#pedro nation

[fandomdaydreamer]

The Lighthouse and The Ocean

Pt 25 - Tragically Longing

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC

Warnings: angst, valium consumption

Summary: Pedro's and Nini's break up takes a heavy toll on her until she receives an unexpected visitor on Christmas Eve.

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist and Playlist -here-

Sorry for the wait, life's been sooo busy Q_Q

Length: 8k

~

The Tweet had followed a couple of days after our break up.

Pedro Pascal he/him;

I am disgusted by my so called "caring fans" who send @ninivanfleet hate or threaten her! Please be sensitive, for this is painful enough.

What a noble way of finally publicly admitting that we weren't together anymore.

Of course, words of our break up had gotten out, right along with rumours of one heartbroken Pedro Pascal moping about in forced society.

Truth be told, I didn't even blame him for the severe backlash I received because if he even felt half as miserable as I, he would have broken down and cried every time anyone on the job had come up to ask if he was okay. But guess who was the bad guy? The one having pictures of him running through the streets of Brooklyn with a bouquet of flowers or the one who had released an aloof rock song that was addressing her ex?

The unmistakable sound of eggs cracking against my door and my security yelling at the perpetrators rang through the living room. So let them, I thought and dug deeply into my ice-cream. It reminded me about the fact that this was entirely my fault.

At one point in my life, I must have forgotten what real hurt felt like. It was the incomparable sensation of keep hanging on, full of heartache and anger and still, endlessly in love. None of it made sense, the suddenty of our break up, the excruciating pain and tragical longing. No amount of screaming or crying would ever help.

I wasn't in touch with life itself anymore for the time I hadn't seen the light of day. I had come to merely endure it while Nine Inch Nails blared through the house.

Everything I know goes away in the end

I kept eating my chocolate brownie Ben and Jerry's, slowly spiralling into the song's heavy music as I sprinkled my desert with two valium and fed myself a spoon full of misery.

I will let you down, I will make you hurt

New tears spilt down my cheeks when I looked back ahead. As often these last couple of days, I remembered the things Pedro and I had said to each other. Hurtful things that had torn away the ground beneath my feet, things I'd never expected to come from him. Not him.

How badly I just wanted to beg him to come back.

Alas, the harsh bangs of whatever rotten stuff hitting my door and office windows were not easily mistaken for a visitor. Still placing full spoons of soft ice cream into my mouth, I was tempted to throw the pint down the hall and at my door.

"Fuck off!" I yelled against the music instead and scared the cat to flee upstairs again, poor thing.

Too many days and worried friends later, there were still no messages or calls from Pedro, even after I had given in and tried calling him. I only reached voice mail and broke connection before the beep. No visit or tearful reunion would ever happen or even a fantasy of me heartlessly turning him out again after he begged me to take him back. No, it seemed he was determined to keep his word. He stayed away and I stayed stagnant, lying here for hours or for weeks.

Until the contracted interviews spent hidden behind dark sunglasses, with constant supervision and fake smiles. There wasn't really a night show to appear on or stage lights to feel exposed in or a hyped up audience who listened to the fruits of my love and heartbreak. There was only the possibility that all of this was just a bad dream and I had taken enough pills not to notice.

The audience roared. Mere moments later I blinked and suddenly I was backstage again, ripping the wires off my body. They were still cheering for Pedro's song when I walked through the exit and wiped away my tears.

Fingers prodded at my cheek and neck. The hand on my shoulder felt invasive, my skin was cold an numb. "Oh, no, darling. Not again." A dull, faraway voice rang past my veil of vengeful bitter thoughts and sweet valium hazed memories. The people's silhouettes looked like my friends, but my vision refused to focus for a few seconds. "Nnno, leave me." I mumbled tiredly and almost went back to sleep to ignore Hugh tutting about and sorting through my mess while Olivia went to flush my pills down the toilet. "Don' tell Tom." I only managed to say, fearing my best friend would leave me too if he knew I had broken my promise to never rely on tranquilizers again.

Sammi had been the one examining my pitiful, drugged condition. "It's alright, come here. Hang on, baby, hand on-" Strong arms picked me up and next thing I knew, I was put into bed, dozing in and out of consciousness in the ambiguous light of the Venetian blinds.

I just wanted to sleep and have dreams. Dreams of a wide ocean and warm brown eyes and an even warmer laugh. His picture on my nightstand, his clothes on my chair, and me in my bed without the warmth of my life.

"Promise me to keep an eye on her?" Olivia's voice. "Of course." Sammi sighed from somewhere at the foot of my bed as he tucked in my feet.

His sweet but muted, incoherent voice telling me that I'd be alright again only made me cry into my donkey stuffie.

Yet here I lay for another week, worn out and unwilling, barely even present, wondering if I'd ever rest in peace.

On Christmas Eve I finally promised myself to start healing and accept Hugh and Sammi's help. I sent the security home to their families and visited my neighbours and pump some life into me with a rich variety of food and some of Sammi's famous umm-ali pudding. Somehow they even succeeded in making me smile again with their uplifting trash-talk and sweet Doo-Wop atmosphere.

It meant much to me but nevertheless, I had called it an early night and dropped onto my side of the wall. After a lengthy call with my grandparents, I decided I would take the next flight to London tomorrow morning. It was the first day I met with hope. Hope that I could disappear for a while and take some time off.

My own song played in the kitchen when I came home to my cat and I shut the radio with a sigh. 'The Lighthouse And The Ocean' was hitting the top ten charts. Not that Pedro cared. "I wonder what became of the original record I sent him." I muttered, more to myself than my cat. "Maybe he threw it in the dust bin or melted it. Maybe he made the disc a frisbee and it's lying a ditch somewhere. Stupid, he could have least sold it on eBay." I tutted.

Poentje grumbled, otherwise, everything remained quiet. My brain wasn't muddled with medication anymore. It had begun to snow outside and though I was tired, a softness I hadn't allowed to resurface before made me yearn for comfort instead of self-destruction. Sometimes, it was just you and some leftover Manakeesh against the world. This was good. Maybe I'd even touch my guitar again.

My voice had grown only weary these days. "Zuur pruim," I pouted at my cat when she turned her nose at my affections. I was in desperate need of a cuddle but she was having one of her stubborn episodes, most likely the aftermath of the rock music abuse. "We got you a ragdoll, they said, ragdolls always want to cuddle, they said," I complained, chewing and faking my insult.

A sad smile grew on my lips when I got an idea and abandoned my greasy food. "Just wait, I know exactly what you like." I left my living room, hurried up the stairs and into my closet to open a drawer and pull out the softest jumper I 'didn't' own, the grey cashmere one that belonged to Ewan and my cat adored even more than me.

Replacing it with my current piece of clothing, it dawned on me that I had a stereotypical habit of never returning my ex's clothes. But when I pulled it over my head, I immediately basked in its softness and regretted nothing.

Downstairs, Poentje's yellow orbs lit up when I emerged with one raised brow, presenting Ewan's very long-sleeved jumper like I wore it for a fashion show. "Like what you see?" I asked her and mirrored her arrogance from earlier when I strutted past her towards my sofa. My back had barely hit the cushions when my little purring machine had already climbed onto my belly and started kneading dough. "Aha," I said in triumph but my initial victorious feeling was replaced by utter sadness. I was comforted by someone who loved me no matter what.

The heartbreaking realisation that I was apart from the one person I needed it from most struck something devastating inside me and my eyes welled up with tears again. It resulted in my cat chucking up and down with the sobs I produced. Yet Poentje purred loudly and stepped onto my chest, kneading my boobs and staring at me through soothing cat eyes. I cradled her soft body and she let me squish her against my chest. "I miss him so much." I cried miserably to her but the feeling only intensified as soon as I had admitted it. My cries poured into the room until my cat got uncomfortable and bolted at the hysteria.

She looked up at me expectantly, licking her lips. I sighed. It was either taking care of her or passing out in tears again. "Why are you hungry all the time these days?" I quizzed her uselessly. "Chicken soup, how's that sound?" Poentje meowed with a high voice I knew was her agreeing statement. I sniffed and walked over towards the kitchen. Maybe I could make do with a distraction. Maybe I had some stuff I could use to make biscuits from scratch.

The little song I sang her sounded nasal and pitiful. Poentje received her dinner while I collected the ingredients for granny's famous gingerbread men and I selected a soul playlist. Every song would make me cry but I could try my best.

Hey, this was good. I could do this. I could move on. Eventually. After a while, my apron was over and over scattered with flour and bits and pieces of dough. I had made a mess out of my kitchen during my manic baking episode but it blended in perfectly with the mess around my entire living space.

Soul music continued ringing familiar tunes over towards my spacious kitchen area. Keeping myself busy was helping and made me feel less alone. Although Poentje didn't like gingerbread and I didn't know if she could even appreciate Otis Redding.

The night continued while my thoughts drifted into a fantasy realm of the potential happiness that had slipped through my fingers. If only Pedro would call back. If only he'd show up on my doorstep and let me hug him close. How often had I thought we'd finally found the one? It had been so easy to tell ourselves we were already married and were meant to be a real family one day.

I sobbed at my already tear-infused dough, wiping my eyes with a sleeve until they felt raw and puffy and then I cried some more.

Pedro deserved the world and now I knew I wouldn't be in it. He was also a huge arsehole and I imagined his stupid face in my dough as hit it with the rolling pin. "You said you'd never leave me!" Bang bang bang! Poentje jumped off the bar. All those broken promises. Lies. "Motherfucker!"

'Slip Away' started playing and I lay the pin down gently again and rolled it out evenly, cutting out my gingerbread men and painting second tray of them in butter.

I sniffed into my elbow and caught one last tear before I refused to start crying about the painfully obvious, mainly why I kept ending up alone. I had managed to fuck up every single relationship of my life but I was determined to never love again. I've had it.

The first tray of of gingerbread biscuits was waiting to cool off and I hadn't even gotten rid of my apron yet when the doorbell rang.

"Pedro?" My head shot up in hope. Maybe it was him. Whoever it was, they had to have had the code to my gate. I ran to the door and ripped it open.

Specks of snow had settled onto his coat and beanie and the warm light from the inside of my house illuminated a face I had so dearly missed and yet had dreaded to ever see again. The cold night air hit my body and still, I could have sworn the sensation of feeling solidly frozen came from being caught in his eyes.

My lack of energy didn't make me sound as surprised as I really was. "Ewan." I gasped, having never expected 'him' to show up.

Nonetheless, Ewan smiled as if the sun was radiating from inside of him. That cheeky, toothy grin of his, the kind of smile that made you think he'd invented it. "Happy Christmas, Nini. I- umm... I wasn't sure you'd be home." He said, slightly breathless.

