#I hope y'all enjoyed this one!!

[federthenotsogreat]

🌌Multi-eyes🌌 in My Crown In Red 👑

This is the last one of the bigger infodumps I plan on doing! This one won't be as complicated as the others, but it's still an important topic that I want to explain for those curious!

In this post I'll go over

🌌- What multi-eyes are

🌌- What multi-eyes are not

🌌- Forms and experiences of multi-eyes

Enjoy!

🌌What are multi-eyes?🌌

A multi-eye is a naturally occurring multiverse anomaly, which grants the affected insight into the inner workings of the world around them.

A multi-eye is able to look into the multiverse, gaining knowledge about things they shouldn't be aware of. A seer if you will. Depending on the individual, a multi-eye might take one look at you and be able to spill your entire life story without even having met you. They can also have knowledge about the future, other universes etc...

You are born a multi-eye, and can't become one via training, the same way a multi-eye can't train their powers to become stronger, or discard of their powers!

🌌What are multi-eyes not?🌌

Multi-eyes are exceptionally rare, being the only known ultiverse anomaly that occurs naturally and without needing any universe distortion for it to appear.

Considering all the different realities in MCIR's multiverse, stumbling across a multi-eye is incredibly rare.

This is important to remember, as not every "character" that breaks the fourth wall is a multi-eye. Almost every time a person from a cartoon makes a self aware joke, or an individual is seemingly aware of the workings of their own reality, it's most likely the multiverse covering a possibility, or the individual existing inside a bubble, in which the multiverse functions differently.

Even people from video games, who seem to be aware of the players existence, or are able to control the game they exist in, via erasing safe states or installing text files on your PC, are never guaranteed to be multi-eyes!

The only way to know for sure, would be to have multi-eye like powers yourself!

🌌Forms and experiences of multi-eyes🌌

There are different forms of multi-eyes that all vary in their ways of obtaining knowledge.

Let's sort them into three different stages!

-Stage 1:

Stage one multi-eyes struggle the most when it comes to gaining the knowledge they need. Most of the time they don't have information right away and need to concentrate on it for longer, sorting their thoughts into right and wrong until something feels correct. A multi-eye at stage one might also struggle more with one type of information, while being able to gain another kind more easily! They also tend to get things wrong sometimes, and are not as reliable as you think they would be.

Demonsoul is the perfect example of a stage one multi-eye. For example, she's able to gain knowledge about other realities pretty easily, but struggles immensely when trying to gain information about her own universe. She's also better at telling the past than she is predicting the future.

-Stage 2:

A multi-eye at stage two would be able to gain knowledge much more smoothly! Most of the time they don't have to think about the information they want to have, they're just born with most of their knowledge already. They might still face some limitations though.

In the course of MCIR's story, Demonsoul miraculously manages to stumble across another multi-eye by accident. They are aware of the role their universe is playing and already have all the knowledge they could desire when it comes to the past and present, but cannot predict the future at all, no matter how hard they try!

-Stage 3:

Also sometimes referred to as a "true multi-eye" by Demonsoul! A true multi-eye doesn't face any form of limitation. A multi-eye on stage 3 is simply all knowing, facing no struggles when it comes to obtaining knowledge.

As stated earlier, multi-eyes are born with their abilities, and can't really train to become better, expert for perhaps gaining a tiny bit of reliability here and there. They also can't get rid of or drown out their abilities!

Some multi-eyes have always had their powers, while others may need more time for their powers to develop! As children, multi-eyes (especially those in stage 1) might hold strange beliefs on how the world around them functions, as their powers are slowly starting to grow, granting them knowledge.

A multi-eye cannot not control their powers. They might be living their lifes and just like that, they suddenly have a bunch of personal information about somebody close to them, which makes them feel uncomfortable. They might also have pictures flashing before their eyes, unable to intervene, which is something relatively common for a "weaker" multi-eye

A multi-eye on stage one might also rely on their instincts a lot of the time, trying to go by their gut when attempting to obtain information. It can be difficult for them to have trust in their abilities, when sometimes they just can't get the knowledge they want, or sometimes need to have.

Being a multi-eye can be great as it can be awful. It can feel very isolating, knowing that nobody would ever believe you when you told them the truth, or being aware about terrible things unfolding around you, while others are able to live on, as oblivious as ever.

And that's that!! Thank you so much for reading! As always, feel free to ask questions should you have any!

Have a great day everyone!!

[caffichai]

More art for Coldshot's Called Shot by my friend @fishing-lesbian-catgirl! If you like spicy content, go give it a read!

The final piece, at least for now! Somehow I did these in reverse chronological order, but I guess it worked out in the end

Hey, if you're here, check this out!

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[14dayswithyou]

💖 EVEN MORE DAY 4 SNEAK PEEKS! 💖

[shevr]

good news : i might try to draw some more again this month bad news? : its mostly from trying to 10+ years later join the Equestria Daily NATG so its really just gonna be horses. might not share it all

also as mentioned this is drawn after the very very good picture from this post

[gale-force-storm]

Devoured

Rating: E

Pairing: Gale x female!Reader

Additional Tags: Overstimulation, cunnilingus, praise kink, cock warming, aftercare, second person POV

Word Count: 1.8k

Read it on AO3

You thought it would be a great anniversary gift, letting Gale tie you up and do whatever he pleased with you. What you didn't expect (foolishly, in hindsight) was for "whatever he pleased" to mean spending literal hours using that practiced tongue of his to take you apart.

Inspired by this post from the always delightful @naughtybg3confessions

“You're sure you're alright with this?”

“Yes, Gale,” you insist with a small laugh. “I am the one who suggested this, remember?”

“I know, I know. I just want to make sure.” He finishes tying the soft length of fabric around your wrists, securing them to the headboard above you. “How is that? Comfortable? Not too tight?”

You pull at the restraints, testing them. “Feels good,” you confirm. “Secure, but not too tight.”

“Good.” He smiles and leans down, kissing you gently.

“Well, your anniversary present is all tied up in a bow for you,” you say with a devious grin when he pulls away. “I’m all yours, sweetheart. Do your worst.”

“Be careful what you wish for, my love. I just might grant it,” he teases. He kisses you again, but his mouth quickly strays away from yours, moving over your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He teases at your nipples, mouth on one, fingers on the other, lingering briefly before continuing his path down.

“Gale,” you sigh, half pleased and half exasperated, “this is supposed to be about your pleasure.”

“Trust me my love,” he replies, smirking against your skin, “it will be.”

You huff out another breath, letting your head drop back. You’ll indulge him for now. Besides, you think at the first warm press of his mouth to your center, you would never truly complain about getting to have his mouth on you.

He pauses briefly to grab a spare pillow and position it under your hips, raising them higher for easier access. He pulls your legs up, resting your thighs over his shoulders, and kisses one of them before turning his attention back to your cunt, where your arousal is already obvious.

“Always so wet for me,” he sighs appreciatively. “So eager.”

“Always for you, my love.”

He beams up at you, all love and wonder and pride. “Truly, I could ask for no greater gift than you.”

He leans in, licking from your entrance up to your clit, humming his pleasure. He licks a few more times like this, broad strokes of his tongue, savoring you, and you settle back into the warm, familiar pleasure. You moan in encouragement as he slips his tongue into you, his nose pressing against your clit. Yes, you can certainly let him do this for a while. Since he’s insisting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fear you’ve miscalculated. You really should have known better than to underestimate Gale. There are tears running down your face. Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning. You would try to squirm away from the inescapable, overwhelming pleasure of his tongue, his lips, his fingers, but you’re too tired at this point from doing so for the last... how long has it been? Two hours? Three? More? You’ve lost track, just like you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come against his relentless mouth. He gives another calculated thrust of his fingers, another hard suck to your clit, and you cry out, overstimulation bringing the pleasure near the edge of pain.

“Please, Gale, please, I can’t,” you pant. He looks up, but doesn’t pull his mouth more than an inch away from you.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Gods, but his warm breath against your soaked flesh makes you shiver. You can only bring yourself to whine.

