#pedro pascal stalker

[pedropascalunofficial]

STORY TIME

Why did Pedro Pascal go quiet on socials?

Well, let's hazard a guess. Maybe he saw what his shitty "fans" were getting up to.

If I've left anything out, please dm me. And if you'd like to threaten me, my receipts are all in order🖕

What have Pedro Pascal's shitty "fans" done in this fandom?

Stalked him and used it for clout in order to gather more information. (Ms Green and Ms Peacock)

Tracked his and his friends' activity. The person got blocked by the friend and used the news for clout. Mega lols all round on that one, not🙄. It gave them something to talk about on their trip, I guess🤷‍♀️ They were quiet after, though, right?! (Ms Green)

Created a private group chat and used it to gather information on his whereabouts. (Ms Peacock)

Moved in order to be closer to his house. When he mentioned he moved, they openly enquired about moving to a neighbourhood close to his new place. (Ms Wrestlemania)

Supported a friends project and made themselves the biggest donor yet publicly complained about their financial situation. Weird, right?! The friend was going through a really tough time. The fans used the access they gained to the friend to manipulate the friend into giving them access to him. The friend closed their project. (Ms Wrestlemania)

Made professional moves in order to work with another one of his friends in order to gain access to him. (Little Miss 23andme)

Bullied and harassed another fan for having limited access to him. They then doxxed the victims' family members' funeral. When they were called out and tried to defend themselves, they were caught owning an account that had supported the harassing messages. (Ms Wrestlemania and HideandSeek)

Stole photos from independent photographers and shared as their own, which he then shared so the photographer got paid. (Col Mustard)

Shared a stolen photo of him and another actor so he was forced to share his own so he owned the narrative. (Ms Peacock)

Had multiple genuine fan accounts deleted and suspended out of hate and jealousy. (Ms Green and Encarni)

Sent d**th threats to other fan accounts. (I'll just pretend not to know who did this because it's under federal investigation💚)

That would definitely put me off going online. No wonder he went quiet.

I'd like to add that I was a total scumbag too once. Checked his personal info, thinking it was ok to do so out of interest. I shared bits and pieces because I didn't realise the ripple effect. Then I realised his info was being traded for people's personal gain. People were being manipulated into providing more and more. People were being ripped off for someone selling pics without a licence (you know who). I stopped. I made amends. I know I made a difference, so thank you to everyone who has helped right the wrongs.

Thank you to the people who helped provide tips.

Thank you to the people who had their lives affected but still stuck around to keep the good in the fandom.

Thank you to the people who listened.

Thank you to the people who took action when required.

Thank you to Pedro💜

And a giant FUCK YOU to the ppl who are still doing that shit and negatively affecting people's lives, including Pedro's and his friends' and family's.

Why did Pedro Pascal go quiet on socials?

Deuxmoi

Clue

The Meandering Response

The Counter Perspective

The Old Ladies

Buying Followers Pt1

The Fandom Stain Pt2

His stylist's death threat

[josephquinnswhore]

the consequence of us

dbf! joel miller x female reader

summary: joel broke off your affair two weeks ago, and now he realises he’s made a grave mistake.

word count: 3.4K

content warning: age gap, joel is old enough to be her dad, reader is mid twenties but unspecified. Reader has cellulite, mentions of power play, Joel’s a bit of a creep lmao, possessive, obsessive behaviour, use of baby girl & daddy dynamic. Collaring, male masterbation, p in v, raw fucking, creampie, sorta rough sex, public sex, submission. (no outbreak)

Everyone has felt the eerie sensation once in their lifetime, the paranoid feeling of being stared at; only this time, you know you're being stared at. Everytime you bend down to pick up a discarded beer can off your fathers perfectly mowed lawn, with each soft handed gesture on one of your fathers older friends arms, every laugh that seemed a little too real.

But it was your intention, for him to notice you. Perhaps to show him that you could indeed live without him, despite the fact that two weeks ago, on his front porch you'd been weeping, grasping onto him as you beg him not to break things off with you.

The shameful memory of snot and tears mingling as you sobbed on your knees for another chance, like you’d even done anything wrong. Clinging onto the small silver chain he'd gifted you - a subtle everyday collar, one he’d promised with the intention of making you his, properly.

That someday he would make you his girl officially.

This evening, it seemed as though that girl had never existed, maybe it was all a figment of his imagination, of how he saw you, and wanted you to be. A sweet little girl dependent on him.

Joel had managed with teeth scraping against his bottom lip that this was for the best, that a sweet girl like you didn't need him invading your personal life, or that this was wrong, for a man twenty years older than you–let alone the fact that he was your fathers best friend.

Now as he watches you standing next to your fathers friends, with a middle aged woman on his arm, he feels sick to his stomach. You should be doing this with him, the shameless flirting, touching and sneakily bending over for him when no one else seemed to notice. It's like now, you didn't care who saw. Any attention was yours for the taking, and that repulsed joel.

The sweet girl he knew wasn't some attention starved daddies girl dying to fuck every single one of his colleagues and friends, Joel was special, had been.

What was this then, revenge? An attempt to outshine the woman he had on his arm that was closer to sixty than he was. No doubt, his date–Sue. She was beautiful, but she was too outgoing, too loud, too chatty. She drank too many glasses of wine and clung onto joel like he was some kind of prized show dog. Much like that mangy purse mutt she had at her house. Joel didn't belong with Sue, in her middle class house and aggressive teacup chihuahua.

The only place he had ever felt himself belong was with you, a subservient, submissive and sweet girl, did anything Joel had ever asked, found pleasure in being submissive. Maybe he did ruin you, turned you into some kind of modern day sexually aware woman that knew that she was too good for him anymore.

Once again, you're bending over to reach into the large cooler in your fathers shed not bothering to pull down your dress, Joel's eyes were drawn to the sight like a hound. He felt himself growing stiff at the sight of your asscheeks barely covered by the tight dress, each curve, hill and cellulite dimple could be seen leaving nothing to the imagination besides one thing.

What colour panties were you wearing?

“Excuse me a moment, won't you?” He utters to sue under his breath, prying her clinging arm off of his own and approaching you across the lawn, swerving between guests. Before he could reach you, you've left the shed, three cans of drink in hand as you hand them out to your father and two of his friends.

Joel scowls, snatching a cold can out of the cooler and watching you shamelessly across the front yard. He couldn't stop staring at you, your legs, the way your hips swing with every step. It was a fucking nightmare knowing that he had done this, created this confident vixen hell bent on torturing him. He couldn't grab at you, swiftly text you to steal you away for a few minutes for a quickie in the bathroom.

He had ended this, told you it was for good, for real this time.

You know he hasn't been able to take his eyes off of you, and finding your stomach, you approach his date later on in the evening after she's had a few drinks and is standing by her lonesome. “Hi, we haven't met, have we? You're Susan?”

The older woman greets you with a look of complete indifference, a non subtle judging stare in her olden glassy eyes as she gives you a look up and down. “Sue, actually, and you are?”

You reply with your name, giving her a sickly sweet and fake smile, standing tall and rolling your shoulders backwards, ready to cause some strife for the old hag. “So.. you're Joel’s.. what exactly..?”

The disbelief in your tone had the woman feeling insulted, and the stiff look of her face gave that away. She seemed incredibly insecure, you noticed the way she had clung onto Joel since they got here. “We’ve been talking for a while, I’ve heard he's going to ask me to be his girlfriend soon.”

A small snort escapes your nose, and before the woman could drill into you about your reaction..

“Oh you know.. He's just not that good with relationships you know? Totally a ladies man, he likes ‘em young–or younger than you, anyway. So don't hope too much that Joel even likes you at all..anyway, it was so lovely meeting you.”

You hear the woman huff loudly as you abruptly turn and walk away, knowing that you caused an absolute shit fire for Joel to deal with tonight, but you didn't expect Sue to start screaming at Joel the moment you walked away from her.

He sends a glare to you, across the yard, his eyes dark and furious. You were the cause of this, he knew it. As Sue screams at him, he drags her away, down the street.

It's a while before Joel returns, but he comes back alone, explaining to your father what happened. “She's having a moment, probably menopause or something.”

That was hilarious to you, and Joel catches you laughing, beelining straight to you. He grabs your hand, which you shake off, and he doesn't attempt to make another effort to grab you.

“The hell was that? Are you gonna start causing issues for me now?”

With a faux innocent tilt of your head you shrug your shoulders. “I'm sorry, I was just being honest with her, is honesty a problem now, Mr Miller?”

He shouldn't have gotten hard over such a minor thing, being called Mr Miller instead of Joel, that doe-ish look in your eyes as you look up at him, he cant help the stiffness in his jeans return again. Of course you notice the tension, the way he becomes uncomfortable, but you don't dignify him by looking at the thick bulge in his pants, not bothering to show any interest at all.

That.. is what bothers Joel the most. Your disinterest.

His eyes are glued to your every step as you walk away, he subtly palms himself through his jeans and makes his way inside of the house with the intent to wash his face and try to calm down the raging hardness of his cock, but when he smells your perfume in the bathroom.. He loses any sense of control he thought he had.

It was the same perfume you'd spritzed onto your skin before sneaking out to see him all those times, the floral scent lingering on your warm velvety neck. He locks the bathroom door behind him, looking at himself in the mirror. “Get a grip, Miller. She's done with you, you're done with her.”

He quickly contradicts his hollow whisper as he picks up a pair of used black panties on the top of the laundry basket, ones he knew were yours, the soft lace g-string, with a silver love heart on the front, covered in small diamonds, ones he had pulled to the side more times to fuck your hole than he could remember.

It's a desperate and shameful act, he knows, but doesn’t care. He desperately unzips his jeans and pulls out his thick, weeping cock from his jeans, stroking desperately. The other hand holds your panties and he looks at himself as he brings the lace material to his nose and smells it. They're used, and he pulls his cock faster as he shoves the material further into his face, a wet patch on your panties is all he can feel.

The smell of you has him groaning into the lace, desperately fisting his cock faster than he ever had. His knees buckle and he whimpers quietly as he starts sucking on the delicious soaking crotch of your panties as he doubles over the sink and spills a thick load, shooting across the basin.

Joel's sweating, taking one last inhale of your panties, before tossing them back into the laundry hamper, stuffing his softening cock into his jeans before turning on the tap to wash away any evidence of the violating act. He cups his hands under the running water and splashes some onto his face.

As he swings the bathroom door open, you're standing there with a shit eating grin. “All good in there?”

“Fine,” he utters, wondering if you knew, he couldn't meet your gaze after what he’d just done.

Fuck, you were evil for making him like this.

By midnight, everyone had gone home, stumbled off down the cul de sac to their houses, but you don't see Joel leave, which is strange. With your father inside of the house, and the lights shut off, you sneak out of the yard with your phone in hand, texting your friend with the intention of going to her house to drink, walking down the pathway down the street to where your car is parked.

Oblivious, you reach your car and are shocked to see Joel, leaning against the driver's side door. “Where do you think you’re going?” The growl sends a shiver up your spine, a feeling you miss.

“Out,” Joel towers over you as he stands upright, no longer leaning against your car.

“Like hell you are.” There's an edge of possessiveness to his tone, and the way he stands over you. “You need to explain yourself, all that shit you've been doing tonight.”

“I don't have to explain shit–” he cuts you off, his hand shoots out quickly to grab onto your hand. But you react without thinking and slap him.

His eyes snap shut from the force of your hand on his cheek, your hand now stinging from the contact. When he opens his eyes, his gaze is darker than before. He wraps his arms around your waist, grabbing a hold of you as he shoves you roughly against the side of your car door, you wince as your back makes contact with the cold metal. He stands flush against you, whispering in your ear as he cranes his neck downward.

“Careful. You shouldn't start something’ you can't finish baby girl.”

“I’m not your baby girl.”

God-if only you knew how much that struck a nerve within him. “Don't start that.” His voice is harsh, fingers digging tighter into the soft flesh of your chin.

“You're nothing to me.” You insist.

He bit back, his temper flailing. “Yeah? You really tryin’ to convince me that I ain't anythin’ to you, baby girl? That you don't care no more?” His thumb grips your chin harshly, jolting your neck up to look into his eyes.

There's a challenging look in your eyes, defiance, no sign of the devotion or submission he's so used to with you, he really has ruined you.

“Move Joel.”

He knew if he could just manage to get a peep out of you, a small whine or a moan out of you, that he could draw you back into him. His hand trails downward to your nipples, pinching softly, he knew it was such a sensitive area for you, which usually had your back arching.

You should have reacted, whimpered and squirmed or let out a small whine from those pretty lips that he was so used to hearing when he touched you like this. But you gave him nothing, no reaction at all, how did he let this happen? “Why the hell are you bein’ like this? Why are you fightin’’ me so hard?”

“Because I realised something, Joel.” Stepping forward, you bring your hand down to his belt, grabbing onto the buckle.

“And what is it that you think you have figured out?”

“It’s you who needs me.”

