#screaming and thrashing and throwing up

[loserifer]

mfw i want to talk about hazbin (lucifer) so badly and share my art and discuss my character analysis but this show is notoriously known for being triggering so no one i know has watched it and all the discord servers are for roleplays or full of really little kids 😭😭😭😂😂😂

[jez-bez]

If I let you go, can you go back to your room and sleep? [...] Phu. I think... I can help you. Phukan. I've already warned you. You've done it for me before. I just... want to do it for you too. Can I?

[burr-ell]

KITTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[blue-whale-supernova]

lmol analysis Malec Version from Taylor's TTPD (again this is the breakup period) I have many feelings "Oh, what a valiant roar What a bland goodbye The coward claimed he was a lion" This is the line that reminds me of Alec the most, he tried so hard to be brave, to be sure of and to commit to his relationship with Magnus. But he was so scared after all, all those years of repressing his identity and putting himself second weren't just going to go away, and he caved under Camille's temptation and manipulation. Not enough to be a betrayal, but just wavered enough to hurt his lover's heart. "In your suit and tie, in the nick of time You lowdown boy, you stand up guy Holy Ghost, you told me I'm The love of your life" THIS. THIS IS SO ALEC. Throughout the course of his relationship with Magnus and the war, he grew from a moody insecure teenager to someone who was responsible, braver, honest and much more happy with himself. Granted, he still had his insecurities, but just imagine Magnus looking at Alec in a suit at some formal event and noting how much he's grown "When your impressionist paintings of Heaven Turned out to be fakes Well, you took me to hell, too" I interpret this line as Alec's Nephilim lineage supposedly being superiorly holy, yet rendering him unable to be himself. This pains Magnus, because when the supposedly morally superior Shadowhunter turns out not be morally perfect, when the one you love most hurts you because he is weak in the places that you are weak too, that hurts. "You said I'm the love of your life About a million times" *sobs* "You talked me under the table Talking rings and talking cradles I wish I could un-recall How we almost had it all" THIS. THIS. I DONT KNOW HOW I WILL COME BACK FROM THIS. THANK GOD IT DIDNT STAY TRUE but they almost had it all *screams* Magnus I bet you talked about that under the table Imagine Alec just trying to get over how he almost had the love of his life Some comparisons- "I felt aglow like this Never before and never since" *gasp* the semi-loveatfirstsight at the party "But I felt a hole like this Never before, and ever since" YOU KNOW WHO FELT A HOLE YOU KNOW WHICH TWO PEOPLE FELT HOLES??? EVER SINCE A BREAKUP AND 'NOT LIKE THIS' BEFORE??? "If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary You and I go from one kiss to gettin married" "If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary What we thought was for all time was momentary" This line kills me. Magnus really considered being together with Alec forever (or ending his own mortality), and it just poof went away. And it would have seemed so short compared to the lifetime he lived, but WE ALL KNOW HOW TORN HE WAS OVER IT

"Dancing phantoms on the terrace Are they second-hand embarrassed That I can't get out of bed?" Magnus TAT TAT TAT he definitely couldn't get out of bed, and was definitely feeling like a failure for fumbling his 500 year old younger lover

"You cinephile in black and white All those plot twists and dynamite Mr. Steal your girl boy, then make her cry" Who's a cinephile and who's full of plot twists and winding stories and stole Alec's heart? A certain warlock, I think. High-key stole Alec when he was hung up on Jace. Also though I support Magnus for going no-con during breakup period, Alec probably had anxiety over his phone like the second-most in the entire series(the first being Jace bc his parabatai is trying to get himself killed every two seconds). I can't how many time bby boy was just pining over his phone

"Who's gonna tell me the truth When you blew in with the winds of fate And told me I reformed you" Alec really didn't know the weight of a relationship with an immortal entailed. Izzy and Jace and Clary all thought the relationship was great for him, which it was, to help him grow into a better person, but, no one could have warned him about the looming anxiety of becoming an insignificant piece in Magnus' long line of histories. And Magnus definitely told Alec how much he meant to him, but like Alec rightfully called him out on, didn't want to talk about the obvious gap between what Alec knew and what Magnus had experienced.

"I'm combing through the braids of lies 'I'll never leave' ..."

Alec probably thought this. Sniff sniff.

"Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire Your arson's match your somber eyes" DO YOU REMEMBER MAGNUS' DREAMS?! DO YOU REMEMBER THEM HUH!HOW HE DREAMT OF FIRE?? and boy does Magnus have somber eyes and their relationship went up in flames before the war started "And I'll still see it until I die You're the loss of my life"

WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH I've said it before and I'll say it again. If one of them had somehow not survived during the war, or not have gotten back together after, they would be the loss of each other's life. This would be for Alec's mortal life and Magnus' immortal one. I said, "I don't mind, it takes time" I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed Alec, when he first met Magnus; or Magnus, when his eye was caught. They both were cautious, and were both willing to try it out slow. I don't think any of them expected it to go as far as it did, BUT THEY COULDNT HELP IT "Who's gonna stop us from waltzing Back into rekindled flames? If we know the steps anyway" YES. Please do so. Honestly I don't think even if they were still broken up after war, they could've resisted getting back together in the following years. But thank the Angel that wasn't the case. I rest my case.

THEY ARE EACH OTHER'S LOVE OF THEIR LIVES. THE END.

[dessinoir]

me today because it’s cliff burton’s birthday and he’s 63 but then realized he sadly past away, won’t be able to celebrate his birthday and will forever stay 24

[maepersonal]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

[astr0logies]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚  ╷   she  isn't  sure  how  much  more  of  this  she  can  withstand—  this  never  ending  hell scape  that  they  call  𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴 now ,  the  trials  ,  the  deaths  ,  the  unknown  amount  of  hours  spent  around  an  ever  burning  flame  that  she  wishes  would  finally  burn  out  already  with  every  visit  back  to  it  .  the  scars  ,  the  wounds  ,  they  may  all  disappear  .  .  .  the  memories  of  the  trials  may  slowly  begin  to  fade  with  time  ;  the  𝒎͟𝒐͟𝒔͟𝒕͟  𝒉͟𝒐͟𝒓͟𝒓͟𝒊͟𝒅  aspect  of  all  of  this  ,  well  ,  at  least  for  the  young  witch  herself  ,  being  the  memories  of  her  prior  life  .  the  flashing  images  of  her  past  ,  the  last  time  she  remembered  being  truly  happy  ;  it's  not  fair  .  it's  not  right  at  all  ;  every  single  time  she  closes  her  eyes  ,  nothing  but  a  film  reel  of  moments  through  her  life  ,  her  father  ,  her  mother  ,  the  family  movie  nights—  she  can  still  faintly  remember  the  first  time  her  parents  sat  down  *&  let  her  tell  one  of  her  long  winded  stories  that  she  had  scribbled  crudely  into  a  spiral  ruled  notebook  .  she  doesn't  realize  just  how  lost  in  her  own  pit  of  despair  *&  nostalgia  she  had  become  ,  no  mind  paid  to  the  tears  that  were  obscuring  her  view  ,  building  *&  building  *&  building  until  they  wind  up  completely  betraying  her  ;  streaking  down  freckled  cheeks  incisively  as  a  faint  sobbing  begins  to  pick  up  from  within  her  that  she  didn't  realize  she  was  even  still  capable  of  . 

‧₊˚⋅   ♯   𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄   !   :     @moldcursed  /  𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷  𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 :  [COMFORT]:  sender  cups  a  distressed  receiver's  face  in  their  hands  and  steadies  them  by  resting  their  foreheads  together.  [  ᵖʳᵒᵐᵖᵗ  ⥅  ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗᶤᶰᵍ ]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚  ╷  the  only  thing  to  pull  her  from  her  self  pity  induced  trance  is  the  sudden  ,  yet  gentle  warmth  *&  pressure  that  comes  to  cup  her  dampened  ,  mud  stained  cheeks  ;  the  palms  cradling  her  face  are  soon  followed  by  the  tender  sensation  of  a  familiar  form  pressing  their  forehead  gently  against  her  own  .   ❝   ethan  ,  hey  !  i  uh  ,  didn't  see  you  there  !   ❞  mikaela  sniffles  out  pitifully  ,  a  weak  attempt  at  pretending  she  hadn't  just  been  silently  sobbing  to  herself  at  the  campfire  .  though  ,  ᵈ͟ᵉ͟ˢ͟ᵖ͟ᶤ͟ᵗ͟ᵉ͟  ʰ͟ᵉ͟ʳ͟  ᵒ͟ᵇ͟ᵛ͟ᶤ͟ᵒ͟ᵘ͟ˢ͟  ˢ͟ᵒ͟ʳ͟ʳ͟ᵒ͟ʷ͟ˢ  ,  the  sight  of  the  dirty  blonde  man  before  her  ;  his  gentle  touch—  it  does  bring  her  a  slowly  forming  sense  of  comfort  accompanied  by .  𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍  ,  𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍  𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 

. 