“I need your words, love. Do you want me to stop?” he asks firmly.

You work to catch your breath and try to remember how to form words.

“No,” you finally manage to whimper. “Don’t stop.” You see the corners of Gale’s eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. You sob, overwhelmed, as he continues his sweet torture, lapping at your cunt like a man starved as though he hasn’t been devouring you for hours. Your hips twitch weakly as you feel the pressure impossibly begin to mount once more, building under his skilled attention. You flutter around him and he moans, the vibrations pulling another sob from your throat.

“That’s it, lovely,” he murmurs as he works you. “One more. You can give me one more can’t you?”

You shake your head, but the rest of your body tells a different story, your legs twitching beyond your control where they rest over his shoulders, hips bucking without rhythm.

“I think you can,” he continues. “I think you can have another for me. Let me taste the sweetness of your pleasure once more.”

You moan, high and strained, as your body moves ever closer to that precipice. You feel delirious, on the edge of madness as much as the edge of pleasure. Gale is ruthlessly efficient as he pushes you on, sucking and licking your clit eagerly as his fingers rub precisely at the spot inside you that makes your head spin. The choked sound you make as you finish once again is somewhere between a whimper and a sob. Gale groans deeply as you clench weakly around his fingers, muscles too tired for more than a weak, fluttering orgasm. He laps at you softly, working you through it with loving tenderness. Finally, he pulls away. You whine helplessly at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you. He sucks them clean, then presses a few kisses to your shaking thighs before moving up your body to hover over you. His face is soaked from nose to chin, lips and beard glistening with your slick. He kisses you hotly, and the usual taste of him is completely drowned out by the taste of your own arousal. He runs a warm hand up your arm and rubs gently at your wrists.

“How are your hands?” he asks gently. “Still alright? Can you move them for me?”

It takes a long moment for your addled brain to process his question, but with some effort you manage to wiggle your fingers.

“F-fine,” you stutter weakly. “They’re fine.”

He pulls the fabric up slightly, inspecting the skin. You don’t know what he sees, but he seems to be satisfied with it because he nods once, then turns his attention back to your face. He kisses your cheeks with a gentleness that nearly makes you cry again, and wipes the remaining wetness from them with his thumbs.

“You’re so lovely,” he murmurs. “So beautiful. You’re doing so well. So good for me. My good girl. My sweet, wonderful girl. Taking everything I give you so perfectly. Letting me drink my fill of you. Making such pretty sounds for me while I taste you to my heart’s content. Falling apart so beautifully for me, over and over. Do you think you can take a bit more for me, my good girl? You can say no,” he says, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. “I would love to be inside you, but we can stop if it’s too much.”

You swallow hard, considering for a few seconds. Slowly, you nod.

“I can take it,” you rasp. “I can take you.”

The heat in his eyes causes your already shaky breath to catch.

“So good for me,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I could ever do to deserve you. I love you so much.”

He shifts, his hardened cock — gods you imagine it must be aching at this point — sliding through your soaking folds and catching at your entrance. You try to breathe steadily as he pushes forward, sliding into you without resistance. He moans as he buries himself in you to the hilt, nosing into the crook of your neck and breathing you in.

“You feel divine,” he praises against your skin. “Better than divine. You are perfection itself. I could stay like this for hours.”

He sighs contentedly, and doesn’t move. Your mind, sluggish as it is now, kicks up a gear. It has to be a turn of phrase. He can’t actually mean...

You feel him shift slightly. He props himself up with one arm, while the other slides between you. He presses his thumb against your lips and you let it in on instinct, sucking lightly on the tip of it. He grins.

“Such a good girl.”

He pulls his thumb out and brings the hand down, down, down your body. It slides briefly against your entrance where he’s stretching you open, and he groans. Then it slides up and starts rubbing softly, maddeningly over your clit.

“Gale?” You can’t manage more than a whisper.

“Shhh... Just a few more, my love,” he soothes. “I want to feel you come around me at least thrice before I’m done with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open your eyes, blinking a few times as you try to get your bearings. Gods, you must have actually blacked out for a moment. Gale is still above you, panting heavily, his face pressed against your shoulder. You whimper as you feel him twitch inside you, the feeling well and truly overwhelming at this point. He groans and pulls out of you as gently as he can. He presses a kiss to the mark he’d apparently sucked into your shoulder and turns to look at you, one hand coming up to brush a sweaty lock of hair from your forehead.

“Alright my love?”

You nod weakly.

“Are you sure?”

You nod again. “Y-yes. Good.”

“Good,” he breathes. “You are spectacular. Wonderful beyond words.”

He moves to untie your wrists. Once he does he rubs them gently, then down your arms, massaging the sore muscles.

“Do you need some water?”

You nod, more emphatically this time. He helps you sit up and takes a glass from the nightstand. He holds it to your lips, helping you to drink. Once you’ve had your fill, he reaches over for a soft cloth that was next to the glass. He moves to clean you, but you flinch when the cloth touches your thigh.

“Too much,” you manage.

“Ah. Of course. Apologies, my love” He puts the cloth away, instead muttering a quick prestidigitation, cleaning both you and the sheets with a wave of his hand. He looks as though he means to say something else, but you yawn, and he simply smiles fondly.

“Need some rest?”

“Gods, yes.”

He chuckles and helps you lay down, pulling you into a warm embrace. He rubs your back soothingly and nuzzles into your hair.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “My good, sweet girl. I love you so dearly.”

“Love you too,” you mumble, already halfway back to unconsciousness. You feel him smile against you and place a kiss to the top of your head.

“And I’m so grateful that you do. Now, get some sleep, my love.”

You sigh in agreement, and it takes no time at all for his steady breathing and comforting warmth to lull you into what just might be the deepest sleep you’ve ever had.

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #42

Billy's pretty pleased with his ability to keep his secret identity a secret from the League. The only ones who might know are Batman and his crew, but that was to be expected.

So, he's a little surprised when he spots a new hero who has joined Justice League: Dark who looks a lot like his cousin. Like, a lot a lot. Give him black hair and blue eyes, and that's Danny ... Oh holy shit Phantom's Danny! When did Danny become a ghost?

Billy hopes Danny won't tattletale to his mom. That'd be a nightmare.

[swampybogg]

[pixels-art-stuff]

It is FINISHED :D

You can find the process here. :D

[rocketonthemoon]

I'm kinda new to the fandom and you seem to rec fics that I don't see around a lot. Any older SC fics I should look up?

Well I dunno how much I can vouch for my taste but SC fics I really like that are more than a few years old:

Where Lamps Go to Die by WastedOn - Kara pretends to be in a relationship with Supergirl and Lena gets jealous (probably my absolute favorite SC fic. One of the first I read and genuinely a lot of fun)

lena dies on a wednesday by @karalovesallthegirls - Lena is trapped in a loop, reliving the day she dies over and over again. She just doesn’t know it. (I think this was one of the first SC fics I ever read? absolutely fantastic)

in the shadow of that green light also by @karalovesallthegirls - Kara wakes from an accident with no memory and a mysterious caretaker who creates more questions than she answers. (I'm not normally one for horror but this is SO good and makes me want to rattle the bars of my enclosure it's so good)

1,370,911 by @pippytmi - Soulmate AND Singer/Songwriter AU (I reread this on the regular you don't understand the grip it has on me)

We Deserve Only Good Things by @thornedrose44 - Kara and Lena are working through how to be friends again and an alien has them meet the younger versions of each other (yeah this one wrecks me in the best ways honestly)

quiet when i'm coming home (i'm on my way) by @valkyrieskwad - Kara's a retired smoke jumper and has to figure out life afterwards (Kara learns how to fucking heal and I'm in love with this honestly)

and of course I gotta plug @i-am-robie's you're gunna find yourself someway, somehow - Morning Glory AU aka one of my favorite Kara fics ever

And then of course I gotta plug my own work.

These are only a small handful of course. This fandom is so talented there's so many good one's to choose! So like just go through my bookmarks and have a good time. Don't forget to leave comments!!!

