#tw: graphic nightmares

[r0semultiverse]

Some memes in light of The Amazing Digital Circus pilot dropping! 💜

🎪 If you use/reupload these anywhere please credit me! 🎪

#no but cropping out Caine took sooooo long #I'll make a seperate post with just the transparent Caine when I wake up later #I'm exhausted from cleaning him up & getting rid of stray pixels #cropping a red character out of a red background is a living nightmare! #hope the people at glitch studios & gooseworx appreciate these lol & hope you all do too! 💜 #I'm more proud of the Caine one; Kaufmo was already cropped on the wikia; but he unfortunately only has one real detailed shot atm & that's #from the twitter promo; but the backgroud coloring & removing Megamind from it was quite a bother at times #not my best edit; but I'm proud of these! 🥰✌ #I hope we see a flashback or something of kaufmo; I'm still wondering why a full model was made & colored & everything 🤔🤡 #mine #op #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tw clowns #tadc fanart #art #graphic design is art; it counts! #kaufmo #caine

[cheezitofthevalley]

Movie and tv blinkies (Pt 1)

ngl I have no idea where most of these are from. If anyone knows comment and I'll give credit/remove if they want.

#powerpuff girls #gifs #neocities #the matrix #alice in wonderland #cheshire cat #batman #dr phil #the princess diaries #sesame street #10 things i hate about you #peanuts #snoopy #charlie brown #cowboy bebop #star wars #wizard of oz #a nightmare before christmas #phantom of the opera #the muppets #kermit the frog #monty python #bambi #finding nemo #web graphics #old web #blinkies #eyestrain #eyestrain warning #tw eyestrain

[one-time-i-dreamt]

They changed the game "We Happy Few" into a zombie game, with terrible graphics, not only was it hard to kill the zombies, but walking dead characters started to show up halfway through.

#dream #we happy few #zombie #zombies #zombies cw #horror #nightmare #game #gaming #graphics #murder tw #death tw #violence tw

[xysidhequeen]

Since Danny opened up his trauma to Jason, did he ever comfort Danny whenever he had nightmare of his parents doing things on him?

Jason has comforted Danny after and during nightmares. Not all of them, he doesn't catch them all.

Sometimes Danny's nightmares are loud. Sometimes they're ice crackling out from him in waves, covering his room and the hallway and Jason just knows. He busts through the ice and the doors between him and his hurting king, melting the ice with his flames until he can finally get to Danny and wake his frozen body and remind him he's safe, he's whole, he's alive. Sometimes his nightmares are deafening, they're a Wail shattering walls and ceilings and everything around him. Sometimes Jason has to push his body one slow step at a time into the middle of a hurricane, bleeding and hurt but not half as hurt as his screaming friend.

But sometimes Danny's nightmares are silent. They're quiet because screaming didn't help. Screaming made it worse. Noise brought their attention back to him. Pleas and cries and screams made them angry, angry he was using their son's voice, their son's body. So sometimes Danny is quiet, locked in a silent prison of his own mind and the only way Jason can tell is if Danny didn't pull his aura entirely back into his body and he's able to feel the pain.

Danny has gotten better about locking his aura down as his mind slowly realizes he doesn't need to anymore, that he doesn't need to be in survival mode and he can make the subconcious decision to ask for help because he knows it'll come.

But sometimes the fear is stronger. And on those nights, Danny is alone.

#tw abuse #tw nightmares #tw vivisection #tw experimentation #its all just mostly hinted at though #nothing graphic #but im warning just in case so we all stay safe #danny is dealing with trauma too in the background #cause trauma healing isnt a linear journey #and somwtimes you never fully 'heal' because trauma rewires you it rewrites your entire brain it burns new pathways in #anyways this reminded me to add a scene with a nightmare into the story somewhere #gotta have that cute traumatic angsty hirt comfort moment where Danny is in Pain and Jason comes kicking the door down #I really struggle to hurt Jason but man am i mean to everyone else #Jason is my baby child and he cant be hurt. everyone else is free game to me though lets goooooo #zee answers #dp x dc #the king and his red knight #the king and his red knight au #tkahrk #tkahrk au #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #halfa jason todd #jason todd/danny phantom #jason todd/danny fenton #also yes Nocturn could technically fix it but Danny asked him not to monitor his dreams too much and Nox respects his autonomy #usually. sometimes if danny's having itnreally rough he'll ensure danny has good dreams. he tries but he can only do so much

[peafowl-arethe-best-birds]

Everything burned.

He tried to inhale sharply but heard the air exit through one of the stab wounds in his torso. He sobbed. Everything hurt it hurt so so much it burned.

He kept closing his eyes every time he opened them. The sight of his skin wrinkled and loose and without its feathers made him want to puke. Maybe he already had. Maybe that’s why his throat hurt.

Or maybe it hurt from his screams.

Blindly, he crawled. Every movement jostled broken bones. Skin peeled and wind hit places underneath that should never see the light of day. Only one of his lungs was intact, working overtime to help him breathe through the sobs wracking his body.

Would this ever end? Would he bleed out, skin peeling and red and raw, feathers ash around him? Would he ever see his sister again?

Maybe he didn’t deserve that luxury.

All at once, the world went black.