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Oh god it’s in five months AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[pleaseget-out]

LMAOOOignore me for three hours then be like ur my ride home tho uwu EVEN THO THAT WAS NEVER FUCKING TOLD TO ME UNTIL TOO FUCKING LATE.

[milkymiks]

Prev

Danny can’t find Jason, he’s too young of a ghost, powerful, but inexperienced. He knew that Jason is from another universe, but he can’t access that Universe, having been relying on the fenton portal for going in and out of the ghost zone. Sam and Tucker can only do so much but they did what they can and Danny is grateful for their efforts.

Years went by, longer than how long Jason had been with them, They’re in 2nd year college now and Jazz is graduating. Danny had been crowned the King of Infinite Realms despite his futile attempts at prolonging it, ‘A year after your legal maturity day is the perfect time’ As Clockwork had said. Still no sign of Jason.

It happened a year later.

Danny, drowning in bureaucratic shit that the ancients had decided to set aside despite their own ability to solve those problems themselves only to dump them in an inexperienced newly unwillingly crowned King. Danny is also in his third year of college that means his human identity is also drowning in fucking thesis papers, He’s getting nightmares just by looking at parchment and office papers.

Jason would probably laugh at him.

Jason, who has been missing for more than five years…

God Danny misses Jason, He misses sitting at the roof of a random house with him Stargazing. He misses Jason’s excited babble whenever he discusses some difference with the classic literature in this world to his’. The feeling of his core synchronizing with his…

Was he even real? No, Sam and Tucker remembers him so he wasn’t some hallucination.

Danny glances down on the paper before him, rereading the thing three times before it registered in his mind and promptly throws the parchment away from him, and because it’s paper, it only flapped pathetically on the air before smacking him in the face. He sighed.

___

“Fuck we were too late! they’re almost complete with the chanting!” Constantine curses, sees the runes etched on the floor and pales.

“What exactly are we dealing with here?” Batman grunts, They’re a good feet away from the cloaked figures. The warehouse is dark, the only light source coming from the green flamed candles surrounding the runes.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but the sudden shift in the atmosphere earlier was heavy, I thought they were summoning demons, That we can deal with. This is so much worse”

“Get to the point” Batman turned to the other’s “apprehend the cloaked figures, especially the one in the middle, we need to know their intentions” Dick nodded and saluted “Roger that” He and the other bat’s got to work. Zatanna started to seal the area around the runes to keep whatever was about to be summoned inside.

“They’re summoning the High King of the Infinite Realms, The infinite realms is the border between all universes and where everyone that dies, ends up to. I don’t know how they managed to conjure all the materials needed to but they’re summoning a GOD!” Constantine is panicking “And I don’t even want to touch the shit that’s happening inside there with a ten foot pole but I do know the king is a tyrant!”

“Hah! It’s too late! This is as fated from the scriptures, Pariah Dark will free us and govern the world with his greatness!” The deranged leader said, laughing in his binds as Red Robin easily kept him down. In front of them the runes lit up with a bright green, the ground shook as the cloaked leader’s deranged laughter increased.

A large black whispy arm shot out from the ground in the middle of the summoning circle, followed by a head, A flaming crown on top, then a body, its jagged rib cage outside framing his torso. everything about it looked off, apparently even for the cult leader that summoned it.

“Wha-?! You’re not Pariah Dark!” He screamed and thrashed in Red Robin's hold, who held him down with a foot on his back.

Its white eerie eyes darted down to him, It seemed to take full offense as it bent down and hisses “Do I look like Pariah Dark?” Its voice is like fork grating on a chalkboard, every mortal in the room winced, especially Red Robin who is closer in proximity.

The King straightened up and swept its cold eyes across the room “Why am I called here?” It sounded annoyed, like they’re just ants wasting its time, which in retrospect they were.

“I swear I changed the summoning requirements…” It muttered, which was heard by everyone. A hint of humanity, they could use this. It’s obviously a new King but they have to thread carefully.

Constantine stepped forward and bowed “High King of the infinite realms, we deeply apologize on behalf of these cult for wasting your time. We want nothing of the sort from you and we only wish to be on your good side”

It looked and stared at Constantine for a good moment before it lunged with rage, only stopped by the summoning circle and Zatanna’s barrier “YOU!!!!”

Constantine stumbled a step back in shock at the absolute hatred brimming the King's eyes.

“You’re the major cause of my headache’s! Who the fuck sells their soul to different entity’s when you only got one?! You whore! I have a special cabinet just full of your paperwork shit! I ought to just kill you and slice your core into ten so I’ll have one less ton of paperwork to deal with!”

It smashes its fist on the barrier and a resounding ‘crack’ echoed across the warehouse.

Constantine can feel Batman’s glare on the back of his head, Zatanna’s strengthening the barrier but the King doesn’t seem to care.

The other bats have gathered the cultist to one side of the room far away from the summoning circle and they stood waiting for orders dealing with their new problem.

Danny sighed, he wanted to finish up until section J but he still has to deal with this. He looked consideringly at the flimsy barrier keeping him, the only reason he stayed was so he wouldn’t scare the superhero team gathered around already securing the cult that was the cause of this shit. Also this is a new universe, not unheard of as he knew a lot of ghosts from this universe and other variants, Just that he hasn’t had the time to visit as many universes as he would’ve liked.

Ever since taking the crown his powers grew exponentially and he gained the ability to cross other universes as he liked. It’s just that the few Universes he managed to visit didn’t have His Jason in it. And there are infinite universes, it’s like finding a microscopic needle in a pit of hay.

He shifted from his eldritch form to something more fitted for royalty. It wouldn’t hurt to check this universe out. The cult summoning him had been knowledgeable but not enough, They only bound their souls to him as an offering so he isn’t required to grant whatever wishes they would have liked.

Danny flew out of the summoning circle and the barrier, He could make acquaintances with the people here. The guy in black and blue spandex looks friendly.

Batman and the other’s watched as the King turned into a more human form and tore through Zatanna’s barrier with no problem, floating down and seemed to say something before he froze, eye’s widening, and then he shot off.

“Nightwing, Robin, I trust you two to finish this up and hand them over to the GCPD. The rest of you let’s go, we can’t trust an unknown entity to roam free”

“It’s headed towards the docks” Zatanna informed them, already ahead in locating their wayward King.

Batman frowned, The docks, It’s where Red Hood currently is, he turned down the emergency call claiming he already had other plans. He caught wind of another unauthorized drug trade starting to circulate when the alley kids helpfully informed him of unfamiliar men trying to sell them drugs and a few attempts of kidnapping. Everyone knew each other in crime alley and one of the main rules Red Hood has is to not involve kids.

Next

[timmydraker]

Every now and again, Tim breaks things.

Not as in he accidentally snaps a pencil or messes up when fixing a grapple, though that does happen, when Tim breaks things on purpose it’s… a lot.

It started when he was a kid the first time his parents canceled his birthday after an opportunity came up in Dubai and they wanted to stay longer. Tim was seven and at that point his birthday was the only day in the whole year that he could be sure they would be home.

At first he stood in his room two days before his birthday with silent tears as he processed what he had just heard told via a short phone call.

Then he just… lashed out.

Tim banged on his door and screamed like a banshee before ripping hooks of his shelf and throwing them at the walls and leaving dents. He yanked on his closet door till it creaked and broke one hinge and then took a pencil and stabbed it into his pillow.

He cried himself to sleep and upon waking up to his nanny arriving in the afternoon he panicked and quickly cleaned up the mess he had made.

Tim was ahed of himself for getting so emotional and making a mess, feeling like the child he was but more importantly he felt so very out of control.

He ignored the part of him that felt better after causing a little chaos and putting his anger outwards. A relief and high of a sort when he gave into an anger he hadn’t really felt before.