[hoejosatoru]

Roster Hopper - Aoba Johsai edition

Pairings: Fem!y/n X Aoba Johsai players (Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, Kunimi, Kyōtani (mad dog)) all separately. Y/n's skin color/hair color is not specified.

Summary: Y/n bets her friend she can sleep with the star players of Aoba Johsai (Univiersity AU) without any of them finding out.

Original Karasuno version here, Nekoma version here

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: Sex with multiple guys (separately), stoner!Matsukawa bc I hc him like that, reader smokes, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, mirror sex, semi publicish sex, rough sex, spanking, thumb in ass, squirting, the works lads were are fucking 5 men in one story, Iwaizumi bias sorry not sorry, not proof read MDNI

"I cannot believe the way these girls act," You huffed, settling next to your best friend and co manager. This was the second time today you had to kick out a bunch of girls trying to get a glimpse of Oikawa from practice.

Your friend chuckled. "You get used to it, but it is very bizarre." You and your friend were managers of your university's highly regarded volleyball team. Your friend did it last year, convincing you to do it with her when the other manager graduated. Oikawa's groupies no longer phased her.

"What is he doing to these girls? I mean he's good looking, but he's just another student," you replied.

"Maybe he's hooking up with them? Like the dick is so good it drives the crazy," your friend said, snickering.

"There's no way he's that good," you chuckled. "Honestly, I feel like he's not even the best on the team."

"You've spend thinking about this?" your friend teased.

"Hey these practices are long, what else am I supposed to do?" you responded.

"Fair enough," your friend said. "So who do you think is the best, then?'

"My guess is Iwaizumi," you replied, "But unfortunately I don't have any proof."

"I don't have any proof either, but honestly I think you're right," your friend replied, "But I wouldn't count Oikawa out. He's gotta be doing something right for these girls to act like that."

An idea hit you. "What if I could get proof?"

Your friend's brow arched. "What do you mean?"

"Let's pick like the top 5 guys on the team. I'll sleep with all of them and then I can rank who's the best." It sounded crazy leaving your mouth, but it didn't make you want to do it any less.

Your friend gaped at you. "I think you might have caught whatever crazy the Oikawa fan girls have."

You shrugged. "Maybe, but come on, aren't you curious?"

"I can't lie, I am intrigued," your friend replied, "But it seems unlikely. That's a lot guys to get through and they're bound to talk."

"I bet you $200 I can do it with none of them finding out," you countered, feeling bold.

"You're on," you friend shook your hand. The two of you discussed details. In order to get the most accurate results, you were to let them take the lead. If you started telling them what moves to do, or what you liked you'd get a skewed experience. And it was crucial none of them found out. If they knew they were in competition, they might try extra hard, which, again, would skew the data in this very scientific study. You both agreed that you would have until the end of the semester to get it done. Fair enough, considering it just started.

"Also coach is super strict about girls," your friend said, "He thinks it is a distraction, so if he found out you might lose your spot." It certainly added to the stakes, but you were willing to risk it. You had faith in yourself. You both easily decided to on Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Kumini, and Matsukawa as the top four, but struggled with the last guy.

Your friend got a devilish grin. "I think it should be Kyōtani." Your eyes drifted to the court where Kyōtani, who the team somewhat affectionately named mad dog, was slamming spikes over the net.

"I think you want me dead," you replied, "But I am curious. Sure let's make him number 5." And so you had your targets set.

Matsukawa was your first attempt because, frankly, he seemed the easiest. He flirted with you a few times at past parties so you figured you had a good shot at this one. You weaved through the crowd at the team house until you found him scrolling his phone, alone. Perfect.

"Hey Matsukawa," you beamed.

He perked up when he saw you, eye flicking over your body. You wore your favorite pair of jeans and a little top that hugged your body perfectly. From the twitch of his mouth, you guessed he liked what he saw. "Hey y/n, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you had any weed?" you batted your lashed at him,

His grin widened. "Course, you wanna smoke?"

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all. We just gotta do it upstairs, cause, you know." You nodded, understanding what he meant. Matsukawa was the only guy on the team who smoked, at least openly. Most of the guys gave him shit about it, saying it would fuck up his stamina and mess with his performance in games. So now, he had to hide it. Which worked out rather well for you.

You followed Matsukawa up to his room in the team house, both careful to avoid attention from other teammates. Luckily, it was a rather crowded party and you were able to make it to his room unnoticed.

"I can roll us a blunt?"

"Please," you replied, sitting comfortably on his bed. Matsukawa smiled, pleased at the look of you in his bed, before turning his attention to his rolling papers. He was quick and efficient joining you with a perfectly rolled blunt moment later. "You're good at that."

He grinned, lighting up, "Lot's a practice. You do the honors of taking the first hit." Matsukawa watched as you took the blunt between your plush lips. It was clear by the way he looked at you this would not be hard. You passed the blunt back and forth until it was finished, feeling a little high.

"You look like you want something," you flirt, holding Matsukawa's gaze. You leaned in closer to him, just inches from his face. "And I think I know what it is."

"Hmm, and what's that?" Matsukawa mused.

"This," you whispered before pressing your lips to his. Matsukawa's arms instantly wrapped around you, pulling you into him. You straddled his lap, playing with hair at the base of his neck as you kissed him deeper. You rolled your hips against him once to test the waters, eliciting a hum of pleasure from him. You continued your movements as Matsukawa let his hands explore your body, squeezing your ass and tits.

Matsukawa was fully hard before you even took your shirt off. He buried his face in your tits, sucking on the soft flesh and kneading with his large, warm hands. His tongue flicked over your nipple, making your arousal pool between your legs. He ravished your tits with his hands and mouth, making you ache with desire.

"Can I take these off?" Matsukawa asked, noting how you've become more needy. His fingers were hooked into pants the second you nodded, pulling them off you.

"Not fair that I'm the only one naked," you noted, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

Matsukawa smirked. "Be my guest." You stripped him down, pulling his stiff cock out of his pants. You ran your thumb over his tip, spreading his precum. You positioned yourself over him, before sinking down on to him with a satisfied sigh. He wasn't too big, but enough to make you feel full and satisfied.

You gripped his shoulders for leveraged as you rolled your hips. Matsukawa groaned as you fucked yourself on him, "God, you feel so good." He leaned back on his hands, allowing him to watch your tits bounce as you rode him. He planted his feet on the bed allowing him to fuck up into you.

"Shit just like that," you moaned, feeling him press deeper into you. Your clit hit against him with each thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through you. You dug your nails into his shoulder as you finally teetered over the edge, crying out his name.

"Fuck," Matsukawa moaned as he spilled inside you. His hips stuttered before finally coming to a stop. Matsukawa excused himself to grab you a towel from the bathroom connected to his room.

"Thanks," you said as he tossed it to you. You quickly cleaned yourself up, eager to get back to the party before it was obvious you were both gone. "Hey Matsukawa? Do you mind if we keep this between us? You know how the guys are, especially with, you know." You nodded over to the remnants of weed on his nightstand.

Matsukawa nodded, not looking to get another anti smoking lecture from Iwaizumi. "It's in the vault."

The opportunity to get with Kyōtani came unexpectedly. It was after practice, but you stayed behind to organize the team storage room. The sound of a ball being smacked around. You peaked out to find Kyōtani smacking the ball as hard as could against the wall.

"Everything okay?" you asked gently. His nickname of mad dog was fitting, as you often felt like you were approaching a feral animal when you had to talk to him.

He didn't look at you as he replied, "Coach said I need to get my aggression out." He smacked the ball harder, it ricocheting off the wall and back to him in a flash. "Apparently it's impacting my game."

"Is that why you're abusing the volleyballs?" you half joked, but he didn't crack a smile. You were beginning to wonder if you wouldn't be able to make this work.

"Yeah, don't know what else to do," he grumbled.

Well, you might as well go for it. "I've heard that sex is a good way to get out aggression."