He couldn't even deny it, how his stomach felt sick at the thought of you knowing. That somehow you knew that this went beyond physical for him too. When he's silent, you roughly shove him away by the buckle of his belt. Stumbling a few feet back, he hated how weak he felt right now.

“You’re old, Joel. You love how it feels to have someone so much younger to pine over you, that's why things won't last with that old cunt, sue. Part of you needs me, joel, that why you were so fucking insistent on pushing me away.”

He freezes at your observation, words that are sharp, and true. Gritting his teeth, with his chest rising and falling, all he could do was breathe heavily.

“But me? I have options, time too. To find someone who would be proud to show me off. But you won't, you’re scared Joel, and it's because you're insecure.”

He feared this, thinking about you with men your own age, how they threw themselves at you, fit and capable of taking you out and giving you everything you ever wanted. Joel was selfish for wanting you all to himself, for craving you, obsessing and unable to let you move on. Because as long as even a part of you still wanted him, he was worth something. The grey hairs didn't matter, nor did his softening belly or the developing ache in his worn knees.

He hated how much he needed you.

You grip his chin, the salt and pepper scruff tickles your palm. Forcing him to look at you. “Say it Joel.”

His entire body tenses as you try to force the admission out of him, try to cut him open and deflower his tightly wound emotions. “Stop it.” He growls weakly, voice strained.

“Admit it!” You shout at him.

Every part of him begged for him to let go of this stubborn defiance and tell you how he felt, that he felt afraid, even though all he'd known was keeping you at arm's length. “Stop!”

With another harsh shove, you growl. “Just admit it!”

“Admit what? That I'm insecure, that I’m afraid of losing you? That every moment all I can think about is you, how much I fucking love you? What are you tryin’ to get out of me, huh?”

As his chest heaves, he can't help spilling out how he felt now, you broke the dam. “I worry that you'll find some other man to love you, touch you. That you'll come to your senses and realise you need someone your own age who is better able to take care of you.”

“So you broke my heart? That's how you face those fears?”

“The hell was I supposed to do?” With a defensive snap, he hated the weakness he felt now that you’d expelled the truth.

When you don't have an answer Joel is becoming more desperate for you to feel something for him, to let him know that there's still some space in your heart for him after all hed done.”Baby girl..” he whimpers, voice cracking with emotion..

“Don’t,” you protest weakly.

Joel realises that you don’t need him like this, all self doubting, you need your daddy.

He cages your body between his own and the car. “Too damn bad, because I’m touchin you, you ain’t rejectin’ me, you ain't gonna ignore me.” He leans his head down to your level. “And you sure as shit aint ever fucking leavin’ me.”

As he slams his hips against yours, finally a pathetically small whimper leaves your lips.

There it was, you were giving into him, that pretty sound he hadn't heard from you in weeks. “There's my pretty girl,” he whispers against the soft flesh of your neck.

“Don't fight me baby girl..” his lips on your neck have your back arching away from the car, leaning flush against Joel’s chest, but he doesn't want you to have any semblance of control. Roughly, he spins you around and shoves your body against the car, his chest flush against your back.

His hands unzip his jeans, pulling out his thick cock for a second time this evening, lifting your dress up to find you weren't wearing any panties at all, his eyes barely able to process the sight of your bare sopping cunt under the haphazard dim street light. “You knew what you were doin’ to me baby, wearing this tight dress and no panties.”

The palm of his hand smacks your wet lips, using the slick to coat his cock as he pumps it a few times.

His cock is thicker than you remember and you whine at the protrusion, forcing his cock inside of you as he forces you against the side of your car. A yelp leaves your lips and he quickly covers your mouth with his large hand. “Shh baby girl.. Daddy is gonna take you in the middle of the street, as a punishment for your actions. Don't want nobody to hear, do we?”

Frantically, you shake your head no, and he shakily praises you. “That's a good girl.”

Without any warning at all, he slams his cock into you, pushing your face into the car as he rams into you ferociously, fucking into you so deep that your eyesight starts to blur. “Think you can leave me? No body ain’t ever gonna fuck you like I do, baby girl.”

You squeal into his hand as he fucks you harder than he ever had, proving to you and himself that he was worthy of you. As your legs begin to tremble, Joel brings his other hand to pinch your nipple, and the orgasm crashes over you in waves, the feeling is intense and your body is limp between Joel and the car. Tears leave your eyes as your cunt clenches around Joel.

Joel's muttering under his breath. “That's it baby.. Make daddy feel so good. I'll kill anyone if they ever try to take you away.”

His thick cock pushes so deep inside of you for a final time as the tip twitches and he cums inside of you. Growling into your ear as his forehead rests on your shoulder.

Hesitant to pull out, he thrusts a few more times into you, making sure most of his cum stays inside you.

Pulling your dress down, he stuffs his cock back into his jeans and turns you around, wiping the steady tears off your cheeks. “Now go on back inside, alright? We’re going on a date tomorrow, a real one. Take you to a fancy place where we’ll sit down an’ eat. Just us. Daddy ain’t gonna leave you again, so that means you start wearin’ your collar again.”

Numbly, you nod, unable to form coherent words after the encounter. Pleased, he kisses your forehead, then gives your ass a light pat to send you on your way back inside your house. He stalks you down the street, making sure you get home safely, before retreating into his own house.

He watches you from his bedroom window as you turn on the dim lamp, and put on your silver collar just as he’d asked. He had his baby back, hell would freeze over before anything came between you, if your father found out.. Joel would handle him when it came to that.

No matter what that entails.

[ovaryacted]

I’m literally praying for the day that Pedro Pascal gets online and starts cursing all of you parasocial fucking freaks out. With the way y’all are acting, it’s genuinely astounding that his stylist of all people gets death threats from his outfits on a momentary appearance for a movie that’s coming out next year. I mean, this is literally his year, this man has so many projects coming out literally nonstop so he’ll be doing press all throughout the summer. If a pair of fucking shark boots sends y’all in a goddamn tizzy, I can’t imagine how y’all would get if he did anything else y’all disagreed with. From harassing the people he’s close with and works with, to dissecting his sexuality, to now taking apart his appearance and blaming his stylist for clothing choices he agreed to…I won’t be surprised if he actually just disappears from the spotlight after this or says he fucking hates all of you people. The lot of you are weird and absolutely fucking deranged, please go do something with your miserable, pathetic lives instead of tying your existence to a 50 year old grown ass man you’ll never meet or see in real life, and chances are he probably wouldn’t want to see you either. Geez.

[toxicanonymity]

beach walks

7k, Joel x f!reader; surf instructor Billy x f!reader. not in that order

night walks au A/N: Picks up right after beach walks prequel.

SUMMARY: Paths cross, and Joel can't let you go. WARNINGS: I8+ angst, infidelity adjacent if you squint, drugs, dubcon (drugs/location) p in v, somewhat possessive!joel, exhibitionism, homoerotic tension if you squint. cuck!billy but you also sit on his face.

Joel can't sleep. He stares at the ceiling and keeps drifting back to what he shouldn't have seen - you in the pool with Billy. Plus, he evisions you fucking on the beach, in the hotel, in that stupid shack. He's not happy about it, but you’re so damn hot. He can't help the way his body reacts. He keeps hearing that moan, fuck.

He figures out what helps him get back to sleep, and by the end of the night, he's used all the lotion in that little bottle. 

He wakes up for the last time around five. He showers and packs his bag. It's still dark when he goes for a walk on the beach. As the sky hints at sunrise, he stands with his fingers interlaced on the crown of his head and listens to the birds. He’s been doing his best, and it turns out his best sucks. On a sandbar, he finds a live starfish missing an arm and gently tosses it like a Frisbee back into the ocean. 

What is he doing? He could've left it all alone. 

He walks back to the hotel and gets a cup of coffee and a newspaper. He goes out on the cafe porch to read. There's a yoga class in view on the beach, and he looks to see if you're in it. Yeah, there you are. His stomach drops and his nostrils flare with a deep breath. You look great, but he can't see your ass. Right behind you, there's Billy. 

Why Billy? He's impossible to hate. At least he's also impossible to tame. No way it goes beyond this vacation. But if anyone can make him wanna change, it might be you. Joel used to think Billy had it made, but he's a lonely guy underneath it all.

—---you------

Four of you are eating breakfast at a table for six in the dining hall. You're sitting across from Billy.

“Can’t miss with Billy’s Bistro. Never burn the toast, never give ya salmonella . . .” 

“Salmonella?” Your friend Kari asks. “Was there an outbreak here?” 

Billy has a spoon in his mouth, but his eyes widen. He looks back and forth between all three of you as he slowly swallows his chia pudding, then says, “Explains the Groupon, doesn't it?” 

“Gross,” Kari pushes her plate away. 

Billy shrugs, then looks at you. “Billy’s bistro,” he mouths with a subtle sparkle in his eyes. His face softens, then comes to life when he looks behind you. 

“There he is,” Billy announces. 

You look back and do a double take. Your heart skips a beat, and your eyes widen. Joel gives you a nod of acknowledgement. 

He’s wearing swim trunks, and his thighs look massive. All of him does. Did the memories fade, or did he manage to put on 10 lbs of muscle in what, two months? His hair is longer – only an inch or so, but enough to curl. You can’t stop staring. Your face is cold and tingly.

“Have a seat, mate.” Billy uses his foot to push out the chair to his right, at the head of the table. He puts his hand on Joel's hulking trapezius as he sits down. 

“Joel Miller. This man is a legend,” Billy tells you.

You glance at your friends, and they're as shocked as you. They met Joel once, at the restaurant. 

“Taught me how to roll my first joint,” Billy says. “Now I can't even get’m to take a bong rip.” He turns to Joel. “That was some good shit ya brought, mate.”

“Yeah,” Joel says barely above a whisper, glancing at you.

“Hey Joel,” your friend Nahlah says. 

“Hey, Nahlah.” 

You had barely let him sit down to say hello at that restaurant. 

“So you know each other,” Billy concludes. “Brilliant! What a world.”

“Yeah, we know each other,” Joel subtly nods, looking at you. He looks tired.

“Do they know the new you?” Billy asks. 

“The new you?” you ask Joel. 

“Health nut.” Billy grabs Joel's arm, beaming. “Look at’m.” He turns his attention to Joel. “On the straight and narrow. Can't believe it.”   

“Really?” you ask Joel. 

Joel sighs and side-eyes Billy. “No. Just had to, kinda. . . get my life together for a minute.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Getting his life together meant dropping you? That’s where he went? Your face burns, and your nostrils flare. 

“Excuse me,” you tell the rest of them, and stand up with heat in your chest, determined not to make a scene.  

“Catch up later,” Billy says and reaches for you as you come around Joel’s chair. You lean in and he gives you a kiss on the cheek. You don't look back on your way out the door. 

—

You get down to the beach, take off your sandals, and walk, heading nowhere in particular. 

Soon enough, Joel is calling your name, jogging. You keep walking, but he catches up. He walks beside you in silence, between you and the ocean. You try to ignore the stride of his hulking form in your periphery. 

“Guess I don’t fit in your new life,” you mutter, then swallow the knot in your throat and put your shades on, even though it’s not sunny. You keep walking. 

“Yeah ya do, baby,” he reaches for your hand. The tenderness almost gets to you, but it’s out of nowhere. You just can’t. You cross your arms and slow your pace. 

“Guess I never did,” you mumble. 

“I’m sorry.” Joel looks at you. You keep looking down, taking slow, careful steps. 

“For what?” you ask, looking at the sand for an answer.

“Bein’ a fuckin’ idiot. Wrapped up in my own shit.” 

“What shit?” you ask. 

“I’ll tell ya everything, but–” 

“--But what?” 

“We’re supposed to head out in like (he looks at his watch) fuck. Like ten minutes.” 

You scoff. “Did something happen?”

“No—well, yeah.” He looks around then asks, “You okay?”

You don’t answer. 

“You looked happy,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder toward the dining hall. It sounds more like a question than an observation. Yeah, you were finally having a good time without him until he showed up. Now you’re confused, and mad at him for confusing you. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to face him and the water. “What happened? You couldn’t even text me?” 

The sky gets darker as thicker cloud cover creeps over the sun. “I should’ve,” Joel nods. 

You barely have the energy to walk. You sit down on the sand. He better tell you, right now, if there's any hope.

He swallows and looks down and away, then takes off his sunglasses and joins you on the sand.  “Got in my head,” he mumbles. “So many times, I was gonna. . .even walked to your door one night.” 

“.. .okay?” You wait for him to continue. 

“Thought ya might think I was lame, cause I wasn’t the same, I was. . .” 

“You were trying to get your life together,” you recite, genuinely trying to digest it for the first time. A tear falls out of your eye and you angrily wipe it away.

He shakes his head. “Never shoulda said it that way. I had somethin’ to take care of. Tell ya ‘bout it when we've got time” 

The lump is back in your throat, full force. He’s really gonna swoop in just long enough to make you sad, then leave you as confused as ever.

He looks dejected. “I know, I’m an idiot.” 

“So what do you want?” you ask. 

He looks at the sea for a moment. “To start over.” 