-o-O-o-

Sochai lurched out of bed, panting and shaking, clutching the blanket to his chest. He pressed it to his mouth to muffle his sobs.

He hated remembering that. He didn’t want to remember that.

He looked at his arms and legs. The magic healing helped. His feathers regrowing helped too. But he could still feel the scars underneath.

He still remembered what it felt like to have his skin fall off.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He didn’t want to remember that. He had to try to think about anything other than crawling away from where he should have died.

Sochai sobbed silently, whole but not really. Maybe he left some pieces behind.

When his sister woke up, he’d be fine.

She didn’t need to know about the memories.

#gore #tw gore #tw burns #tw severe burns #tw graphic description #tw graphic imagery #tw ptsd #tw nightmares #burns #severe burns #graphic depictions of violence #graphic descriptions of violence #graphic descriptions of injuries #ptsd #nightmares #gay oc #oc rp #my OC #OC #fanfic #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt oc #rottmnt rp #rottmnt #oc rp blog #oc rp ask blog #rp blog #rp #rottmnt fanfic

[reflections-of-mobius]

Type: Plot Progression Universe: Sandstorm Location: Jade Hills

No...NO-

Hazy hazel flickered open, registering the darkness around them. Their hands were clutching something tight, refusing to let go. For a few moments, all they saw was inky blackness- the last of the nightmare drifting across their thoughts.

Another one...

In the past, it had only been flickerings- warped memories of their alternates' sufferings that plagued their sleeping mind...but this time, it had been their own- not quite a memory, but something abysmally close.

Bless, laying in a pool of blood- his own blood- emerald orbs as dull as stone. A single red optic in the darkness, taking the form of a knife- cutting downwards. The memory of being unable to move, unable to so much as breathe struck them.

They didn't speak as they dragged their body closer on the circular bed, comforted only by the steady rise and fall of their boyfriend's form. He was alive... He was okay.

The dull ache of their injury thudded in their side, healing ribs and tissue pulsing steadily, in time to the throb of their heart. They said nothing as they buried their nose into Bless' back- careful to avoid the explosion-like scar, still healing beneath the mobian's quills.

Bless shifted- turning over silently, wrapping his arms around his smaller partner with a quiet sigh. That was all Node needed to realize that he hadn't fallen asleep earlier...but neither was willing to so much as whisper, instead holding one another close.

#a tranquil sea/on all horizons | writings #We can do this together/Bet you feel better when you’re dancing | Sandstorm #Hanging on the edge of tomorrow/From the works of yesterday | Sonic “Bless” the Hedgehog #Behind this soft exterior/Lies a warrior | Node the Fennec Fox #injury tw #blood tw #implied death tw #nightmares tw #//nothing insanely graphic and it's p short but #//figured I'd post this #//kinda post-3v3nt so not really tied down to it #//but this is about where the two're at now bl0g-wise

[hopeformankind]

@devoteyrheart sent:

wildcard bc im in my feels: “You’re scared. It’s okay to admit it, there’s no shame in it.” from papa smith to kid erwin

that comforting / reassuring vibe.

It was something hard for Erwin to describe to his father-- he was always one that struggled with his communication skills, especially when it came to describing how he felt. But something just scared him that night-- his tiny hands held onto his father's own larger one, big blue eyes looking up to his father. There's no shame in it.

" But-- they always make fun of me for crying, " The boy quietly sobbed to his father, " because-- I-- I-I don't... I don't want to be a crybaby... "

" ... I had a nightmare, " Erwin eventually admitted then. " it was... it was that I found you, and... and you weren't getting up. It was in a wrecked cart, and... and you had burns, and stuff, and-- and the Military Police wouldn't tell me what happened. Is that gonna happen to you? I-- I don't want it to! "

#[ teacher... how do i investigate something that doesnt exist? | ask answered . ] #[ if we fail here; we will never get another chance | ic / in character . ] #ask to tag tw #father death tw #death tw #graphic death tw #nightmare tw #trauma tw #crash tw #burn tw #injury tw #graphic injury tw

[tolunarvalleys]

I hurt my shoulder the other day, I pulled or strained something, I don’t know, but it huuuuuurts. the pain radiates into my neck and down my arm. so I called out of work today and went back to sleep because it was early. but every time!!!! I sleep in!!!! I have nightmares!!!! I feel like shit!!!! I should’ve just gone to work!!!!

#I feel like I’m being punished #call out? oversleep? day off? here’s graphic images of you experiencing SA #sigh. I’m sorry. #thoughts #tw sa mention #tw #cptsd #trauma #adding to this: I literally take medication at night because I was originally having nightmares every single night. and my psychiatrist #(whomst I love) offered me medication to help #now the nightmares are less frequent but it seems really fucked up that I can be working so hard to better myself and actually doing well!! #yet the nightmares continue

[mishkakagehishka]

So. Okay. I dreamt ab enstars again, but😭 i dreamt that Hiiro and Tatsumi were whispering something to one another, and Aira was like "how rude!!" but then Mayoi had a lil monologue, yknow, the usual and he was speculating what they were talking ab that had to be a secret, and he said "Could it be... three alkaloid members carrying drugs..."