So, after that he decided that if he was really, really, really upset and he couldn’t get his blood to stop pumping so quickly, couldn’t get rid of that overpowering urge to hit and thrash and throw, he could do so as long as no one saw.

It happens again when Jason dies and Thai tiem he throws his camera out the window, which then makes him sob as he still had photos of his beloved Robin inside and also panic because how the hell was he supposed to fix a window without his parents noticing?

He does it a few times when he’s training to be Robin, to the point he tries to use a punching bag but when he found that the lack of damage being done left him feeling worse, he may or may not have grabbed a Batternag and stabbed instead.

Tim did not do it when his mum died, nor when his father was almost taken off life support, because they wouldn’t like it and it was about them.

The bats don’t k ow about it, but his team does.

Greta had heard him have a rather rough conversation with Batman and when she went to check on him after he hung up, she saw as he opened his Bo staff and started whacking against the Titan Tower console, hitting over and over in dead quiet before activating the blade on the end and slicing through the biggest scream, causing half of it to fall off the wall.

She had gone to the others and Tim had been given no choice but to open up to his team.

It took him a while to admit that it helped a hell of a lot more to talk to them than to smash up multi-million dollar equipment.

Jason and Damian are the first of the bats to see it, though by then Cass was well aware of his habit as Tim could never lie to his sister.

He hadn’t had a moment like that for months, nearly a whole year, but then one night when Jason and Damian had needed to come by his Nest to get some backup toxin cure when Ivy was announced as escaped: he got a call that pissed him off.

One of the board members he had very clearly told Bruce he wasn’t willing to work with as the prudish man annoyed him, had been transferred to DI from WE because for some reason Bruce seemed to think Tim needed to work less and needed more help. Why that was in the form of a useless former CFO was beyond Tim, but it wasn’t abnormal for Bruce to make company decisions like he was operating with the Justice League and everyone had basic respect for each other-

During the call, Jason and Damian had been watching and observed as Tim grew more and more tensed as he spoke with Lucious, who was doing his best to calm the situation as he had witnessed the aftermath of one of Tim’s outburst within a week of knowing the young man.

Damian watched as Tim tells Lucious to call him back in a few hours so he can be more rational before handing up and very slowly placed his phone down on the desk.

Being an assassin, Damian is an expert of body language and had been working with Cass to become a master, but to see such anger on Tim was odd. Tim was a snappy and shouting kind of angry, but this quiet and shaking rage was something different.

“Drake-“

Tim holds a hand up and when Damian actually goes quiet, Jason knows something is up and moves to stand beside the youngest of them just one case.

“If you would please give me a moment.”

The two watch as Tim moves into another room, one that they knew to be a work room that Tim used when he built or repaired things.

He shuts the door and for a moment there’s nothing before the sounds of clanging, bashing and thudding starts to rattle the walls. They hear it all but see nothing, only having the sounds of Tim shouting out obscenities and metal hitting metal to go off.

Though it’s muffled they can hear some of what he’s saying like, ‘stupid fucking Bruce with his stupid fucking meddling’ and in a mocking voice: ‘“I act dumb so people don’t know I’m Batman”- ARE YOU SURE ITS AN ACT?!’.

Glass shattered as Tim said something about buying Bruce’s company just to fire him.

By the time it settles down they can hear his breathing through the walls.

A deep inhale sounds before something, maybe a desk, is righted upwards and Tim walks back out looking only mildly disheveled. “Sorry, needed a moment. What was it you needed?”

Damian, who was caught between defending his father and trying to get a peak into the thrashed room, wanted to insult Tim for his poor emotional regulation but got the feeling it wasn’t the time.

Jason seemed to agree and answered for them both, saying, “Just some toxin cures… Ivy for out.”

Tim inhaled deeply again, looking behind him and giving a blank look, “You’ll have to ask someone else.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “why?”

Tim gestured to the room he had just exited, “I was reorganising.” A pause. “They were in there.”

Jason gave him a teasing smirk, “you broke them didn’t you?”

With a shrug, Tim adjusted his gloves and walked over to his desk, “It was that of Bruce’s face.”

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run Part 1

The Barn

mdni

cw: violent behavior, suggestive themes, i will get better at this i swear

It’s a downpour tonight. The roof overhead rattles with the force of the winds outside, keeping you awake. Your eyes drift towards the window periodically, watching the lightening illuminate the night sky, thunder rolling closer and closer as the wind hails. Your four loyal, massive Tibetan Mastiffs lay around your bed, dead to the storm raging outside. You’d normally have them out in the barn, but with how terrible it’s coming down you would have felt terrible.

But now you lie awake, worry in the pit of your stomach. Some of the goats had just given birth, and with this storm you knew the kids had to be distressed, and their bleats often agitated the horses.

You absentmindedly reach down to run a hand through Dixon’s fur, who lets out a pleased huff, nuzzling your palm. You try to let the beat of rain lure you to sleep, eyes finally feeling heavy as your breathing evens out.

But then you hear it, over the raging of the storm you can still hear your stallion, Sebastian, neighing, and then the pound of his hoofs against his stalls, and you're flying out of your bed.

Nothing spooks your stallion, absolutely nothing.

You race down the stairs in just your nightgown, rushing to pull on your boots, no socks, as Dixon, Grimes, Judy and Maggie come bounding after you. You throw open the door, the screen slamming against the house from the wind but you pay no mind, running towards the barn, barely catching yourself from slipping in the mud.

The closer you get, the louder you can hear all your herd. Your hearts pounding harder than the rain when you reach the barn doors, and you can hear the dogs barking behind you as you reach to yank open the double doors

Locked.

Your barn is never locked.

From the inside.

“Hello?!” You yell, slamming your palms against the wood, guilt wracking your body when you hear something scurry away on the other side.

“What are you doing in there?” You scream, shaking the handles with all your might, but they hold strong, and after a harsh yank, your hand slips, sending you flying into the mud.

You can hear what can only be described as chaos in the barn, and tears prick your eyes as you crawl forward, banging your fists against the doors.

“PLEASE! Please don’t hurt my animals! They’re already scared! Please- AH!” You scream as the door flies open, sending you face first into the barn floor.

You barely register the blood dripping from your hands as you scramble to stand up, taking in the scene.

The mares were going wild, bucking and kicking the doors of their stalls while Sebastian raged, having busted his door down, prancing infront of his ladies protectively.

Your goats were huddled in a group on the corner, the kids tucked between their bodies and the sheep standing in front of them, shaking so badly their wool was trembling. The rest of the stock is scattered, hiding in various corners of the barn.

You whistle, which immediately catches Sebastian’s attention, huffing and puffing.

“I’m here! It’s okay, ma is here!” You hush them, slowly walking towards the stallion with your hand out, palm up.

He neighs, tossing his head, leaning down to sniff your hand, when he stops, and suddenly a new sound reaches your ears.

Dixon and Grimes are growling out a warning.

Before you can even blink, there’s a hand over your mouth. Your gasp is muffled at the pressure of cold steel at your neck, an arm wrapping around your chest pulling you into a firm, solid figure.

“Not. A. Sound.” A gruff voice barks in your ear, and your blood runs cold.

“Lock the doors back.” The man orders, and a sinking feeling overcomes you when you hear a new set of footsteps. You stumble as you’re jerked back, Dixon barking as you start to thrash, kicking your feet, but the grip around you tightens.

“Fuckin- Knock it off!” He growls, pressing what you can only guess is your carving knife painfully against your throat and Grimes lets out a guttural sounding bark before lunging, only to yelp when a foot shoves him back, and you thrash harder, attempting to nip at this man’s hand.

“Stop you little fuckin-SHIT!” He bellows as your teeth sink into his palm, not releasing until you taste his blood splash over your teeth, and then you’re on the ground.

“Little bitch!”

“Don’t touch my fucking animals.” You spit, turning to stare up at the intruder, just to be met with a ski mask and cold eyes. You can’t help but freeze, the carving knife glinting in the low light of the barn.

He’s quick, and you try to stumble to your feet, but you're once more in his grasp. You go for a punch, but he catches your wrist easily, pinning your arm behind your back with one hand and yanking your forward with the other, pinning you against him, and the knife is at your throat again.

“Let’s try this again.” He says between clenched teeth, tightening his grip till you whimper.

“Ghost. Lighten up.” A voice pipes up, raspy and stern with a commanding tone. The masked man, Ghost, rolls his eyes, but loosens the hold he has on your wrist.