“Why?” you ask and wipe away more tears. Your voice becomes strained. “What do you regret?” 

“Nothin’, pumpkin. . . shit, I’m so bad at this.” He groans in frustration at himself. “And I know it, that’s why I. . .” he trails off and shakes his head. 

You glance at his eyes and curse yourself for a twinge of empathy.

He claws a handful of the dry sand between you into a little pile and mumbles, “You deserve better, always did.” He smoothes out the pile, then pivots to face more in your direction. “Look at me, pumpkin’. Please.” He reaches for your sunglasses. You pull back your head away and take them off yourself.  You turn and face him. He wipes his hand off on his shirt before brushing tears off your cheek with his thumb. “Only thing I regret is bein’ such a dick.” 

You begin to stand up, not wanting to feel him suddenly leave you again.  Once you’re standing, you cross your arms again. You dig the toes of one foot into the sand.  Joel’s hands gently engulf each of your elbows, and he gets as close as he can. You don’t pull away, but you don’t open up either. He hugs you anyway. 

God, his arms are huge. He holds you tight and breathes into your hair. He mutters, “Think about you all the time.” You let out a held breath, then his scent fills your lungs. A wave of affection threatens to break down your walls.

Your arms uncross on their own, and he hugs you with his body fully against yours. It feels like a warm mistake. It’s too late now. 

“Ya know, I would’ve done it with you,” you sniffle. “Whatever this lifestyle thing. . .” 

He whispers your name and hugs you tighter. He holds you for a minute, and you dab your eyes on his hulking shoulder. The weight of his arms is as soothing as his scent. This isn’t fixed, you tell yourself. You’re not going to pick up where you left off. If he invited you back to his room right now, you wouldn’t go. But somehow, you feel for him. You’ve never seen him anxious or vulnerable. He’s always been so sure of himself. So full of himself, but in a charming way.

You begin to pull away, still determined not to be the one who gets left. “Guess you’ve gotta go,” you mutter. 

He looks sad as he slowly drops his arms, running his hands down your back. “Talk when you’re home?”

You sigh and look at your feet. Your self-preservation instincts tell you to cut him off. Quit him while you can. While you have the upper hand. While he can’t hurt you worse than he has. “What can’t you say right now?”

“A lot,” he answers without missing a beat. He seems to glance at your neck, but you can’t be sure. 

You shake your head no. 

“Please. Then I’ll leave ya ‘lone if ya want.” His eyes shift away. Does he mean that? Your eyes cloud up again, and you put your glasses back on. 

“I dunno.” You walk back to the main building in silence and slip on your sandals on the way in.  Joel hugs you goodbye. It feels like he doesn’t want to let go, and you don’t want him to either. Your arms faintly itch as he walks away, and you brush off the sand.

—

After Joel leaves, your friends finish eating and emerge from the dining hall. 

“Where’s Billy?” you ask. 

“He has a lesson,” Nahlah says. 

-

You go back to your room and take a shower, trying to wash it all away, but Joel’s presence lingers, even as you turn off the water. You lie on your bed looking at the ceiling. Nahlah and Kari are on the other bed, watching ghost hunters on the free cable. 

“How was last night?” Kari asks. 

You sigh and mutter, “I need a nap.” 

“I bet you do,” Nahlah teases. 

You drift off, hoping everything will sort itself out while you dream. 

–

You sleep for hours and wake up alone, without the clarity you’d hoped for, except that you resent what Joel’s doing.  You’re already falling under his spell again, and you don’t like it.  It would be too easy for him to break your heart again. You know what could take your mind off it. 

-

You walk down to the shore, and Billy is finishing up a lesson. He sees you and nods toward the shack. You let yourself in and wait on the sofa, emo and increasingly horny. 

He comes through the door and takes off his long sleeves. He tousles his hair and stretches his neck with his hand on the tattoo. He takes a sip from a squeeze bottle, then asks, “You alright? What happened earlier?” 

“Nothing,” you rest your head in your left hand, with your elbow on the arm of the loveseat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Billy says, then looks at his watch and shifts gears. “Got fifteen minutes.” 

He joins you on the loveseat, then leans over you, pressing a kiss into your lips and pulling you closer. The kiss is loaded. You welcome his tongue, soothed by his touch, but your energy is gone. You’re practically catatonic compared to before. He kisses you for a few more seconds, then breaks away and asks, “You alright?” 

You nod and kiss him back, then reach for his shorts, cupping his semi-hard package. 

He breaks away and reads your eyes. “‘S’alright, love.” 

He pulls away entirely and slumps into the loveseat, using the opposite arm as a pillow. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and opens his arms. You lay face down on his warm, bare chest, beads of sea water transferring to your beach dress—through one of its crochet holes, a pierced nipple teases your skin.  

Billy holds you. You lie there, relaxed, one leg over his. A tear rolls out of your eye and onto his hot skin. “Shh,” He rubs your back for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling under you. His cock twitches against your thigh between his legs, and a shock of desire zaps through you. His hips lift slightly, just once, and your eyes flutter open. He sucks back his chin to look down at you, then his fingers lift your chin to look at him. You’re no longer crying at all. 

“There she is,” he murmurs, with his pupils widening before your eyes. He reads your eyes and glances at your lips. “Fucking gorgeous.” His face drifts toward yours, your neck extends, and his lips nudge your upper lip before your mouths come together. You prop yourself up with your forearm so neither of you has to strain your neck. The kiss starts languidly, then heats up and his hands come to your hips. As you kiss, his hips lift into you, and his cock hardens against your quad. As he licks into your mouth, you slowly grind on his thigh. He breaks away, searches your eyes, and whispers, “attagirl,” before claiming your lips again. With your limbs slotted together, you make out, grind, and quietly grunt.

For a while, your thoughts are gone, then Joel walks back into your head. You wonder how good he’d fuck you now, if he thinks it’s his last chance. Still moving on Billy’s thigh with your mouth half-connected with his, your breaths get heavy with desire. Would Joel be rough? Would he be tender? Would he be how he is so often–ravenous, but deliberate and appreciative of every inch of your body? You imagine his cock shoving into you and the way he’d sigh, yeah. 

Now you’re gushing wet, already about to cum. You break the kiss to moan, and Billy breathes, “Yeah, good girl.” He grinds against you and his hands move you on his bare thigh, now coated with your slick. “Fuck, that wet for me.” Not just for him, but, yeah, that wet. His cock has hardened against your hip. “Mmm,” he moans into your mouth as his lips take yours again. Joel’s a good kisser too. A little more forceful, but still smooth. You’re thinking about Joel being under you. Imagining the first time you were in Joel’s basement, when he pulled you into his lap so decisively. You’re on the edge of bliss, sliding on Billy’s thigh. You bite your lip, then moan. “Yeah,” Billy encourages you. 

When it’s clear you’re not quite there, Billy breathes, “Sit on me. C’mere.”

His mouth hangs slightly open, and his eyes are black with lust. You carefully lift your knee off the cushion between his legs, and the light touch of his hand helps you on top of him as he watches, spellbound. You lower yourself at just the right angle and moan at the first direct contact with the stiff shape in his shorts. Your eyelids are heavy. 

He lifts up the hem of your beach dress, and you take it off. He moans at the sight of your body. 

His lips remain slightly parted as his hips lift, grinding against you. He palms a breast, and you massage your other one. He begins to reach between you, fingertips sliding into his waistband, then looks behind you at the clock. “Sit on my face.” 

He scoots down to put his head flat on the cushion, and you rise off his shorts. He takes his cock out with a sigh and spits on his fingers as you knee walk forward. He spreads the spit on his cock and breathes vocally, eyes on your tits. You could swear you smell his precum. 

He unties your swimsuit bottom and lets half of it fall, leaving your slippery cunt bare. His palms on your ass bring you down, and his scruff drags against your inner thigh. His warm, humid breath envelopes your most sensitive place, then his lips make contact.

One hand leaves you to attend to his raging erection, and he grunts a short “mm” into your cunt at the relief. He laps at your entrance, licking upward, then latches onto the space just above that. He licks your clit, then sucks. He moans into the bundle of nerves, and your thighs tremble. He breaks away for short moments, breathing hot against your folds as he strokes his cock behind you. He eats you voraciously, and you whimper. He’s at just the right spot, doing just the right thing, and he keeps at it.

You brace your hands on the arm of the sofa and think about Joel looking up at you from between your legs. You take a deep breath and see stars. Your body twitches and you moan, riding your waves, with Billy moaning into your cunt. He gently laps at your entrance and strokes himself faster. As your climax wanes, you rise off his mouth, with Billy still stroking himself, not finished. He gathers slick from your folds, brings it to his cock, then pants pants, “How ‘bout another?” He begins to pull you back down.

“No,” you whisper, “that was perfect.” You allow him to keep you there, hovering over him. 

“Wanna ride?” His voice is shaky as he keeps pumping his cock behind you. 

“Not now,” you answer. 

He turns his head slightly, seals his lips on your thigh, and sucks. You reach down between your legs and grab hold of his damp, salty hair to pry him off. 

“Mmm,” he responds,“Yeah.” His strokes are heavier and so are his breaths. You experimentally tug at his hair again. He shudders, then paints his stomach in cum, with a warm squirt reaching your ass. 

He scoots out from under you and asks for the third time, “you alright?” 

You tie your swimsuit again and settle into the loveseat, face and chest still heated from your peak. “Yeah,” you nod. 

He fixes his swim trunks then prowls toward you to give you a gentle kiss and you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re tasty, love,” he murmurs, then pulls away. 

He puts on his rash guard, then points at you, “Aqua tonight.”  Right, his DJ thing. He gets off the loveseat and looks at the clock. “Before I forget,” He grabs his bag and unzips a front pocket that looks to be full of condoms and pill baggies. He turns his head to ask, “How many of ya?” 

“Three, I guess.” 

He rummages around, then holds up a little baggie with three pills. “Just a little X.” 

“Oh, I dunno if we’ll–” 

He shrugs. “Might try it.” He looks at the clock and mutters, “shit.”  

He presses the baggie into your palm and closes your hand. He holds up a few condoms and asks, “just in case?”. 

---Joel----

On the road, Tommy and Maria talk and listen to music. In the back seat, Joel looks out the window, or he wants to look out the window, but he looks at his reflection. He can’t shake the feeling of your warm tears wetting his shirt, or the image of you kissing Billy, or the glance at what he’s pretty sure was a hickey on your neck. He’d be surprised if it wasn’t after what he saw the night before. 

The further they get from the resort, the more Joel’s chest tightens. He takes out his phone to text you. He types, “I can’t leave you with him,” stares at it for a few seconds, then erases it. 

Who even is he anymore?  

Something clicks. 

At a stoplight, he says, “Stop at that gas station.” Tommy parks at a pump. They need gas anyway., “Open the hatch,”  Joel says. Tommy pops the trunk and gets out of the car to pump gas. Joel grabs his bag from the back and Tommy does a double take. 

“You goin’ back?” Tommy asks, not shocked. 

“Yeah.” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll find my way home.” 

“We can take ya back,” Tommy offers, nodding in the direction of the resort. 

“Nah,” Joel scratches the back of his neck. “Need the fresh air.”

He and Tommy share a brief, manly hug and pat on the back, then Joel walks off with his bag on one shoulder.

-

Joel’s coming for you. He might not have the right words, but he doesn’t need them. Never did. None of this was built on words. It was something unspoken under something physical and fierce. He pockets his phone and puts on his shades, walking with new resolve. There are things he wants to tell you, and some of them need words, but not all of them. The words can wait. They’ll come easier when you’re back where you belong. 

Two hours later, he’s back at the hotel. He smells his own sweat soaking through his shirt, and his phone’s about to overheat.

“Long time no see,” the receptionist says. 

“Yeah,” Joel mumbles without humor, then forces a smile. He gets a room, puts his things away, then heads out to find you. 

You’re not at the pool. You’re not in any of the common areas. 

He goes down to the beach, toward the surf lessons. 

-

Billy’s showing off for a customer. Joel sits in the sand and waits. He admires the way Billy moves in the water, resenting him at the same time. 

When Billy’s done, he walks up to Joel. Joel’s eyes fall on Billy’s swim trunks, then his mind goes to your hands, your mouth, your perfect cunt.  

Billy extends his hand, and pulls Joel up. He pats Joel’s arm, then lets him go. “Got some time if ya wanna catch a wave.” 

“Where is she?” Joel asks. 

“I dunno, mate. Prob’ly with her friends?” He motions for Joel to follow him to the shack. Years ago, Billy more or less offered Joel a handjob in that shack. Joel declined, and that was that. 

As they enter the shack, Billy unzips his quarter-zip long-sleeve top and pulls it off. He takes a sip of water, then wipes off his mouth. “So,” Billy starts. “What’s the story?” He turns up the water bottle again and it makes a high pitched sound as he sucks it. “Ex-lovers?” he asks with a smile. 

Joel’s jaw clenches. He takes a breath through his nose and calms himself. “Not ex.” 

Billy chokes on his water, then wipes his mouth again. “Does she know that?” 