So I woke up, took a minute to process the dream and went "hey wait a minute, three?????"

#(what they were actually whispering ab idk but i do know that the dream was fuckin like idk #halloween party gets interrupted by a murderer with a chainsaw type cliche. that was the rest of the dream and like #i wonder why my brain didn't register it as a nightmare even tho it was kinda graphic...😭😭😭) #drug ment tw

[sadistic-softie]

I'm going to break again. (READ TAGS)

The intrusive thoughts have returned. The dark ones. The ones that drove me to hysterical breakdown and got me in that stupid crazy person house with kids that likes crushing little rodents. I don't wanna go back. That place makes me sick. Same meals every day. Maybe I can handle the thoughts this time. Last time, I was only 13, so I might do better this time? All I can do now is what I used to do to cope. Write them out. Get them out of my head so I don't have to think about them anymore. This might delay or even prevent a break. Who knows?

These nightmares and memories are getting to me. Bad. I can't get the trauma out of my head. It won't stop it won't leave me alone. I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind. I haven't even been able to watch TV anymore because my head is so crowded. I just sit outside sometimes. Sit in the cold. I've been wearing my comfort hat all the time now. I hate taking it off. I can't keep my thoughts straight.

The nightmares. They make me tear at my skin more often than usual. It don't mean to, but I can't stop. Dermatillomania getting worse. I've eaten so much of my own scabs, skin, and blood lately. I've done that sort of thing for years already, but ever since I've started having those nightmares, it's like I crave it. I do it more. I like it. I want to taste my own blood, and it tastes really good. I've also started pulling out my body hair?? I don't know why I'm doing this. It's like I NEED to. Dermatillomania is related to OCD, right? That was my Dx. That's probably why. OCD getting worse.

I'm probably less stable than I think I am. I don't know. So much doubt. I feel 13 again. I need to do something, but I don't know what. I'm really unsure of myself. I somehow feel like I'm in danger of...my dreams?? Like, I feel like sleeping is dangerous, because every time I sleep, I get worse. I know how that sounds, but I'm serious. I feel like they're killing me metally. That's stupid. I don't even know what I'm saying. I've always been so stupid. Useless. Gross. I'm just paranoid. That's probably it. Parania getting worse. The nightmares.

So now what's my plan? I need to have a plan. Stability. I'm gonna keep following my therapists advice for now. Write it out. Get it out of my head. So, here goes nothing. But, if you're reading this, I'm warning you that it's some heavy shit and I don't condone nor wish to act on these thoughts. Plan, stabalize, write, heal.

Here it is. I just needed to get these awful, disgusting thoughts out of my head so I don't have to think them again. PLEASE remember the previous paragraph. these thoughts I carry are a weight on me. It gets worse the more you read. I feel so fucking horrible and sick thinking that they're mine. I carry so much shame, but I just don't wanna feel alone, and I can't bear to share this with anyone I see in person:

I have been eating the same thing every day. I eat other things too, but, I always have this one specific thing at least once a day. an apple with peanutbutter as dip. Every day. Apple with peanutbutter. Apple with peanutbutter. Apple with peanutbutter. And every time I cut the apple, I open this drawer. This drawer is full of knifes. Knifes of all kinds of shapes and sizes. Kitchen knifes. Serrated knives, big knives, little knives, a cheese knife, a filleting knife, a butcher knife, bread knife, boning knife, peeling knife, mezzaluna, etc...pretty much any knife you could find in a kitchen. I love holding them. Especially the butcher knife.

The way that I feel when I hold a knife with weight to it it just...indescribable. I feel like it belongs in my hand. I feel a sense of power that I've never felt before. Being knocked over and kicked while I'm down over and over for my whole life, to end up with this steel beauty in my hands and nobody elses. It's like it's begging for my to do something I don't want to. I get the urge to cut off my own hand. Just fucking slam that heavy steel rectangle right down onto my wrist for no reason other than that I can. That I have the power to do that. To cut off my own fucking hand.

And I've thought of just cutting myself. Just to drink my blood. Why wait for the dermatillomania to get to me? When I can just cut myself open and lick up all that thick, metallic liquid. The taste is so potent. So fucking delicious. And I'm afraid to admit it. I hate that it tastes so fucking good. I hate that if I could drink my own blood with no consequence, that I wouldn't hesitate. When I was seven, I used to knaw on my own arm. I gave myself hickeys trying to break the skin. Stupid weak child giving into curiosity. Did I not once consider the consequence of biting off a chunk of my own arm?

Why was I always such a gross freak? A seven year old child attempting autocannibalism? I didn't even know that word yet I was so young. No wonder people didn't wanna be my friend. I was a freak. What made me want to do that when I was so young and uncorrupt by trauma? I'm older now...I could break the skin now if I really wanted to. I could draw so much blood. I could test every knife on myself, cut out parts of me and eat them. Just like I've always wanted. My sickest childhood dream. One I never shared to anyone. The one that comes with so much shame. Shame on top of shame on top of shame.