This caught his attention. He caught the ball and turned to look at you for the first time since you came in. He had an unreadable scowl on his face. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No, not at all!" you replied quickly, "I was reading a sports magazine the other day and a professional athlete was talking about it. Said that he always had sex before games because it helped him calm down and think better." You were impressed at how quickly you thought on your feet, though you did feel a touch bad about lying. You were pretty sure sex relieves frustration so it wasn't that much of a lie.

"Well our game is tomorrow so I don't think I'll find someone in time to help with that," he replied flatly.

"I'll help you," you replied, "I mean, if you'd want that."

Kyotani's brows furrowed. "Are you fucking with me?"

"No, I promise," you replied earnestly. "I know tomorrow is an important game. I can't do anything to help during the game as a manager, but I could do this. Just think of all the spikes you'll get if coach puts you in more." You played at his desire to be in the games more and you could see the gears turning in his head.

"Okay, yeah" Kyōtani replied, "Let's do it. Come here." You obliged, surprised he agreed and buzzing with anticipation over what he would do. When you were within arms reach, Kyotani spun you around, so you were facing the wall. He pinned you in with his hands on either side of you. "This doesn't have to be romantic, it's just business, yeah?"

"Right, no feelings," you agreed. You both were using each other for a bigger goal, so this didn't bother you at all.

Kyotani brushed the hair away from your shoulder, his head dipping into your neck. He licked up the length of your neck before biting into your sensitive skin. It didn't hurt, but the surprise of it made you gasp. "I like it rough," Kyotani began, his hands wrapping your front to squeeze your breasts. "If it's too much, tell me to stop."

You nodded and he continued. He kissed at your neck as his hands traveled down your body and into your pants. He pumped a finger in and out of you, then added another to prep you for him. It wasn't romantic at all, as he stated, but there was something hot about it. Perhaps it was the way you were using each other, or the roughness in his touch, or the fact that you were doing this in the gym where you could walk in on you. It was sinful, wrong. But that turned you on even more.

"Bend over and put your hands on the wall," Kyotani instructed, though he was already manhandling your body into the position. You felt the cold air hit your wetness as he yanked down your pants, making you shiver. You arched your back in anticipation as you heard his pants slide down.

"Oh!" you gasped as he pressed himself into you. He was thick, your body needing to stretch around him. He let out a hiss as he bottomed out, both of you adjusting to the feel of the other. Kyotani wasted no time on adjusting, though, he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He snapped his hips hard and fast as your gripped the wall for leverage.

His hand came down on your ass with a hard smack. You moaned at the stinging sensation. "You like that?" he asked, smacking your ass again. "Fuck, yeah you do." Kyotani's pace never let up, making you breathless and sensitive. When he wasn't slapping your ass, he was gripping your hips with bruising force, allowing him to fuck you with all his might.

"Shit I'm gonna-" your words died as you came around him, your body shaking. Your knees buckled, but he held you firmly. He fucked you practically like a rag doll until he came, finishing inside you with a deep grunt. You were not surprised by his roughness, rather your enjoyment of it.

"I think I feel calmer, thanks," Kyotani said as you both redressed. It was almost comical, his treatment of this exchange. Like it was a totally normal thing to happen.

"Oh good, but do you mind if we don't tell anyone?" you asked, "Coach is weird about stuff with girls, you know? I would hate for him not to play you for something like this."

Kyotani's eyes darkened at the thought of being put on the sidelines. "I won't say a word."

2 down, 3 to go.

It was midterms week and everyone was stressed. Big tests and lots of games going on was never a good mix. Part of your job as manager was to check in with players and makes sure they were doing okay. When you found Kunimi and Kindaichi having a heated conversation, you had incorrectly assumed it was about academics.

"Everything okay boys?" you asked the first years. The color drained from Kunimi's face, while Kindaichi had a wicked grin.

"Kunimi is afraid he won't be able to impress the girl he likes because he's a virgin," Kindaichi announced.

"Dude shut up!" Kunimi huffed, his face reddening.

Kindaichi had no idea what gift he just gave you. "Aw, don't be embarrassed Kunimi," you replied sweetly, "There's nothing wrong with that. It wouldn't bother me if I was her." Kunimi relaxed and Kindaichi frowned, not having gotten the reaction he wanted. Before anyone could say more, the whistle blew signaling the start of practice.

When practice ended, you approached Kunimi when he was alone. "So tell me about this girl you like," you said.

Kunimi blushed, embarrassed that the pretty second year manager knew about his girl problems. And that he was virgin. "There’s not much to tell. Just a girl in my class who I think is cute. I've only talked to her a few times, but never asked her out. I'm just nervous that I, you know, would embarrassed myself because..." His voice trailed off because he could not bring himself to say it in front of you.

"Listen, you don't have to worry about all that. You're super cute and she'd be lucky to hang out with you," you began, "But if you're really concerned I'd help you."

Kunimi was so surprised you called him cute he couldn't process the second half of your statement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you want, you don't have to be a virgin," you replied, "I'll show you what girls like. that way you'll feel less pressure with this girl after getting your first time out of the way."

Kunimi blinked. He could not believe you of all people were offering to take his virginity. "Are you serious? You're not playing a prank on me with Kindaichi, are you?"

"I swear I'm sincere," you replied, "All that I asked is you don't tell anyone. If the other guys found out, they might be weird about it."

"Of course," Kunimi nodded. He would not risk ruining this for himself. "But could I tell Kindaichi you called me cute. He kinda has a crush on you and I want to rub in his face since he put me on blast like that in front of you."

You chuckled. "Sure, just nothing about us sleeping together, okay?"

"I promise." You made a plan to meet in his dorm next weekend, as his roommate was gonna be away. You figured if he hadn't spilled the secret by then, you could trust him to keep it locked up.

When Saturday rolled around and no one knew of your little plan, you found yourself in Kunimi's dorm. "We totally don't have to do this if you don't want to," Kunimi said, shifting nervously on the bed. You thought his angst was sweet.

"Don't worry Kunimi, I want to," you replied. You placed your hand on his cheek gently. "You're sure you want to?" Kunimi nodded eagerly, making you smile. "Okay, let's start easy then. Kiss me." Kunimi leaned into and pressed his lips to yours. You slid that hand on his cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Kunimi was a good kisser. His lips moved rhythmically, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth with ease. Both your hands explored each other's bodies, getting used to the feel of the other. You almost got lost in the moment, but then remembered you were here for a purpose.

"What's the furthest you've gone with a girl?" you asked after pulling away. Kunimi's pupils were blown out and it took him a minute to respond, like he almost forgot why he was here too.

"Oh, um fingering," he blushed. His eyes kept flicking down the length of your body.

"Did she cum?"

"Yes," he replied confidently.

You smiled, "Good boy." Kunimi blushed deeper and if you didn't have a lesson to teach you'd want to explore that more. "Is there anything in particular you wanna learn?"

"Yeah, uh, going down on a girl," Kunimi replied, "If you're okay with that."

"I'm very okay with that," you grinned. "Let's work up to it, yeah? Just like you've been doing. Girls like when you kiss them and take your time. Gets us turned on." Kunimi nodded dutifully, returning to your lips. You kissed each other more purposefully now. You stripped each other of your shirts and Kunimi gently squeezed at your tits.

He kissed them both, before progressing lower down your body with a line of kisses. He reached your pants and looked up at you for permission, which you gave. "That was a good move, kissing all the way down. You sure you haven't done this before?"

"Honestly? I saw it in a porno," Kunimi replied, making you chuckle. Kunimi stripped off your pants. You spread your legs wider, allowing him to settle between them. He flushed at the sight of your wetness.

"You know how you were kissing me with tongue before? Start like that and we'll go from there," you told him. Kunimi did as you said and you let out a soft sigh when his lips connected to your pussy. He moved tentatively, trying to find the right rhythm. The more he tasted you, the harder he worked, driven to please you.

"Move your tongue higher. A little bit more oh-" your sentence cut off when his tongue found your clit. Kunimi responded to your moan, focusing his energy to that spot. His tongue flicked and swirled over the sensitive bud, making your hips stir. You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him where he was, though he wasn't planning to move an inch. "Fuck Kunimi!" you cried out, as your orgasm flooded your body. You didn't even have to pretend to boost his confidence; it was that good.