“Who else lives here?” He questions, and it feels as though a bucket of cold water has been dumped over you.

“No one…” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut when his grip tightens once more. “Don’t bullshit us. Who else lives on this land with you?!” He’s in your face, making you open your eyes, tears blurring your vision.

“It’s just me I swear!” You sob, feeling the tip of the knife digging into your skin. “I swear to god it’s just me, you can go check the house-“

The pressure of the knife is gone, and the shock of your bare knees hitting the barn floors barely phases you as Dixon and Grimes dart to your side, whining softly as they nudge your hands with their heads.

“Think she’s telling the truth?” A new voice speaks up, a thick Scottish accent ringing in your ears as you try to put distance between you and the four, you are finally able to count, men standing in the middle of your barn.

“Explains the massive mutts.” Ghost grunts, glancing at the four mastiffs, who you push behind you, shielding them, trying not to let your fear show more than it already has.

“They aren’t mutts.” You hiss, Judy nuzzling her giant head into your back as you shuffle them back, away from these men.

You hold your head high, but your lip can’t help but tremble when all their eyes turn to you.

“You sure there’s no one else in that great big house?” The older man with scruffy facial hair asks with a tilt of his head, and a spark of agitation flares in your chest. Why did they want to know so badly? if they were going to…

If they were going to kill you, surely they would have done it by now, right?

“I swear on my life.” You plead, voice cracking. You’re horrified when you realize your nightgown has been soaked through this whole time, noticing the way the one with the mohawk, the Scot, keeps eyeing your bosom. You look away, cheeks burning as fresh tears prick your eyes.

“Soap, Gaz. You two go check the house. Report back to me, I want a moment with her.” The unnamed man ordered.

Mohawk and a dark skinned man nodded, heading out of the barn. Ghost passes one of them the carving knife, and your fist curl in your lap.

“What do I do Price?” Ghost asks, and the man, Price, waves a hand, eyes trained on you. “Search the surrounding area, look for anyone hiding on the property.”

“Understood.”

And then you were alone. The barn has settled, most of your animals having made their way to the farthest wall behind you. He approaches you slowly, cautiously eyeing Dixon who raises up, baring his teeth, but you click your tongue, and he steps back immediately, sitting at your side like a statue as the others guard the flock.

You feel a puff of air breath against your head, and you can’t help the wet laugh that bubbles out when you realize Sebastian is standing guard over you.

“Seems you’ve got yourself quite the protection.”

He muses, eyes bouncing between the animals.

“They were abandoned when I found this place.” You confess, a slight tremble to your voice as you watch Price crouch in front of you. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flickering over your form and you wrap your arms around your middle.

“If my men are walking into a trap, whoever is there will be killed.” He says simply, tone almost bored and you feel your face pale.

“They’re not! This is my land! Mine!” You insist, frustrated tears falling freely as you flex your fingers, muscles tense.

“Tiny little bird like you, all by herself?” Ghost scoffs as he returns, and you feel your ears burn.

“What did you find?” Price asks him over his shoulders.

“Can hardly see shit in this rain but I found no one. There’s a truck around back but the engine seems shot.” He shrugs, eyes peering at you through that ski mask and you avert your gaze.

The doors open against, the other two rushing in, soaked to the bone.

“The house is clear sir. Only one room looks lived in, two guest rooms down the hall on the upper level and a small library on the ground level. Gaz found a shotgun by the front door.” The Scot, Soap, you gather, reports back to Price.

“I told you. It’s just me out here.” You mutter, and this time Ghost is crouching in front of you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“You hiding from something little bird?” He asks, cocking his head to the side

“You’re the ones breaking into my barn and scaring my animals!” You snap, trying to get out of his grip, but he only holds tighter.

“You’re a little fighter aren’t you?” You see his eyes crinkle, and you're shocked this man even knows how to smile under that mask.

He releases you, standing up and stepping back to stand with the other three men, who still loom over you. You feel like a lamb being sent to the slaughter house, and you bury one of your hands in Dixon’s thick fur to ground yourself.

“Please-“ You start, voice shaking, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“I don’t have much, there’s maybe three thousand dollars in the safe in my closet. I’ll give you the code just…” Your voice trails off, a sob slipping past your lips and Dixon whines, low and sad as he places his giant head in your lap.

“Please don’t hurt us. D-don’t hurt my animals- I won’t even call the cops, it would take the nearest deputy three hours to even reach my house.” You beg, exhaustion and nerves taking over as your shoulders slump, trembling with your quiet sobs.

You see Price’s boots approach you, and he tilts your chin up, and you flinch when he brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Stop all these tears pretty. We don’t want to hurt you or your little farm.” He coos down at you. Confusion swirls in your head, making you dizzy as another sob can’t help but slip out, Price cupping your cheeks, shushing you softly as he wipes your cheeks.

“I don’t understand…” You whisper, searching this strange, terrifying man’s face for any sign of deceit, but he just grins at you.

“You told us the truth. Very good.” It sounds almost like praise the way he whispers it to you, and you whimper, shame filling your stomach. You look away from him, taking a shuddering breath as you struggle to compose yourself.

“Let’s get you back inside hm? Can’t have you catching a cold.” He tsks, and before you can argue, you’re being lifted into his arms, tucked against his chest. You try to struggle, but the adrenaline has worn off, confusion left in its wake as these strange men usher the herd into their correct pens, Soap barley escaping one of the Roosters pecking at him in defiance, before pausing.

“I don’t think I want to mess with this guy.” Gaz mutters, the three of them staring at Sebastian, who stares back, as though daring them to try and corral him.

“He.. He’ll go back in his stall once it’s quiet… You scared them…” You mutter, tired as you give in, resting your head against the strong chest you’re pressed against, and you feel Price’s grip tighten.

“You’re freezing sweetheart, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.” He murmers, and your heart skips.

“I can do that myself.” You hiss, staring up at him with narrowed eyes, despite the fact you can feel your cheeks burning.

He just laughs.

[devotedsweetheart]

dreaming about caleb eating you out

a/n :: just a little drabble :pp i cant stop watching calebs new myth ugh nghhh

how he'd deliver little kisses to your clit , practically making out with your cunt until you're squirming and begging underneath him; desperate for any other friction . don't you dare rush him , he'll throw a fit .. just let him have this one-on-one moment with her and he'll be happy .

he always takes his sweet time moaning & sighing into your mound , not even bothering to listen to your pleads . his hands would be holding yours down firmly on the mattress to keep you from pushing his head deeper into your core , only when he's ready to really give you what you deserve does he allow you to wiggle beneath him .

when you're finally screaming at him to correctly eat you out like you know he can , he eventually gives in and begins to suck on your clit ... the only warning you get is his exaggerated groan of annoyance because of your lack of patience . catching you by surprise , your hips have a mind of their own and thrash against his face; causing caleb to move his grip on your hands to your thighs to keep them in place .

god he loves the taste of you , he just cant get enough ! his tongue would work you from the inside out , thrusting it in and out of your hole while his arms move to cup your thighs so his hands can work on your clit . he strives off your whimpers and cries , it only pushes him to go faster to make you cum . all he wants is to make you feel the most pleasure you've ever felt so that any other guy could never own up to him ... he's selfish in that way .

at last , once you've squirted your juices all over his chin & lips , he'll lick them all up like a little puppy and crawl over you; sliding his tongue into your mouth so you can taste and understand why he asks to eat your perfect pussy out all the time . " im so proud of you baby ... you're so good for me . getting yourself all wet 'nd ready for my cock , such a good fucking girl . my girl . "

[thetriumphantpanda]

take me to florida | joel miller

summary | turning up on his doorstep covered in blood was not was Joel had expected of you, and when you open your mouth, he expects it even less. There's a shitstorm in Texas you both have to escape from, but how long can it last?

pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

word count | 4,496

warnings | it's a lot. Descriptions of murder (stabbing), blood, violence, domestic violence and the death penalty (yeah idk either don't ask), basically reader does a bad thing to someone who did bad things to her. One singular slap (reader to Joel). Mentions of adultery and cheating. Explicit smut - grinding/dry-humping, fingering, rough sex, biting, squirting. No use of y/n. No outbreak AU.

authors note | *taps mic* is this thing on? Hi! It's been a whilst hasn't it?! I've been doing life, enjoying being offline and in love and all of that stuff, but the new series has my brain WHIRLING and I wanted to share this with you all. I wrote most of this back in the autumn last year and was inspired to finish it, so here you go. Let me know if I've still got it! As always if you enjoy this, please like, reblog, comment or scream in my ask box. I've missed you.

Divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

It’s viscous, dripping down the back of your hand, seeping through the webbing of your fingers. Crimson staining the floor as it drips from the tip of the knife, pooling around the body, slumped against the wall now. Your limbs are heavy, vice grip on the handle easing, arm dropping to your side as the knife clatters to the floor. Your chest is heaving, sucking in air, you steady yourself by putting your palms against your knees, bending over, trying not to throw up. There’s a pool of blood forming against the toe of your shoe, deep red staining white canvas. No-one ever mentions how messy it is, but then again, not many people stick a knife into their husband’s ten times. There are splatters across the wall, you can feel some of the warmth seeping down your forehead, you can taste it on your mouth when you lick your lips to wet them.

You let out an animalistic groan as you straighten up, the fucker deserved it, you think, picking the knife up from the ground, wiping both sides of the blade against the white of your tank top. Pushed you and pushed you until you broke. Put his hands on you one too many times with no remorse, no punishment. Called you a useless whore for the last time. There was some sick sense of satisfaction the bloomed when your mind replays the the look of shock on his face when you’d stabbed him the first time, like he couldn’t believe you had the guts. By the fifth time, there wasn’t anything behind those eyes of his, but you added five more just to be sure.

There’s a rage simmering underneath your skin still. Rage at the fact that no matter how many police reports you’d filed, how many hospital trips for split lips and black eyes, the law were going to come for you, and you’d go down, no doubt about it. That distinct feminine rage that a man could push you to the limit and back, and it’s still going to be your fucking fault when you stand in front of a jury and plead your case. The mad woman, the violent woman, the unhinged woman. It makes you want to scream, makes you want to thrash, maybe it makes you want to stick the knife into your own middle and twist it deep. You don’t though. You take the knife, run it under the tap until the water down the drain runs clear, wipe it dry with the towel and then shove it into your bag.

The mad woman indeed, you think, unhooking your car keys from the hook by the door. Well, if they wanted to fucking fry you, they were going to have to catch you first.

The darkness makes this easier. The hood pulled up over your head, covering your face just enough that the few passing cars don’t notice a thing on the drive there. There’s only one place you think to go, one person you know will understand, probably getting ready to go to bed on the other side of town, none-the-wiser that you’re on your way to him, covered in blood with a murder weapon sitting on the front seat of your car.

His home is unassuming. Two levels, two bedrooms, one for him - brown wood and dark - the other for his dead daughter - still pink with the sheets messed up, not made or changed for years as some sort of fucked up shrine. His truck, parked on the driveway, right next to yours. Most of the houses on the road have their lights turned out, families tucked up and sleeping for the night, but the light in his lounge is on - hard day at work, you think - as your fist knocks against the wood.

It takes him a minute, but then again, it always does, with his aching knees and his sore back, but he opens the door anyway, looking at you with confusion for a second, like he’s forgotten you’d arranged something, until you look up at him, let the light hit your face and show the blood spatters, drying and flaking, then his eyes are concerned, his big hand on your shoulder, dragging you inside.

“What did he do?” He’s asking, voice gruff.

He does this a lot, when you turn up in the middle of the night, bruises on your arms or lip split and sore, threatens to kill him, threatens to kill the cops who won’t do anything. Soothes your wounds, puts plasters on you, and then fucks you into his mattress and promises to run away with you. Well, jokes on you Joel Miller, you think as he leans you against the kitchen counter to look at you, I already fucking did kill him, and now you’re going to have to run away with me.

“What did he do to you, baby?” Voice still gruff, but tinged with concern this time, his hands cupping your face, turning it into the light to try and find the injury.

You cup his face too, congealed blood in the palm of your hand smearing across his skin, catching in the coarse whiskers of his beard, “He didn’t do anythin’ Joel.” You whisper, watching as the realisation hits his face and he takes a step back from you, dropping his hands like you’ve burned him.

“What did you do?”

You smile at him, the way he looks a little scared, “I killed him, Joel.”

He sucks in a breath, takes another step away from you, pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

You scoff, “Why the fuck do you think?” You snarl, “Had his hands around my neck,” You say, moving your head to show the red marks where his fingers had squeezed, “Told me I was a stupid whore and just squeezed harder.”

Joel’s eyes soften as he takes a step back towards you, “So I stabbed him,” It’s so matter of fact, “It was that or it was me Joel, do you understand?”

“Well then we go to the police,” He says, trying to reason with you, “One stab wound in self-defence and they’ll understand.”

“Ten.”

“What?”

“I said ten, ten stab wounds.”

He’s silent now. Those brown orbs staring directly into your soul. You can see the snarl of his top lip, the faint twitch in his left eye, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

And then it’s a whirlwind. You’re stood in his bathroom and he’s taking off your clothes, forcing you into the shower and scrubbing your skin raw like he doesn’t trust you to be thorough enough in doing it yourself. He shoves your blood-stained clothes into a bag, along with his own, worried that there’s enough blood on that shirt that they’ll come after him too. He dries at your skin, gives you the single set of clothes you keep at his house to change into, dressing himself frantically. Then he’s shoving more of his clothes into a duffle bag, avoiding your eye as he swipes the picture frame off his chest of drawers - the one of him and Sarah, soccer trophy in her hand - and shoves that in the bag too.

When he’s satisfied he has everything he needs, his palm grips the scruff of your neck and guides you down the stairs, like he’s scared you’re going to bolt, only letting go to put his boots on and pick up his keys. He makes sure to turn all the lights off, even the one on the porch, letting you go again to lock his door, then his hand is back on you, guiding you roughly to his truck, where he opens the door and waits for you to get in.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“Just get in the fuckin’ truck baby.”

You’re two hours into the drive before he speaks, clearly trying to focus on getting as far away from the scene of your crime as he can. He’s silently fuming, having had to go back and put you back in your own car, have you drive behind him until he pulled onto the side of some deserted country road. He sat you back in the passenger seat of his truck, took the bag of bloodied clothes and put them in the boot of your car. You watched in the rear-view mirror as he doused it in petrol from a can and then set fire to it.

Neither of you looked back as you drove off.

“Are you okay?”

It makes you laugh, a full body-shaking laugh, the kind of laugh where you have to bite your lip to stop yourself. His hand is back on your shoulder, rough and tight, as it shakes you, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck do you think is wrong with me?” You spit, “I just killed my fuckin’ husband Joel, don’t ask stupid fuckin’ questions.”

He’s sailing down the highway, hand still gripping at your skin, “Do you have any idea what we’ve just done?” He asks, eyes forward, not looking at you, “You have any idea what they’ll do when they catch us?”

“Yeah, I got some notion.” You sigh, sinking back into the seat.

“What did you do with the body?”

You shrug, “I just left it there.”

“How long do you think we got?” He’s finally letting go of you, both hands back on the wheel.

“Couple of days,” You hum, “He ain’t due at work until Monday,” It was Friday now, “No-one’s gonna look for him until he doesn’t show.”

Joel nods, finally relaxing into his seat as much as he can, but he’s tense, you both are, and you’ve got to be careful. One wrong move and this is all going to unravel.

It’s silent then for another couple of miles until he speaks again, “I’m sorry,” He says quietly, “I’m sorry he did that to you and I’m sorry that you had to do that.”

“I’m not.”

It comes out at easy and breathing. Your asshole of a husband deserved it. Years of beating you around, of belittling you in front of your friends and family, all those nights of being curled up, forced to unravel and undress and lie there in the dark whilst he used you. You’re not sorry you had to do it at all.

You’re in a motel in Alabama when the news hits. It’s a shitty place, middle of nowhere vibes, with a receptionist who couldn’t have given less of a shit about the two of you when you arrived. Handed the keys to a room to Joel once she’d insisted on him paying cash for the three nights he wanted. Joel’s not long come back from the store down the road - a large bag of chips, two cans of soda and some candy shoved into a plastic bag, enough to stave off the hunger for the evening.

You’ve actively avoided the news until now, settling instead on trash tv for background noise, but it’s Monday, and you know that as soon as your shitty dead husband didn’t turn up for work, it would be a shitstorm back in Texas. There’s a woman, sitting behind a desk, looking incredibly morose over a dead man she doesn’t know. You listen intently to what she’s saying as Joel cracks open your can of soda and hands it to you.