What kind of sick freak wants to eat a part of themself?? What kind of psycho thinks about mutilating the ones they love the most? Am I a monster?? My therapists all said I'm not. So many of them...regardless, I still feel horrible about it. I have thought about pushing a knife into, torturing, dismembering, disecting my loved ones. several of them. Several times. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT MAKES ME WANT TO KILL MYSELF?? Maybe I deserve it. I should brutalize myself. See how I would 'like' it! But knowing me, I would probaly try to drink my blood while I writhe in agony. Fucking freak. Gross freak.

Don't be fucking gross? You tell me not to be gross when you catch me having a piss accident?? Everyone pees themselves every now and then. Accidents happen. You know what? YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT GROSS!!! I have cut every part of you into little chunks by hand in my mind. Every muscle, tendon, organ, etc...In my head, I have tortured my best friends brutally. In ways i can't even describe without my stomach twisting. THAT is what's gross. I hate it.

I CAN'T FUCKING STAND THE WAY YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE I'M SOME PATHETIC, INJURED ANIMAL YOU PULLED OFF THE SIDE OF THE FUCKING ROAD!! THAT SHIT MAKES ME WANNA RIP MY SKIN OFF!!! WHY DON'T WE ALL KILL OURSELVES???!!! I wanna burn a house down. I wanna destroy everything! I want someone to try and kill me so I don't take the blame for fucking stabbing them in the shin. I JUST WANNA BE IN FUCKING CONTROL FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE!!! FOR ONCE IN MY FUCKING LIFE, I DON'T WANA BE THE GOD DAMNED POWERLESS VICTIM!!!

#tw vent #vent post #vent #long post #tw #tw blood #tw self harm #self h@rm #tw violence #tw abuse #tw graphic #tw g0re #tw mental illness #tw mentally ill #tw mental instability #cw #cw vent #cw: gore #intense #ocd #dermatillomania #tw nightmares #tw violent imagery #disturbing imagery #tw sui ideation #cw sui ideation #disturbing #autocannibalism #tw intrusive thoughts #intrusive thoughts

[legitimatesatanspawn]

I love it when there is an in-setting means for continues.

But wow the devs went hard on making something this grotesque within the 8-bit NES graphical style.

I wish I could say this is the most monstrous thing I've seen with these graphical limitations but it is definitely high up there.

#astalon: tears of the earth #indie games #8 bit #game mechanics #game graphics #tfw your character is bound to a pact with some kind of unknowable being who he barters for more power with each death #tw body horror #twisted tangle of flesh and nightmares

[actaeoncross]

NaNoWriMo - Day One

I feel okay with where I stopped. I will skip around in writing parts of this, not just straight through, but I'm not sure how I want to finish the introduction for two of the main cast. So, if I post more it'll be jumbled.

“Ollie.”

“Yeah?” she reflexively answered, green eyes glued to the computer screen. The young adult desperately typed to finish her paper. Ollie should have started it weeks ago when the report was first assigned. But who cares about school at the start of a semester? Olivia Scott couldn’t say she did. 

The paper had been a convenient excuse to avoid unwanted dates. A persistent young frat boy introduced to her by a friend at one of the campus’s numerous welcome-back parties had ghosted her every step the past few weeks. He had even offered to help her research and write the report as a way to spend time together. Ollie needed to find a polite yet firm way of brushing him off permanently. Nate seemed sweet, but Ollie had no interest in a relationship. A huff of frustrated air tried to move the brown hair hanging in her eyes. Ollie’s eyes met her roommate’s as she sat back to check the time. 

“I did it again, huh?” Ollie sheepishly grinned at Analyn’s quirked eyebrow. 

“Really, it’s my fault. I don’t know why I bother speaking to you when your attention is obviously elsewhere,” the girl sniffed, throwing long curls over her shoulder. The maintenance alone on Lyn’s perfectly dyed silver tresses was probably more than the meager amount Ollie’s part-time job paid. 

“Please, forgive this lowly servant. You have my full attention now, Your Lordship,” Ollie replied with a mischievous smile. 

“The girls want to host a Halloween party. It has to be better than the other sororities, and I may have mentioned your name.” 

“Lyn!”

“Please, please! Just help us design it; you don’t have to come! You love this time of year and know more than anyone about spooky shit,” Lyn frantically pleaded as Ollie shoved her laptop into her bag. “I’ll help get Nate’s attention elsewhere for you!” 

“You’re already supposed to be doing that. The whole thing was a favor to you,” Ollie sighed, shoving her feet into worn sneakers. 

“Ugh, I know. I don’t want to see Tim again, at least not until I have someone better to rub in his face. ”  

“Just promise to think about it!” Lyn's voice called out before the door swung shut behind Ollie. 

She was usually the type of person to arrive at least fifteen minutes early. Olivia had halted this practice after Nathaniel had his class in the same building. Ollie found herself trudging through small talk with him if she came early. The building’s closeness to her dorm reduced her chances of being late. The biggest risk was crossing the road. Olivia glanced both ways more from habit than anything else before crossing. What college student didn’t want free tuition for a motor accident? 

Her pace slowed as she hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. She walked faster than intended, Olivia realized as she caught sight of the smokers lingering around the doors for one last smoke before class. They weren’t supposed to smoke on campus except in designated areas, but the new rule was only partially enforced. Campus police prioritized the higher traffic areas during the bustle of the day over the night classes. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell as she approached. 