"Okay, I seriously don't believe you've never done that before," you said when you finally caught your breath.

Kunimi beamed, "I swear it was."

"You ready for the next step?"

Kunimi nodded, his cock heavy in his boxers after experiencing you cumming on his tongue. You undressed him, admiring the length of him and the bead of pre cum that sat at the tip. You wrapped your hand around the base of him, guiding him to your entrance. You slid his tip through your wetness, making him nice and slick.

"Whenever you're ready," you said, eyes flicking up to his.

"Promise you won't laugh if I cum quick?" he asked.

"Promise," you smiled reassuringly.

Kunimi slid himself in slowly, gasping at the feeling of your pussy around him. Of course he'd imagined this moment before, but he couldn't believe how tight and wet and warm it really felt. "Fuck," he groaned, stilling himself for a moment. He knew you wouldn't laugh at him but he really did not want to cum the second he put it in.

"It's okay take your time," you said, "plus it's good to take your time. Girls need a little time to adjust, especially because you're big." Calling his dick big gave him the confidence to keep going. He moved slowly, allowing himself to get used to the feeling of you.

You felt so good, though, it was hard for him to control himself. His thrusts became quicker, desperate. He knew he should slow down, but the feel of you wrapped around him was too good to stop. "So good Kuni, just like that," you encouraged. The fast snap of his hips was working up your already sensitive cunt all over again.

"Y/n, I- shit," Kunimi moaned, unable to stop the orgasm that built in his body. His body stuttered as he released himself inside. The sensation sent you over the edge, making you cream around him. Kunimi let out a strangled breath at the feeling of you squeezing around his sensitive cock.

"Kunimi," you said when he collapsed next to you, panting, "I don't think you have to worry about pleasing girls at all." Kunimi smiled proudly, feeling accomplished that he finally lost his virginity.. Little did he know you were beaming from your own accomplishment. You were over halfway there.

After midterms, the mood on the team lightened. Everyone was excited for the big away game you were at, as you got to spend the night at a hotel. It was a much needed break after all the tests. You were doing rounds, making sure the guys were in their rooms and not making a mess of the place.

"Come in," you heard Oikawa's voice from the other side of the door. You entered his hotel room, finding him alone. "What's up, y/n?"

"Just making sure no ones burning down the hotel," you replied, "Who are you supposed to be staying with?"

Oikawa grinned, stretching out on the large bed in an exaggerated fashion. "Got the whole place to myself. Coach accidentally booked an extra room. I bet Iwaizumi that I could get more service aces and this was my prize for being right."

"Very nice," you replied. The gears started turning in your head; this was an opportunity you could not pass up. "Your fan girls were really something today."

Oikawa shrugged, "Can you blame them? I was playing well."

"I think they are more interested in what you could do off the court," you replied.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Oikawa said with a grin that told you he knew exactly what you were talking about.

You yawned in faux boredom. "I guess I just don't get it."

Oikawa scowled. "What do you mean?"

"No offense, but I just don't picture you at being good at... that," you replied. It was risky calculation to infer you didn't think he was good in bed, it could definitely just piss him off. But if you knew Oikawa, you knew that there was nothing he loved more than proving someone wrong.

"You must have a shitty imagination then," Oikawa replied. After a pause he added, "Let me prove you wrong." You had to stifle your laugh. Looks like you played your cards right.

"Someone's eager," you teased.

Oikawa rolled his eyes. "You're the one who came in here and started talking about sex. I bet this was your goal all along."

You feigned nonchalance, "I was just having a chat with you. But I can't lie, now I'm intrigued."

"Yeah, I bet," Oikawa replied, "Get over here." You followed, joining him on the bed. "For the record, I am going to make you say I was right and you were wrong when I'm done with you." His lips were on yours before you could reply. You both tried to take control, but you eventually submitted to him. You were okay with playing into his ego for the greater good.

Oikawa's hands slid up and down your clothed body. You could tell even then he was good with his touch. He ghosted over your core a few times, never truly touching you. It effectively worked you up. "Wait, I've got an idea," Oikawa said with a devilish grin, "I want you in front of the mirror." He nodded to the large floor length mirror in the corner of the room. Your pussy throbbed at the possibilities.

Oikawa sat you in front of him, your back flush to his chest. He pulled your pants down your legs, smirking at the wet spot on your underwear. "That wet already? You're making this too easy for me, y/n," Oikawa's voice was low in your ear, making you stir. He slid your underwear off slowly, no doubt trying to make you more antsy. His fingers trailed back up the length of your leg, calloused and warm.

A low sigh left your lips when he finally touched your center, dragging his finger through your slick. He teased your clit, getting you more worked up before he really touched you. He slid a finger into you, pressing at that sweet spot inside you in slow, lazy strokes.

"Can feel you sucking me in," Oikawa murmured, "You wanted this bad, huh?" You moaned in response as a second finger slid into you. You could not deny, he was good with his hands. His touch was skillful, easily finding what made your body react. He picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers as his thumb rubbed at your neglected clit. The sound of his fingers plunging into you was pornographic.

"Look at the mess your making," Oikawa said, nudging you to look in the mirror. His fingers were coated in a wet sheen and you were dripping down onto his thighs, soaking the fabric of his sweats. "Bet you wanna cum, huh? I can tell, can feel you squeezing my fingers."

"Please," was all you could gasp. Your eyes fell down to where Oikawa's fingers disappeared inside you. The pump of muscles in his forearms as his fingers fucked you, the feel of his ever growing hard on rubbing against your ass, it was all too much.

"Hmm, I'll let you cause you said please," Oikawa replied, pressing his thumb faster against your aching clit. You cried out his name as he gripped your thigh with his free had, keeping your legs spread for him. You both watched as you came, your cunt fluttering around his long fingers. Your body went slack against him, but he wasn't finished with you yet.

"I'm feeling generous today," Oikawa smirked as he pulled his cock out of his sweats. His dick was as pretty as he was, long and flushed a soft shade of pink.

"How unlike you." You still had it in you to banter with him. Oikawa chuckled, lifting your hips so he could slide his length into you.

"Prepped you well," Oikawa mused, "can feel you sucking me in." He bottomed out with a low groan. He thrust up into you in long, slow strokes. Your nails dug into his thighs as you savored the roll of his hips.

"Can feel you throbbing in me," you retorted, breathless. "Guess you wanted this too, huh?" You mimicked his words back to him. Oikawa shut you up with a particularly deep thrust, making you gasp.

"What's that? I couldn't hear you." His hips were snapping faster now, chasing his own high. You were right, he did want this. And the second he felt you cum on his fingers he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he felt you do it on his cock. It didn't take long at this new pace for him to get his wish.

"Shit Oikawa," you moaned, your head falling back on his shoulder. Your body totally melted into his as pleasure consumed you for the second time. Oikawa cursed as you squeezed him, spilling inside you. You watched his face contort in pleasure in the mirror and, damn, he really was pretty. Maybe you did understand those girls after all.

"Looks like I was right," Oikawa panted, with a smug grin.

"Looks you like you were," you replied, keeping your smugness internal. Just one more left. "Just promise me you won't tell anyone. You know how coach is with girl stuff. If he found out, I'd probably be fired."

As much as Oikawa wanted to brag about this, he liked you and didn't want you to lose the position because of him. "It will be our little secret."

You were nervous about approaching Iwaizumi, but with the end of the semester approaching you had to face your fear.

"Hey Iwaizumi, would you by any chance be able to help me in the gym sometime? I've been wanting to get into going, but not sure how to use the machines," you asked him one day after practice. Iwaizumi was an exercise science major and often helped the team with work outs.

"I'd love to, it's actually perfect that you asked." Iwaizumi explained one of his class's final was to create a an exercise plan for someone. "Do you mind if I use this for the project?"

