he tilted his hips and proceeded to pound you into the ground like an animal in heat. The only thing separating your ass from the patch of grass underneath it was a flimsy little blanket, and the only thing tethering you to earth, it seemed, was Joel’s cock. Your ankles locked behind his back, and his nose settled next to yours, breathing hard.

Even if he knew how to suppress his moans, the panting and strangled gasps were far beyond Joel’s control—as were the filthy, perverse words pouring out of his mouth.

“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, hon? Tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“Tell me she’s mine to fuck, stuff full’a cum, right here.”

And he gestured to the spot where your body stopped and his began, squelching noises punctuating each new thrust. Neither one of you minded the sound right now, especially when you knew where this was headed next.

Joel was grinning against your skin before he kissed it.

“She wants a baby, doesn’t she, honey? Wants me to put a baby in her and make that belly swell up pretty?”

You knew just as well as Joel that neither of you wanted children in a world like this—thoughts of breeding only occurred to you both when you were about to cum. Particularly when Joel’s thumb was slipping out of your mouth and his fingers were pinching either side of your face in a single grip, lips moving above yours. Making you meet his gaze as he squeezed your cheeks in a pout.

“You want my babies, baby?” Joel mumbled.

You felt a familiar twitch in his cock. You nodded.

Joel pinched harder and shook his head, unsatisfied.

“Say, ‘I want your babies, Joel.’”

“I want your babies, Joel.”

“Say, ‘I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me.’”

“I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me, please, Joel.”

Your voice was already hoarse from how low you had to whisper, how hard Joel’s broad and hefty stomach was pressing into your own, stealing the breath from your lungs and wreaking havoc on your brain as you struggled for air and imagined a world where your tummy was a little rounder. Plugged up with his cum one day and growing bigger with his child there inside you the next. The thought was dizzying in the abstract, enticing to the slightest degree in reality, and if you had to guess from the expression of the man currently sweating, grunting, and rutting into your body, you’d bet he felt the same.

It really was a shame you had to stay so quiet.

But, whether a clicker was five miles away or standing directly over his shoulder, Joel didn’t seem to care at all. Soft, silent reserve cast aside for the time being and hips slamming a bruising pace against your own, Joel seemed fine to let out sounds to show he was right about to cum. Grunts and whimpers were spilling left and right off his filthy, pretty tongue; his eyes were all but rolling back.

Truly, he couldn’t look more magnificent if he tried.

“Fuck, baby, I’m— I’m so close. Gonna fill you up.”

Featherlight clusters of soft grey hair were now darkened with sweat. They rested comfortably across his forehead. Under them, two thick brows furrowed in concentration.

“Gonna knock you up,” he added through gritted teeth.

That part was not a threat, but a promise.

You felt a tug and a pinch in your own stomach, signaling your oncoming release. You spread your legs wider for Joel, pressed a kiss to his jaw when he leaned in closer, made room for him to spill his load just how he wanted, and when it seemed he was a second from his peak—

A twig snapped nearby.

Both of you froze in place.

[aquitainequeen]

[spacerockband]

falin, who is extremely sure in all her personal relationships, versus marcille, who is... less so

[stangalina]

I want to read a fic where Arthur discovers that Merlin is Emrys, but the conflicting feelings of affection for Merlin and hatred for magic cause him to misunderstand the nature of Emrys' existence.

His brain rationalises the situation in the only way it can, and comes to the understanding that Merlin and Emrys are two separate people living in the same body. That Emrys is living WITHIN Merlin without Merlin's knowledge.

Which, if that were true, would actually be a smart move on the sorcerer's part. Arthur would not, will not, and will NEVER execute Merlin. He's also around Arthur all day everyday, so that means he's close by to get whatever he wants or needs from the king. This only further convinces Arthur that he's correct.

He is not correct, of course. But since he's Arthur, he doesn't communicate what he has "learned" with Merlin. He doesn't want to tell his clearly unaware manservant that he's got an all powerful sorcerer buried in his brain. And he certainly doesn't want to tell anyone else out of fear it'll lead to Merlin's death. So he keeps it to himself, like an idiot, and operates every day under the assumption that Merlin is possessed by the most powerful sorcerer to ever live.

Meanwhile, Merlin is thriving. Sure it had been terrifying for Arthur to first learn about the prophecy via a loose lipped druid on the verge of death, and THEN witness Merlin using his magic in order for the thing that killed the druid to not also kill Arthur, but the reveal had gone over shockingly well all things considered.

He did get a whole week of complete silence from Arthur, followed by a few more days of being stared at in a thoroughly unsettling manner, but after that everything went back to normal. Better than normal, in fact!

It was clear that Arthur was incredibly uncomfortable with his magic, which was understandable. Arthur may be a good man, but his quality of character didn't magically erase the prejudices and experiences that had been hammered into his head over and over since he was a child. The way he seemed to be coping with it was by pretending that nothing had happened at all, which was just fine as far as Merlin was concerned.

Gaius disagreed. But what did Gaius know? Healthy communication? Don't need it.

Merlin didn't use his magic around Arthur on the day to day, even though he could be sure he wouldn't get executed for it anymore. He didn't want to make Arthur uncomfortable, so he went along with the unspoken plan of pretending that nothing had happened. Resuming the exact same routines and behaviours that he'd been doing for years now. Gradually, Arthur relaxed. Well, as much as Arthur Pendragon can relax. And life resumed as normal.