“Olivia, hey! What’s up? Do you have plans after class?” Nathaniel asked, fumbling to snuff his cigarette.

“Analyn wants me to look over some Halloween plans with her.” 

“Oh. Well, maybe next time,” the shaggy-haired brunette’s enthusiasm swept from him.

“Maybe we can meet up for lunch tomorrow. My classes finish at eleven.” 

“Great! Yeah, let’s do that!” His immediate flip in mood reminded her of an eager puppy given a treat for performing a trick. Olivia mentally kicked herself. He was someone she could see herself being friends with. Ollie hoped she could gently explain she wasn’t looking for a relationship, but she would love a study buddy. “Have you heard about the new challenge?”

“What challenge?” 

“Descensus Rex, yeah. It seems like a waste of time, just another spooky game that happens to be popular online. But I guess people like it because it promises a wish to be granted if completed.”

“A wish?” Olivia couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she followed him inside. 

“If you follow the rules and offer a sacrifice, you’re supposed to get something you want. I haven’t seen or heard anything about anyone getting results, though.”

“Probably because it’s fake like every other supernatural game.” 

“Probably,” he conceded with a shrug and grin. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s cool you don’t follow every little trend.” 

Olivia offered a grin of her own in return. She quickly agreed to meet with Nate to discuss lunch plans during their break before hustling upstairs to her class. Ollie caught a snippet of a raised voice accusing someone of stealing his girlfriend. She froze at the door. Shota, the quiet exchange student, vigorously shook his head and argued with some frat boys. The stocky jock swung, hitting the slight Shota solidly in the jaw. She was halfway across the room when a flash of silver brought her up short. Shota firmly held a knife and mumbled under his breath. Olivia frowned, leaning slightly forward, trying to hear what he manically repeated. She thought it sounded like the name of the internet game Nate mentioned.

“Are we supposed to be scared?” one of the guys scoffed. 

The knife rose and plunged three times, sending her stumbling back in shock. Rather than attacking his tormentors, Shota was driving the blade into the flesh of his stomach. The knife fell, clattering to the floor, forgotten. Olivia and the class watched in horror as a long, jointed leg thrust from a cut in his bleeding abdomen. In quick succession, seven more slipped from the weeping torn flesh to join the first. The legs rhythmically twitched, pushing its body from Shota until they clattered into desks as they found purchase on the carpeted floor. The spider raised itself upward until its back brushed the ceiling. Shota’s arms and legs dangled limply from where his stomach fused with the monster’s. Dark eyes that still contained a flicker of life briefly met her own as the grotesque spider moved.

Olivia was jolted into action as another person attempting to flee crashed into her. Her senses returned in a rush. Screams filled the air, and desks scraped from pathways. The monster’s eight legs were a rapid blur, impaling any movement within their range. The classmate on her hurriedly shoved themself upright, with Olivia scrambling to stand as well. She should be running, but she was terrified to turn her back to the hellish creature. Olivia only managed a few shaky steps before one of the legs collided with her, knocking her aside like a ragdoll. She caught herself on a desk. Her body flattened against the smooth laminated grain of the flimsy school desk. 

The spunky blonde who sat next to her in class and offered gum in exchange for notes gurgled feet from the door. Olivia choked back a sob as the girl’s body collapsed, unmoving to the ground as the leg withdrew from her center. The spider legs settled around her, occupying Olivia’s field of vision. Rivulets of red coursed down the legs, leaving pools of blood where they stopped. Olivia was aware of a dangling arm brushing against her back as the monster’s body lowered. A commotion near the door drew her attention. Nathaniel stood in the doorway with others crowding into him from behind, trying to see into the classroom. 

He scrambled into action, crawling desperately to push back through the crowd for an exit. Olivia slipped down to huddle under the desk as the monster focused on him and its other new victims. She bit into her lip, tasting iron as she choked back screams of her own. Her hands covered her ears, trying to block the squelching sounds of its rampage. It quickly became apparent the spider could not fit through the door. The abomination turned, scuttling through the room to search for an exit. This was how she would die, Olivia numbly realized. She should at least struggle to live. Olivia flicked her eyes towards the door to weigh her chances and had to bite back a scream.

#nanowrimo #my attempt to write horror #i like all of the plans i have #lots of lore and fighting gods later on #just need to force them onto the paper from my head #clive barker whisper to me your secrets for nightmare fuel #tw gore #tw death #tw violence #tw graphic

[devious-crow]

// 🚩🚩tw gore & organ removal, graphic, nightmare description

so i had a dream today... it doesn't matter the overall theme, it was incoherent mostly as usual these days... but I think i was either streaming or watching a stream. and it was really important. and at some point I spent so long doing the thing my eyes and brain gave out. so I went blind and could barely hear or feel anything. complete darkness. and i stood up, searched with my hands around the house, for some reason we had professional tools for surgery and some magic glue and literally we had some organs in the fridge in the containers. so I took my eyes out with both of my hands and then took my brain out. with my bare hands. god

and i replaced them. and it worked. then I talked abt this to everybody and i felt like a freak of nature but yet quite cool to have done it myself. everyone was terrifyed and disgusted. I felt really uncomfortable even in my dream and i felt like there's something wrong with me

#dream journal #tw organ removal #nightmare #tw gore #tw graphic

[joelsgreys]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

[rainba]

What's Rightfully Mine (Yan. Kairos! x GN! Reader)

A/N: OOuuuhh... I've read over this a billion times and I figure I may as well go ahead and upload it. ^^;;;;;;;;;;;; Matching artwork with the story...! Woohoo! (*´▽`*)

TWs: very graphic depictions of violence, disturbing yandere behaviors, mild gore, kidnapping, 18+ content....... Kairos being Kairos. Slight mention of virginity (but it's just Kairos' virginity) MDNI.