It’s the basics right now, he’s been dead a few days, a brutal murder and the police are following all open lines of enquiry. They don’t mention you, they don’t mention Joel and there’s no appeal for witnesses. You sigh out some kind of breath of relief that you’re okay for now, but you know in the back of your mind you have to get moving. It’ll only be a matter of time before your photograph is pasted across the news channel, Joel’s too - you have to move on.

“Where are we going to go?” You ask quietly, sipping the sugary cold syrup from the can.

“Where do you want to go?” He replies just as quietly.

“Mexico?” You offer, it’s the only place you know that criminals go, crossing the border and down into South America to disappear into obscurity.

“Gone in the wrong direction for Mexico, baby,” He shrugs, “Maybe we head into Florida, lay low as much as we can, and then move on from there if the heat follows us?”

“Sounds good.”

There’s something about Florida that feels freeing. Sure, you’re in a dead end town, nowhere near a beach where you could enjoy the sun, but there’s something about the air here that feels different. Joel manages to find a small apartment for the two of you. Conscious that he doesn’t want anyone to know your faces when they start getting plastered across the news channels, he phones a number from a newspaper, asks for the keys to be dropped somewhere outside and three days ago you’d let yourselves in and settled down.

Joel had gone out and bought new clothes for the two of you, the old ones thrown in the bin, not sure any amount of laundry would have taken the smell away. He stocks up on simple groceries, and for the third night in a row, you sit down to spaghetti with tomato sauce from a jar. You’ve got the news on again, low on the volume, but just enough that you catch the news anchor speaking, “We have a development in the Austin murder case to bring you tonight.”

The spaghetti in your mouth turns to lead and what’s already in your stomach threatens to reappear when Joel turns around to find his face plastered across the TV screen.

“Austin local Joel Miller has been reported missing today by his brother,” The anchor continues, “And police have been open in explaining that they believe his disappearance is connected with the murder of an Austin man, found days ago in his home, stabbed to death.”

The camera cuts to a shot of Joel’s house, covered in police tape with an office stood outside his closed front door, and then to add insult to injury, the familiar face of Tommy Miller comes into view. He’d known about you, met you plenty of times, you think he liked you even, pulling cold beers out of the fridge for you and asking you how your day had been.

“I just wanna know where my brother is,” His Texan twang rings out, but you’re not watching him, you’re watching Joel, and the tick of his jaw as he grinds his teeth, “I don’t know where he is, but Joel, if you’re listenin’, come home brother, whatever has happened, just come home.”

Joel’s fist clenches the TV remote, turning it off, bathing the room in a dead silence that feels stifling. You don’t know what to do, except chew the spaghetti in your mouth for what feels like the hundredth time in an attempt to make you swallow it. He won’t look at you, instead he stares down into his bowl of unfinished food, jaw still twitching in the way it always does when he’s angry or stressed.

“Joel…” You trail off when he brings a hand up to signal you to stop talking.

“Don’t say anythin’.”

“They just think you’re missing,” You offer, trying to lessen the blow.

He snorts, shakes his head and looks up at you finally, his dark brown eyes blown almost black.

“Missin’, huh?” He scoffs, “And when Tommy airs this whole affair we’ve been havin’, tells the police everythin’ he knows about us, what then?”

You scoff right back, getting up from the table, chair scraping across the floor as you do, “So what, you wanna run on back to fucking Texas and leave me here?”

“I didn’t say that,” He sighs, standing up too, “I’m just sayin’ it ain’t gonna be long until they realise what really happened, and then what?”

“We move on, just like you said.”

“We don’t have that kinda luck baby,” He’s started to pace, “They’re gonna find us eventually, and I don’t know how you’re gonna talk yourself outta ten stab wounds.”

“Oh fuck you, Joel,” You spit, sanity hanging by a thread, “Yeah I stabbed him, maybe I even fucking enjoyed it, but you’re just as guilty in this as I am, you’re harbouring a criminal right now, even if they don’t know it yet.”

“I’m as guilty as you?” He pries, stepping closer to you, making you step back against the kitchen counter, “I didn’t stab him baby,” His voice is dripping in sarcasm, “That was all you,” He drags out, taking another step towards you, “They might arrest me baby, but when they catch you, they’re gonna give you the damn chair.”

It all happens in such a blur, his taunting tone and the way he’s caged you in against the kitchen counters. Before you even know what you’ve done, your hand has flown up and slapped him right across the cheek, following by a spitting “How fucking dare you.”

You’re both breathing heavily, the sound of sucking breath the only thing you can hear in the room. His eyes are darker than ever as he takes one more step, tangles his fist in the hair on the back of your head and tugs hard, before his mouth is hot and open against yours, tongue sliding against yours. It’s the first time he’s touched you like this since you left Texas, hot and full of want as he presses his entire body to yours, your lower back digging into the edge of the counter. You groan into his mouth, let your arms wrap around the broad expanse of his shoulders, and melt into the hand his puts on your lower back.

There’s a fumbling of limbs when he finally lets go of the grip he’s had on your hair, palms against the globes of your ass as he pulls you up, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s kissing you as he walks to the couch - it’s old, pattern faded, and when you sit on it you feel the springs pressing into you from below, but none of that matters when you’re legs are splayed wide across his thighs, straddling him as his hands rip open the blouse he bought not two days ago. It’s torn from your body, cups of your bra pulled down, nipple sucked into his mouth, his tongue swirling it into a stiff peak before he’s switching to the other one.

Your hand is on the back of his neck, gripping tightly to the unruly curls there, body leaning back in pleasure as your start to subtly grind your hips down into his.

“I fucking hate you,” You breathe, knowing you don’t really, not deep down, just for right now, “This is all your fault.”

“All my fault?” He asks, voice gruff as his teeth nip at the delicate skin on your breath, “I didn’t force you to stab him.”

He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, this time adding his teeth, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your cunt throb.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to me that night,” You moan out when he lets your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other one, “If I didn’t know you existed this never would’a happened.”

You hear him chuckle a little against your skin, as if it’s not a bare-faced lie. Whether he’d have been here or not, you’re sure that knife would have found it’s way into your husband one way or another. Joel just adds a complication, another person who doesn’t need to be caught up in this.

He doesn’t reply, all he does is grip harder to your ass through your jeans and drag you across the growing bulge in his own. You can feel him pushing up into you, the friction of the clothes between you making you sigh as you continue grinding yourself across his jean-covered cock.

It goes on like this for a while, kissing and biting at each other, until Joel has enough. His hands move from gripping painfully to your ass to effortlessly unbuttoning and unzipping your own jeans. You lift up just enough for him to pull them down over your ass, taking your underwear with them. There’s awkward fumbling whilst you try and manoeuvre them off your body whilst staying as close to him as possible, but eventually you get there.

Before you can settle back to rubbing your wet pussy along the bulge of his trousers, his hand cups you. The heat is stifling, almost unbearable, hot skin against hot skin, but when his fingers find you soaked, and he’s pressing two inside you, everything makes sense again.

Nothing outside of this room matters. Not for the next few hours. The police, the dead husband, the nightmares that have started to creep in at night. None of it matters anymore. Not when Joel curls his fingers just perfectly, making you cry out to the ceiling with your head tossed back. When it’s like this you remember why you did it, to be with him, and only him.

“Knew this would’a shut you up.” Joel murmurs into your skin, face pressed between your breasts as he nips marks into the skin there.

Your hips are working in time to the thrusts of his fingers inside you, shamelessly grinding yourself into his palm so it’s not just his fingers inside that are setting you alight, but the palm of his hand rubbing against your clit on every move forward you make.

You can feel yourself tightening around him, getting closer, and you know he can feel it too, his fingers getting harder inside you with each push.

“Come on baby,” He coos, “Let go for me.”

And it’s always been that simple. He only has to say it and you do. Soft screams filling the room as your cunt spasms around his fingers. Body shaking as he holds you to his own, working you through it.

There’s no real reprieve for you after. Joel shifts you so you’re lying face down on the couch, and through the haze you can hear his belt buckle being undone and the zipper of his jeans being pulled down.

His hand fishes underneath your body, pulling you up so you’re draped across the arm of the couch, ass splayed upwards and legs spread wide. His hand runs up and down your swollen cunt a few times, gathering your wetness which you know he’s using to pump his cock with, before you feel the head of him at your hole.