Joel rakes his hand through his hair, at a loss. “That’s my girl,” he nods, heart pounding. 

“I don’t think she is, mate. Women aren’t property-” 

“-cut the crap, Billy.” Joel’s chest is heaving. 

Billy’s eyes fall to Joel’s right hand, which is flexing into a fist. 

“Hit me if it makes ya feel better,” Billy puts down the water bottle and braces himself in a welcoming stance. 

This fucker. No, Joel isn’t going to hit him. 

Joel forces himself to relax, puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight, shaking his head at the floor. 

Billy lunges toward him, light on his feet as if he’s gonna sucker punch Joel. It’s playful, but Joel drops his shoulder and tackles him to the floor before he can get in a jab. 

On the floor, Billy fights back, eyes wild, but Joel’s too strong. He pins him with his left forearm on his chest, straddling him. 

Billy grabs Joel’s left tricep. “Look at that,” he marvels. “Unbelievable.” 

Joel looks into the blue eyes staring up at him and wonders if you’ve had this POV. For a brief moment, he’s tempted to slide his forearm up to his neck. Billy looks at Joel’s right hand which opens and shuts in the air, stretching.  

“I can take it,” Billy urges. “C’mon, knock me around.” 

Billy’s enthusiasm takes the wind out of Joel’s sails and brings him back to reality. He releases his forearm and sits back on his knees, still bracketing Billy’s hips. Joel slowly stands with a groan, then helps Billy to his feet. 

—- Later at Aqua —--

Billy has given you the closest VIP table. You and your friends are sitting there with a drink. He points at you from his DJ booth, which is on a raised platform. All three of you hold up your drinks and smile at him. 

Kari and Nahlah have had their eyes on a couple of guys who are finally approaching. It's a group of three. You decline to dance, so the third guy sits down to have a drink with you instead, shouting over the music, “HOW LONG ARE YOU IN TOWN?” You look past the man, and Billy is laughing, looking down at his mixer board. After indulging the man for another minute or so, you excuse yourself to the restroom, hoping the man will take the hint and disappear in your absence.

On the way to the restroom, you pass a couple of dark rooms with hall windows and suspect people might be fucking in there. The half-pill you’ve taken isn’t doing anything, but you know better than to double it just yet. 

When you come out from the restroom, the guy is still at your table. You curse him under your breath and head outside for some fresh air.

-

You duck out a door that’s propped open. Smokers are milling about. A few partiers are comforting a crying friend. You walk just far enough to get some space from that scene and the artificial light. You lean against the brick wall to breathe. The tiniest droplets of sea water tingle merrily on your face. You open your mouth and can taste it in the air. You fill your lungs and savor the breath. A buzz hums from your skin.

Your dress has a slit on one side and is long enough that you can lift your knee and rest one foot on the wall behind you without exposing yourself—but that wouldn’t be the end of the world anyway. You watch palm leaves rustle in the ocean breeze and look at the sky. There are more stars here than at home. Maybe you should take a walk. 

You’re still gazing into the sky when you notice someone in a colorful shirt approaching. They flick their cigarette away and it sparks. You smile, and as they come into focus, they turn into Joel. 

Are you rolling that hard after half a pill? You’ve still got your wits about you, don’t you? You watched Joel leave this morning, and you’ve never seen him dressed like this. The colors vibe perfectly on his silk shirt, and a gold chain sparkles underneath. His curls are fluffier than earlier. 

He slowly approaches and wets his lips when he’s a few feet away. His eyes rove your body. When he’s close enough, he rests his hand on the brick wall to lean over you. He smells like cloves. He looks tired. He leans a little closer, and you look him in the eyes. 

“Thought you left,” you mutter.

He shakes his head, and continues to gaze into your eyes. “Couldn’t do it.” 

You run a hand up his chest, palm gliding across his shirt. His chest is strong, and the fabric is like cool shaving cream under your fingers. In the back of your mind, you still have so many questions, but you don’t ask them. Not now. 

“You can be mad at me,” his brows knit and he nods twice. ”I deserve that.”  His eyes lock on yours.  “But I'm not gonna let ya go.” 

Your nipples harden with a chill, and your lips part.  

His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, and you tilt your chin up. His eyes fall further, to your neck, and he inhales sharply through his nose. You turn your head the other way. Still braced on the wall, he nudges your chin so he can look at the bruising. You feel his heart rate quicken under your hand, and you slide your hand up to the cold sweat beading on his neck. 

His thumb brushes over the bruising. He brings his mouth and nose to the other side and grazes your sensitive skin with his nose. His tongue teases you and you shiver, then he plants his lips. He grunts softly as he marks you. His breath hits your wet skin as he lingers there to murmur, “Missed how ya taste.” 

He returns to the bruised side of your neck and licks the mark, tenderly, then harder. It’s sore, but you don’t react. For a moment, his lips lay plush and soft against your damaged skin. Then he opens his mouth wide. He scrapes his teeth, then plants his lips and sucks, and you try not to flinch but let out a little gasp. He tongues and sucks at it for almost five seconds before releasing you. 

He soothes the spot with the light touch of his lips, then kisses up your jaw, to your ear, where he murmurs, “What are you on, and how much?”

You tell him. 

“Should be fine,” he mutters to himself as he pulls his head back. 

“Why?”

He looks back and forth between your eyes. “Wanna make sure you remember.” 

You wet your lips and swallow. 

He’s close enough that his body heat enhances yours. His whole presence is a warm embrace. You half-heartedly try to conjure what you went through earlier—the hurt, the resolve not to let it happen again. You can’t find it under your affection, wonder, and empathy. Something tells you it’s going to be okay. 

He looks at your neck again. 

You open your mouth to apologize, but he cuts you off, “Shh.” He takes your hand and leads you back inside. 

-

It’s dark, minus the red and pink lights washing over the dance floor, which is crowded but not quite packed. He gets two soda waters from the bar, and you sit down in the VIP booth. He has his arm around you, caressing your shoulder. Soon, you have your legs in his lap, just happy to have him close. You reach into your dress for the small plastic baggie. Joel is watching the dance floor and idly stroking your leg as you pour the other piece of the pill into your hand. Some of it is powder by now. Joel’s eyes return just in time to see you put it on your tongue. 

He squeezes your chin to open your mouth, then, with the same hand, sticks two massive fingers between your lips to retrieve the pill. “You don’t need this,” he mutters, then sticks what remains of the pill in his mouth and takes a sip of water.  “What else ya got in there?” Joel feels you up through the fabric on and around your tits, and his eyebrows shoot up when his hand catches on something.

He shoves his hand down your dress and finds it tucked under your arm: a small, foil square. He turns it over and the clear backing reveals a glow-in-the-dark condom. He tosses it onto the table, then pulls you tighter against him. Your hip brushes a warm bulge in his soft black pants, and it twitches. These pants would be so easy to slip your hand into, you just know it. But before you can try, he brings his mouth to your ear. “C’mon, let’s dance.” 

-

On the dance floor, Joel stands behind you, and his heavy arms snake around your torso. He moves with you, with the music, and runs his palms over your dress. His dick hardens, and those silky pants leave nothing to the imagination as the vivid outline grinds against you. You lose yourself in his touch, in the soft rub of his cock, until you sense someone watching and glance toward the DJ booth. Billy smiles to himself and goes back to his mixing board. Joel shamelessly grabs your tit again. You’re already so wet for him.  In the corner of your eye, you see Billy still watching but pretend you don’t notice. 

“You’re so damn hot,” Joel growls right against your ear as he massages your breast and grinds against you with his arm crossing your body and one hand on your hip.  “Uggh,” he groans in arousal. He jostles behind you, adjusting his pants, then gathers the long skirt of your dress. He covers your ass with himself before the air has a chance to hit you. Then his hard, naked cock slides between your thighs. You gasp and look back. He kisses the side of your neck. You’re gushing all over him. Your thong is soaked through, and he’s sliding along your folds, hot and hard. He moans in your ear. His tip pushes the front of your dress out with every thrust through that warm, wet sleeve of your thighs against your cunt. 

Each pass of his tip makes you need him so bad. You turn your head back to say, “Let’s go somewhere.” 

“You want it?” he asks and slides out from your thighs, reaching down between you to put his dick away before letting your skirt down. 

You nod and begin to lead him to the restroom, but he firmly holds your elbow. You turn around and put your arms around his neck to plead, “Let’s go,” nodding toward the bathrooms. He grabs your ass and grinds against your front, raging hard.  He holds you close and you give up for the moment. 

He dips his head and noses your chin up. His lips brush a sore area, and you twitch. You slot your fingers into his curly locks, making him growl silently into your skin. "Joel," you sigh. "Let's go."

Either he doesn't hear you or pretends not to.  "Mmm," his hum vibrates into your skin. He pries his lips off your neck only to plant them on your mouth. Your tongues meet, and you need him, you really need him. Now. 

After a few seconds of bliss, you break the kiss to plead, "Let’s go." He reads your face and shakes his head no as a dim red light falls over you in passing. Your mouth falls open in protest. He grinds against you, letting his answer sink in. And in case there's any doubt, he brings his lips to your ear. "Gonna take it right here." 

He gathers the front of your dress. You swallow, stunned and throbbing in anticipation. 

He takes his cock out under your dress, then lifts one of your thighs, and you hook it around him. He keeps your raised knee against him. Your shoes are just the right height. He pulls your thong to the side and there’s no mistaking how wet and ready you are. Right away, he notches at your entrance. You tilt your hips. His fingers dig into your thigh and the plush of your ass. He plunges in with a grunt, pushing a gasp out of you as he divides your walls in what feels like slow motion. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back as his cock makes its place inside you. He holds you against himself, and your leg stays hiked up as he retreats, then begins to slide into you to the beat of the music. He brings his lips to your ear. “Ohh–good girl.”

You’d envisioned this every day since the last time and somehow forgot it was this good. He holds you close, his body flexing, expertly moving inside yours. You’ve missed this, you’ve really missed it. He grunts and moans into your hair, unrestrained. The music is loud enough. 

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he practically shouts, holding you by the ass and thigh as he fucks up into you. It’s a thrill being full of his cock in a sea of people. The song changes and you glance toward the DJ booth. Billy is looking right at you. Joel’s pace slows to match the new tempo. You melt into his arms with the perfect shape of his length dragging between your walls. Billy’s eyes smile, and he slowly nods. You catch him adjusting himself just below the DJ table which makes your walls twitch. You bite your lip. 

The grip of Joel’s fingers tightens, pressing firmly into your flesh. Billy’s hand is still below the mixing table when Joel turns your face back toward him and kisses you. Everything else fades away except his mouth on yours and his cock thrusting into you. The smooth slide of his tongue makes you twitch. His thrusts become sharper, deeper with the aid of his bruising grip, and your mouths break apart with labored breaths and moans. God, you’re wet, and only getting wetter. 

Joel searches your eyes as he thrusts into you. The lights wash over you again, and his pupils are wide. You gaze at each other, and you hold the back of his head, fingers tangling in his long curls as he slowly fucks you on the dance floor. There’s a glance from one or two dancers, but no one cares. 

You steal another glance at Billy, and he looks to be in a trance with his mouth hanging slightly open. He wets his lip and he closes his mouth, then runs his hand through his hair. You bury your face in Joel’s neck, and his familiar scent enhances everything. Pleasure is building more with each thrust of his cock making you whole. Nothing compares to this.

Joel grunts and sighs, and twitches. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs. Is he going to come like this? God, he’s sexy. He tilts his head down and noses your nose so your chin tilts up and he finds your lips again. He kisses you sloppily, loosely, breathing and grunting, and the way he fills you up— shit, he feels good. Are you going to come like this? 

“Don’t let me fall,” you plead. 

He stares at your lips and his mouth draws yours in. He bottoms out and stays deep, moving in short pulses, holding you so your front grinds against his. 

You break the kiss to sigh, “Fuck.” You whimper against his lips as it overtakes you in slow motion. You don’t hold back. The moan rips out of your chest as your body clenches around his. You pulse, and your body spasms. He holds you tighter. “Ohh,” you moan.

“Oh, baby,” He pants. Each thrust is sharp. “Oh, fuck,” he bottoms out and groans as he pulses powerfully.  “Ohhh.” He holds you still as you milk his cock. “Ohh, gg–unghhh.” When he’s nearly spent, an air horn sounds.  Joel groans, and you both look toward Billy. He nods and gives a low thumbs up as the last of Joel’s cum dribbles into you. Joel laughs into your hair, “I’m gonna kill’m.”  

Joel dips his knees to let his cock slide out. He lets your leg down, then your dress, and fixes his pants. He holds you for a whole song. His cum dribbles down your thigh, and you don't even wipe it with your dress. 

“Let's get outta here.” 

- 

You look for your friends, and they're still with the guys from earlier. Joel waits as you go over and say goodbye. When you return, he puts his arm around you as you walk outside.

Outside, he hugs you as you wait for an uber.  The night has dulled your anxiety, but it’s still there somewhere, and it reveals itself as you think about spending the night with him.

“I still don’t understand,” you whisper.