Wordcount: 2300~

((And thank you @x-v0id-x for reading over the fic for me before I posted it!!! ☆:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:☆ ))

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Kairos never meant for this to happen. 

He swears up and down that he never wanted to do it– he promises that he never intended to hurt anybody.

But he did anyway.

However… Can you blame him–?

You are Kairos’ one and only, his soulmate, his beloved, the reason he breathes, the reason he wakes up every morning, the reason why he’s still alive– you’re his everything! Was he supposed to just let you run off into the arms of another man without even attempting to fight back...?!

The way you looked at that filth– that disgusting, foul, no-good other man… It made Kairos sick to his stomach.

What even was that guy’s name...?

(####)? (######)? (######).

Yes, that’s his name, Kairos is sure of it.

It repeats itself in Kairos’ mind over and over again, piercing his skull like a blade that twists and twists until he’s left screaming for mercy at the top of his lungs.

“G-get out of my head! Get out! Get out get out get out! Leave me alone!”

Countless nights end in him violently waking up from the same nightmare– a nightmare where you and (######) run off together while he helplessly watches. And in the nightmare, you smile so brightly, but you’re only smiling at that bastard. It’s like Kairos is invisible as he desperately crawls towards you. He’s sobbing and begging for you not to leave him, but it’s as if you can’t hear him.

However, (######) can.

(######) spits on him, jeers at him, then laughs as he carries you far, far away.

In Kairos’ nightmares, the other man stomps on his neck as he spits out callous remarks.

“Nobody could ever love you.” He sneers.

“You’re nothing but a disgusting freak.”

Kairos knows he’s heard these things before– but he can’t remember who once told him that.

He feels so powerless when imagines you with (######) as he sleeps, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it when he’s awake– it’s a never-ending tragedy that haunts every second of every day. The bags under his eyes have grown horrifyingly darker. Kairos had to make this stop.

He was desperate.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he broke into that man’s house, sneaking in through the first-floor window and trudging down the darkened halls.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he crept into the shadowy bedroom with a silver blade placed firmly in his hands, his back pocket harboring a rag soaked in chloroform.

The two of you were sleeping together so peacefully– you and that disgusting bastard.

That man looked so carefree; his chest rising and falling at a perfectly even pace. His arms were wrapped so warmly around you, holding you close in a tender embrace. The blankets covered your lower halves, and the man’s face was buried in the back of your neck.

The scene was so peaceful. Way too peaceful…

With tear-stricken eyes, Kairos couldn’t help but wonder: “why can’t that be me?”

Why does this man get to live a happy and carefree life, but not him? Why does this man get to hold you tightly in his arms, and not him? Why… Why… 

Why does Kairos never get what he wants? 

This feeling– this god awful feeling that Kairos is constantly haunted by: envy.

Envy… The one emotion he’s all-too familiar with. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore– for once in his life, he wants to have something, and not just yearn for it.

In this moment, he knows that the only way to obtain happiness… 

Is simply to take it by force.

Kairos had to be fast– because if the man woke up before he could stun him, then he’d be quickly overpowered.

Before he focused on taking him out, Kairos tiptoed over to your side, his gaze softening for just a moment. He pulled out the rag from his back pocket and placed it gently under your nose, covering all your airways. He knew he had to wait a few minutes– he had to make sure that you won’t wake up any time soon. So, while he stood there, he lovingly petted your hair and left little kisses on your forehead. When he was certain that the chloroform settled in, his heart started to tighten in his chest.

Adrenaline struck him like lightning as he snuck around the side of the bed, his purple eyes locked in on his target. For the first time in his life, Kairos was no longer the victim.

Nervous sweat dribbled down the sides of his face as he held the blade up high, positioning the pointed end towards the man’s exposed throat. Kairos could have turned back– he could have easily put the knife away and let you both go free. But he loved you too badly. He needed you too badly.

This was it.

He jabbed the knife deep into the man’s neck, hoping that would prevent any screams.

And it worked.

(######) jolted awake in horror as his mind raced to figure out what was happening. He threw his hands onto the wound and tried so desperately to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. It was so, so futile. Gurgled sounds bounced off the walls as a bloody rampage ensued right beside you.

Seeing the red gushing out flipped a switch in Kairos’ mind. He doesn’t know why he lost control– he doesn’t know how it happened– but it did.

Kairos’ vision went black as he fully jumped on top of the bed, plunging the knife into (######)’s body over and over and over again.

Slash, slash, slash.

A horrifying symphony: the sound of flesh being sliced apart.

The man’s muffled cries were like music to Kairos’ ears.