"Hap- Happy... Christmas. What are you doing here?" I stammered, still looking down at him from the top of my stairs. It was only then that I noticed the beautifully wrapped present in his hands.

"I came to give you this." Ewan held out the present and I gingerly took it while carefully avoiding to let our hands touch.

"All the way from LA?" I replied, feeling as puzzled as ever when I looked back into his blue eyes. This was overwhelmingly awkward but he was not an unwelcome guest. "Would you like to come in?" I asked anyway, sounding a little nasal. "I wouldn't want you to freeze to death and I made gingerbread."

A somewhat strange expression appeared on his face for only a split of a second. Almost as if hurt and sorrow mingled with his surprise at my simple offer of hospitality. "I would love to." He gulped out.

I stepped aside to let him pass into the house and close the door behind him. "What was that smell?" He asked curiously. Ewan shivered out the cold clinging to his limbs. Like old friends, we greeted each other with friendly kisses on our cheeks and I smiled when he remembered the Dutch kissed each other three times.

"Rotten eggs people tend to throw these days." I excused the faint odour lingering on my porch, even after the regular cleaning service one of my friends had organised. "But it keeps the bugs away." I sarcasmed as Ewan began shrugging off his winter clothes. His hair had become somewhat floppy in the front and he ran a hand through his thick stubble. The navy blue jumper suited him. Putting his coat on the hanger to dry, he moved so naturally like he'd just done this yesterday and in a way, it was hard to imagine that he ever went away.

"Oh, yes. Christmas bugs." Ewan grinned broadly and at least made it sound like this made total sense.

My smile grew tired.

"I see you were busy. I hope I'm not intruding." Ewan noticed and I shed the kitchen gear in an awkwardly flustered way.

"No, well... at least you're not Carol singers." I joked dryly. I was still holding my oven miffs and looked down to see the mess on my apron, wishing I had put more effort into presenting myself at the door. Oh fuck, I was wearing his jumper.

"I can still sing you a Carol." Ewan promptly began teasing me in his good natured way and before I could protest, he began singing, softly and wonderfully. "In the bleak midwinter, Long, long ago-"

Grinning, I could hardly hold his gaze and I rolled my eyes about at the blush creeping up my cheeks. When he managed to catch my eyes again, he sang into my face. "Angels and Arc Angels may have travelled there." Finally, I gave in, harmonising with his tune until my voice cracked and my eyes began to sting with fresh tears.

Ewan's expression turned tender and worried. "You've been crying." Ewan noticed and I bit my lip to hold back a sob.

I nodded but refused to cry in front of him. "Pedro and I broke up," I explained the obvious and he cooed at me, rubbing my arms in a comforting way. "Yes, I... I heard. What an idiot." He remarked and I shook my head.

I somehow put up a too-brave femme fatale act to amuse us both. "It's probably okay. I live for raw emotions. Yes, I already made up my mind." I shrugged and threw my hands up. "Become a sad and possibly problematic rock star. Sex, drugs and rock'n roll. Live fast, die young, become a legend. Forever beautiful and tragic." I predicted and believed that my new year's resolutions consisted of becoming the most disastrous version of myself.

"Oh, you always were dramatic," Ewan replied with a tut, leaning in with a warm smile until I scoffed at him in a rather fond sort of grumble. "I wish I could say it'll get easier." He added.

"Life?" I asked, bitterly and let him walk me into my house while I turned my present in my hands, stopping myself from showing too much of my inner turmoil. Maybe he had come here just to go down memory lane and give me a hard time.

"Or love." Ewan laughed or maybe, just guessed. "If it's any comfort to you, I was kicked out too." He said with a sudden weariness in his voice and I frowned, turning back to him.

"Shit- the wedding?" "Paid for." "Damn." "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry. How could I feel comforted at that?" Hugging him was an impulsive reaction but it was nice and he pulled me closer with a sigh. "Yeah, me too. Shite holidays for the both of us."

"It's really good to see you though," I admitted back at arm length. Despite everything, his presence was comfort, he felt like family, like history. An old friend I didn't know I needed.

A fuzzy dark head poked out of the cat tree and began to cuddle against the fluffy little nook as soon as she saw Ewan walk in. "Oh, look who it is! Hello, Poen." He petted my cat's head and I was surprised at how loud her half purr, half meow had been. "I think she missed you." I wondered and watched her jump down towards him to practically slam herself against his leg and let him pet her. Honestly, where was the sisterhood solidarity? I crossed my arms and scolded her with a silent glare.

Poentje blinked at me and strode off to possibly find another napping spot and knock herself out on my bed upstairs.

"Tea?" I offered, finally remembering what a good host was supposed to behave like. "Yes, please," Ewan quickly replied. Walking into the kitchen area while unfastening my apron, I was only half aware that he slowly followed behind.

"It smells fantastic," Ewan noticed as I busied myself with the kettle and the selection of the tea brand I knew he liked best.

"You know my gran's recipe but oh, better don't eat any, I think I cried on most of them." I cringed at the plate of perfectly fine-looking gingerbread men.

"Should I reconsider then? Oh, wait not a chance." He looked like a child on literally Christmas Eve when he took a shaped biscuit and settled on the stool behind the kitchen counter.

I awaited his reaction as he sank his teeth into the man, biting his arm off and his eyes lit up in delight. "How are they even better than I remember?" He asked, watching me select a gingerbread man myself and chew on his head.

"I added orange zest this time. Some extra heartbreak too. Makes it oh, so sweet." My words had taken a sharp edge.

"Delicious." "Oi." I snickered with him while he profusely apologised for the really bad joke.

When the kettle was done boiling I let the tea brew in silence as if the task of dipping the bags into hot water required my fullest attention. But when it was time to add the milk, I had no excuse left to not face him again. Setting his mug in front of him, we finally took an honest look at each other and I could see he was tired and troubled. A guarded conflict stirred behind those eyes I'd sung songs about.

"Thanks." His expression was strange. He had obviously noticed that I was wearing his jumper and I sighed, not even caring about what he thought of it.

"Ewan?" I asked carefully and although he didn't answer, he was listening. "Don't get me wrong but I know when you're acting, I mean.. hiding something. You don't have to. Not with me."

It was only then that I was met with an expression which slowly betrayed a hidden sadness. Ewan took his time before he could muster a reply and I didn't push.

"You always see right through me, don't you?" he circled his mug and made little waves ripple through the milky liquid. The memory our past relationship was implied and it bothered me that he was sitting here, reviving my hurt and crumbling down my progress. It felt like bitter-sweet torture.

"Were you only just delivering a present? What are you really doing here?" I asked, poking the box with my index finger.

He looked up from his tea. "I know you just got back from a job and just broke up with someone and I will leave if you need a little peace and quiet but... My daughters are with their mum over the holidays and I.. well, I guess I wanted to see a friendly face. Thought we might both be happy with some company." After a pause to let his explanation sink in, I gave him a compassionate smile and nearly touched his hand to show him he was not alone, retreating last second. I couldn't help but feel bad I had not wasted a thought about how he might have been all this time. Turned out we were both a bit lonely while everyone else was with their families. "I'm sorry to hear that," I said, abandoning the gingerbread and cupping my mug for warmth.

"Don't be," Ewan replied softly, lifting one corner of his lips.

Secretly, I was pleased that we had gotten to a point in our post-relationship friendship where we could turn towards each other if we were two sad, abandoned singles who felt like retreating into mutual understanding. We didn't need to explain ourselves to each other, we never had to. Of course, I would be there for him if he needed me, even if it meant that I could only offer my sympathies when he had broken up with someone as well. That must have been cruel for both of them. After all, they had been planning to get married. Pedro and I had only lasted one month.

"Shall I open it?" I suggested as a change of topic, sounding a bit more cheerful as I pulled at the silver satin ribbon and raised one eyebrow. "What is it?" He chuckled and instead of giving into my inquiry, his eyes twinkled and he took a quiet sip of tea.

It was a flat box with a lid and when I had removed that too, I was met with the sparkling reflection of dainty, silver hair combs in the shape and texture of crystal daisy flowers. My breath had become a little shallow as I took in their magnificence. "Ewan, they're beautiful." I raised one of the combs from the box and noticed that it was heavier than I had thought.

I began fumbling with my messy braid and tidy it up a bit but Ewan was quick to assist. "Allow me?" He offered and I nodded. I turned my back to him while he rounded the bar and approached me from behind. Silently, I let him arrange my hair and for the first time during a very long and carefully kept distance, his fingers were touching the skin on the side of my neck. Practised fingers from years of doing his daughters' hair gathered my braid into a knot until I felt Ewan sink the combs into my hair and hold it in place.

His melodic voice behind me grew quiet, for he was right behind my ear. "I don't know what's normally the custom for what to gift one's former girlfriend but even if it's not pretty jewellery, it reminded me of you and I thought you needed to have it." I hadn't realised I had been holding my breath until I turned back to him and let him twirl my curtain fringe to shape them around my face. I was smiling before even looking up and seeing him standing right in front of me.

"Thank you," I whispered, smiling despite my slight discomfort. He was close. Way too close. I had genuine friendly platonic feelings for him and wished he wouldn't ruin it. Holding his gaze, I frowned at this suspicious behaviour. What were we doing?

Ewan took a breath as if he wanted to say something and he chose not to take my hands into his, even though I saw he would have wanted to. Instead, he took a step back and put his hands into his trouser pockets.

It was almost like shame struck him then. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." He nearly turned away, grinning shyly.

Finally, our mutual awkwardness relieved some of my tension. "It's okay. We're both in a vulnerable state." I accepted it and tried a step towards healing. "What happened?"

Ewan struggled to tell me but eventually, he admitted. "I heard your songs. Well, and so did my fiancée." He said, his grumpiness then changing into tenderness. "They're beautiful and I- I didn't know you had this in you- and then I got a bit too defensive about them I guess. About you."

I was torn between guilt and compassion. "Ewan, I'm so sorry. Shit, I keep ruining everything, I-" I cried but Ewan interrupted, gathering my hands in his.

"No, no, you're soaring, darling girl. Don't ever apologise. I just- I know I hurt you. You said, in your songs, how much you miss me and I couldn't bare the thought of... taking the light inside of you and it..." He shook his head. "It killed me."

My hand came to rest on his reddish bearded cheek. "You didn't take anything," But assuring him of this seemed to make him even sadder. I stopped smiling, realising the touch was too familiar.