“I know, baby. Ya will. Promise.”

“Can you just answer one thing?”  He waits for your question.  “Who drives a black Mercedes?” 

You pull back to watch him react.

“Black Mercedes. . .” His brow furrows and he searches the pavement for an answer.

“The SUV you were in.” 

“Oh, pumpkin’,” his face softens.  “Just my lawyer, baby.” He kisses you on the forehead, which pauses your thoughts and weakens your eyes. 

Your phone buzzes with a call from Kari, but the call cuts off. Kari hasn’t texted, but in your messaging app, there’s a new group thread with three unread:

“come over to mine,” Billy had texted minutes ago. Then, “key’s under the cactus.”

Joel had already responded, “not tonight.” 

---

---

---

if you want lore about the surf shack incident years ago here it is 🥵

I'm watching the comments and rbs for what people are excited about and what people want to see 👀

Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate your patience and support. Your love of night walks Joel and investment in these two makes me really happy. Love you guys 🖤

[firsttarotreader]

For those who still weren’t sure of who the stalkers are… And see how stalkers always defend stalkers? 👀

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Stockholm

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader (no physical description)

Summary: Joel has creepy, stalker rizz

Or

Poor, sweet Joel tries to help out but gets mistaken as a certified creep. He didn’t mean to scare you with his massive body and angry-looking face :( pls, forgive him.

Words: 2.5k+

Warnings: mentions of typical creepy guy behavior/stalking

Masterlist

---

You first saw him at the gas station on the corner, just down the road from your apartment. Like every other woman who fears for her safety, you try your best to only get gas during the day with plenty of witnesses around.

However, that particular morning, you'd been running late for work and had to speed past the gas station and cross your fingers that you'd make it to work.

You did, and then you pushed your luck further by driving to meet your friends for dinner afterward without stopping to fill up.

That's how you wound up alone pumping gas after dark; there's no way you would've been able to crank your car the following day if you hadn't stopped.

You put your car in park, checked your surroundings for seedy-looking individuals, and when the coast seemed clear, you got out to pump.

After swiping your card and putting the nozzle into the tank, you leaned against your car and waited while the gas pumped, and the price went up and up.

Suddenly, the screen above the pump came to life, and the speakers blared, "HI, IM YOUR HOST, MARIA MENOUNOS AND -"

You jumped, startled by the sudden sound, and scrambled to mute the screen. With your heart beating out of your chest, you flicked your eyes around the parking lot to recheck your surroundings, now on edge.

A few cars are parked by the door, and a couple more are parked at various pumps. When you turned your head to the right, you spotted a man sitting in the driver's seat of a silver Ford F150. You'd noticed that truck when you pulled in several minutes prior.

The dim lights of the pavilion gave just enough light to make out the features of the man watching you. He was older, had shaggy grey hair, and a scratchy-looking beard. Maybe you'd think he was handsome if he weren't being a complete creep, staring you down.

You averted your eyes, not wanting him to take your attention as an invitation to talk. Finally, the pump clicked, signaling that your tank was full, so you returned the pump to its holding place before closing your gas cap and quickly getting back into your car.

You closed the door behind you and immediately clicked the lock button before breathing a sigh of relief. Curious, you flicked your eyes back to the truck with the man inside.

He was still watching you, fucking weirdo, but his truck was cranked up like he was about to leave. You made eye contact with him, and before you could look away, he gave you a nod before pulling away.

What the hell did that mean?

You cranked your car and buckled up before pulling onto the street and quickly driving home to lock your doors and sleep.

---

The next time you saw him was at the grocery store a few days later. It was Sunday, and you were doing your weekly grocery run to stock up for the next several days so you could pack yourself lunches instead of buying overpriced, stale sandwiches from the cafe on campus.

You'd nearly grabbed everything on your list before you turned your cart down the cereal aisle, looking for a Jumbo-sized box of Captain Crunch, your favorite sugary breakfast.

The aisle was empty except for a man with an empty cart, standing right next to the Captain Crunch you'd been aiming for.

You slowed your cart and lingered at the mouth of the aisle, waiting for the man to grab what he needed and move out of the way before you could get what you needed.

The man selected a box and placed it in his cart before turning in your direction and walking down the aisle.

You looked at his face as he turned, and your brows scrunched together. You had seen him somewhere before but couldn't quite place it. The man noticed you standing there and gave you a smile and a nod as he passed you and turned down the next aisle out of view.

Your blood ran cold, and your heart jumped. That was the creep staring you down at the gas station the other night. Maybe it was a coincidence, you told yourself, trying not to get weirded out.

Quickly, you grabbed the box of cereal you wanted and hurried to the checkout line, eager to leave. Your head was on a swivel as you checked out and then paid for your groceries, checking your surroundings for the man in case he was following you.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he was nowhere to be seen. After checking out, you rolled your shopping cart into its place by the door, grabbed all your grocery bags, and walked to your car.

You cursed yourself for carrying everything across the parking lot back to your car. The plastic bags were weighing down your arms and nearly cutting off circulation.

Finally, you made it to your car without dropping a bag, but now you were stuck balancing everything in your arms and trying to press the button on the trunk of your car to open the hatch.

"Want some help?" You heard a deep voice offer from somewhere behind, and you jumped, having been startled.

You turned around to see that same tall older man lurking behind you. He was huge, towering above you, and his thick frame looked powerful and imposing.

"No, no, I'm alright." You try to brush him off, hoping he would walk away. But he didn't. He lingered and watched as you tried using your foot to pop the trunk open and nearly toppled over in the process.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" he offered again, stepping closer after you almost fell over.

"I said I'm fine," you snapped, finally getting the trunk to open, and you hurriedly shoved all your grocery bags inside.

You did so without turning your back to him completely, not wanting him to shove you in the trunk and make you the star of the next unsolved murder documentary.

He put his hands up as if to signal that he was harmless and backed away without another word, walking over to his silver truck parked directly behind you in the adjacent row.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye until he pulled away, and then you did the same.

---

The third time you saw him was at work. While in college, to get a degree in political science, you worked at the community center in town as a lifeguard and gave swimming lessons to kids who signed up.

That day was busy. It was the end of May, and temperatures were near sweltering. There'd been many kids at the pool, and you'd been on edge your entire shift, continuously scanning the water for any sign of distress.

As your shift ended, you swapped places with the next lifeguard on duty and went to the locker room to gather your belongings.

Throwing on a coverup and a pair of flip-flops, you slung your tote bag over your shoulder and exited the locker room into the main lobby.

You rounded the corner, heading toward the double doors that lead to the parking lot to drive home when you saw that same damn man that apparently had been following you everywhere.

At first, you felt fear, but it quickly boiled over into anger. You had a long day, you were starving, and the last thing you wanted to do was have some creep bombard you at work.

So, you stomped up to him, fuming. His gaze met yours when he noticed you pounding in his direction, and he opened his mouth to say something.

Before he could, you interrupted with a snarl.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" you spat. "Following me to work now, huh? Is that what you think will get a girl's attention? Stalk them into submission?"

He stared at you, mouth agape and eyebrows raised.

"Well?" you pressed, "What did you follow me here to say, huh? Spit it out."

You stared daggers up at him, waiting to see what nonsense spewed from his mouth.

Before he could answer, you heard a little girl squeal "Daddy" and watched as she ran past you to latch on to his denim-clad leg.

Your face paled, and your stomach dropped as realization hit you.

He picked the little girl up in his arms, a girl you recognized as a regular at the pool this summer. She usually played with another little girl who was a lot more rambunctious.

"Hey, sugar," he says to the little girl, ruffling her hair. "Why don't you get changed out of your wet suit, and I'll take us home."

She nodded, then hurried off to the locker room, leaving you in shock across from her father.

"I'm uh, just here to pick up Sarah," he says slowly, "my daughter."

"Your daughter?" you repeated, making sure you heard right.

"Yes, I'm her dad. Joel Miller." He paused, looking at you confusingly. "I'm sorry If I did something to offend you or whatever. Believe me; I didn't mean to, whatever it was."

Your rage turned to white-hot embarrassment, and you fumbled for words.

"No, No, No," you stuttered, "I am so sorry, Mr. Miller. I thought-" You took a deep breath to calm yourself before continuing. "You aren't going to believe me, but I thought you followed me to work. I thought you'd been following me everywhere."

His big brown eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Following you? No darlin', why do think that?"

"Last week, while I was getting gas one night at that Shell on the corner, I noticed you. I always check my surroundings when I'm out late at night, and I noticed you watching me from inside your truck."

You cast your eyes down to the ground and blushed before continuing. "Well, I thought you might've been a creep because you were staring at me. And then We ran into each other at the grocery store, too, and you startled me when you walked up to me outside of my car while I was unloading groceries."

You peeked up at him, waiting for his response.

A blush crept up his tanned neck and reached the apples of his cheeks. Joels rubbed his hands together nervously before replying.

"I scared you?" He asks.

You nodded to confirm.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand before continuing.

"I've seen you a few times picking Sarah up from the pool this summer. I never officially introduced myself to ya, but that night at the gas station, I recognized you, and I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I didn't like the idea of you out late at night by yourself, so I stuck around until you were back safely in your car."

You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment while he continued.

"And that day at the grocery store, the same thing. I saw you having trouble with your bags and trying to open your trunk, so I thought you might want some help. That's it, I promise."

You let your hands drop from your face and prepared to grovel for forgiveness for your outburst.

"Mr. Miller, I am so, so sorry for snapping at you. Apparently, I watch way too much Criminal Minds, and I need to stop being so paranoid. I'm so embarrassed."

"You embarrassed?" he released a soft, breathy laughter. "I'm the one getting flagged as the neighborhood creep. Don't worry about it, sweetheart; it's better to be safe than sorry. That's what I tell Sarah every chance I get."

Like clockwork, Sarah ran back around the corner, fully dressed, and Joel knelt to scoop her into his arms.

"Ready to go home, baby?" he asked his daughter, who smiled and nodded yes. He looked back at you and joked, "Will I get in trouble If I hold the door open for you now?'

You blushed, shook your head, and smiled. "No, I'd appreciate it. Thank you."

He smiled and held the door open for you as you brushed past before following you out into the parking lot with Sarah in his arms.

You parted ways to go to your vehicles and waved goodbye to him one last time. "Sorry again, Mr. Miller. Have a good rest of your day."

"You too, get home safe. And Joel, call me Joel."

---

Exactly one week later, working the same early afternoon shift, you spotted Sarah in the pool with a little girl you now recognized as Ellie. They splashed back and forth for several hours while a woman, presumably Ellie's mother, watched them from a chair in the distance.

At the end of your shift, Ellie's guardian took her and Sarah to get changed around the same time you swapped places with your replacement for the day.

When you left the employee locker room and rounded the corner, you saw Joel, his now familiar broad-shouldered frame and shaggy head of hair, sitting on a bench in the lobby with a bouquet in his hand.

When he saw you, he stood and met you halfway.

"These are for you," he said, holding out the paper-wrapped bouquet of beautiful, bright-colored flowers. "I just wanted to apologize one more time for the misunderstanding." He finished, looking sheepishly at the floor before meeting your gaze with a grin.

You took the flowers from his grasp, fingers grazing his thick digits—something tingled across your skin, perhaps from the warmth radiating off of him.

"Thank you, Joel. These are beautiful," you said, sniffing the flowers. "But if anyone should be apologizing, it's me."

"Well, if you want to make it up to me for branding me the next Ted Bundy, how about dinner one night? You can pick the place, whatever you're comfortable with."

His gentle demeanor had you swooning. How had you been scared of his warm brown eyes and velvety voice?

"Sure," you said with a smile, "I'd like that."

You exchanged numbers, and the rest was history.

---

Sitting across from you and Joel in the booth at the diner, Tommy cackles uncontrollably at the stories you've just recanted to him.

He mimics wiping tears from his eyes and teases Joel, "Daggum brother, when you said you'd met a girl, I didn't think you'd stalked her."

Joel grumbles beside you, arm around your shoulder lovingly. "I didn't stalk her."

You giggle beside him and lean in to kiss him on the cheek. "It's alright, baby, I'm glad you did."

"Is this what they call Stockholm syndrome?" Tommy jokes from across the table.

Joel groans in embarrassment while Tommy continues to laugh.

Who knew that just three months later, you'd have fallen deeply in love with the man you'd thought was surely going to kill you? It turns out he was a gentle giant with a heart of gold all along.

[moodstabilizr]

ur telling me rn that 5’1 abby is going to be able to kill the big backed serephite lady with the pick axe? with nothing but a braid and a dream? my girl is never getting that backpack back

[shoot-me-now-or-shoot-me-later92]

I think these Pedro’s fans experiences and the Pedro himself answer on Reddit are enough to understand who he is and what happened to that “pseudo- fan” in Malta.