He choked and he gagged, whimpered and wailed, but coherent words of pleas were unable to escape his mouth. Every time he tried to kick Kairos off, Kairos would stab him in his legs. Every time the man tried to push him off, Kairos would slash the palm of his hands. Kairos thought for sure that he’d be overpowered, but the adrenaline in his veins gave him strength that he never knew he had.

And there was blood.

Blood everywhere.

“M-mine, mine, mine… They’re mine...!” Kairos mumbled manically under his breath, his focus flipping back and forth between you and his victim. But– it wasn’t just Kairos that looked over at you. Your partner did as well.

His shimmering eyes stared at you longingly– so lovingly... Too lovingly.

It made Kairos’ blood boil.

Through gritted teeth, he spat out, “n-no, you don’t get to look at them...! Don’t look at them ever again!”

Then… Slash.

The silver knife plunged deep into his eyes– thick blood spewing out from the wound.

Kairos can barely remember what happened after that. All he knew was that, eventually, the man ceased to struggle.

His black hoodie was now soaked in blood- his quivering hands completely red. It dripped from his cheeks and onto the corpse beneath him– the entire world was spinning dizzyingly fast.

(######)’s body was painted in deep lacerations, and his face was disfigured to the point of him being unrecognizable. Something about it was so… So…

Exciting.

 It was done now. It was over.

There was nobody in this world who could take you away from him.

And the thought of that made him smile.

Kairos laughed– he laughed so joyously, laughed so carefree.

Kairos’ mind was an incoherent mess. A horrible, horrible mess.

And he doesn’t know why it happened– he doesn’t know how it happened– in one moment, he was attacking that man, but in the next…

“M-mine… Mine… You’re f-finally mine!”

His pale hands were shaking as they savagely tore away your thin clothing. Kairos pushed your ex-lover’s corpse onto the floor as he kissed your lips with the intensity of a starved animal.

Your lips were so much softer than he imagined– so much sweeter, too. He couldn’t contain his excitement anymore– after all, this night marks the beginnings of a new and wonderful life!! 

And now, he also just gave you his first kiss! 

The silver light of the moon was glowing on his face, illuminating the dark red blood that stained his skin. He was a monster– a selfish freak that craved your love more than anything else.

There really was no rhyme or reason to anything Kairos was doing. At that moment, he just wanted to feel good; he needed to feel your warmth.

In one second, he was desperately humping your leg while holding your hips in place. In the next, he was kissing your stomach and fervently licking your chest. He knows that you can’t feel it, but that’s beside the point– he uses this time as practice, so that when you are awake, you’ll be feeling nothing but bliss! And besides… You just taste so good; he can’t help himself.

Kairos kisses and bites at your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a faint trail of needy marks. Without thinking, he pulls out his cock and begins to jerk himself off. He parts his mouth and rambles to himself.

“I’ll… I’ll m-make sure nobody finds you! Nobody!”

Kairos sticks out his tongue and licks over your left nipple; he does it a few more times before fully sucking on it. The lewd act sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s so hot, so naughty, and ultimately entirely new to him. He’s never been so turned on before.

“W-we’ll live happily together, alone in my apartment! And you’ll be s-so happy!”

He speaks as if you can hear him– and deep down, he almost wishes that you could. Kairos crawls up further onto the bed and digs his knees into your shoulders, the shadow of his cock looming over your perfect face. It’s so close to you– so, so close– god, he still wishes you were awake right now. But he knows you’d fight him off if you knew what was going on.

“I’ll f-feed you every day, and– And I’ll learn how to cook for you! I– I can watch videos online… I promise I’ll learn… J-just for you!”

He strokes himself even faster, soft wet sounds echoing off the bloodied walls. Kairos lifts the chloroform rag away from your mouth but keeps it over your nose. He presses his tip against your lips as he keeps going, his precum slowly dribbling down your chin.

“W-we can make love every single night...! I’ll… I’ll make you feel so, so good… I…” A shiver runs up and down his spine as a whiney moan escapes him.

“M-my virginity… It’s… It’s all yours...! Ahh…” 

His eyes squeeze shut as a hot sting of pleasure surges through him.

“D-doesn’t that sound wonderful!? I’m all yours, my love!”

Kairos pushes his cock a little closer to your lips– but he does it a bit too aggressively, the tip of it scraping against your teeth. God, he would give anything for you to suck on it– even if only for a fraction of a second.

“Th-then we can have a family one day!! I’ll– I’ll get my job going, I… I’ll m-make more money! Lots of money! W-we can adopt… We can…”

With his one free hand, Kairos reaches down and begins to stroke your hair, leaving blood stains all throughout it. 

“J-just us two, only u-us two… Nobody… Else!” 

The pace of his hand quickens as his head starts to tilt backwards, his breathing growing out of control. His chest heaves as he erratically chases his high, yearning so badly to feel it hit him all at once.

He can’t help but imagine how wonderful the future will be– your all's future together. Then he imagines the way you’ll be all tied up in his bed, completely naked and vulnerable for him…

Just like you are now.

“F-fuck..!”

It’s all too much– Kairos’ cock twitches as he cums all over your face, some of it pouring into your mouth and on your cheeks. He squeezes as much of it out as he possibly can, craving to see you drenched in it. Throughout it all, you still sleep so peacefully… All thanks to the chloroform.