"Here you are, treating me with kindness when we both know I didn't deserve it." He replied, taking my hand from resting on the side of his face to hold it. "When I rang your doorbell, I didn't know what to expect. Maybe that you would turn me away and slam the door but-" his voice cracked. "-you invited me in for... gingerbread." The waterlines in Ewan's eyes were shimmering when he finally looked up again. He had laughed out those last pair of words and the raw emotion in his voice had caused a tear to run down my cheek.

Ewan saw it before I had a chance to wipe it away. "I'm sorry." He told me. "I seem to keep doing that."

My voice sounded strange to my ears. "Yes, you are." A moment, in which we both didn't know what to say passed through us.

This was the difference between Ewan and Pedro. Ewan made me feel small and delicate in a way I couldn't imagine being anything but perfect and sensitive for him in every way. With Pedro, I had allowed my faults to surface unfiltered because I knew he accepted me with all of my layers, and let me be vulnerable the way I needed to be. I used to cut parts of myself off in a destructive manner to fit into the person I was before but that wasn't possible anymore because I found that nothing was like it used to be

I chuckled. "What happened to the good old, 'I miss you' text from your ex?" I guessed.

Ewan joined in with my restrained laugh. For a moment, it seemed like bitterness and regret had struck him. He took a moment to gather his courage. "He does... miss you." "Ewan-" "More than you think." I didn't know what to say but he beat me to it anyway. He gulped heavily. "You're right. I'm not... I'm not over you."

"No." I frowned, not believing him and looked down at our hands to pull mine back and hug myself. "You might miss me more than you remember me." I turned away when his presence started to hurt again. It was true, I had just taken it as a fact that I had closed this chapter of my life. Why was he telling me this?

Our eyes met, mine hazy, his begging me to listen. "I miss your laugh, your jokes... your kindness. The way you sing when you're busy or the creative, yet absolute mess you leave behind in every room." We looked at the kitchen and both cracked up a smile at the evidence. "I remember, all the things I did not appreciate enough... and which memory only seem to be opening my eyes now that they're gone."

I closed mine so I could gather a clear thought. "Where were you six months ago to tell me that? I can't do this anymore."

"I didn't know what I wanted." "Yes, you did. You wanted to get married!" "And you wanted to be with Pedro." "Maybe it only means we both tend to drive our partners away cruelly."

Ewan shrugged with a nearly cocky smile playing on his lips. "Seems like we could make a good pair after all." He concluded.

I let out a deep breath, shaking my head at him. "We deserve more than being each other's consolation, not feel like the unclaimed prize at some kind of wheel of fortune." I tried to reason. We just weren't meant to be.

"I know." Ewan sighed and I felt his hand on my arm, thumb gently brushing against his jumper. Slowly, he started to speak. "But just know- there's no one like you, you're so sweet and gentle and... funny. You're a big win, never a consolation prize." He said, sincere and uplifting.

"Thank you." It made me smile, yet I sighed and channelled my last bit of humour. "And here I thought you were living your life. I should have told you that in case you ever have a bad day, just remember you were a sensitive topic in my relationship."

It made him chuckle a little and it grew on me, warming me up inside.

I could finally breathe more freely and left his proximity, realising I wasn't being myself. I didn't want Ewan here and my voice finally showed it. "I used to think you left a hole in my life but I have just begun healing things that haf already been messed up with... light and happiness and with lasagna with an enye," I argued, bordering on grief.

Ewan didn't understand, of course, but he didn't ask either. I thought about the happiest time of my life and bubbling laughter and about the easiness and freedom I had never experienced with another person before. None of those feelings could be provoked by Ewan. They belonged to Pedro and me. "Now that's over too but you know me, right? I don't know how to let go."

It was all too much. I paced the room, feeling hot and cold and itchy. Slight panic crept onto me and I circled my bracelet around my wrist in a hurry.

"I feel dizzy," I admitted and felt my body tilt forward. Ewan caught me and held me up by my arms. "Please, let me help you sit down."

With what felt like clouds in my lightheaded mind, I smiled at the way he spoke with a soft Scottish lilt. It was in this moment of weakness that I wanted to just row back and fall into his arms. Return to what I assumed would be easy and familiar. Numbed down and perfectly content in docility.

Ewan directed me towards the living room area and I sat me down on my sofa. He left to grab something from the kitchen and sat right next to me as soon as he returned. I accepted the glass of cool tap water but recoiled at the faint smell of chlorine. "Thank you," I said anyway and forced myself to take a sip.

I wiped away another tear when I continued to spill my heart out. "I just wish I didn't have a heart at all. You said it yourself, I shouldn't loved you either."

"No, Nini-" "Yes, that's what you said." I was close to sobbing and I let myself be held by him.

"But it's not what I meant." He spoke in such earnestness I could almost believe him.

Ewan let his hand rest on my lower back to offer me comfort. "I said it because I was absolutely crazy about you and calling it off was the hardest thing to do because it was unfair to you. Maybe if I hadn't been such an arse, we would still... if you could ever forgive me-"

"Oh, why are you saying these things? I accepted your apology already." I gasped for words. Have mercy.

I turned away from him with a laugh. "I poured my love into that song when I wrote it but it wasn't a recent feeling, let me be clear. I published 'Blue Eyes' because it's a good song." I had almost had enough. "Ewan, what do you want from me?"

He looked at me with sad eyes. "I can't bear to see you hurt." he began. "And I had to know how you felt about me." I had to take myself away from him because I couldn't pretend there were only cold feelings between us. I knew I could have done worse than loving him.

I couldn't escape his gravity but the memories and feelings kept coming back. My head sank onto his shoulder so softly. I could just give in, I was nearly there. Why did I let him card his fingers through my hair and kiss the top of my head like this? Why did I let my body sink against his body and return to him when it made me feel homesick for a place I would never see again? Did he think he could just turn up out of the blue and expect me to start things over when whom I really wanted was Pedro... I wasn't considering it... I wasn't- I was so sad, I would die for the feeling of being loved again.

Regret, that we had lost us too. Now we were in the same boat. Both, desperate to revert into comfort. We would kiss and everything would go back to the way it was.

With all the strength I had left, I broke our longing gaze and lifted my body up and away from him. "Ewan, we can't do this. I can't tear open an old wound, can't risk another heartbreak." I whispered and turned my face the other way and yet, I felt a hand tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers afterwards, like he had done so many times before.

"I understand." He smiled and his voice sounded so pleasantly smooth when he spoke beside me. "I know I will never deserve you but if there's one thing I don't regret, it's the time spent with you. I would have not gone back home if there had been even the smallest chance that you had wanted this."

Our eyes met and I remembered the way I had looked at him more than ten years ago. Adoring, for there was nobody whom I had loved for so long. I touched his face with such slight and tiny butterfly caresses and then my hand smoothed out the hair on the side of his head.

The devil on my shoulder told me that kissing Ewan could never feel as wrong as it should. His nose was tilted at mine and my breath must have grazed his for a second. Maybe my downfall would be my fault because I was dangerously close to kissing him. He would push me back into the cushions. He would kiss me like he had come back and he would taste like tea and gingerbread.

Our bodies gravitated towards one another and as I leaned in, I felt him drowning out all of the alarms that had been ringing inside me. Could we really try again? It could feel serene, numbing. Would I even care if I made the same mistake twice? His eyes flickered down to my lips and he carefully closed the distance. We could try.

Wait a minute. Rewind.

A mere inch away from his lips, my eyes shot up and I felt the gears turn in my head. Promptly, I pushed myself away by a hand firmly placed on his chest. "Not go back? Wait, did you or did you not break up with your fiancée for a chance to get back together with me or-" I was about to pass this as a stupid thought when I caught a glimpse in his eyes. They darted to the side and the way he looked at me afterwards and didn't respond spoke a thousand volumes. His body had tensed up and he failed to speak the truth or even exhale.

The strand of hair fell back in my face as I tilted my head in disbelief.

"Oh.. my god." I suddenly felt repulsed and got away from him. "You didn't break up with her at all! You're still engaged? And you're here trying to kiss me? What the fuck is wrong with you?" I cried out angrily.

He tried to hold me back by my elbow. "Just one word from you and I will call off the wedding."

I shrugged him off. 'Homewrecker', the last point on my list of faults. "Oh, no! Nooo no no, no. This cannot be happening again. You know what? That's it." I jumped up and leaned over him, spitting out my rage. "I can't believe I almost fell for that twice. I was this close-" I showed him how close by bringing my fingers an inch apart together. "-to let myself be wrapped around your finger again, letting you into my life- my... my bed- while a hurt woman is sitting at home, hoping she's the only one for you. Am I supposed to feel flattered?" I practically yelled out.

I threw my hands up. "Well, if this is closure, then it's a good thing." Strangely, I felt nothing but release. All this tension, heavy weight and guilt fell off my shoulders as they shook with a cold, ironic kind of laughter. Count myself deluded, he hadn't changed one bit. Oh, I was so done with him.

"Why?"

"Because you're a fucking ocean and I'm an ocean and we can't be a lighthouse for each other."

"What? Darling-" he began but I interrupted him, emphasising each word. "Don't darling me." I bit out. He had gotten up and it was obvious that I was inviting him to leave my house. "You should go back to your fiancée and if you have any decency, ask her to forgive you for deeming her one aspect of your choices. Or ask yourself if you're doing her or yourself a favour by getting married at all." I was finally putting a bullet into the head of our relationship. This wasn't the storm after the calm, this was the dying breath of whatever past we shared.

"I see, if this is the wrong time-" his silly excuse was interrupted by my moment of clarity.

"It's never the wrong time, it's just the wrong person." I closed my eyes against my palm, letting the truth sink in. This meant the right person at the wrong time was still the right person. Oh, Pedro. I was such a fool.

I sobbed out, desperately aware of whom I let simply leave. "I love Pedro and I met this person, you know this person I want to take care of and am comfortable with like I've known him my whole life and I don't have to pretend anymore, be something I'm not or be... anything. I've never- I've never cried so much because I finally thought I knew what true love was." I spoke through tears.

Of all people, I wouldn't have guessed that Ewan would be so moved by my outburst. His lips had parted as he truly reflected upon my heartbreak and seeing the tears forming in his eyes only made my cry harder and uglier. "Pedro said he loved me and I turned him out." I balled my hands into fists. "I loved him since the first time we met and I will love him forever and I wouldn't have it any other way."

A moment of silence and defeat wavered into the room, in which I sniffed my tears away.

"You need to go to him," Ewan said and I looked up from my hands.

"What?" I asked dumbly and found myself at the receiving end of a soft, compassionate smile.

"Tell him you love him. If the man has two wits together, he will beg you to take him back immediately." Ewan said. My gaze flickered back and forth, trying to find the lie in his eyes. "It's very clear to me. You both want to be with each other. What are you waiting for?" He said like it was just that easy.