[almostempty]

wip wednesday

thanks to @milla-frenchy, @mermaidgirl30, and @lovely-vamp-princess for tags

still catching up, but here look it’s stalker!frankie

he’s just, like, sooo sweet

tags forrr the babes

@auteurdelabre @gothcsz @itwasntimethatdidit40 @magneticecstasy @ace-turned-confused @lotusbxtch @thundermartini @bitchesuntitled @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @thischarmingmandalorian @swankyorange @baronessvonglitter

I know some of y’all like JUST shared or maybe don’t have something ready yet so no worries, in that case enjoy these hand curated memes from my collection du jour :

[pedropascalunofficial]

STORY TIME - THE FANDOM STAIN

My response to THIS post from stainsofpascal/thesweetestdecline earlier today

@thesweetestdecline

I am going to number these since you’re going to get tired.

1.      FAKE IG ACCOUNT

You said I made a fake account in your name on IG? No. That fake stainsofpascal account isn't me. I'm in Ireland. We don't have Threads in Europe. And a VPN can't get around that. Please check your receipts before wasting all of our time with this bullshit narrative you're trying to deflect with.

2.   LONG POSTS

You complained that my posts are long. That's because your bullshit is prolific. I don’t mess around. I like to give detailed accounts of what’s happening with receipts to back it up so ppl can clearly see what's going on in the fandom they're now ashamed to be part of. It's also to prevent ppl like you from deflecting by saying your accusers are "crazy" or "obsessed" with you. The receipts don't lie even though you’d like ppl to believe they do.

3.   “BOT ATTACK” ON IG

You accused me of attacking you on IG? No. I haven’t done shit on IG. I haven’t attacked your stainsofpascal or thesweetestdecline accounts. You realise I’m just the loudest of many, many ppl who wonder why you're in the fandom?! Getting you suspended would only feed your need to be seen as an underdog. I’d rather watch all this play out as ppl wake up to your clout chasing. It's not me or my friends who will be your downfall. You'll manage that just fine by continuing your bullshit.

4.  FOLLOWER COUNT ANOMALIES

You’re gas. Always playing the victim to deflect from your own misdeeds. Are you ever going to explain any of the unusual increases in follows or would you like us all to ignore the fact you can get 400 in a matter of hours and drop 500 the next day? Should we believe your version of accounts because you're...... an upstanding member of this community? Stop trying to compare your jumps in followers on your stainsofpascal IG account with other ppls. Your account numbers go up and down faster than a whores knickers on Paddy’s Day in Times Square. No one else has this but you and your dodgy minions who hid their dodgy numbers in a recent attempt to hide their ratios.

5.      COME CLEAN

What have I done in this fandom? I'll admit it (again). I bought Pedro’s white pages and socials info via a website. That was stupid. I regret doing it. What was really stupid was that I shared some of it thinking it was for a laugh and your mate, (let's call her Ms Peacock) used it to trade with ppl across the fandom to gain clout and to gain more information about Pedro. I've tried to make amends but it's far too late as it snowballed into much bigger information getting traded. So to attempt to make amends, I decided to get closer to the psychos and report back. Shitty, I know, but at least the right ppl know about the stalking bullshit and Pedro can protect himself better.

6.  MS PEACOCK AND STALKER REDDIT

After sharing his old info with you and Ms Peacock, I realised neither of you were looking into Pedro's old info just out of curiosity. You were tracking him and his friends around like they’re characters in a story. It’s my bad for not noticing the crazy when it was staring me in the face.  I shared info which was traded from person to person in exchange for info that has been used to help Ms Peacock not just stalk Pedro online but get physically closer to him. First, driving past his old house and now, three years later, she’s living "#twoblocksaway" from his gym according to a recent post. Zero shame.

I shouldn't be surprised since she used to frequent his actual neighbourhood even though it was a three hour round trip from her town. Before all that, she told us she used his personal email for a project where a group of us had raised money to adopt an elephant for his birthday. I never did get the info on the elephant since she dipped on the group chat after getting what she wanted. Ms Peacock traded info some of us had given her with others in turn for more info and clout. Just like a fandom Gollum. We didn’t realise that stuff we shared was being traded so it could be added to in order to feed her need to feel near him and grow her influence here. You’ve been part of supporting that behaviour too. When Ms Peacock asked you to find out where Pedro was one day, you went straight to the airline staff and lied about possibly being on the flight in an attempt to get the flight details. You ran right back and gave her what you had. I hope you realise we’ve all been played. Some of us learned our lesson and tried to be better but you stayed with her and you guys took it to another level. When you ran out of info, you created a stalker reddit where you share info you gather through lies and deceit with some real psychos in the fandom. I hadn't realised what I fed into until I saw the levels you guys cranked it up to. Now I see what a bit of info in the wrong hands can snowball into. I have a lot of regret about that. (I also have receipts)

Do you regret being part of that? Have you even stopped tracking him?

7.   CHASING CLOUT

Some of us did some of the stuff you continue to do but we woke up and realised this shit isn't a game. YOU and your shitty friends levelled up and are fucking with ppls lives. You treat him like shit for clout and not because you want him to be a successful human being. You need to grow up and admit that to yourself. Impossible though right?! Coz then you might lose clout. That is why you're here right?!

If it's not, then why?

TO CREATE COMMUNITY?

I've seen screenshots of your IG posts and what type of community you're cultivating in your comments. Ppl who shit on Pedro's career, his sexuality, his physical appearance, and you've collected a fine assortment of fandom psychos all sharing your posts. You feed them with likes even when their comments are hate filled. Ppl have noticed.

TO STALK PEDROS FRIENDS?

You've posted about contacting Pedro's friends through social media. Going so far as to add trackers to your Tumblr and watch their online status on Instagram. (I’ve got receipts)

TO INTERFERE PEDROS FRIENDS?

You’ve admitted reaching out to Pedro’s old friends. They’re said they’ve unknowingly given information to stalkers they've had to add extra layers of security to their social media. They aren’t there to be used as “sources” during playtime. (I’ve got receipts)

TO STALK PEDRO?

You guys contact his friends, hotel and airline staff for more info on his whereabouts. (I’ve got receipts) If that's not stalking then what do you call it?

TO SUPPORT PEDRO?

Pedro is the punchline of your account. You encourage ppl to drag him by liking their hate filled comments. What’s that about? It would be cute if you weren’t also stalking him but publicly negging the fuck out of you’re victim is a bit tasteless, no?

8.      OBSESSED

You say I'm "obsessed" with you and you've "done nothing to my friends"? No, try, a lot of other ppl in the fandom and I are sick of your holier than thou act when we’ve seen you abuse and attack ppl competing accounts who did nothing to you. You can't fuck up ppls lives and expect to skip off into the sunset. You do shitty things, refuse to acknowledge them and continue to be the best example of what's wrong with this fandom and why it has the reputation it does.

9. WHY DO I "COME FOR YOU"?

I challenge you because you came at others first and like magic, shit hit the fan for them.

Early on you were copying Aude’s style of posting. It's undeniable that your posts were very similar. No one really cared but ppl talked about it in forums and someone sent an anon to @pedrohub who decided to post it for some reason🤔. You decided to attack her in a reblog and accuse her "friends" of sending poorly spelled hate. Then you gaslight her all because she had....stopped liking your posts as much as before. Like wtf?

Then you blamed Arte for hateful anons you were getting. You said it was her because she had blocked you. You said it was definitely she because she's from Ohio (btw Arte doesn’t talk about being from Ohio so how did you know that?), ignoring the fact another fan is from Ohio and is well known in the fandom to send vicious hateful anons (let's call her Wendys License-Plates Girl). You didn't like Artes reason for disliking you and your account. She blocked you so she just didn’t have to see you. She had never said anything bad about you at that point. You produced screenshots of conversations which were had after you accused her but you ran with them as your "evidence" that she had it out for you in dms and was directing a campaign of hate against you. When nothing came of that, you then blamed her for getting you blocked by Sebastiano Mauri because you.....liked her dog pic? Again wtf. There's a trend brewing here.

You created these monsters in your head and you took your anger out on unsuspecting fan accounts. Meanwhile, you were posting shit ppl just weren't feeling and stalking SM in dms. You were tracking him and baiting him to speak to you so you could see his activity tracker in IG. I was the one who got you blocked for your fucking stalker bullshit coz you bragged about it.

You blamed Arte and Aude for bullshit you made up in your paranoid mind. You were told they were innocent by the person you suspectdd of ratting you out but you chose to doggedly go after both of THEM AND NOT ME. Talking shit in dms with whoever would listen. Spinning your usual holier than thou victim routine.

Now, let’s see….

Who has magically lost their account – pascalisfrenchpunk

Who has magically received a death threat – artedepascal (also runs mh_creatives on IG)

Who was bore witness to your bullshit, Known to be friends with Aude and Arte, Known to have connections to get info to Pedro?

Me.

Why didn’t you ever target me since you had vague posted about me being a rat? You knew I got kicked out of the stalker reddit once the Fleetwoods-rumours blog got published for the guys to read.

But...

I don't use IG so I guess you didn't see me as a threat to your clout chasing on there. You only went for ppl with competing IG accounts because all you want is to be noticed by Pedro and to be the Queen Clout Chaser of the fandom.

NO ONE WAS RUNNING A CAMPAIGN OF HATE BUT I SURE WAS COLLECTING A COLLAGE OF YOUR BULLSHIT TO HELP YOUR VICTIMS.

If you have missed who the fans are that are giving this fandom a reputation for being psychos, please see the Story Time series (so far) below✌️

[pascalsbby]

CARNAL / 6: DEVOUR

Chapter 5 / Masterlist

Summary: 4.5k, f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, brattamer!joel

It didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, cum eating, car sex, anal play, dominate & aggressive joel, slight stalker!joel, pet names, praise kink, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth + WAY MORE. This is filthy. Gotta feed you after being gone for so long.

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. Maybe. I kinda went feral. Love you <3 Let me know what you think & what’s gonna happen to these two.

"I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones. Try to be gentle when you rip me apart.”

- Jamaal May

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

You woke up that morning (the second time), around 10AM on Joel Miller’s couch. He was standing at the counter, back to you. His shoulder blades flexing under his thin shirt. His hair was getting long, kissing the nape of his neck. It was curly at the ends, too. Ruffled, reminiscent of hands being flushed through it. Yours. You wonder now if he’d let it grow or would let it meet its end.

Was this your end?

Turn around Joel.

Please.

You started to open your mouth but he spoke up. “Didn’t want her t’see you in my bed.”

He still hadn’t turned, his voice silently echoing against the tiled back wall of his kitchen. It was soft, still commanding in its baritone. He wasn’t angry anymore… couldn't have been. He had already accepted the invitation and stored it away for later, too. He sat a cup of coffee in front of you and sat across from you at his table. He bent down beside you and whispered, “She hasn’t come out yet. I swear to God f’she heard you fucking screaming last night I—“

Sarah’s bedroom door shook closed. She was walking down the stairs now, fake yawning as if she had only opened her eyes seconds before. She looked tired, as if someone had been keeping her up all night. The chair creaked beneath Joel’s thighs as he settled backwards into it, tearing himself away from your reprimand.

Of course he was mad. Delusional. That’s what this was. Sneaking around your best friends house, fucking her dad? And the thing was, it didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.

He had made a permanent indentation in his bed with your body, fucking you into it, and then he carried you down the stairs and to the couch like it was nothing, right past her door. Like you hadn’t been dripping on the dark hardwood the entire time he carried you here. Like your muffled screams fell silent to other ears.

Fuck.

He would, too— devour you. And you would sit at his feet and watch as he chewed the love from your ribs. “Thank you, Joel. Thank you. Please, more. Take more of me.”

His snarl when he realized it was you. How angry he was that you were making him do something like this; taking his daughter's best friend and filling her womb with himself, in the most selfish way he could think to tie himself to you. But if that didn’t give, then the raised skin of his initials would do. How dare you open that door and guide him to temptation, as if he wasn’t completely releasing himself into it already? Into you. Onto you.

She hit the bottom step and looked around the living room. “You’re up early.” It was directed at you, but she turned to Joel and spoke in his direction, mirroring him a million times before as her chin tilted slightly down— eyes settling upwards. Big, brown eyes beckoning. And then seconds later her face softens and she gives you both the “I’m not fucking oblivious to this” look.

You laid there and listened to them go about their morning, in his safe space. He smiled real big when he realized she was still happy to see him, of course. Why wouldn’t she be? This has been a man who stood between her and anything that could ever possibly hurt her. He was her shield. And it hurt, still. That he couldn’t really be yours. He was undressing you, instead. Taking off the metal plating and throwing it to the ground. And it was hard to remember that this man was years your senior, your dad’s best friend. He was someone who had been following you for months, paying you to defile your frail body for him. He had hunted you down and sunk his teeth into your skin, bone, marrow. His fingers into your mouth and through the desperation of your thigh.

He scratched his way into your life and you let him, because he feels so good. It was so hard to remember that he was not a good man. Despite his reverence to Sarah’s being. Despite the hole he’s dug through your chest.

Joel Miller was a murderer in his own regard. He hunts you out and down, gets what he wants and then serves you a slow, painful, death. You were sure of it.

Why can’t you be a good man?

Why can’t I have a good man?