"Not at all! I'm glad to be helping you out, too." You agreed to meet at the gym later that week. There was a small gym at your campus that was for athletes or fitness related majors use only. The night you met, Iwaizumi reserved the gym for the two of you to use.

"I figured you'd be more comfortable if it was just us," he explained.

"I appreciate that. Hopefully it wasn't too much trouble for you," you replied.

Iwaizumi shook his head. "Not at all, we do it all the time for our assignments."

Iwaizumi took you through the machines, showing you how to do different workouts. You wore your favorite workout set, the little bike shorts and sports bra fitting your body perfectly. You could feel Iwaizumi's eyes on you, soaking in your body's movements. His hands were warm and firm on your body as he put you into proper form and you swore they lingers on you. Maybe he was just being thorough, but the stirring in your stomach told you it was more than that.

"You did great," Iwaizumi complimented. "Now I gotta stretch you out." Iwaizumi turned red. "Shit, that sounded bad."

You laughed, "I knew what you meant. I love a good stretch." You smiled with the littlest hint of suggestiveness. Iwaizumi took you into the trainer's room, which was a smaller space that had a little lifted bed in the corner. It looked a bit like like a doctor's office.

"Just hop up there and lay down," Iwaizumi instructed. He took one of your legs in his, pressing it up your body like you were in split. You relished the feeling of his body pressing against you.

"Feels good," you said, your voice infused with satisfaction. It was innocent enough statement, but it made Iwaizumi's pants start to feel tighter.

"You are very flexible," he commented, switching over to the other leg. He was so close to you it was driving you crazy. His body was warm and solid, the result of his own workout regimen. His scent filled your nose, woody and spicy. It was driving you crazy.

The tension was palpable as he set your leg back down. You sat up, your eyes locked on his. His body acted on its' own accord, stepping between your legs and pulling you into him. The kiss was frenzied and deep, both of you the secret desire you harbored for the other.

"Do you wanna..." his voice trailed off, breathless.

"Please," you replied.

"Get on your hands and knees for me," he instructed, his voice sweet. He helped move you into place, positioning himself behind you. Iwaizumi slid your shorts and underwear down, cursing under his breath at your wet cunt displayed for him. He gripped the plush of your thighs, burying his face in you. His mouth moved over you just as desperately as his kissed you, leaving you breathless.

He alternative between sucking and licking at your clit. Each time your body jolted with pleasure, Iwaizumi gripped you tighter, keeping you still for him. He pulled away only once, spreading your ass and spitting between them. He return to sucking at your clit as his thumb circled the tight hole. Finally, he sunk his thumb in your ass, pulling a loud gasp from your lips.

"Fuck Iwa!" you cried at. He was driven by your sweet sighs, using his tongue to fuck your dripping cunt as his thumb pressed into your ass. The sensation cause the pleasure in your lower tummy to snap, crying out his name as your orgasm surged through your body.

"Fuck I need you so bad," Iwaizumi said, "Can't wait to feel you do that on my cock." He repositioned your hips, running his palm down the length of your spine to put you into a nice arch. He pulled his heavy, leaking cock out of his pants, rubbing his tip through your slick folds. You couldn't see the size of him, but by the stretch as he pressed into you, you knew he was big.

Iwaizumi dragged his cock in and out of your cunt, low grunts escaping his lips. You were sucking it in, making it hard for him to keep as slow pace. He gripped your hips for leveraged, throwing more weight into each thrust. It was deep and hard in the best way.

"Don't stop," you urged, feeling your release building again. Iwaizumi was fueled by your words, desperate to feel your pussy fluttering around him. Iwaizumi brought one hand around your body, rubbing fast circles over your already sensitive clit.

The feeling building in your tummy swelled in intensity. The different, strange. You realized a second too late what was about to happen.

"I'm gonna oh-" you broke off into a euphoric gasp as you squirted on Iwaizumi's thighs. Your whole body shook, completely overtaken by pleasure. The combination of you squirting and your cunt spasming around his cock was too much. Iwaizumi let out a low, strangled curse as he shot hot ropes of cum inside you. When his hips finally stilled you, you were both trying to catch your breath.

"I promise I won't right about that last part in my paper," Iwaizumi broke the silence.

You laughed. "I appreciate that. Could I also ask you not to tell anyone on the team about this? I don't want them being stupid about it."

Iwaizumi dreaded the thought of his immature teammates finding out. "Absolutely, it will stay between you and I. And, y/n, I know we did this backwards, but I'd love to take you out."

You grinned, "I'd love that too."

***

"Okay enough counting your money, I need to hear the ranking," your friend said.

"Just making sure I got what I earned," you smirked, "but let's get into it."

You put mad dog in last place, which would probably piss him off. Good thing he'll never know. "It wasn't bad by any means. But I definitely enjoyed the others more."

"I just can't believe you had sex on the courts. I'll never be able too look at them the same again." You laughed, then continued.

Matsukawa was next. "He's very much a boob guy. Honestly, really good with them. If he did more foreplay he could have been higher."

"Very fair."

Kunimi was the middle ground. "He was the dark horse for me. I was surprised how good he was, especially with it being his first time."

"Dude is going places," your friend commented. You had to agree.

It was a tough call between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, but you had to put Iwaizumi on top since he made your squirt. "He was so fucking good. And I'm probably biased because I have a crush on him, but I don't care. The evidence speaks for itself."

"Both sound like a great time."

"Absolutely," you nodded, "I understand Oikawa's fan girls more now." You both giggled, then got to planning your outfit for your date with Iwaizumi.

[wynsvre]

part 22 of cleric's radio au is here!!! <33

you can find all other installments on this carrd or in the cleric's radio au tag on my blog :)

[viperwhispered]

Too Fast

Part 4 of Jamil versus feelings (aka How Not to Be Swept Under, aka the Too Much series). Let's see how Jamil's plan of action pans out. Part 1, part 2, part 3.

Jamil had a plan.

He already knew he could make you smile, even laugh. That you sought out his company - and not just to sample his cooking (or Kalim’s generosity). Like that time when Jamil had helped you with your homework - considering how little you needed the help, it seemed to have been an excuse on both your sides to just spend time with each other.

Jamil knew the foods that would bring that delighted sparkle to your eye, knew when to step in before you were overwhelmed. You often shared any news with Jamil, filling him in the little happenings of your life - and had gotten him to do the same with you, too. He’d listened to you reminisce about your childhood and your home, even knew a few embarrassing secrets you’d revealed over the course of your conversations.

In short, it was clear that you had some degree of fondness for him.

However, Jamil had yet to ascertain the exact nature of how you felt about him.

But he was certain he could pull it out of you. Nudge you to act, to talk, so that he could gather those signs to tell him if you were open for more.

He’d see if you truly didn’t speak to others the same way you did to him. If you truly didn’t give others that look which always made things so difficult for him.

There had been those times when you had blushed in Jamil’s presence. You’d flustered, stuttered, restless fingers showing your nervousness.

But Jamil needed to make sure if it was because of him, or just the situations you’d been in.

Jamil had recognized the things you were doing, how you kept on getting closer to him.

But he needed to know if it all was enough for what he wanted with you.

And if not… Well. Perhaps there was something to be done about that. Given enough time, enough attention…

He could be a listening ear, a supporting presence, get to know you further, if he needed to.

Yes, he wanted you to be his sooner rather than later, but if he had to wait and work for it, he would.

After all, it was not like him to ruin such things with haste.

When Jamil’s phone buzzed, he pulled it out without even thinking about it.

Before, he always dreaded it, his phone typically only coming to life when Kalim needed something or there was another crisis to deal with.

Yet, nowadays, there was always the hope of it being you.

Jamil hefted his gym bag over his shoulder and unlocked his phone. The basketball club had run late today, and he needed to hurry back to Scarabia - but not before checking the message.

Thankfully, you were indeed the sender.

Hey, wanna go out to the town sometime? Cater told me there’s a nice cafe that opened recently.

Another message popped in before Jamil could finish reading the first.

Like, go out as a date.