Well, could he be right? Neither Pedro nor I could ever feel complete again. If I just vowed my undying love then, maybe...

Slowly, I started nodding. "You're right." Determination clawed at my bones. My skin felt antsy. "I'm going to tell Pedro I love him."

Ewan was properly grinning now. "There, that's the Nini I know."

I huffed out a confused laugh and was about to leave immediately when I smelt something burning. "Damnit, the biscuits!"

"Fuck the biscuits! I'll deal with it. You go." He ushered me away from the kitchen.

"Thank you," I said, hectic and passionately and kind of, still mad at his audacity. "For making me realise what's important. Show yourself out!" I threw back over my shoulder as I ran towards the door.

"Nini, wait!" "Hell, what now?" "A coat, put on a coat!" Ewan called after me and I yanked the first coat off the hanger I could find and jammed my feet into a random pair of boots.

"Goodbye, Ewan!" I slammed the door behind me, skittering to a halt at the edge of a pavement covered with a thin layer of snow.

"Taxi!" I screamed and put myself in harm's way to make it stop in the middle of the street. The driver honked at me but I had already ripped open the door and climbed in to shuffle into the seat and tell the him to push it. "To Red Hook! Go go go!"

I would knock on his door, I would knock it down if I had to, I'd cry out how much I loved him, that I wanted to share my life with him- should I have brought a ghetto blaster?

We were driving too slow, the traffic was riling up my nerves but I had a smile stretched from ear to ear when jumped to the edge of my seat. We were nearly there.

"Stop the car!" I ordered my driver and he looked back in confusion. "Ma'am?" "I said stop. I'm walking." I paid the man a hundred dollars and moved out of the taxi to run the last block while trying not to stumble across my open laces.

But just when I turned around the corner into his street, I was stopped dead in my track. My feet came to a skittering halt and the shock ran down my spine colder than the winter's chill.

There he was.

I saw Pedro walk down the road and I stared for a while as the world around me disappeared.

It was unmistakably him and he looked so well. Pedro was walking down the street towards me, to his apartment building with an umbrella in his hand and a gorgeous woman hooked onto his arm, shielding her from the snow as they talked and laughed.

My lips parted as I took in the scene before me. She was so pretty, young, with dark hair and long legs, a model beauty queen. Each carried a grocery bag under their arm and she leaned into Pedro who was grinning about something she said. He draped his arm around her shoulders and she gave him a long kiss on his cheek as she held his cloudless face in her palm. His hand rested on her back affectionately when they shared a laughter. My heart shattered anew.

I was cold but I shivered for a different reason. They walked inside, not noticing I stood here, nor anything around them.

I remained in the dark, freezing, undetected, watching them enter the building and disappear into the warm light with smiles on their beautiful faces.

The orange glow of the city lights got reflected in the white streets. The snow fell tantalising slow from the heavens as the innocent intruders on earth that they were.

I stood there for several more moments longer to digest what I had just seen. Pedro was fine, more than just fine apparently. What did I expect? He was a handsome and kind man, he could have anyone. It couldn't have been hard for him to find someone new fairly quickly. Too late. I was too late.

Looking up the snowfall without explanation, I wished it was me up there. All those white specks swam before my vision, spiralling down the black sky and circling so perfectly among their kind and yet so alone in their journey. I stared at the descending frost and could finally relate to their short existence as I imagined all the things I should have said and done to prevent this. As I caught a snowflake, I watched it melt in my hand and it was the saddest thing I'd ever seen.

I turned and felt numb as I walked home in whiteness, dragging my feet down the street and not caring about the world any longer once it had stopped turning. Walking along the empty street, my eyelids flickered like the movies, in a screening of my dream that had slipped out of reach.

~

Part 26

Translation notes:

(dut): Zuur prium - (eng): grump

[rosebarnes94]

[vyorei]

UN OFFICIALLY SOUNDS ALARM OVER CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY IN GAZA, DECLARES RISK OF GENOCIDE

[beefrobeefcal]

the BEEF | #1: Joel Miller

Summary: no-outbreak AU, Joel has a headache and that headache wants his attention. [based on a prompt THOT up in collaboration with @strang3lov3]

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,833

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, angry fools who want to play hide the sausage, angry joel, shovel violence against a truck, monster cock, age gap (joel is in his 50's, reader is younger), p in the v (unwrapped), rough dresser sex,

Author's Notes: welcome to the BEEF. Each P-boy has a thorn in their side that has to be dealt with. Thank you to @covetyou for inspiring the idea, and thank you @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3, @rebel-held & @bitchesuntitled for their brains and eyes.

and thank you to every friendo in the Bistro - it's all for you, babies.

Joel Miller was your street’s cranky asshole. No one dared throw a party or hold a garage sale without letting him know first. No one dared let their grass get over a certain length and the whole neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief when he would go out of a town and not see the kids scribble with chalk on the sidewalks in the summer. He never called the cops; no, instead he showed up and berated whoever was hosting an event or engaging in an activity he found offensive. And he was intimidating. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was built like a brick shithouse. You’d lived on the block for almost nine years, and in that time, Joel had gone from being a broad, sturdy single father to a single, empty nester who lived off HungryMan frozen meals. He was a big man with linebacker shoulders and a meaty chest stacked on top of a boulderous belly. His plaid button up shirts always looked like they were holding on for dear life to avoid his temper.

And you were utterly in love with him.

Before the most recent snowfall, you’d been in your room on your bed with the window open a crack to let in some fresh air. Right below your window was Joel’s front porch, and as soon as you heard his door fly open, you grabbed your vibrator and listened.

“Get off my lawn!”, you heard him bellow at who ever had dared to approach his house.

You smiled to yourself and turned on your purple silicon friend and shoved it in your underwear.

As Joel berated the hapless victim of his temper, you nudged yourself closer to the edge. As you did, you cared less about the volume of your cries and let your noises out at top volume. By the time you came, Joel was standing on his porch with his mouth agape, staring at your bedroom window and the offending party walked away with a look of disgust.

*****

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

You watched as your snow shovel slipped out of your hands and hit your Joel’s truck. The one with the vanity plate ‘SM 9000’ that you had no clue what it meant. You could only sit back and watch as it fell and gouged in the paint job on Joel’s 1989 Dodge Ram pickup, your panties grew damp as you heard his front door open and slam against his house.

You turned around, raising your hands, trying to look like you were de-escalating the situation. “Joel, I-“

“The fuck’re you think you’re doin’?!”, he bellowed, stomping towards you.

As he yelled and flew into a tantrum over your shovel’s sins, you couldn’t help the stupid, lovesick half grin blooming on your face.

“… and you ain’t got no respect for no one’s property and…”, he stopped, took a breath, and looked you over, face twisting in a confused rage as he tried to figure out why you were looking at him as if he were a can of tuna and you were a cat watching him being pulled open ever so gently.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!”, he yelled, stepping forward, trying to scare you to no avail. He huffed and stomped his foot, trying to snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

You sighed and tilted your head, loving the attention he was finally bestowing on you, not caring that your reaction was essentially dumping gasoline on a house fire.

“Fuckin’ disrespectful shit…”, he snarled as he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards his house.

“Joel? What’re you doing? Where we going?”, you asked with a big dumb grin on your face then wincing at the harsh grip he had on your elbow. Your boots slipped and skidded on the icy walkway and you tripped heading up the stairs.

“Fuckin’ clumsy dumbass…”, he grumbled, shoving you through his front door and slamming it behind you both.

You looked around his entry way, noting the ugly wallpaper and the stale cigarette smell lingering. You crinkled your nose, and he turned around, his frown deepening into a scowl.

“Boots off!”, he barked, harshly motioning to your feet.

You didn’t miss a beat and toed them off quickly, kicking them into the wall. His jaw clenched as he watched the dirty snow clumps slide slowly down, leaving wet patches on his yellow-turned-brown floral wallpaper.

His eyes snapped up to yours, expecting an apologetic look. Instead, he was met with…

“Why the fuck you lookin’ at me like a love sick puppy?”

Joel was enraged. You didn’t run away or beg for forgiveness. No. You stood in his entry way, kicking your boots and making a mess, looking like he was David Cassidy or Patrick Swayze. You smiled back softly and that was the last straw for him.

“WHAT IN THE FRESH HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

You could have cum right there. Joel Miller was yelling right in your face. You’d gotten off by listening to him lose his shit at anyone trying to fundraiser or collect donations who had dared knock on his door but having a front row seat to a live performance was better than you could have ever imagined.

Joel watched your lips part and your brows twitch as they furrowed and your head tilt back slightly. He heard your breath hitch between his furious growling breaths, and his eyes slid down your parka-clad frame and he swore he saw your thighs clench.

His eyes went wide as he realized the effect he was having on you.

“You fuckin’ dirty little shit…”

The whimper he received in response made his cock twitch in his WalMart Levi’s. He sucked in a harsh breath and swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a woman look at him like that since he went to the strip club with his brother for his bachelor party, and he knew she was looking for a hefty tip. But you – the only thing he could think of is that you were trying to find a way to get out of paying for the damage your shovel caused. There was no waythat you were actually interested in him in that way. No. No woman had wanted to fuck him since before his daughter, Sarah, had been in junior high. He was a fat old asshole and you… you weren’t.

“Joel…”

Your soft voice pulled him back and the frown he carried all but left his face, being replaced with eyebrows to his hairline and his mouth open in confusion and shock.

“Joel, I… I’m sorry about your truck.”

You grabbed the zipper to your parka and pulled down, opening it to reveal your great aunt’s knitted sweater with a loon on it. Joel’s widened eyes swept over you and his brows furrowed.

“The hell you up to?”, he croaked, trying to sound intimidating.

“It’s warm in here”, you respond, tossing your parka on to, but missing completely, the stair banister.

His mind was racing. You actually seemed to be coming on to him as you stepped closer in your mismatched socks. You looked up at him through your lashes while your hands slowly slid up your legging-clad thighs and up to the hem of your sweater. He watched as you pulled it over your head slowly, getting it stuck for a moment, revealing a worn out white t-shirt with a faded image of a marshmallow peep and the slogan ‘Holla At My Peeps!’. He took another step back and you tossed your sweater at him, and he stumbled back, falling onto his recliner.

“Jesus, woman!”, he hollered, ripping your sweater off his head just in time to see you standing above him.

“You know how hot you are?”, you asked, leaning forward over him.

He froze. He must be dead. Or asleep. Or maybe he slipped when he stormed out the door to yell at you and hit his head. Or maybe he was drunk. Maybe he took a NyQuil tablet instead of the Omega 3-6-9 fish oil pills.