He’s unforgiving when he pushes in, giving you everything all at once as he surges forward inside of you. He’s touching the deepest parts of you and you swear you see stars. You hear him sucking in breath behind you, his two hands gripping your ass to pull you open you he can watch himself slide in and out of your cunt.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, the only sounds that can be heard are the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, the obscene squelch of you cunt when he pushes in, and the moans you both let out.

He’s rough, but you don’t mind. You want it to consume you, the pleasure and the tinge of pain every time his cock nudges at your cervix. It means you don’t think about anything else, just how good this feels, how good he makes you feel and how right it feels now that there isn’t someone else to think about. Joel has always felt right, like the person you were always meant to find, but it’s different now.

One of his hands comes up to grip your wrist on the arm of the couch, dragging it underneath you until you feel your cunt.

“Rub it for me baby,” He growls into your ear, “I wanna do this one together.”

So you do - you circle your clit with your middle finger, pressing harder and harder on every circle as he pounds into your cunt like it’s the last time he’ll have you like this. He’s gripping the back of your neck, pushing you further down into the material of the couch.

“Come on baby,” He groans above you, “You can do it.”

“Joel,” You squeak out, almost pathetically, “I think I’m gonna-”

“Go on then baby,” He says, “I’m right behind you.”

You let yourself go, feeling your cunt squeeze his cock as you gush around him. Your mouth is dropped open but there is no sound, only the hot spark that flushes across your body when he buries himself as deep inside of you as he can and stills, filling every inch of you with his cum.

His body falls onto yours, both of you struggling to catch breath as you recover. Joel eventually moves enough so that you can both lay down, pressed up against his body, almost uncomfortably so. His skin is hot to the touch and you can see small bruises on his neck and chest starting to rise where you’d bitten him - you suspect you must look the same.

There’s silence for a while, his hand tracing gently up and down your back, before you can think to ask anything.

“What are we gonna do, Joel?”

It takes him a while to respond, probably weighing up his options. There aren’t many. He goes home and has to explain everything to the police and goes to jail, or he stays here with you, keeps running and hope for the best.

He’s quiet when he says it, but you can tell when he does speak that whatever he’s feeling is genuine. He’s too far in now, there’s no going back, and you both know that.

“We keep runnin’ baby.”

[cowgiri]

ᝰ 𝐀 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 .ᐟ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. inside of an old, creaking manor, where the walls whisper secrets and the air hums with an odd energy, you find yourself drawn into a hauntingly intimate relationship with a ghostly presence that goes by the name of caleb.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. ghost!caleb, spiritual!reader, supernatural elements, paranoia, paranormal activity, fear play, sleep paralysis, somnophilia, non-con + dub-con, breath play, oral sex (f!receiving), mastrubation, overstim, penetration, temperature play, themes of obsession. this might not be everyone’s cup of tea so please heed the warnings before reading.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 2.3k

the night was dark, heavy, and eerily silent. the sky was painted a deep shade of indigo, the moon casting a pale glow. the trees swayed in a nonexistent wind, their leaves softly rustling. you lay still, listening to the creaking of the walls and the ticking of the clock, trying to ignore the feeling that something was watching you.

it was cold, too cold for spring. the heater was turned up high, but your skin prickled with goosebumps anyway. you rolled over, throwing your blanket over your shoulder as your eyes drifted shut. but your mind was restless, your thoughts running in circles.

you'd been experiencing strange occurrences lately. objects would move, doors would slam shut, and there was always a cold spot in the room. you brushed it off as the usual creaks and groans of an old house settling, but the feeling in your gut told you otherwise.

and then there was the dreams. dark, twisted dreams, where the world around you seemed to be alive. where the walls whispered secrets in your ear and the floor seemed to reach up and grasp your ankles.

you'd wake up gasping for air, your heart beating fast in your chest. you couldn't explain what was happening, why everything seemed to be turning against you. it was as if the house itself had a vendetta against you. or maybe, just maybe, you were going insane.

he was back again. you could sense him; the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, and the familiar presence of the man who had been haunting you for months now in your new home.

it started subtle—an odd chill in the room, the faint scent of his cologne, echos of your name throughout the haunted manor. the longer you stayed, the more intense his presence became, the bolder that he grew. you had always been fond of the supernatural and encountered ghosts many times in your lifetime but there was something different about this one—something that left you feeling uneasy.

then the visits started, he came to you only in the dead of night after you had fallen into a deep slumber. his ghostly form would sit in the bed beside you and he would watch you sleep. his presence grew more tangible over time—wintery breaths against your neck, icy fingers trailing up your skin.

he had never spoken a word other than your name , he knew you felt him, knew you saw him. sometimes it was hard to breathe when he was close. you were always left panting, your heart thudding in your chest.

he was just a shadow, a silhouette, a ghostly shape that you could barely make out in the darkness. his hair was dark and his eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light. you woke to the weight of something pressing down on your chest, your limbs locked in place. panic clawed at your throat—you tried to scream, but your voice had vanished into the dark.

above you, the shadow thickened, its edges curling like smoke. a face leaned closer, close enough that you could see the unnatural gleam of his eyes, the way his lips parted as if savoring your fear. 

"shhh," his voice slithered into your ear, though his mouth never moved. "you're mine to watch. mine to touch."

you strained against the invisible restraints, your heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. his fingers traced your collarbone, icy and deliberate, dipping beneath the neckline of your nightgown. you wanted to thrash, to scream, to do anything—but your body wasn't yours anymore. it was his. and he was taking his time.

at first, you were absolutely terrified, your blood ran frigid and your heart nearly stopped beating in your chest. the first time he had laid hands on you, you had screamed and ran away as far as you could. but that didn't stop him from following you.

you had learned how to live with it, how to exist with the haunting ghost that you would come to know as caleb. the nights were long, but it had also grown to be something you craved. his presence was a constant now, his ghostly form materializing in the shadows of your room as you drifted into sleep.

almost as if he could sense your need, his touch would find you in the deepest hours of the night, when your breathing slowed and your defenses were at their weakest. you hated the way your body arched into his touch, how your thighs trembled not just from fear, but from want. it was easier to blame the paralysis, to tell yourself you had no choice than to admit how empty the nights felt when he didn't come. 

you'd wake to the weight of him pressing into the mattress, his cold body hovering over yours, his face buried between your plush thighs. his icy breath fanned across your sensitive skin, and you'd gasp, your back arching off the bed, but you didn't pull away. you couldn't. his touch left you trembling and wanting more.

his tongue was relentless, lapping at your folds with a precision that made your toes curl. you'd moan softly, your hands gripping the sheets as he devoured you, his lips and tongue working in tandem to bring you to the edge.

he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make your body sing and you were powerless to resist. your breath coming in shallow gasps as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. and when you finally came, your body shuddering beneath him, he didn't stop. he never stopped. he'd continue to taste you, to drink in your pleasure, until you were wrung out and boneless, your mind foggy with desire.

the dark, possessive nature that he had seemed to have called to you. his haunting touch sent shivers down your spine. he seemed to be getting stronger, he could touch you harder and move things in the house. you often found broken objects, trinkets he had moved to get your attention, to let you know that he was there, that he was watching.

as the nights stretched on, you found yourself subconsciously waiting for him. you were drawn to his dark energy, his possessive soul that seemed to know every inch of your very own soul. the fear that once plagued the pit of your stomach soon turned into desire after experiencing his fingers in you and his tongue on you. he took pleasure in making you cry out, making you beg and plead for him to finish you off.

that night, you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn't sleep, the full moon had you feeling restless. your hands were shaking and you felt a certain energy flow through your body. you knew that he would be there tonight, you could feel him drawing close.

your sheets were kicked to the floor and your body was covered with sweat, your legs spread wide. your fingers strummed your clit, the need in the pit of your belly growing more intense with every passing moment. you needed something, something deep within you begged to be filled.

his ghostly form seemed to grow more solid in front of you. his form emerging from the shadows like smoke curling in the moonlight. at first, he was nothing more than a faint outline, a silhouette sketched in the darkest shades of night. but as he stepped closer, the details began to take shape. you could see him clearly for a moment, the look of dark possession in his eyes.