The phone slipped from Jamil’s grip, landing on the locker room bench with a thud.

“Hey, Jamil, what’s got you so clumsy?” Ace said, peering at Jamil with a teasing grin.

Jamil cursed himself internally, quickly hiding your messages from view. Normally, he would’ve been walking across campus at this time, perhaps at the dorm already, rather than under the watchful eyes of his clubmates.

But, of course, not today.

“Just fumbled,” Jamil said, struggling to school his expression back to neutral.

“You sure about that? You’re looking awfully flustered,” Ace snickered.

“Ooo, is Sea Snake getting some exciting messages?” Floyd asked, looming closer.

Jamil gave both of them a sharp glare - the effect perhaps hampered by his flushed complexion. He really did not need Floyd and Ace’s antics on top of this bombshell right now.

“Must be the effects of the practice,” Jamil said with a tone of finality.

Not that that seemed to deter the two, now that they’d gotten a taste of blood in the water.

Rather than bickering with them further Jamil grabbed his things and hurried off. He almost expected Floyd to chase after him, even half-dressed as Floyd still was, but thankfully the eel did not seem to be in that much of an inquisitive mood today.

Small blessings.

Jamil was barely aware of his surroundings as he walked, his heart beating a more frantic rhythm than it had during the practice.

How was he supposed to respond to you?

He had not even done anything as he planned, and you already…

Jamil shook his head, tried to keep himself together despite the turmoil your little messages had thrown him into.

Sure, he had intended to push you to act, to reveal the nature of your feelings.

Yet that had left Jamil woefully unprepared for this.

Jamil stared at his phone again, barely remembering to blink or breathe, nearly colliding head-first with some other students.

Finally, he typed out a message.

Are you serious?

Your reply was almost immediate.

Yes

Jamil fidgeted with the strings of his hood, watching the little bubble that told him you were still typing.

Sorry for being a coward and not asking in person.

If you don't feel the same way we can just pretend this never happened.

Oh how Jamil wished he could see your expression right now, could talk to you in person, get to the bottom of this.

Or would it be better to respond to you in text, without worries of stumbling over his words, or getting caught in your eyes like a deer in headlights?

Jamil started writing a reply, frowned and erased it, began to compose another.

He took a deep breath, briefly lifting his eyes from the phone to check where he was going.

What did he have planned for today, anyway? How much time could he clear for you?

Mind abuzz with plans, Jamil tried again.

Can I come over later? I’ll bring something to eat.

I’d rather talk this over in private first, if that’s okay with you.

A few more messages, setting the time, assuring you that he was not opposed to your proposal. Then Jamil shoved the phone into his pocket, reviewing his options.

He’d make something quick for Kalim’s dinner while preparing something to share with you. (What could he make with the time and ingredients he had that you really liked? What about dessert? He knew how much you enjoyed sweets, after all.)

Kalim had no homework deadlines or quizzes tomorrow, and Jamil’s own schoolwork schedule had room for adjustment, as well. They could catch up later. (He’d have to make sure he looked impeccable. Would flowers be too much? Would he have the time to visit Sam’s for them?)

Jamil might have to get up a little early tomorrow for a few things, but he’d deal with that tomorrow. (What if you’d let him stay late? How close would you let him tonight? Would you let him hold you? Maybe even kiss you?)

When Jamil realized that he was standing in front of Sam’s shop instead of the mirror to Scarabia, he simply stared at the storefront for a moment, uncomprehending.

Then Jamil shook his head, frowning.

He’d have to focus, keep his mind on target. He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

Yet, despite his best efforts, Jamil salted the food twice, having to scramble to fix the flavor. When he left Scarabia he nearly left behind the small package he’d picked up at Sam’s, forced to turn back to retrieve.

And when he walked over to your dorm, Jamil had to consciously tell himself to slow down, lest he’d appear too frazzled by the time he made it.

Mentally, Jamil berated himself. Get a grip! After everything Kalim has thrown your way, you can definitely handle this.

Yet, Jamil still had to steel himself before he rapped on your door.

Jamil’s greeting nearly caught in his throat when he saw you.

He could see the effort you’d put in, dressing up a little, yet more than that it was all those emotions swirling on your features that took his breath away. The nervous excitement which had you fidget in place, the radiance in your smile, the way your eyes seemed to drink him in…

Jamil cleared his throat, determined to not drown in you.

“Thank you for accepting me on such short notice,” Jamil said, handing you a small, neatly wrapped box.

With a thrilling sense of satisfaction Jamil noted the way your eyes widened, how your voice wavered when you invited him in. How you smiled when you found out what he had picked out for you, the gift clearly finding its mark.

Still, you were both stepping around each other, following the scripts of a regular visit when this felt like anything but.

Jamil took out the food he’d made, insisted he’d help you with setting the table despite your protests.

It was an awkward dance, both of you trying to regain your footing.

“I just… feel like I have to say it,” you finally said as you were setting out the food. “That I like you. A lot. So…”

The way you spoke, pouring out your feelings, hesitant and nervous as you were…

Yes, Jamil had wanted to talk this over in person, had wanted to see and hear you say it. Still, now he had just as much trouble meeting your eyes as you had, both of you busying yourselves with the tableware.

You were so nervous, and Jamil felt the urge to pull you close and chase away all your worries.

But he would not push.

Not when he had his hands full keeping his own self under control.

A part of him couldn’t help but feel like he’d deceived you, somehow, for you to hold him in such regard.

And when the silence lingered… What could he even say?

Jamil had thought of it, sure, imagined how you’d react to his words… But at this moment nothing would rise to his tongue, all the carefully picked words gone from his mind.

Jamil took your hand, holding it in between both of his. He spoke your name, oh so softly, his voice cracking under the weight of it.

Hearing himself made Jamil cringe, yet he pushed on.

“I’m… I am glad to know we both want the same. That we feel the same.”

For a brief moment, Jamil hesitated. Then he raised your hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles. His eyes flicked to yours, full of those feelings that threatened to sweep him under.

Just him being here with you like this… It told you enough, didn’t it?

Your blush certainly seemed to suggest so.

Jamil would make sure to cause your cheeks to burn brighter. Later.

Once his own face stopped feeling like a hot plate under the sun.

* * *

Later, you sat side by side on the couch, Jamil’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting against him.

You’d hardly stopped smiling the whole evening, and Jamil could feel the hurt in his own cheeks. 

It was strange, giving into those urges Jamil had been doing his best to hold back all this time.

Still, he had to admit that it was easier trying to move with the current rather than fighting against it.

Yes, the looks you gave him were still overwhelming, your words - and touch - sending his heart aflutter almost painfully.

When you sang his praises, looking at him like your happiness depended on him… It really was just a tidal wave, one far too large for Jamil to withstand.

Yet, finally, Jamil was beginning to allow himself to enjoy it all.

These things - your sweetness, your warmth - were only for him, after all. A heady thought, something that made him greedy for even more despite the overwhelming nature of it all.

Of course, Jamil still didn’t want to overstep.

Truthfully, he himself wasn’t ready for some of the scenarios tugging at the back of his mind.

With the wisdom of hindsight it seemed that you had always been ahead of Jamil, more aware of your feelings than he was of his.

Perhaps even more aware of his feelings than Jamil had been, considering how you’d pursued him - because that was what you had been doing, all this time.

Even if Jamil himself had been too busy contending with his own thoughts to truly see it.

Still, it was difficult even for Jamil to worry about such things with your warmth pressed against his side. Jamil played with your hair, let himself just soak up your presence.

And in that sweet moment Jamil finally stopped fighting, at least for a moment. He let go of his plans, his resistance, and allowed himself to be swept up by you.

Indeed, it hardly felt like he had a choice in the matter.

ETA: you can find the final / 5th part of this series here. This sure stayed in my drafts longer than I thought it would, but here we are. There’s still one more part coming and then we’ll be reaching the end of this particular journey. If you'd like to be tagged in my future works, do let me know! Jamil: alright I need to make sure they want to be with me and then I can move forward Reader: I’ve been trying to get with you for a while now and I can’t wait any longer or Jamil: I gotta gain control over this situation Reader: surprise :)

[thelonelyshore-if]

Beck Drabble

Or, Beck wakes up next to MC for the first time.