“The hell is wrong with you?”, he sputtered out, looking at you wide-eyed.

You didn’t answer. You only leaned forward, nudging your nose against his and letting out a breathy giggle. He tried to speak again, but his words got lost in the high pitch grunt he let out when your knee came up and nestled in between his thighs, pushing against the considerable bulge that had developed.

His hand involuntarily gripped your wrist that was supported on his arm rest, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“I know exactly what you need, Joel Miller.”, you cooed, tongue jutting out and licking your teeth, trying to sound seductive. “You need a good fuck.”

His mouth hung open in shock. You grinned wildly and kissed the tip of his nose before nipping at his bottom lip and tugging it between your teeth.

Joel let out a groan and closed his eyes, the hand on your wrist moving to your t-shirt’s hem and slipped underneath it. You nudged your knee against his crotch again and kissed him, tasting no-name waffles and burnt coffee.

The kiss seemed to break something in Joel. This wasn’t a dream, or an antihistamine induced hallucination or a concussion - this was real. You, his hot, young, stupid neighbour was crawling onto his lap and shoving your tongue down his throat.

He grunted lowly and pushed you back, looking up at you with dark eyes. You tried moving forward again, but his hand held you back.

A whine emanated from your throat, and he shook his head. “I’m not fucking you-“

You scoffed and he shushed you.

“Oh, hush and lemme finish, you loony shit!”, he huffed. “I was sayin’ that I'm not gonna fuck you in this chair; it barely holds my weight and if you’re gonna be bouncin’ on me, this fuckin’ thing’ll screw the pooch.”

You shrugged your shoulders, irritated. “Okay, fine. Then where?”

“My bed, you nimrod!”, he snapped with a scowl, then grinned. “Got a nice mattress with good lumbar support.”

*****

You had followed Joel to his room and were pleasantly… let down. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the beige walls and the picture of a horse above his non-exciting bed were not what you had thought he would have. What surprised you was the essential oil diffuser plugged in on his bedside table, giving the air a fresh lavender smell.

The fact that the rest of his house looked like a rejected concept for an early nineties sitcom and his bedroom looked like a bed and breakfast that had no theme, for some reason, made you want him more. This man and his lack of consistency. You needed him in you now.

Grabbing his arm and turning him around, you pulled him into a desperate kiss; teeth and tongues, fighting for real estate in each other’s mouths.

“Get naked, sugar.”, he grunted as he broke the kiss with a lopsided grin. He unsnapped his shirt, revealing a grey, stained undershirt, its ribbing pulled tight and stretched over his belly while his mouth and surrounding patchy facial hair glistened with your saliva.

While he wasn’t being that polite, he wasn’t being mean. That was a problem. Even with how mundane he’d revealed himself to be, it wasn’t enough. The residual dampness that made your panties stick to your core was a result of him yelling at you out front, and that goodwill your pussy had shown was slowly drying up.

Joel’s hands began to make quick work of his belt and stretch denim jeans, but he noticed you not moving to do the same.

His hand flapped at you in an urging motion, “Make with the no clothes. Can’t fuck you with them on.”

His eyes narrowed as he noted your lack of movement, and he paused. You began to see signs that Joel was getting mad, and your mind flipped through every situation you’d witnessed him lose his shit in.  What was it that would set him off quick? You weren’t about to throw a block party in his room, nor were you a religious group knocking at his door early on a Saturday. Then it clicked.

A devious grin broke out slowly on your face as you sat on his Temperpedic mattress and crossed your arms.

“Make me.”

“You indignant little shit…”, he growled, clenching his fist.

A flutter in your lower belly. More.

“Come on. Make me.”

“You fuckin’ tease… Fuck you!” His eyes were filling with fire.

An almost painful need bloomed in your core. More!

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”

He sputtered and guffawed, eyes wide in rage.

“You fuckin’ shit! Bangin’ up my truck and actin’ like a needy Jezabel just to fuckin’ tease me like this!”

You could have cum right there, between the iron grip on your wrist and his loud belittling.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted, and he snarled. He grabbed your hand and yanked you up off the bed. You truly thought his back was bad enough that the effort of getting you up alone would be too much, but he shoved you against his dresser, then slamming his weight into your back. You whined, feeling your pussy clenching on nothing.

“You’re such a shit!”, he grunted, grabbing your elasticized waistband, and yanking your leggings and panties down on one side while your hand went to the other; the two of you awkwardly working towards removing your barrier.

When they were low enough on your legs to step out of, you clumsily did so, then tried to turn around to help Joel. He wasn’t fast enough, swearing under his breath as your hands lifted his belly to access his strained button fly. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting like a dog on a window while a steak was being grilled just on the other side.

You pushed his jeans down around his hips and they pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off and bit down on the crux of your neck and shoulder as your hand cupped and felt up his hard cock.

Jesus. Oh fuck.

Joel was hung. Like unreasonably so. You’d had your fair share of men slamming their pork steeples into your wet cunt, but none of them could even hold a candle to the monstrosity that sat heavy and covered in satin in your hand. You planted your hand on his chest and pushed him back, needing to get a peek at what Joel was packing. You immediately looked down, seeing the Wile E. Coyote faux-satin boxers protruding out in an impressive, and frankly intimidating, bulge.

“Oh shit...”, you breathed out, contemplating on whether you truly needed to do any serious sitting for the next week, or if you could maybe just get away with laying down at work.

His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye, and he gave you a dark smile, “Showed up to a gun fight with a knife, sugar?”

You didn’t have time to respond because Joel shoved his hand between your legs and harshly began rubbing your clit.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled back. Joel watched, an approving sneer on his face.

“’S fucked up … you like this?”

“uh…. Uh-huh…”

“You’re a lunatic…”

You smiled lazily. “You’re fingering a lunatic… w-what’s that say about you?”

He paused then huffed out, “That I’m fingering a lunatic, you moron.”

You let out a throaty laugh that bleeds into a moan as Joel shoves two thick fingers into your hole, slowly dragging them out before plunging them back in.

“You’re a sick little shit… you seducin’ and teasin’ an old man, an’gettin’ me all wound up… Neighbourhood headache… that’s you. Fuckin’ shit up and walkin’ away with a smile on her dumb face.”

“’M close… don’t…. don’t stop…”

His fingers kept the slow languid pace going as he leaned in and harshly whispered, “Unlike you, sugar, I don’t like to leave people disappointed.”

His eyes never left you, watching your every move. Every involuntary twitch and shudder, every flutter of your eyelids and breath leave your parted lips. He could feel it around his fingers and see it on your face that you were feeling everything intensely and now that he had you like this, he wasn’t going to let you go without making sure you weren’t going to pull this shit again.

Joel was many things, but a man who could let things go was not one of them. He was tired of hearing you cream and cry on whatever silicon thing you were shoving into yourself through your bedroom window as he lost his shit on someone; tired of seeing you make eyes at him while you sat in your front yard as he grumbled at a neighbour for the state of their lawn. He was still furious at you for once letting your hand - your soft, sweet, tender hand - linger on his when handing him his mail that was accidentally delivered to your home, forcing him to sit in his shitty recliner and try to finish with his calloused, rough, and hard hand. He never came.

You were going to pay for that. He’d promised himself that for almost five years and now here you were, on your way to being a muppet with how his hand played in your pussy. Joel’s time had come.

You came, moaning, on his hand as he watched, his fingers still moving in and out of you, and his thumb took up the task of tending to your twitching clit. Your face twisted and you cried out, trying to push his hand away.

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth and a moan seeped out. As you rode the wave, he yanked his hand out and grabbed your arm, throwing you onto the bed.

“Goddammit, you’re such a pretty shit.”, he grumbled, reaching for your ankle, and tugging your ass to the edge of the bed. You tried sitting up on your elbows, but he shoved you back down with his body weight.

His weight. Good god, he felt heavier and better than you ever thought he could as he pressed you down into the mattress.

But he got up off you, trying to wrangle your ankles and pull your exposed pussy to just the right spot to save his back from being strained. You tried sitting up again, wanting to have some sort of control over the situation, but Joel growled and grabbed your hips, and, in an impressive feat, flipped you onto your front all while grumbling about what a pain in the ass you were.

“Can’t even fuckin’ be considerate enough to stay put…”

You heard him spit then grunt, figuring he was priming that fucking meat wagon between his legs, and you let out an impatient huff.

“Knock that shit off!”, he snapped, flicking you on your ass cheek. “You just came, nimrod. You can fuckin’ wait!”

“Yeah… but I wanna cum again!”, you whined out with a smile, trying to not laugh at how irritated he was with you.

“I bet you do… but you’re on my time, and I am a patient man, sugar.”, he crooned lowly, snaking his hand up your back and to your hip. You squirmed a bit, but his hold kept you planted in place, and his other hand held his cock as he nudged it against your opening.

The smile on your face dropped as his huge member pushed in; your mouth opened, and out came a gasp followed by a choked moan.

“That’s it… Jesus Murphy…  not even fuckin’ your throat and I got you to shut your mouth…”

Yes, you knew Joel was huge. But it was just an abstract concept up until that moment. Now that he was shoving his massive dick into you, you felt like the universe’s mysteries were now clearly laid out. You knew what religion was right, who shot JFK, how they made the moon landing look real…

Nothing in life would ever surprise you again because you were being split open by this grumpy, fat man. You were being ruined by Joel Miller.

He grunted as he pulled back and then slammed into you.

“Tight little snatch, sugar… takin’ me like a champ.”

You couldn’t respond. Your brain had melted and left your skull empty, and you were unable to do anything but breathe loudly and moan, “S’too big… too big…”

Joel snickered and grunted, snapping his hips and shoving himself deep. You wriggled and squirmed, simultaneously needing him stop and to fuck you harder. Your head began to feel faint, and your core squeezed him, forcing a groan out of him.

He began to snap his hips faster, panting and grunting like the fat kid in gym class being forced to run a mile. You whined and squirmed, trying to get your knees under your body to be able to push back against him, to get him deeper, but he grabbed your calf and bit your leg right above your sock with a growl then groaned, “Stay… stay put… don’t move… jus’lemme… lemme finish…”

You let out a yelp than melted into a moan, throwing yourself into another orgasm. Joel’s thrusts became hurried and more erratic. The high-pitched whine that ripped out of Joel sounded like a dog begging for table scraps as he shot his load into you.