he drew closer to you. you watched as he slipped out of his shirt, his body toned and perfect. his pants fell next, leaving him fully naked in front of you, his cock hard and ready. his tip was slick with precum, a small bead of liquid shining at the tip of his cock head. you licked your lips and his eyes darkened at the sight.

you felt his weight settle onto the bed next to you. you could feel his eyes on you—raking over your body in an appraising way. you squeezed your eyes shut and continued to rub yourself. the need in your belly was becoming so much that you could barely breathe. you arched your back off of the bed, a loud moan leaving your lips.

the mattress dipped as he moved closer to you. a cold breeze brushed your cheek, sending waves of desire up your spine. you felt his hand settle against the curve of your thigh and you let out a shaky sigh.

he began to rub lazy circles against your inner thigh, his other hand moving over your body and cupping your tit. you let out another moan, arching your back into his touch. he tugged at your nipples, his hand squeezing you roughly, his fingers moving in a slow rhythm. you panted his name into the empty room, begging him to not stop.

you knew you shouldn't want this. you shouldn't be encouraging the ghost that was haunting you to touch you. but it felt right, the touch of his fingertips and the way he seemed to worship your body like it was the last thing he would ever see. he brushed his fingertips over your hard nipple, letting out a soft moan.

you could hear him, his voice sounded like a whisper from another dimension. your breath caught in your chest as you felt his lips against the curve of your neck. he dragged them along your skin, his touch making you shiver. you felt your legs shake and you pushed your body further into his grasp.

his fingers continued to drag circles across your inner thigh. his lips began to move further down your body, his mouth trailing over the curve of your collar bone. you felt his tongue dart out and lap at your nipple, a low moan leaving his lips. you could feel his cock press against you,

his touch seemed to intensify as he pushed you onto your back. you laid on the bed, looking up at him as he loomed over you. you reached out, your hand brushing over his thigh. you ran your palm further up his leg, feeling his cock against your fingertips. he let out a moan, his hips rocking forward and pressing his cock against your hand. you gasped as you wrapped your fingers around the width of him, giving him a squeeze.

you began to pump him, running your palm over his tip. he thrust himself further into your hand, his ghostly body pressing against you. his mouth found your neck again, his tongue darting out and lapping at the spot where your pulse beat the strongest. your grip tightened around him and he moaned, his body beginning to shudder against you.

you could feel him, his coldness seeping into your body as he pressed against you. he slid his cock over your clit, making you squirm. you wanted him inside of you, needed to feel his length stretching you. your hand gripped him tighter as you guided him towards your entrance.

you let out a breathy moan as he began to push his cock into you. he slid in slowly, taking care to not hurt you. you were stretched to the brink, your cunt aching with the fullness of him. he bottomed out inside of you and you let out a moan, your head falling back against the pillow. you could hear the way his ghostly form shifted as he moved above you. his voice was a low hum, his hips pumping in and out of you with a relentless rhythm.

you could feel your orgasm building in your belly, your stomach tightening and your thighs beginning to shake. he groaned as he felt your body begin to shudder underneath him. his lips dragged over your throat, his hot breath ghosting over your skin. you moaned his name into the quiet room, your toes beginning to curl with the sensation of him fucking you. your pussy tightened around his cock.

you felt like you were floating, the bed seeming to disappear from under you. the only thing that you could feel was him, the sensation of him sliding in and out of you, the tip of cock deliciously bruising you cervix.

your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. it coursed through your body, sending shivers down your back and making your toes curl. a scream left your lips, echoing off of the walls in the quiet room. you felt yourself being pulled into his world, felt the coldness of him seep into your very soul. he let out one last thrust before he came, his cool cum filling you to the brim. you felt it leak from your body, a puddle forming under you.

he collapsed over you, his weight pinning you to the bed. you could hear his voice echoing in your ear. his words barely audible but you knew what he was saying.

mine.

then his touch was gone, his form dissolving into nothingness.  leaving you with only a memory of his presence and a pool of his cum between your legs. his presence lingered, the faintest whisper of his cologne filling the air as he faded into nothingness. you shivered, your body still coming down from the orgasm that had left you boneless and gasping.

you knew that you would never be able to leave him, to leave this place. you'd stay here forever, always waiting for his ghostly touch.  and you'd let him consume you, your body, your heart, and your soul.

because being haunted had never felt so good. and you knew that you'd let him haunt you for eternity.

[wonderjanga]

You Were in a Movie?

One day, Flash was at the Watchtower. He was mining his business as usual, scrolling through the TV for a good movie to watch. Alas, he was feeling picky so he’d skipped past a bunch and was now so far down he didn’t recognise any of the titles. That was until he came across a specific movie. Now, see, whenever he scrolls over a movie, the actors are listed, so when he scrolled over this one he saw some actress named Lisa Bennett or something and… Captain Marvel…?

Flash obviously clicked it and started watching it. What followed was the generic sappy fifties romance movie between an archeologist (Cap) and a girl who wants to be an archeologist (Bennett). He was watching a specific scene when Cap suddenly walked in.

Movie Marvel(MM): *yapping excitedly about archeology*

Actress: *writing notes in a notepad* “Thank you so much, Thomas!” *gives him a kiss on the cheek*

Marvel: *walks in and literally freezes upon hearing that line*

Flash: *does a double take* “Oh, Cap! Look, I’m watching your movie! Also, you were in a movie?”

Marvel: *speaking through grit teeth, face red as heck* “Turn it off.”

Flash: “What was that?” *knows he’s embarrassed and is smug as hell*

Marvel: “Turn. It. Off. Nyow.” *starting to spark with electricity*

Flash: “Okay, okay, dang.” *turns it off*

Marvel: *sits down next to him and puts his head in his hands* “…How did you find that?”

Flash: “I don’t know. I was just scrolling for something to watch. Why are you in a movie? Let alone a romance one.”

Marvel: “I— money.”

Flash: “Money?”

Marvel: “Money. I wanted the $100 they were gonna pay me for it.”

Flash: “They we’re gonna pay you $100 for i— oh yeah 1950s money.”

*silence*

Flash: “So does this mean I can call you Thomas since I don’t know your actual name?”

Marvel: “No.”

Flash: “Aw come on! What about Tommy? Or Tom?”

Marvel: “Still no!”

Flash: “But it sounds better than the other fake name you use! Thomas sounds way better than Marvin.”

Marvel: *grimacing super hard* “…Fine, you can call me Thomas. Or Tom, but not Tommy.” *sounds super begrudging*

Since then, Flash made sure to address Marvel as Tom as often as he could around multiple people, thankfully not around civilians. Yeah, just the people at the Watchtower.

Marvel: *eating in the cafeteria*

Flash: *slides into the seat across from him* “Hey, Tom.”

Any League Member Nearby: *immediately look to him*

They were surprised. They actually thought Marvel revealed his identity to Flash. That was, until a couple days later that The Question answered.

Marvel: *again eating in the cafeteria*

Question: *slams down some papers in front of him, looking a little crazy despite not having a face* “Thomas Abernathy!”

Marvel: “Excuse me?”

Question: “Thomas Abernathy! I went to sixteen different vintage film stores but I finally found it!” *throws a movie film roll thing on the lunch table*

Marvel: *looks horrified, looking between him and the roll* “You know it was on one of the tvs right?”

Question: “Wait what?”

That led to the first ever Movie Night at the Watchtower. Marvel was literally held down onto the couch by the combined power of three lantern rings (Hal, John, and Guy), two Kryptonians (Jon and Kon), and the rest of the Shazamily (Mary, Freddy, Darla, Pedro, and Eugene). Even then, he still struggling.

Batman: *munching on popcorn on an armchair, watching*

Members who are Watching the Movie: *all watching the movie while Marvel’s tweaking*

Marvel: *thrashing*

Eventually they got to the same scene Billy forced Flash to turn the tv off at.

Mary: “You know that scene wasn’t scripted right? Cap got a little too enthusiastic about archaeology and the actress was taking notes so she could use it for her character. Mrs Bennett realized the film was still rolling and improvised that last line.”

Kon: “Really?”

Junior: “Yeah! They had to cut it off right after that scene too because Cap got super embarrassed too!”

Marvel: *literally screams as he says this* “SHUT THE HELL UP.”

Everyone but Marvel: *all ignore him*

Hal Jordan: “Hey, so how come we never heard of this movie? I’m surprised it isn’t more well known that Cap starred in one.”

Mary: “Oh, y’know, time bubble magic stuff.”

Batman: “What?”