You ate breakfast together, the three of you sitting at their two-person table. You were in the middle, one knee touching him and the other, Sarah. He felt of fire, every inch of his denim that touched your naked knees. It rubbed against the rawness of last night, where you were looking up at him, mouth stuffed, praying to him. His cock, as it slid languidly down and up your throat. “Birdie,” he whispered into your hair over and over. Fists full of you. A prayer, a question, a deep rumbling.

Birdie Birdie Birdie.

“Birdie.”

You returned to yourself and realized he was trying to get your attention. It dawned on them that he had just called you the girlish nickname in front of his daughter. It was a moment too late, already it passed his lips and christened the air around him. The melody in his voice changed.

Sarah dropped her fork and it rang through the plate, sending fissures through the porcelain as it echoed the quiet room.

“Who?”

“I’ve called people that before. C’mon. Jus’ like I used to call… fuck what’s her name? Hanna. Just like I used to call Hanna, Ladybug? Remember? Jus’a nickname Sar.”

Excuse me?

“You know exactly why I’m upset. It wasn’t just a nickname for her Dad. You know that.”

“Just a fucking nickname, Jesus.” He was angry that he was being questioned. Outed.

Caught.

It made sense they held secrets for each other. Ones that only swim to the surface during fights. You sat at the two-person table, three people deep. You, sitting outside of your body while the real you is turning your head towards Joel, now. Eyes eating into his own, gnawing on the beauty of them. You try to figure out who the fuck Hanna is. If she’s played this same game before, too. How far did she get? How far was Joel’s cock inside of her? How did he find her?

How old was she?

Sarah was quiet during breakfast. Everyone was. You cleaned the dishes and she rubbed them dry, silently beside you. Joel left as soon as the last bit of ketchup and hashbrowns left his plate. He walked out of the doorway and sat in his chair in front of the TV. He turned the volume out and pretended like he wasn’t leaving his girls to figure it out. He would let you do the hard part.

He always does.

“Sarah, I—“

“Do you know who Ladybug is? He didn’t tell you, did he? He didn’t fucking tell you. I knew it. I knew it,” your name passed out of her chest violently. “He got you too, he got you. I to—He promised me he wouldn’t do it again I-I—“

Suddenly she was too worked up for it to stay between the two of you. Joel’s voice carried from the living room as you hurried after her trying to meet him in the middle. Her fingers already pointing in his direction as he walked towards her with his arms out.

“Joel Miller, you fucking perv—“ calling him by his name.

“Sarah. He hasn’t done anything bad to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to but I feel held with him. ‘Member the conversation we had? About how you somehow understood that he and I are similar in a way I haven’t been able to find with anyone else. He— he takes care of me.”

She winced, visibly hit.

“I’ll bet he does.” She spat.

“Hey, s’not like that baby girl.” He was begging.

“Get out of my fucking house, Birdie.” She mocked, completely ignoring anything falling out of your mouth.

So you sat down the dish silently and walked towards the door.

You. You were the first casualty of war. Not even him. Never him. He gazed into you, seeing you. Like he usually did, but never said.

“She was my babysitter and she was his little Ladybug, Birdie,” she spit. You were still in a locked gaze with Joel, body halfway out of their front door.

He turned and looked away.

You walked out of the door.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

It had been two months and 26 days since he carved his initials into your begging flesh. A scrappy ‘JM’ slightly sideways, now slightly raised on your inner thigh. You found yourself tracing it sometimes, wondering if you left any invisible marks on him. Probably not. Your skin is pink and soft, new. It has spent its days tucked away against your heat, hidden from the light. From the man who put them there. Whenever you were sleeping that night, he must have invisibly carved himself into you a thousand more times, because your skin is festering in his absence. His fingertips, name, gripping hands, all falling into the creases of him, left upon you. Long ago bruised and now just scabbed over in refusal to let you return to that night.

That’s what I felt like every single time you texted Sarah, “Can we talk? Please?” or, “I am sorry, please let me explain. Miss you.” She never reads them, infact, they never get to her. She blocked you. And that hurt so much more than just leaving you on read.

Suddenly your skin is ripped open again, by the teeth of your own guilt. Of another lie added to the bracket. But alas, you return home, lock the door, and let him free again in the only way you can— by stripping yourself naked and opening your thighs to the light.

It’s easier to hold a funeral when it's your own. Here lies yet another person who didn't save you— who didn’t stick around to see it through. Whatever it was.

You've been discarded before, it wasn’t a new phenomenon. Rather it was one your chest is familiar with— knows the aching well. Although oftentimes you weren’t even left, just sat to the side, unnoticed and quiet. No one had really done you the favor of actually leaving, never really departing; all still loosely lingering around, almost like they were orbiting you. A distant star in the night sky. Then, like a meteorite, Joel. He became your refuge, a far-off celestial body that crashed into yours. Free from the chaos, cradling you in his arms.

He wasn't just a mosaic of broken mass and matter forcibly reassembled; thrown and kneeled like dough. He embodied the resilience of stardust, a reminder that matter never truly vanishes but transforms into something or someone new. Filtered through fingers above to loosen their ties to who they were before, or what. Joel was something before, to you. Maybe on another plane, he was bending you over his knees right now. His hand kissing your skin— Good morning, Birdie. His touch a gentle caress against your skin, with a warmth that felt like the first rays of dawn. Warmth that would completely devour the incessant nightmares. And the truth of him.

Wake up.

Another nightmare.

They never really ended, the fucked up silver screen tucked tightly against your hippocampus, played on and on. They seethed and sang their screamed pain to the night. Bursting out in missing, of emptiness and holiness (not of the Godly kind).

There was a hole, burrowing itself into your breastplate, spreading and grasping for whatever it can grab hold of, inching ever closer to your heart. You screamed his name like it came directly from him, like he planted it there, kissed it on its forehead goodnight, a silent promise, and then walked out the door and never returned. It was kind of like that— his leaving, the absence of him. So your brain held close whatever it still could and replayed it to you every night. It felt like dying. Like wanting to rip-the-wall-open-and-set-yourself-in-there-too, dying. Plaster over yourself and have some professional match the paint color perfectly, so that it's as if you were never gone from him or his room, dying. His ruined sheets on behalf of your body. Rotting.

Joel told you that he wouldn’t clip your wings, not just yet. What had set off the ‘yet’? He was haunting you, now, the whispers of his voice fading more each day. You thought about that morning so much that you haven’t been present in your own, in weeks.

You haven’t painted in weeks, either. They were sitting against your wall in your childhood room, not even able to face the outside world. Just the canvas beside it. A mirror.

You had been writing more though, filling pages of a journal you didn’t even know you had. The cover was foiled, gold and glistening. Water Serpents l, Gustav Klimt, 1907. You’d always preferred Water Serpents II. Where the fuck did this come from?

Sarah probably left it here in the beginning of summer. She came over daily, helped you unpack. Laughed with you. Held you in that way. Took pictures of you amongst your things.

“You’re like… a big girl now.” She said.

You’d always had a poster of Der Kuss hanging above your bed. It moved with you, from your room to a dorm room, apartment, and back. On her knees for him, engulfed in him. Her feet hanging over the edge, facing some other reality. He held her head in his large hands and kissed her Goodbye. Goodnight. Drift softly into the night.

I imagine he stayed on his knees and watched the flowers shrivel. First, the ones upon her dress and hair, then he picked every single flower in the field they graced and watched them shrink and gasp for life, too. But he stayed.

You remember Dr. Andrews, walking to center stage of the auditorium on a foggy Wednesday morning, four semesters ago. It was 45 minutes into a 3 hour chapter titled: Byzantine Frescoes: Life In Gold. “Each work aids final comprehension of the allegory, which represents the mystical union of spiritual and erotic love and the merging of the individual with the eternal cosmos.” That of Der Kuss. Eternal cosmos.

You felt as if you were meant to be with him. Regardless of the rage you felt towards him. How he had just magically been there at every intersection of your life, thus far. How your parents loved him. Sarah. Meeting her again, or the first time even. All synchronicities pointing to the both of you. Joel and Birdie, sittin’ in a tree.

Whenever you felt control slipping, you would write down the words of someone else. Sometimes it was too hard to find your own in the strung-together way you wanted them. But people have been talking, crying, wailing into the night, since forever ago. You found something that stuck a key into your heart and opened it. This fell out:

“I hated him because I could not remain detached, could not remain standing at the top of the stairs watching him depart. I felt myself going down with him, within him, because his pain and flight were so familiar to me. I descended with him, and lost myself, passed into him, became one with him like his shadow.”

- Anaïs Nin, Winter of Artifice

Your pen gave out, stopping its bleeding before you even reached the end of shadow.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

You had been at home a lot more the past couple of weeks, in a perpetual state of ‘no-call-backs’ from jobs and The Miller’s. You hid from arguing like you’d never left. Like you weren’t nearly 25 years old. You listened to wildfire over and over.

“Been home longer than expected. Looking for a job or just gonna stay here forever?”

“Yeah, Dad. No one is calling back. I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He always says it under his breath, not even looking you in your fucking eyes.

Yeah. Not hard enough.

“How ‘bout you ask Joel if you can work for them as some assistant or something?”

You try not to outwardly scoff. “I’m not talking to Sarah right now. Please don’t invite the Miller’s to anything, just for a while.” You knew exactly what was coming up. But you turned to him and looked in his eyes— something you shied away from him most days, thinking that sudden reveal would get your point across. He spoke before you could, again.

“What’d you do this time?” He looked away.

*₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

It didn’t surprise you one bit when Joel fucking Miller, in the biting flesh, walks past you in your own backyard, three months and 28 days later. Eyes tearing into where another man’s hand rested upon the small of your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. John caught his eye, his fingers releasing from your skin upon Joel’s wandering scowl.

Looks like he wasn’t expecting him either.

John was standing at your side. You decided you’d meet him first, as to not have a reply of the last time you met one of your customers. He actually lived a few houses down, your other too-old-for-you neighbor. How funny. He walked up to you one day when you were getting the mail.

“N’ what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here barefoot? Gonna hurt those soles.”

You decided that you haven’t felt full in a while. You wanted to feel it again, the tickling stretch of someone sliding into you. Even if the entire time you try not to sing the song of another man.

Eh. He fits the bill.

So now his feet (boots) were slowly sinking into the September grass in your parents backyard. He was five beers deep. You, about three or so. Enough. It was the best you could do under the circumstances.

In reality, he came because he thought he might be able to get you alone in the room he’d seen so many times through the computer screen. Smell your sheets, your room, your pussy.

In reality, you just invited him in hopes that Joel would be here. That he would see you around another man and realize the mistake he’s made by not choosing you, too.

You were mid-sentence, explaining what a BFA is to some other neighbor and you felt as if you could hear him growling from across the yard. You would sway yourself just the way you know he liked- especially when your family was involved. Oh, it angered him. That you should be so bold in front of your own father. In front of this man. But he was ignoring you, so why wouldn’t you try and regain his attention?

“Did I leave my wallet in your truck?” John put on his thinking face. “Don’t think so, but here, go look.” He handed you the keys. Coulda came with you at least. You lead yourself back inside and out of the front door. His car is about 4 back. You see Joel’s navy truck a few more back and you catch yourself staring for too long.

As you attempt at unlocking John’s truck, your knees are suddenly pressed onto the footstep, arms spread against the leather seat. And then Joel’s smell is all around. His nose is poking your ear and his gray stubble is poking into your face.

“How fucking dare you? I give you space and this is how you spend it? Stuffing another man’s dirty cock into my cunt?” His back is lowered, attempting to match your height, pointing and spitting about. “If you wanted to be fully stuffed you should have just asked, Birdie. But I get whatever hole I want and he can have whatever’s open. I didn’t know you wanted me to share you, baby.”

You felt full of his voice, even at its melting whisper. You missed bulging full of him.

“I woulda at least ask you not to choose one of my coworkers. Actin’ like a fucking slut.” He whispered the last part, but not quietly enough. “Gonna take care of him later, been wanting to since I saw that you followed hi—“

He was so angry he was giving away his secrets, the way he had still been keeping up with you. You were pulsing.

But… he was looking at you, was paying attention to you. And you hadn’t looked into his soul in so long. You fought against his palm, as it filled the expanse of the back of your head, hair and all. Your cheeks pushed against the seat of John’s truck.

You hear Joel sigh in impatience, then he drops his belt.

He pulls his hands away so he can pull up your dress and he moans as his thumb pushes your thong away from your holes, tickling them. He hooks his thumb in front of you, against the hood of your clit and holds it in place. A constant rush of pressure originating from where his wet finger is pushing. You rut your hips against it and he moans as you breathlessly look up and around at him, eyes widening and eyebrows raising at the feeling of his presence on your body.

“Look into my eyes.”

How could you? How could you possibly focus on the lifting of his lips and his tongue meeting his teeth when his arms were gracing himself, wrestling heavily against his chest, stomach, fully. His cock, long and full. Slightly less straight. A little off. Just like him. Just like you liked it.