He collapsed onto your back, both of you panting. After what felt like hours but in reality, was only about 30 seconds, Joel had gone quiet. You nudged him, hoping to god he didn’t die from a pussy-induced heart attack. He grunted and struggled to push himself up off you, then flopped on the bed next to you. You rolled over onto your back and looked at him. His cheeks were flushed, and his brows furrowed; his wispy salt and pepper hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were closed. He was still breathing heavily through his mouth. You smiled, feeling a fulfillment you hadn’t since you’d convinced your parents that it was your sister who broke the CD-ROM drive in the family computer even though it was really you. Cuddling into his, your fingers drew heart shapes in his sweat coated chest hair.

Now that he’d fucked you, you wanted to clear the air as it were, and make sure he wasn’t going to make you pay for any damage to his truck. “So…”

Joel grunted in response, one eye opening and looking at you.

“I was just wondering… what’s your licence plate mean?”

He sighed and closed his eye again. He said the meaning quietly and at first you weren’t sure you heard him right.

“What?”

His cheeks flushed a little harder and he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a huff.

“ShagMaster 9000.”

TAGLIST: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @nerdieforpedro  @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@vabeachazn @clawdee @iamasaddie @jennaispunk @tightjeansjavi @rubyfruitjungle @lilmizmoz @strang3lov3 @pedroshotwifey @harryleatherfit @bitchesuntitled

[guiltypleasure-art]

the girl dad of all time

[fatchance]

Recent birds: Gila woodpecker / carpintero del desierto (Melanerpes uropygialis) visiting a San Pedro House suet feeder. 

At San Pedro House, San Pedro Riparian National Conservation Area, Cochise County, Arizona. 

[gutsby]

I’VE NEVER FELT MORE SEEN 😭😭😭

[joelsgreys]

the audacity of my company to not give me the day off for pedro’s birthday

[katiexpunk]

I know I left Marcus Pike, Max Phillips and Agent Whiskey off this list.

Don’t come for me.

I love them, too, and just forgot. 😭😭

[barbarrie-stuff]

look at them supporting our youth team 🫶🏼 (marc guiu scored again btw, hopefully xavi will give him more chances in the first squad)

[mads198-9]

The Alcott

POV: the WIP made it out of the google drive

Summary: “If he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that could happen to a girl that’s already hurt?” - Lana Del Rey

Warnings: None really, some explicit language though. Just some fluffy angsty dialogue to either help you sleep or keep you up at night. This is my first time writing for Joel (and practically ever) so I apologize if it isn’t Hemingway-esque. This is not edited but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’m debating a smutty pt. 2 😗

@amydunnewithmen (where the delulus run wild)

————————————————————————

3 minutes.

It had taken Joel all of 3 minutes to set fire to a year of your life. A year of longing, patience, resentment, guilt and every ounce of shame that Joel had clutched to his chest since September 26th, 2003. 

It took you over two decades to find an ounce of peace. A place to, finally, let yourself breathe. To close your eyes out of comfort rather than necessity. You’d barely crawled out of the last city you scavenged. A metropolis that fell into a desolate isle. All you’d ever known of people was the way they’d looked with fungi crawling through their veins and seeping out of their orifices. Never a true person. The closest you’d come to other conscious humans were those who had already abandoned their humanity for the sake of surviving. What they didn't realize was that for them to live, they had to give up everything they’d ever lived for. You didn’t consider these men to be ‘people’. 

Looking at your facilities it was nothing short of a miracle, it was a miracle that you’d found Jackson. A single woman dragging her depleted muscles through feats of snow, a trail of blood broadcasting your vulnerability to anything within a mile’s radius. 

You don’t remember how you’d found it but you remember your pleas. Your claw marks on Jackson’s fortifying wall. You fell to the ground the moment they’d opened the gates. Almost relieved to have had a gun pointed at your head, because at least it was a person. Someone to end your suffering. You didn’t care in what way. A saviour in the form of a man nonetheless, one you’d come to know as Tommy. Tommy Miller. 

He was how you’d found Joel. How Joel found you. 

It was Tommy who’d found what was left of you, Maria who had housed you, but Joel who’d really saved you. 

-

It started pure. For you at least. 

The first you saw of Jackson’s newest constituent was his and Tommy’s embrace. Maybe that’s why you were never scared. Not of him, not of what he'd done, because you saw the best of what he could do. His reason for all that he had done. Family. 

You hadn’t felt your heart stop in ages. Up until him, fear was the only thing that had the power to constrict your chest. 

No words were spoken between the two of you for months. As the Tipsy Bison’s bartender you were the loosener of lips. An observer by nature, a listener by force, a tolerator of none. His drink order spoke for him those first few months.

Whiskey. Neat. No ice to dull its sting. A welcomed burn to the back of his throat but he sipped it like water. Years of practice of not only enduring pain, but learning to think he’d deserved it.  

It was the first thing of substance you’d ever said to him. Your words numbing him like the whiskey in his glass. It took two minutes of silence for him to scrape the floor of the bison with his barstool and drag his ass out of the bar. 

You blew it. Or so you’d thought. If anything, you had initiated what would be the most painful and pleasurable experience of your life. One that brought you to your knees in more ways than one. It felt stronger than any romantic pull you’d experienced. Every pace further from him began to hurt. A religion. 

- 

From that moment on Joel thought about more than just the glances you’d given. Your perception of him wasn’t wrong in the slightest but it gave him something new to think about. To dwell on and give his fist motivation when the house was silent and his needs too great. 

-

Months of simmering tension and lenghtneing conversations that tugged the corner of his lips up led you to what would become your favourite place. The eventual route of all your pain. 

His arms.

Before the age of 25 you’d experienced every horror the world had to offer. You’d spent your life running, burning the memories of your old life with every fire you’d lit to warm your skin. All while everything within you froze with time. You’d never had a moment to explore your thoughts let alone your body.

Joel was the first. In every way imaginable.

Even in heartbreak. 

-

In all of Jackson, Tommy was the one to know Joel best. He’d seen the colour come to his brother’s cheeks at the mere mention of your name and he’d seen the way his eyes bored holes into those who gave the two of you suggestive looks in public. 

The jealousy of the men who thought they had a right to fuck you and the envy of the women you ‘stole’ Joel from. The looks of outrage that painted the churchgoers faces chipped away at his resolve every time the two of you were together and only reinforced his shame. 

Echoed his anxieties of whether or not he was ‘too old’ for you. Too destructive to be around such innocence. Too hardened by his years alone. How your presumed father issues were the only thing that drew you to him.  

The hunter’s voices won out in the end because he lost you, at the alcott. 

The last thing he wanted, he’d done to you. 

-

You’d once loved it here. The Alcott. A space delegated to the books that once littered the halls of the ravaged homes across Wyoming. A place that Maria saw as a solution to your lack of a purpose. 

Even after everything, you can’t imagine leaving. 

You hadn’t left in the weeks since Joel drove a knife through your chest. Weeks you spent curled up in the back of the shop, surrounded by books, their pages riddled with love stories and sonnets, ridiculing you with their happy endings. 

Draped in the flannel he’d long left, finding yourself relating to it. At first glance, an abandoned piece of cloth, but you saw it as much more. It was something he no longer had use for. Something he chose to leave. A landmine of memories. Its scent sending you into a spiral with every inhale. 

-

It took less than a day for his resolve to crack and less than twelve hours for Ellie to tell him that he’d been a dick and only six for Tommy to see the change in him. For once in his life Joel Miller was cold. The left side of his bed that once held you now held the weight of your pain, his loss. The shattered look in your eyes as he’d told you to move on painted itself to the backs of his eyelids. His own voice haunting him, telling you to find yourself outside of who you are with him. That he’s too old for you. That you were only a kid and no matter how bad the world had gotten he wouldn’t take advantage of that. 

What he didn’t know was that the time spent with him made you feel like a woman, not the solitary girl everyone else saw you for. The days spent with his lips against you were the only times in which you’d believed that your skin was your own.

But he didn’t realize that, or did not let himself because he was bad. For all intensive purposes Joel Miller was a serial killer. A lethal weapon. Nothing that could provide you with the warmth you sought. The warmth he knew you deserved. And god did he want to be the one to give it to you. Joel had spent the last twenty years of his life preserving life, not experiencing it.  Hell he still was, patrolling the outskirts of Jackson four times a week. This time taking the long way home just to pass by your house. It was as he expected, as much as he’d kicked himself he knew you, craved you, understood you. So it was no surprise to see no light coming from your house. No noise either. At first he panicked. His mind his own greatest enemy in how it conjured up a thousand scenarios of you leaving Jackson, all ending with your heart stopped and skin blue. 

Where on god’s green earth could you have gone. Where you’d never left.

The Alcott. 

-

You hadn’t heard him come in.

“You're still here.”

Questioning you in his thick southern drawl, draping across his words like honey. Damn it. Damn him for still making you blush. 

His presence isn’t what startled you, it was the fact that it was Joel. Your Joel, now just Joel. 

“I never left.”

He regretted everything he’d ever done to you the second he saw your wide eyes boring into his own. Glossed over in every shade of pain.

He didn’t have to ask why, he was sure he knew, but he asked anyway. Never a man to stumble over his words he could barely get two syllables out. 

Looking down to his shifting feet then back to you he asked you what he already knew. 

“Why?”

“Because I love this place. What used to feel like our house. Even if it’s cursed now.”

He thought his heart would start screaming with the way it was beating. 

“I, uh” clears his throat “I didn't want to darken y’doorstep. Anymore than I already have I’spose.”  

“Funny. I’ve had the lights off since you left.”

You practically slurred your words. What was left of you both had been draining you emotionally, in only the 2 minutes he’d been here. 

“So… I, uh. I was g’nna ask ya, how’ve ya been?”

Your laugh was as dry as the Texas heat Joel had come from. But less familiar. 

“Why are you really here Joel? You’ve always been shit at small talk, didn’t suppose that changed in the last week.”

“Jesus” A week? “Feels like a lifetime since the last time I saw ya.”

“Funny how a ‘lifetime’ is what seemed to be between us. Different generations and all that bull shit.”

“Look kid -”

“No. Don’t you dare call me ‘kid’. Don’t make me feel smaller than I already am. Those people out there may have beaten you into submission but I am an adult. I’ve been one since I saw my first infected. I’ve been on my own and just fucking fine without anybody since I was a so-called kid so I dont want to hear another god damn word. You and everybody else think I can’t so much as cross the street without holding your hand but I've done more than that with less.

You know I survived on my own.

Before you.

And if it’s up to you, I will after, but I don’t want to.

For the first time in my life I got something I wanted, needed, and I don’t want to give it up. 

You.

Ellie.

Tommy, Maria, the baby.

Jackson.

Living.

It’s more than surviving.

But apparently not to you.”

“That is not true.”

You didn’t realise you’d stood up until you could feel the heat radiating off of Joel, his flannel, everything.  

