I am forever more than just surviving.

In all the ways that I am weak, I am also strong, learning how to speak gave me the strength to carry on. // Bilderblog: sticktoyourgans 🌹

[ilikeevilblondes]

Give and Take

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Apparently, your IUD failed when your then ex-husband fucked you against your bathroom sink. Luckily for you, when you tell him the news, he fucks you again to make sure it sticks.

W.C: ~6.6k

TL;DR: check for your iud strings, y’all.

Warnings: ex-ex!joel x ex-ex!reader (y'all are fine now), sarah cameo, domestic life, sappy shit, joel is a tits man, breeding kink obvs, softdom!joel, fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex. reader gets called ‘mama’ while they’re doing it. (no outbreak!)

Note: second part of beck and call to appease the horde !! happy late father’s day to this guy

Part One | Part Two

You didn’t intend on falling asleep beside your ex-husband when you invited him over to fix your broken sink.

And you definitely didn’t intend on waking up in his arms, either.

Yet, there you were, tangled together in the worn mattress of your queen-sized bed. His right arm was folded below his head. His left was slung over your waist, holding you close to him as your head rested on his firm chest.

His heartbeat thudded softly beneath your ear. Steady. Familiar. Like a wordless promise to you that he was there. That last night, whatever it was, meant something.

Growl.

You froze.

Even more insistent, groooowl.

Apparently, there were three people in your bed: you, Joel, and your appetite.

As carefully as you could, you freed yourself from Joel’s embrace. He frowned, grunted petulantly in protest, and muttered your name in his sleep, before turning on his side. 

And then, you pulled on a ratty old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts before quietly making your way downstairs, careful to avoid the second-to-the-last step of the staircase that always creaked.

The kitchen was still bathed in the golden glow of the early morning, light filtering in through the blinds in soft stripes. You padded across the cold floor and got to work.

Coffee, first. Then, as the machine did its job, eggs.

Eggs for two, just like before.

You stared down at the sizzling pan as if you were waiting for it to answer the question you were too scared to ask.

What now?

Because last night, Joel told you he still loved you. 

Because you had kissed him, and he kissed you back, and he made love to you in your bathroom, of all places. 

Because, instead of kicking him out, you pulled him to your bed and slept in his arms. 

Because this morning, you wanted everything back. You wanted him back.

You rubbed your hand down your face and gave the eggs a stir. And then you turned toward the staircase at the muffled sound of soft, sleepy footsteps.

Speak of the devil.

Joel appeared by the doorway, hair dishevelled from sleep, gloriously shirtless, eyes half-lidded and tender.

“You makin’ us breakfast?” He said, voice low and slightly raspy.

“No, all this is just for me. But I’m sure the McDonald’s a few blocks down is open if you’re hungry.” You deadpanned, smiling to yourself and returning your attention to the eggs.

“Ha-ha.” Joel hummed sleepily and ventured nearer.

The two of you fell into what had been your daily routine. Joel fished out two mugs from the cabinet above the dishwasher and finished the coffee (milk and sugar for yours, black for him), right as you scraped the eggs off the pan onto two plates.

And, there you were, sitting across the kitchen table from the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“So.” You poked at your eggs with your fork.

“So,” Joel echoed, glancing up at you as he brought his mug to his lips.

“Are we gonna … talk about it?” 

Joel blinked, then set his mug down. “What, last night?”

“Yeah. Last night.” You pushed around a clump of your breakfast. 

“What about it?” His brows furrowed.

“Did you mean it?”

Your mind flashed with his sweet nothings. His confessions of longing and love and all else. 

Joel’s gaze softened. “Every word.”

“Okay.” Your heart felt a little lighter. “Well, then, I’d like for us to try again.”

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that, very much, baby.” 

“Okay,” You said again, smiling right back at him.

“Okay.” He repeated, reaching across the table for your hand, softly lacing your fingers together.

And at that moment, you wanted to thank the stars above and the ineffable mercy of the universe for giving you a second chance. 

For letting you find your way back to him, and him to you.

You shook your head, laughing. “My lawyer’s gonna have a field day.”

“You think you’ll get a refund?” He raised an eyebrow, lips pulling into a grin.