He turns you over on your back, lifting you up so that your naked ass meets leather, fully in another man’s truck. He sets you further inside and then looks at you. His cock jumps to meet your gaze and he lets you take it in.

“Been thinking about this.” You try to reach out and touch the veiny girth of it. The heaviness.

“Mm, nuh uh. Not being a very good girl, are you? Told y’ to shut up didn’t I?”

No. And you know he would never. Likes hearing you whimper for him too much.

You scoff and he dips into you in fever, his nose is kissing your clit, unable to get out of the way as his tongue pokes into your slobbering hole. You are every one of his senses. His fingers in your cunt, stretching the soft tissue between your legs. The taste of your warmth on his tongue, pooling. The wetness that got into his nose.

If anyone were to be looking, from most angles it looks like he’s lost something in his floorboard. Until someone moves too closely and sees Joel Miller with his face buried in someone’s daughter's pussy.

He hears something and removes his dripping mustache from your cunt. He then spits on it and lets it talk to him as his veined and heavy cock slips through the cream he’s making of his precum, collecting it with his pretty pink, angry, tip before he slides it back down your slit, covering every inch with himself.

It felt good to sing for him again.

“Oh Birdie, just like that, sounds so good whipping up your pussy’s excitement with my cock, don’t you? Filthy lil’ thing. Gonna make it wetter n’ cover it in my cum, too, okay?”

He reaches down and fingers at your pussy, pushing himself deeper into you and thumbs where you are gripping his cock. He spits down on it. “She missed me.”

“Need you t’ fill me up.”

“Already begging? Don’t wanna get caught in his truck, do you?” He was mocking you now. “Baby girl, that’s just not good enough.”

“Need-need daddy to fill me to the brim with his fucking cum. Let me have it, sir, please. Plea-“

“Show me who you belong to.”

You widen your legs further and let the orange streetlights filling the car shine on his initials.

“There you go baby.” He growls as he fucks his thick length inside of you, letting go as deep as he can as your pussy clenches around his sputtering cock.

He stops looking at your hole clenching onto him as hard as possible and is instead watching his initials in the jiggling fat of your inner thigh. He grabs it, rubs his fingers over the skin.

His thighs are even thicker from this angle. He moans towards the sky but forces himself to look back down, just as his cum falls from his slit and falls down to your open mouth. He lets go of his cock and lets it throb independently, shooting more of himself into his plump stomach. He’s dripping down himself, coating his own skin.

“Uh uh uh.” His voice catching in his throat every single time the skin between his heavy balls and asshole contract and expand, throbbing.

He admires as the cum chokes back out of your tight pussy as he pushes himself in and out, then removes himself. He watches it slide down and kiss your puckering asshole and decides to finger it back into your cunt, tsk-ing at you.

“Gonna let it drip down to your pretty asshole and not even fuck it back in baby? After all that work? Let me do it for you. Relax n’ let me fuck you here, too.” He slides his thick finger into your ass and lets out a low groan as it swallows him.

He pops himself back out, gently cooing praises at you.

“Whose Hanna?”

“That’s none of your fucking business, Birdie.”

“Is that so? Shouldn’t I have a right to know? Am I just another victim of you and your inability to show the fuck up?”

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Daddy showing up to your little party and making a mess in your little hole?”

“Joel.”

“I never fucked her.”

You stared at him.

“Get down there and clean up your fucking mess.” You deserved this. You weren’t being good for him, asking questions.

You pulled your dress down as he tucked himself away. He held your hair back and grabbed your jaw, aligning it with his cum on the black leather seats.

“Now lick.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

I know I’m missing some of you on the taglist, I’m sorry!! I need to come up with a better way of doing it.

Taglist: @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rubyfruitjungle @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @paleidiot @sarap-77 @silkiers @gracevn @scarletsloveletter @livingdeadmaria @morallyinept @kittenprincess710 @jubilee82 @cool-iguana @vickywallace @capitulo3-celos @taeslarityy @moonlightdreamingworld @worhols @milla-frenchy @sheepdogchick3 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @bratty-lxndry444

[thefrogdalorian]

I think on this fine Saturday afternoon it's a good opportunity to take a breather and remember that there are really no ethical paparazzi pictures. Every single one is inherently exploitative.

Just because photos were taken on a movie set, when someone is 'working,' does not make the practice any less invasive and creepy. Imagine just going about your day, doing your job and having some weirdo snapping pictures of you to sell without your consent for others to endlessly repost online.

There are thousands of pictures of your favourite actor online already. Plenty taken with his knowledge and consent. I'd really like to see more of them on my dash, rather than the creeper shots.

And don't get me started how disseminating these pictures directly leads to people going to said sets. What starts off as admiring how good someone looks has real world implications.

No, hanging around a movie set and disrupting people doing their jobs is not harmless fun or a way to show your appreciation.

If you hang around a movie set, you are a stalker.

Don't tell me that it's okay to take your online admiration for someone offline. You may admire him but he does not, and will never, personally know you. He will never be your friend/boyfriend/daddy. He is a stranger.

The only way meeting your favourite actor is going to happen is at a convention or maaaaaybe a movie premiere if you're incredibly fortunate. You know, places they appear specifically to meet fans (or not in the case of premieres, where the purpose is to promote a movie. Which is also completely understandable if actors don't stop. You are not owed an interaction).

Of course, you cannot help it if you randomly run into someone you admire in the wild. Even then, consider that they probably won't be all too thrilled to be approached in public by a complete stranger. It's up to you to gauge the situation, but remember there is a person at the heart of all of this.

Boundaries and respect are a kindness which deserves to be extended to each and every human being regardless of their looks/talent/fame/wealth.

Fandoms blur those lines a little too often for my liking and I think just scrutinising what you're interacting with, or what behaviour you could be possibly falling down that slippery slope towards is nice to do every once in a while.

I mean no malice with this post and it is not directed at anyone in particular. It's something I cannot help but feel strongly about because I've seen this destructive cycle time and again in fandoms over the years. It's not healthy and it makes us all a little bit more disconnected from our humanity for it...

[xwandawidowx]

The last of us season 2 coming this year 🌿

[toxicanonymity]

When you engage with confessions accts, you're encouraging this kind of parasocial hater behavior

Note added for context: A "confessions" account has been posting anon hate mostly toward writers in the pedro pascal fandom. A parasocial hater of mine discovered it and has been going to town. I posted this after a revolting analogy they used (screenshot at bottom of post).

Obviously I am disgusted that anyone would post such a deranged analogy just to stir up fandom drama. FYI many of these are from the same individual who has been fixated on me for a while and i know others have their stalkers too. We block them but when a "confessions" acct is active, they have a platform. I'm sorry to everyone who has been attacked.

warning: hate, trivialization of abuse & genocide, gross stuff.

the screenshots below are all from after I blocked this person

I normally don't address things like this, but that's only because I'm trying to keep it off your dash and off my blog for reasons including not wanting to give the hater a larger audience for their message. Normally I block/delete. But thanks to a blog dedicated to posting anon hate, some of this is already on the dash, and additional context could be illuminating.

a couple weeks ago, this person chimed in on my non-fandom post, and their comment made me uncomfortable. Their blog tagline was antagonistic. They weren't being earnest. I checked to see if they followed me, and they didn't. I wrongly assumed they followed me from a main account since they were commenting on an un-tagged, un-reblogged post. I replied, taking issue with their comment and asking them to keep their thoughts to themselves rather than coming at me from a sideblog. But I now realize they were simply hate checking my blog.

These first ones are from their burner after I blocked the account that started it:

(Blocked the burner too)

They were saying this last bit preemptively - I've never talked about stalkers here until this post you're reading rn. I didn't include all their anons in this post, just enough to show they clearly out themselves as being the same person.

Sometimes they will act like they're laughing and pretend to be multiple people. They also sent asks targeting att*********h and made comments off-anon before she deactivated this wk. In other asks they use large font to praise a former writer (jr****t) and insult everyone else - they sent one of these off-anon and reblogged another.

This post i'm making may only make it worse idk. I want to trust people not to automatically believe and repeat accusations, but my experience leaves me pessimistic.

I won't be dropping this creep's url in this post: This week they have repeatedly changed their url anyway, along with their display name and blog appearance. I had never heard of them.

Now the ask that prompted this post, idk if it's the same person or not but they def sent multiple asks

Note the "our" 🙄 typical hate stalker tactic pretending to be more than 1 person. I used to get "we are laughing" asks after like every post I made.

I haven't included nearly all the hate in this post, only the last one which crossed the line pushing me to make this post and all the others to illustrate how one person can go so wild. In other posts, I was sexualized without my consent (TOS violation) and it was really gross. And then miscellaneous hate.

Note - yes you can share this if you want. It's already out there anyway. Also feel free to DM for the known urls but do NOT contact them / rile them up.

Update - the anon-hate account referred to above, pedgeconfessions, has deactivated after violating multiple TOS including doxxing (not of me) which can put people in real world danger. It wasn't the first such acct this summer and may not be the last.

[josephquinnswhore]

Watchful Eyes

Pairing: Joel Miller! Stalker boyfriend! x female reader

Summary: Joel hates when you go drinking.

Content Warning: shit writing, I’m drunk soooooo, stalker boyfriend Joel, reader is female and drinks alcohol, not seeing red flags.

Note: I’m drunk and this is trash.

Joel hated this—your one day of the two of you not working; and yet you’d insisted on seeing your friend, your best friend. You insisted. Pleaded, tried to make him see reason, that this was worth it, for you.. it was something that you’d hardly ever got to do. The stress of work and trying to keep a healthy relationship was diffficult, and Joel knew the struggle too.

He had to unlearn how to check your location, eyes lingering on the text chat where you’d messaged fifteen minutes ago stating you loved him. But did you really, if you’d not replied to his message. Could he really change his habits? Probably not.

12am rolls around and still no sign of you.

“Call me baby. Where are you?” You were drinking with your friend, of course a few others, all female, which he was thankful for. But that wasn’t enough to stop his mind from wondering. Maybe you’d explore something about yourself if only surrounded by women.

“Got some people coming over. Talk soon!” You texted back as normally as you could, thanks to auto correct.

He growls at the text, why in the world would you message him something so vague, who was coming over, when, were you going somewhere? When would you be home? Were there going to be men? He dreaded it, the anxiety and insecurity he faced as being with someone as beautiful as you.

“Fuckin Jesus Christ!” He cursed to himself, as his fists slammed onto the recliner he sat on. He trusted you, of course he did. You were a sweet woman, a loyal and wonderful women who had never given him a reason to ever doubt him. So why did he?

He didn’t trust a single soul to care for his girl. Especially while she was under the influence.. vulnerable.

As he started his car, he thought of every reason to excuse his irrational behaviour. He wanted to make sure you were safe, cared for, that no one were trying to grab onto you with their venomous hands. “Need to make sure you’re okay.” He murmured as his truck roared to life. Like all of his actions would be excused somehow if he said it aloud.

It’s almost humourous, how close you lived to your friend. Less than two minutes drive, a few streets away.. but he knew they would recognise his car, it was blantanly obvious, a white pickup with all of his construction gear on the back. So he turns the truck off and the lights, letting it roll down the hill until he can see you, standing on the balcony with a drink in your hand.

Only then does he pull the hand break as quietly as he can. He readjusts his blue cap so that he can tuck his stray curls under them, they’re unruly, and blocking whatever vision he has of you… finally.

You’re laughing. Of course you are, you’re a social creature when you drink, a few friends surround you as you make them all laugh. God he’s jealous—no, envious. Why couldn’t it be him? Hearing your sweet laugh and seeing those wonderful eyes staring into his own as he hears whatever you’ve said is so funny.

He texts you again, he can see your friends frown, and complain about how clingy he is, how you have no freedom where Joel is concerned. “Oh shut it you guys he loves me!” You excuse his behaviour and frown as you read the text.

“Oh.. Joel’s sick. I need to get him to the hospital. It could be his heart.” Your friends all give each other a look. You’re frantically packing your belongings before they could protest and Joel drives the short way home, getting into bed before you even start your car to drive home.

“Joel?” You call out wearily. He coughs and murmurs distantly.. “baby?”

Mad, you see him, your heart drops, his cheeks are stained with tears and his hand is clutching his chest. “Oh baby you look like you’re really struggling.” He can only nod at her shoulder as you come closer.

“It’s better now that you’re here. Thank you for coming. I really thought I was a goner..”

Fingers caress his outgrowing stubble.. “I’m here baby. Let’s get to bed.”

The alcohol still flowed through you—your veins, but you were holding him, and he’d never let you know that he smiled as you lie behind him, tucking him under the fleece blanket.

Joel was a bad man, and he loved it. For as long as you were his, he would do anything it took to keep you safe.

[firsttarotreader]

But you know the funniest thing? The lady who gave him the bracelet (the stalker they mentioned) is actually a stalker for real. She traveled to London with her friend TO look for him and find him to give him the gift. And the friend, guess what, is friends with Martino, another huge stalker, and has defended him on Twitter when he was called out. 🤔🤔🤔

👀👀👀👀

Also, people knowing exactly where he is…