“Then what is huh? I was a quick fuck. The first wet thing you’d felt in twenty years or what?”

You were yelling at this point and Joel hadn’t moved an inch. Not giving you anything. Not even a response except for the pinching between his brows. And it was killing you. 

“You know it wasn’t like that -”

“Then what the FUCK was it if. not. real?!” Emphasizing each word with a pound to his firm chest. 

Nothing you said from then on was comprehensible. Just sobs ripping from your chest as you threw your weight into him. Sinking into the floor, dragging him down with you. 

His arms shooting out from his sides to enrapture you the second he felt your knees buckle and tears flow. Pulling you into his lap as your body shuddered. Immediately finding the crook of his neck. Inhaling him again. Finally, you couldn’t tell if it made you cry more or less but all you could notice was Joel. All you could feel, hear and smell was Joel. The smell of firewood dotting his skin mixed with the old spice soap he’d managed to scavenge on last week’s patrol. The feeling of giving into his arms again, coming home, and the sound of him cooing, and sniffling? 

He’d lost it. Thought he’d lost you and that was his breaking point. Feeling his own tears seep into your hair you knew it was real. You knew he meant everything he’d said back then. Back before Jackson got to him. Before he’d let his own mind turn on him. And as much as it’d hurt then, it felt good now.

“Shhh, shhh.

I gotcha baby. I know, oh I know. More than you could imagine.”

“Please, please, please.”

Holding your face, and your heart, in his calloused palms he looked you in the eye.

“Please what, baby?”

Looking like a doe at his doorstep, your crumpled frame fitting perfectly within the confines of his lap.

“Please don’t leave. Please stay. I tried, I tried so hard to be good to you, for you.”

“Oh honey, you were, fuck you are baby. 

The best I’ll ever get, all I ever want.

I’m not leaving baby girl. 

Never. 

Even if you ask me to, I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, he didn’t.

————————————————————————

This sounded so much better in my head -

W o w

I actually wrote something… hot damn.

I’m debating a second part?? of smut??

[wgm-beautiful-world]

O Palácio Nacional da Pena - PORTUGAL

[molt3ngold]

The supreme leader has met the KING

[beefrobeefcal]

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Joel Miller & his Darlin' One Shot: A Trouble Shared is a Trouble Halved Summary: You and Joel navigate settling down in Jackson as a couple with its ups and downs. (Post Outbreak)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,900

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), talk of eating, weight gain, oral (f receiving), angst, established relationship growing pains, argument

Author's Notes: Am I back? Maybe baby! I'm delighted to finally do what was asked of me in a poll and I thank you all for your love and patience.

Thanks be to @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3, and @notjustjavierpena for their eyes, thots, and brains. And thank you to @noxturnalpascal for the THOT that gave life to this fic so very long ago.

“Eatin’ like it's your last day on earth, Miller...”, you teased with a wry smile as you walked past him in the dining hall.

“Shut it...”, he grumbled, a bit of pink flushing his cheeks. He took another bite of gravy-flooded mashed potatoes.

“What helping’s this? Third? Fourth?”

Joel looked at you, exasperated. “The fuck? Can't a man enjoy his girl’s cookin’ without the third degree?”

You smiled at him, loving how much of a rise you were getting. It had been a few months since you and Joel had your first encounter, and while nothing was made official, more often than not, you’d find yourself entwined with Joel in your bed at night. His heavy, full stomach pressed against your back as you both slept peacefully. While you enjoyed your time together, you were beginning to feel something was lacking, hence your teasing.

The cold glare he gave immediately dampened the playful banter between you. You felt a twist in your mood and sour heat in your stomach.

He shook his turkey leg at you, giving you a scolding look, and warned, “You better knock that shit off, Darlin’... or so help me, I’m not gonna - .”

“Not gonna what?”, you asked, getting closer, and you voice dropped down to a cool whisper only he could hear. “Not gonna fuck me? Pretty sure haven’t been doing that lately anyway, so what’d be the difference, huh?”

He sat back with wide eyes and his mouth open in shock, and his full belly sat rounded out on his lap. You stood up, brow raised, and arms crossed.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?!”

Joel was affectionate, but usually too tired, full or both to do anything but let you ride him. And not to say you didn't enjoy it, but it was starting to feel a bit one sided. He hadn’t done anything beyond finger you a bit to get you ready and then sweet talk you into being on top again. He’d apologize and praise you, but you wanted more. Especially now that there was more to him.

His eating habits had really started to impact his physique; his jawline was softer, his arms and thighs were thicker, but his stomach was truly the star of the show. He’d made do with the clothes he had for as long as he could, but at the rate he was eating and the limited physical activity he’d been doing, he had to trade labor and time for new shirts and pants that would fit him. And on nights when he ate like this, you swore you could hear the seams praying to their polyester gods for mercy.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Coulda fooled me!”, he snapped, louder than he meant. “Seems to do the trick and make you whine and mewl like a beaten dog almost every night!”

You felt your face get hot as a few heads in the dining hall turned towards you. He sighed and his eyes softened as he saw your face fall a bit. But you held firm, pulling your mouth into a scowl.

“Not every night, nowhere near it. And I’m the one doing the work. I’m the one fuckin’ you!”, you hissed.

Before giving him a chance to say anything else, you quickly turned and went back into the kitchen.

*****

After storming out of the dining hall, you’d spent the rest of your shift cleaning the entire kitchen, probably to a degree it hadn’t been since its installation. You’d scrubbed and polished every surface with enough fury in your eyes that no one dared step in. It wasn’t until you heard the jukebox turn off and see the lights in the dining hall dim that you realized you’d been at this for a few hours.

As you leaned back against the counter, head down and thinking over how your and Joel’s interaction had escalated like that, you heard a small voice say your name. You looked up and saw Sally, one of the other kitchen attendants.

“Sorry - don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m tryin’ to close up and Joel won’t leave. Says he’s not leavin’ without’cha.”

You scoffed out a ‘for fuck’s sake’ then walked to the swinging doors, only to see Joel, still seated where he was before, leaning back in his chair and picking his teeth with a toothpick. His eyes met yours, and you knew just from the look he was giving, he had a lot more to say.

“Joel, go home. Need to close up and can’t if you’re here.”

He looked behind you at Sally and gave her a small wave. “I’ll help her close up, Sally. You run on home. We got this.”

“Joel!”, you hissed.

“Go on now, Sally.”

His tone left little room for Sally to argue, and she muttered a ‘good night’ as she passed by you then Joel as head made her way out the door.  You sighed, clenching your jaw, feeling the frustration and anger that you’d just weeded down in your cleaning frenzy begin to rise again. Joel watched Sally leave, then turned back to you, smug look on his face, made all the smugger as he noted your irritation.

“Darlin’, cut that shit out and come’ere.”, he crooned with a small grin, hilding his hand out to you.

You glared at him, not moving from your position.

He kept his hand out and raised his eyebrows and let out a huff. “Don’t make this old man beg, baby…”

“I think this old man has a lot more ground to cover than just beggin’.”, you responded cooly, crossing your arms across your chest. Before Joel could answer, you turned and went back to the kitchen to finish your duties.

You figured there was a 50 / 50 chance of Joel following you in, so as the door swung open and his heavy footsteps lumbered towards you, you knew he was at least picking up slightly on the passive aggressive breadcrumbs you’d dropped. You kept your back to him, drying cutlery and putting them into their respective bins.

“Darlin’…”

Joel’s voice was set low in a growl, leaving you unable to tell whether he was angry or aroused. You jumped as his hand grazed your lower back and settled on your waist, giving you a small squeeze.

“You wan’me to beg?”, he huskily growled into the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss to your skin.

“I gotta finish closin’ up, Joel.”, you stated, keeping your voice as even and unaffected as you could muster.

Joel let out a frustrated sigh-turned-grunt and let you go, stepping back. He leaned back against the wooden shelf behind him, the wood creaking in objection to his weight.

“Fuck, you’re being-“, he started, before letting out a huff. “What has gotten into you?”

Turning around, you were met with something you didn’t anticipate – a dark, sullen, glaring Joel, eyes burning into you.

“Joel-“, you groaned, before he cut you off.

“Don’t fuckin’ Joel me.”, he snapped. “You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve. You know what you said in front of the people eatin’ their food out there? You said I wasn’t fuckin’ you right. And then, I sit here like a goddamned fool, waitin’ for you to finish so we can talk, and you turn your back on me.”

“Joel, I need t-“

“Shut up! I ain’t done talkin’!”

You close your mouth and swallow hard. While you’d seen him get mad before, Joel had never directed it towards you before, and lord almighty, it sucked.

“You think I’m a fuckin’ mind reader? Think I’m gonna know you’re not happy?”, he asked, sounding loud and desperate, as he stood up and stalked towards you.

As he looked down at you, realization of how much bigger he was, in height and weight, came over you.

“I have said someth-“, you tried to argue, but his large hand grabbing yours and tugging you against him stopped you.

“Don’t interrupt me!”, he barked. “You aint said shit! And now you – fuck! No. You know what? Ain’t worth it!”

His eyes glowered down into yours and you in turn felt your eyes begin to sting with tears at the loss of contact. This was the most emotionally charged you’d seen Joel, and you wanted that same energy and passion when he fucked you, not use it to berate you for needing him to give you the same time and attention he showered on the food you cooked for the whole community. You could feel your face getting hot from the anger that was boiling in you over how overlooked you felt, even if it wasn’t entirely true. You were in a heated, frenzied spiral and reason and rationale had abandoned you.

Before you could snap back and tell him how worth it you actually were, Joel’s eyes softened; he let out a deep breath and let go of your arm and stepped back.

“I’ll… I’ll see you at home.”, Joel muttered before he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

You stood silently and watched him leave, feeling your heart break and immolate in your rib cage and hot tears fall down your face. It hit you hard just how hurt you both were.

*****

The house was dark when you walked in the front door. Joel had left no lights on, and you knew Ellie would be at Dina’s house for the night. The only hint you had to deduce that Joel was in fact home was the dim light you saw through his bedroom window as you approached the house. You hung your coat and tucked your boots on the shelf before quietly ascending the stairs to go to your room.

As you tiptoed in the hallways, you passed Joel’s bedroom door and heard him moving around his room. You could see his shadow from the light slipping under his doorway and felt your stomach curdle and sour, your mind jumping to rash conclusions about what he could be doing in there.

Was he packing to move out and get away from you?

Was he trying to clean up to remove your smell?

Was he collecting your things that you’d left in his room so he could hand them to you and tell you to get out?

As the thoughts rippled through your brain, you knew Joel was more methodical than that. He wouldn’t just leave or make you leave like that… would he?