Except for one little detail.

Sometimes, Arthur would call him Emrys. Not all the time, and certainly not when people were around to hear or see. But sometimes.

When he needed help. When he needed magical help.

An enchantment on a courtier, an artifact found buried under a house, a monster wreaking havoc on a town, or a hoard of bandits descending upon the two of them in the woods. A tome, a necklace, a potion, a poison, a cure.

If Arthur called him Merlin, he wanted his manservant. If Arthur called him Emrys, he wanted his sorcerer. It was a neat little system, Merlin thought. A sort of code, just for the two of them.

Of course, this equilibrium can only exist for so long before something slips and shit gets messy. But that's all part of the fun!

[sagaduwyrm]

DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

Now on AO3

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are. 

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp. 

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic. 

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly.  The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific. 

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

[venacoeurva]

World eater, but actually large and intimidating

-Please do not reupload, edit or use without proper credit or linking back. Ask first, please.-

[lightbulb-warning]

today i offer you prompts 11-20 for isat month!! ignore your calendar THANKYUUUU <3

[copypasteking]

[theworkerofkeay]

Here’s a tease of part of whats to come tomorrow from me. Upon further consideration I realized I can share this now since it’s not a spoiler for anything tmagp related.

But it is a monster Jon base 👀 👀 I WISH he was here; I miss the Archivist man.

[tourettesdog]

DPxDC prompt where Tim decides to pursue more photography. He puts vigilantism on the backburner, picking up his camera. He puts aside the casework, does his best to focus on his art. He just needs a year-- a month-- a week away from the Batcomputer. He just needs something else to focus on that doesn't spiral into sleepless nights.

He spends a night out in Gotham, taking as many shots as he can. Gargoyles, grotesques, skyscrapers, canals, trees, ponds-- he's excited to see how it all develops. It's been too long.

It's relaxing, developing the photos. He's proud when he pulls the first few, finding them perfect-- Though he's perplexed and annoyed when the four that follow are overexposed and ruined and…

Tim doesn't remember seeing a glowing boy on that rooftop. Or in the park.

… He buries his head in his hands, swearing. Photography was supposed to keep Tim away from fucking casework.

[full-clown-car]

Okay, here’s my hot take that’s gonna get me canceled. Joker 2 was good. Really good. The only reason people didn’t like it is that the first movie garnered a fan base comprised largely of incels who see themselves in Arthur Fleck, and wanted to live out their revenge fantasy through his portrayal, and the movie didn’t go in that direction, and now they’re big mad.

I mean, it’s dark. And depressing. But it’s real. It incorporates a comic book storyline and manages to make it really real. The shit that happens in it is depressingly real.

I will probably expand on that more in future but for now I just want to say that, given that fanbase, I think it was really responsible of the director to show it that way rather than playing to the fantasy, even if it was an unpopular decision.

Don’t get me wrong, the movie contains some disturbing shit. But it’s all the more disturbing because it’s real. And that’s what I think is responsible about it: the specific disturbing shit they chose to portray, and what they were saying about the system each time they chose to portray it.

(Also the movie contains a Joker-Harley sex scene, and although I’m sure the fans wanted it to be sexy and are salty that it wasn’t, I am glad that it wasn’t. And it really really wasn’t, at least in my opinion. It was disturbing. And I think it was a responsible choice for the filmmakers to portray their relationship in this way, as opposed to the “mad love” situation people so often fall for. It’s like when people write love letters to serial killers in jail, you know? It’s not so cute and fun in real life. Anyway the sex scene was realistically disturbing and Gaga and Phoenix absolutely nailed the vibe of that scene. As I knew they would.)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 252

“Sir, we’ve… There’s been an encounter with a Reaper class entity.” 

There were several classifications for ecto-entities. Several ways the Ghost Investigation Ward classified each. Several common ones that they could easily destroy, easily study. Others however… others were dangerous. Incredibly dangerous. 

There’d only been two other Reaper-class entities confirmed before- both contained but barely. RP-1, a large knight-like entity seemingly made from shadows, and RP-2, a child-like creature that could near perfectly mimic a human. 

And now, there was a third. A third entity that could- and judging from the reports coming in had- killed. Had done so several times even. Which meant it needed to be contained yesterday. 

“Send out the teams- I want this thing in Site X Now!” 

[ganondoodle]

actually, i did draw this today ... the only thing i actually saved the file of ( .. have i ever drawn a zentaur??? idk??not what i had in mind .. obviously) feels almost embarassing, but maybe its good to know to some that even artists you might perceive as better than you can draw things that arent up to their usual quality

[electrozeistyking]

“Some new vermin crawled down here. Never seen anything like it before... something about it feels wrong.”

[violent138]

Either need to write a fic/find the fic or find the comic panel where Superbat fake an argument in front of the League for... some narrative purpose or other (finding a traitor or fooling an enemy) because it would be so funny if rather than the official business dispute script they'd written prior they both get way too into it and unleash their true thoughts, which come across extremely convincingly like an old married couple, complete with references to the dog, their shared kid, emotional unavailability, et cetera.

This leads Diana and Hal to decide to do some couples counselling. And other plot events *waves hand* they beat the bad guy... they kiss or something I don't know.