He can’t help but think that you look so cute when you’re knocked out and covered in his cum.

Ah… if only he could draw you in this state.

Even though he so badly wants to collapse by your side and cuddle you, he knows that he has to move. There is quite literally a dead body in the room and blood on his hands– he has to clean up.

And he also has to find a way to sneak your body to his broken-down car outside.

Very reluctantly, he kisses you on your forehead, smiling sweetly. “I’ll… I’ll be back, my love!”

After a while of stumbling, he finds himself entering the bathroom.

When he looks in the mirror, his eyes widen partially in horror. Kairos knew this side of himself existed deep within him… He knew there was a disgusting monster that laid dormant in his chest, but he had never before seen it come out so fiercely.

His pupils were small, his purple eyes hauntingly beautiful. And on top of that, he was grinning.

It was the first time he had genuinely smiled in weeks– maybe even months.

Kairos turned on the sink to wash off his face, but he only seemed to be making more of a mess. Blood streamed down the sides of the sink and pooled in the drain. Despite how macabre it all was, he just couldn’t stop smiling– because now he has everything he could ever want: you.

All to himself… Forever.

Until death do you part.

#teehee #silly kairos moment #yandere oc x reader #yandere #yancore #yandere male #yandere fic #male yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere x darling #kairos art

[thepraetor]

dream eater & horn drill <3

𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 dream eater — does your muse have any recurring dreams/nightmares?

tw: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, body horror, maybe?

The dream always begins the same way.

The door to her mami's apartment looms ahead of her, and there is a heaving feeling on her gut. She is late, and something is wrong. She doesn't want to open the door, knows something terrible awaits her. A small, conscious, part of her brain is screaming for her to run, to do something.

She can't move.

She is rooted on the spot, watching the comforting wood of the door bleed red. There is a moist sticky sound coming from behind the door, the sound of something wet and bloody slapping against tile. Underneath it, there is something wrong. Jagged gasps, mutters of pains, her name spit between breaths as someone begs, and beneath that? The slick, steady sound of a knife plunging into someone over and over and over and over and over and over again.

She can't move.

She is so afraid.

Then she hears her mother scream.

Suddenly, the fear chaining her in place is gone and she wastes no time. She bursts through the bloody door, anger coursing through her veins.

She is too late.

For a moment, she ignores the shadows, the masked men surrounding her mother.

Liliana is not dead yet, but the moment Cloe lies her eyes on her, she knows she will be. The light is fading from her eyes too quickly for her to stop. There is no hope, she knows, and something inside her breaks.

It's a dream, a distant part of her knows, so the cloaked masked men don't attack her as she walks closer to her dying mami. They stand there, looming. More of an omen than a reality, a reminder that she is not safe and never will be.

The world is silent, as if it was waiting in baited breath as she kneels next to her mami. Trembling hands cradle a bleeding would-be corpse, warm hands cupping cooling cheeks as Cloe leans down to press her forehead against her mothers.

There are noises, Liliana's last attempts at words, but nothing leaves her lips. Her mami's vocal cords are shredded from the screaming, she can't say anything. There is no reassurances in Liliana's dying moments. Just the quiet sound of crying, covered by ragged dying breaths.

She never knows how long this part of her dream is. Never figures out how long it takes for her mother to die in her nightmares. It's an eternity contained within one night, a millennia of suffering suffered in a second. It's too much time and too little at the same time.

No matter what she does, this part always ends up the same way.

Her mami dies painfully and slowly, sheer agony she didn't deserve but got nonetheless.

And with her death? A small part of Cloe follows Liliana to the Otherworld.

What follows is a massacre, a reminder. Blood stains her hands, her rumpled suit splattered with blood and viscera as she tears through the men that took the only family she ever knew.

She wakes up with the ghost feeling of her mother's body on her arms.

horn drill — are there any personality traits that would stop your muse from pursuing a relationship with someone?

Close-mindedness (No, she isn't aware of the irony of this statement, but I am and I find it hilarious). Cloe is a woman full of ideals and dreams of changing the world. If her partner is not at least willing to listen to her opinion, she doesn't see things going anywhere. Outside of that, she is willing to put up with a lot, because she believes that people are inherently good and she is willing to give everyone a benefit of the doubt. Senseless cruelty would be another, but the emphasis is on senseless. She might be kind, and it's hard to remember, but Cloe has killed people. She enjoyed killing them. Her morals are not all nice and shiny, no matter how much she tries to keep them so. She is willing to go very far for a reason, but if the cruelty is senseless? Well, what is the point of it anyways? Another way to describe senseless cruelty is for it to be directionless. She sees no point on being cruel to any person. If she has to be cruel, she prefers if said cruelty has a point. The same applies to someone she might be pursuing a relationship with.

#headcanon [ the self behind the mask ] #meme monday #anonymous #tw blood #blood tw #tw gore #gore tw #tw graphic depictions of violence #graphic despictions of violence tw #tw body horror #body horror tw #sooo rip cloe and her recurring nightmares am I right? #and idk if the relationship thing made sense but basically: be willing to listen to what she says #and don't be cruel for no reason #and she is willing to give you a chance probably