You stepped forward, forgetting about that floorboard. The creak that sang out made both you and Joel’s shadow stop. You kept still for a moment, but the shadow didn’t move either. You were suddenly thrust back into your childhood; the times you were trying to sneak down into the kitchen to grab a snack or watch a blue movie on cable television without your parents catching you.

That fucking floorboard.

The shadow moved slightly, signaling Joel was getting closer to the door, and you moved quickly to your room, no longer caring how much noise you made. As you reached to grab your door handle, you heard Joel’s door pull open.

“Darlin’?”

Your hand clasped the knob, and you closed your eyes, hearing his voice.

“Yeah, Joel?”

You were surprised how soft and calm your voice sounded; it was a stark contrast to the overwhelming, post-anger, anxiety-ridden mess that was your mind.

“Turn around and look at me, Baby.”

“M’tired, Joel… Just gonna go to bed and – “

“I said turn around.”

It wasn’t a request. His tone was gentle, but you could feel it in your bones that this was a command - a soft one, but a command none the less. Your skin prickled in a wave of goosebumps, up your body, culminating at the base of your neck.

Joel must have been able to see the effect he had on you, because the voice he used to speak almost melted the flesh from your bones.

“Darlin’, you’re gonna turn around and look at me. Now.”

You turned around and looked at him. His broad and hefty silhouette stood ominously in his doorway, backlit by the soft glow from his bedroom.

“You comin’ to bed?”, Joel said quietly, but there was an edge to his tone that made your skin once again pebble.

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at his question, then shook your head subtly.

“No, Joel. I figured we’d take the night an-“

“And what?”, he snapped, stepping out into the hallway and towards you.

When you didn’t answer, he took another few steps and growled in a lower tone, “And what?!”

Your eyes went wide as he got closer, and your fight or flight kicked in. Taking a step back, you hit your bedroom door, and stumbled through your words. “I… I-I thought… I figured that you’d wanna-“

“That I’d wanna what?”, he snarled, stepping close and his full belly pressed you further into your door.

“Th-that you’d… you’d wanna be… alone to-tonight…”

Joel’s hand came up and he grabbed your chin, forcing your face square to his. “And why d’you think that?”

“Because… because we fought-“

“And you think that gives you the right to not sleep in my bed?”

You were stunned; you had no answer for him, and you also hadn’t ever been this turned on by him with out him already being knuckle deep in your pussy. You swallowed hard and stared back at him. This was a feeling you couldn’t place; it felt like you were slipping under a spell that Joel was casting.

The only response you could finally give was a headshake, and Joel returned it with a curt nod and slight grin.

“Good girl.”, he purred and released your chin.

You followed Joel back into his room, and stood awkwardly as he closed the door. You’d been in his room countless times, and you’d never felt this out of place. You jumped when he put his hands on your hips from behind and pulled you back, the curve of your spine being the perfect angle for his heavy belly to fit against.

“You feel like I’m not takin’ care of you, Darlin’?”, he huskily mewled into your ear before nipping it.

“Joel, I’m sor-“

“Stop.”, he said, abruptly stopping you from finishing your apology.

“We’re past that, Darlin’. Both said things we needed to say, even if we said’em not so nicely.”

You could hear the small smile in his voice and couldn’t help the one that tugged at your mouth slightly. A whisper soft sound came out of you with a sigh. 

But then his tone dipped down, and as he rasped into your ear; one of his hands on your hip slipped to your front as he cupped your denim clad mound.

“You got my attention, baby. You feelin’ needy?”

Your mouth opened, and our flew a feather-light choked whimper. He gripped you roughly and pulled you snug against him, enough so that you could feel his thick and hard cock press against your ass.

“That why you had an attitude with me today? Needed me to fuck you? Fix that ache in your needy pussy?”

You breathed his name out as your brows furrowed and your eyes clenches closed. “Joel…” Your hand snapped on top of his over your crotch, forcing him to apply more pressure and squeeze.

“Need me to remind you that you’re mine?”, he growled before biting the crux of your neck and shoulder.

You nodded, breathing rapidly, then you let out a squeal as he shook your hand off his, then turned and shoved you against the wall. He got close and his hands made quick work in opening and shoving down your jeans. His eyes snapped up to yours and his hand dove between your legs.

“Fuck, baby…”, he sighed, eyes rolling back as he felt how wet you were. “My poor girl’s floodin’ the basement and it’s’all my fault.”

You grabbed his wrist, stabilizing yourself, and let whining pants out with each breath as his middle finger began to dip in an out of your hole. The tip of his thumb gently circled you’re aching clit.

“Yeah… I know I been neglectin’ you, baby girl… but not ‘cause of nothin’ you did… no, baby… you’re just keepin’ me too well fed and I’m fit to be tied by the time we get home… if I could fuck you the way you deserve every night…”

“Oh fuck… Joel, I need y –“

“But you always lettin’ me get away with being lazy an’watchin’ your perfect tits bounce while you fuck this fat old man…”, he rasped, his lids heavy as he watched your face contort in need. “Jesus, Darlin’, you got e’ry right to be cross with me…”

As much as you loved his voice, you needed more. Fisting his shirt, you pulled his face to yours and sucked him into a desperate and messy kiss, teeth and tongues colliding, and it was sharp and splitting. You didn’t need gentle – you needed him.

He finally pulled back, breathing heavily, same as you, and a grin tugged at his parted lips.

“Oh, Darlin’…”, he cooed, finger and thumb still working your cunt in tandem. He leaned in, ghosting his mouth over yours and asked in a voice so soft, you could have cried. “I need you to know how bad you got me, baby… tell me what I can do to prove it.”

Emboldened by his lust-blown eyes with heavy lids looking at you desperately, you put your hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle push down. A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, instantly understanding your silent request. He stepped back and groaned as he lowered himself down, joints cracking as he got on one knee, and he looked up as he pulled your jeans down further then helped you step out, one leg at a time. As he de-robed your second leg, he lifted it over his shoulder, and he scooted forward, and your eyes stayed trained on him, catching every detail, every twitch of his face as he breathed huskily and inhaled your scent. You watched his eyes flutter and roll back, like you were a buffet of fine cuisine, and he was a starved man. He pressed his nose in your crux and nudged in further, panting and swearing under his breath as he let your aroma and essence envelope him.

He took his time, as if he was making sure to catch every flavour, every note of your taste and smell, almost punishing himself for allowing you to feel unappreciated. His hands reached behind and pulled your hips forward into his face and you whimpered out a gasp as your shoulders planted against the wall behind you being the only thing keeping you upright.

“Joel…”, you breathed out, swallowing, trying to alleviate the dry mouth your open mouth breathing had caused. “Joel, please…”

He groaned into your warmth and opened his mouth, finally letting himself have a taste. His tongue licked out between your folds, starting slowly, but began to increase in intensity as he realized this was his favourite thing to savour. He grunted and panted as he lapped at you, his grip that held you so firmly to his face hurting you in the absolute best way possible.

Your fingers pulled his hair, aiding in keeping your core tightly affixed to his gaping maw, and you rocked your hip, mewling and crying out, begging him for more. Joel was in no position to deny you want you needed, not only because of the iron-clad connection currently created by both of your individual efforts, but he was eating his favourite thing. He’d denied you both for so long, he would happily suffocate between your thighs before ever taking a proper breath again if it paid the price of his sin. The noises he made as he ate and licked and devoured you sounded obscene - he sounded like a starved and feral dog, gnawing at a cut of meat tossed to him out of pity. You’re sure that if you saw his eyes, they’d be a black abyss like a shark’s as it bit down on its next meal.

The sounds he was ripping and peeling out of you were music to his ears, championing him further, pushing him harder to make you give him more of those delicious noises. He was rocking his hips in time with his mouth and tongue, letting his throbbing cock rut against the inside of his jean’s rough zipper. Between that, your taste and your fingers pulling his scalp taught with hair, he was in pure ecstasy.

He brought his hand attached to the shoulder your leg was propped up on and pushed two thick fingers into your core and began to pump them in and out - again, in time with his own hips’ rhythm. The white-hot burning coil that Joel had been slowly winding with his mouth finally sprung loose and snapped. You arched your back, silently screaming out as your body went rigid, and vaguely heard Joel growl. He continued to suck hard on your twitching and swollen clit and punched his fingers up into you as your rode out your orgasm. You heard liquid hitting the wood floor before you heard Joel let out a series of high-pitched groans.

His fingers slowed and his mouth was panting hot, quick breaths on your aching core. You looked down at him, chest heaving, to see him shakily pull his fingers from you and shove them in his mouth. Joel was a beautiful and carnal sight: breathing hard in grunts as he sucked his fingers clean. The act looked primitive, like he’d accessed his baser instincts, and he was satisfying a basic human need, a millennia in the making.

“Joel.”, you croaked, and he looked up at you with blurred eyes that slowly began to focus. He slowly pulled himself up, heaving his heavy belly. You helped him come back to his fully height and he leaned into you, pressing his forehead to yours. You could smell yourself on him as he kissed you softly before resuming your connection through foreheads.

“That was…”

“Yeah… fuck yeah… taste so good.”

“I wanna return the fav-“

Your hand cupped what you thought would be his hard cock, but stopped when you felt him softening and his jeans were warm and damp. You pulled your head back and looked at him, prompting a huffed laugh from Joel, pink flushing up his neck to his cheeks.

“You’re my favourite meal, Darlin’. You got me hooked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

He pulled you away from the wall and onto the bed. He laid back and groaned as his spine relaxed. His full belly domed above him, moving gently up and down with each breath and you sat up, giving it a rub.

“You ate well tonight…”, you cooed, unbuckling his belt and opening his jean to access the mess he made.

He chuckled, supporting his head on an arm as he watched you with a grin. “Couldn’t help it… you serve food too good to not destroy myself on it, Darlin’.”

You shot him a look as you peeled back his damp and sticky underwear.

“Like I said, Darlin’…  you serve up a good meal.”

beef's glossary: The term "blue movie" is an old-fashioned slang term used to describe pornographic films, usually of the low budget variety.

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[guysofeurovision]

[fatchance]

The San Pedro House great blue herons are busy readying their nest. I watched a male present a stick to his mate. As courtship rituals go it helps to be both charming and practical. This is a new nest, built at the very top of the cottonwood about fifteen feet higher than last year’s. I’m waiting to see if the rookery has grown. In our desert environment great blues are somewhat uncommon, but I watched two other birds in the vicinity that might also be a mated pair. 

Great blue heron / garza morena (Ardea herodias) on the banks of the San Pedro River, Cochise County, Arizona.