Beck wakes up to the feeling of a warm body tucked snugly in the curve of his arms. Consciousness creeps, slow as frost on a window, as he tries to make sense of this. Shouldn't he be alone?

No–wait. 

A memory comes, springing to the front of his mind. Last night. It was late, and he hadn't wanted it to end, and he…he asked you to stay. 

He asked you to stay and you said yes. That one simple word–yes–dripping from your lips like honey. It terrified him. Excited him. He likes you, but this is a whole new level. You're in his bed. Your body fits against his like a puzzle piece, and his lungs are so tight they feel like they're going to pop. 

Air. Beck needs air. This is too much, too fast.

He untangles himself, attempting to gently pry his lithe form away from yours. He doesn’t want to wake you, regardless of the way panic stampedes through his chest. You look so serene. Beck slips his arm out from under you, tries to replace it with a pillow. Slowly pulls away, rolling over and dropping off the bed onto his feet.

The noise of his soles hitting the hardwood makes him flinch. Dark eyes shoot up and settle on where you lay, curled up with your back to him. No reaction. He exhales, relief not quite making up for the instant pang of loss in his chest. The AC unit in the window blows hard enough to leave a chill in the air, even though it’s October.

Usually, he likes it cold when he sleeps…but now the chill reminds him of how good you felt in his arms, warm and snug.

Beck turns his back on you. Closes his eyes. What was he thinking, asking you to stay? Had he lost his mind? He doesn’t know what to do with you here, in his bed, in his apartment. Sleeping the morning away, sure to wake up soon enough.

For a second he imagines himself in bed beside you when you do. Feeling you stir in his arms, turn around and look at him with sleepy eyes. Maybe you’d reach up, catch his lips with your own. Start the day with a kiss, bodies pressed flush together. 

He swallows hard, shaking his head. He can’t fall into that trap. He bounces in place, nervous energy coursing through him. He refuses to turn back and look at you–instead he pitches forward, taking a few stumbling steps towards his bedroom door.

The problem is, he thinks as he flees, that he likes you. Too much. More than he’s maybe liked anyone before. And he has absolutely no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do about it. He’s not...not the type. He never has been. Relationships are tricky. Hard to pin down.

Beck isn’t really the type to be pinned down.

He reaches the doorframe, his heart in his ears. He grabs the knob, palms slick with sweat, and pulls it open. The creak sounds like a gunshot. He pauses, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. Hardly daring to breathe. Does he look back? 

What the hell is he supposed to do if he does and you’ve woken? How could he even begin to face you, if you looked up and saw him running away?

“I’m sorry,” he envisions himself saying. Hands shaking as he looks away, “I’m scared.”

Yeah, right. Like he’d ever.

Anyway, he isn’t scared. Beck doesn’t get scared. He’s just…

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the words. All he knows is that he has to get out, to get some air. To think this over. 

You haven’t spoken, so he assumes he’s good. He finishes opening the door, stepping out into the hallway. Each step is tiny. Like his body is manifesting the hesitation he’s pretending doesn’t exist. His thoughts race, doubt chewing away at him.

Isn’t it silly, running away from his own bed? Especially considering he wanted you with him? And the way he felt with you in his arms, like everything in the world was right? 

Beck comes to a stop, excruciatingly slow. The fear still rages inside–fear of commitment, fear of letting you down, fear of fucking this up–but fear’s an old friend. One he’s used to ignoring. He looks over his shoulder at his door, propped half-open. 

It’s freezing in the hallway. You’re warm.

That’s what sells it. He’s cold, and you’re warm, and he misses you, besides. Slotting himself beside you in bed for a little bit longer isn’t a lifelong commitment. It’s just giving you the morning. Giving himself the morning. And what’s wrong with that?

Beck shoves down the fear and the doubt. He decisively turns heel, marches back into the room. Climbs back into bed quickly, not even trying to avoid waking you. He leans over you, long black hair framing your face.

Your eyelids flutter open, and you’re none the wiser. Beck smiles, bends down. He kisses you, hard and fast, cupping your cheek in one hand. You’re barely awake but you kiss back, and the feeling of it sparks something hot and smoldering deep in his chest. He lets the fire burn for a long moment before pulling away.

“Good morning?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep

Beck grins. He kisses you again, just a peck.

“Morning,” he says, before rolling to the side and flopping onto his back.

He wraps an arm around you, drawing you in close. The warmth of you is addictive, compared to the cold of the room, and he wants to lose himself in it. You burrow yourself deeper into his side. He thinks you’re still mostly asleep.

All the better. This is how the day started. Beck lets go of his hesitation, overwrites it with this moment. No need to dwell on uncertainty. He’s certain of you now, in this moment, and that’s all that matters.

[fishofthewoods]

Oh my god I woke up this morning and my Stardew Valley meta post had almost 150 notes????? Hello?????????? Anyways I started writing this last night because @moon-is-pretty-tonight left nice tags on the original so thank you so much!!

We know from the starting scenes of the game that the farmer's grandfather loved Stardew Valley. So why did he leave? Pelican Town is a good place to grow old; George and Evelyn are just fine. It's a fine place to raise a kid, but maybe he just wanted to raise his child closer to real schools and other children.

Or maybe, just maybe, he understood.

Was there a day when he was in his thirties where he looked at his friends and realized they weren't like him? That he could run faster than them, work longer, explore deeper into the hidden places of the valley?

Was there a day when he went to the wizard to ask him for help, for knowledge if nothing else? Did he learn then that his family was different? Special? Chosen? And how did he react? He couldn't possibly raise a child in the valley if they would be as strange and fey as him. He had to leave. There was no other way.

But years later, on his deathbed, did he regret that choice?

Is that why he gave the farmer the letter?

Is that why they went back home?

When the farmer steps off the bus that first day, the valley is still on the cusp of winter, just barely tipping over into spring. The flowers are starting to bloom, but a chill still hangs in the air. As soon as the farmer's boots touch the soil there's a change. The air gets warmer. The trees get greener. Not by too much, not all at once, but it changes.

The junimos watch the farmer as they do their work. They're new to farming, but take to it with frightening speed; their first batch of crops is perfect. None of the townsfolk tell them that parsnips don't normally grow in less than a week, that cauliflowers don't grow to be ten feet tall, that fairies don't visit when the sun goes down and grow potatoes and beans and tulips overnight. The junimos talk amongst themselves in their strange, wild language, and agree: this is the one. They're back. The valley recognizes its own, even when they've left for a generation. The farmers have come home.

Things change fast in the valley. The community center, empty and decrepit for so many years, is rejuvenated. (Lewis says it was abandoned only a few weeks after the farmer's grandfather left. Strange coincidence, he says, that it both came and went with the farmer's family.) The mines and the quarry, similarly abandoned, are explored for the first time in ages. The town becomes cleaner, brighter, more vibrant, happier.

And it is happier. Not just the environment, but the people. It's the talk of the town for weeks when Haley does her first closet purge. Leah's art show in the town square is a huge success. Shane's smiling for the first time since he moved to the valley. All of them, when asked, say it's all thanks to the farmer.

People love to ask why Lewis didn't fix the community center on his own. Why Willy never repaired the boat to ginger island. Why Abigail or Marlon never went down to fix the elevator in the mines, or why Clint didn't fix the minecarts.

But isn't it so much more interesting to ask how those things were there in the first place? How they got so broken down? If the stories the townspeople tell are true, the valley was once a beautiful place, flourishing and full of life; why did that change? When did it change?

Was it when the farmer's grandfather, the locus of the valley, its chosen representative, left town?

And if so, what happens when the farmer comes back?

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #56

Clark Kent was in the locker room, the last one to finish getting ready for the football game against Smallville's rival: Amity Park.

That's when a dark haired teen came sprinting in, looking around wildly before meeting Clark's eyes.

"Hide me!"