“Nope.” You clicked your tongue. “Maybe I’ll get my next divorce half-off, though.”

Joel chuckled and looked at you with this quiet, reverent warmth floating in the richness of his dark brown eyes that said he was falling deeper in love with you all over again.

Because he was. And, god help him, he didn’t remember how not to be.

Scooping the last of his eggs off his plate, he then pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He walked by you to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “And then… well, we can sort the rest of this out.”

“Okay.” You smiled.

He then shot you a quick wink, and you watched as he disappeared up the stairs, basking in the afterglow of his lips still tingling on your scalp.

And the house went quiet, save for the occasional creak of the pipes and faint sound of running water from the upstairs ensuite.

You stared down into your coffee.

It was still slightly hard to process the dramatic turn of events hurled very suddenly toward you at full force. Just last week, you were negotiating which major holidays you’d get to spend with Sarah (no, Joel could not get Christmas in exchange for St Patrick’s Day—when in your life have you all celebrated St Patrick’s Day?), and now you were very eagerly ‘trying again’.

Not that you were complaining.

You’d try again a hundred more times if that were what it took to be with him again.

Smiling like an idiot, you rose from your chair and collected your plate in your hands, reaching over to stack it on top of Joel’s.

And, at that exact moment, the front door swung open, and a voice called:

“Mom? I’m home!”

You froze in place.

A few seconds later, your twelve-year-old daughter strolled into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, mom.” She passed you a weary smile, setting down her duffel bag on the table.

“Sarah! You’re home early.” You breathed, voice an octave higher and excessively bright. “I thought your grandparents were still keeping you hostage at the lake house.”

“Yeah, well, Papa threw his back out trying to reel in a muskie.” She rolled her eyes, then walked over to the fridge to pull out a Capri-Sun. “Grandma had to drive us home so he could get checked out quickly. Nagged him the whole way back ‘cause her license expired back when I was still teething, apparently.”

You forced an overly responsive laugh.

It sounded less like a laugh and more like a startled cough that got lost halfway through a choke.

Sarah arched a brow, stabbing into the juice pack. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, bug.” You shook your head, glancing at the staircase. 

“Okay.” Sarah dragged out the syllables, eyeing you over suspiciously. “How was your date yesterday?”

You choked. “Fine.” 

And that was when Sarah’s eyes landed on the two plates you were holding tightly to your chest. Then they moved over to the two mugs sitting opposite each other on the table. And then, over to the pan on the stove littered with fresh egg residue.

“Right.” She made a face, then trudged over to sling her duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see myself out until your guy leaves.”

“Sarah–”

“It’s fine.” She marched back toward the entryway. “I’ll go play outside, for once, or something. Aren’t you always saying that I should do that?”

Should you tell her?

You pressed your lips together, watching her shove her feet back in her worn Converse. “Sarah, would you stop for a second?”

Yeah, you should probably tell her that her dad’s ‘the guy’ upstairs.

Sarah bent down to tie her laces. “Mom, I don’t want to be traumatised by—”

And then her eyes widened.

She straightened up and shot you a look that was some amalgamation of disbelief and extreme confusion, nodding towards the welcome mat.

“Are those…dad’s boots?”

Shit.

To make matters worse, apparently, amidst all the kerfuffle, you had failed to notice that the shower had stopped running a good few minutes ago. And, right after Sarah’s astute observation, Joel descended the stairs. Hair slightly wet and wearing the flannel from yesterday evening.

“Good news, sweetheart, your sink’s  still busted, but your shower’s—Sarah?”  

The colour drained from his face.

“Dad?” She gaped back at him.

And suddenly, you somehow found yourself locked in what appeared to be a modern-day Western Standoff, except, instead of the threat of gunfire, there was the threat of someone saying something to make this situation even more unbearable.

For a good few seconds, there was absolute stillness.

No one moved. No one spoke. A bird chirped from somewhere outside, completely unaware of the domestic chaos unravelling within the house.

Ultimately, Joel decided to break the silence.

“Hey, kiddo.” He said casually, attempting a relaxed smile. “What are you … doin’ here?”

You held yourself back from facepalming into an early death.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “How long have you been here?”

Joel looked at you. You looked at Joel. Joel looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at you. Everyone looked at the boots.

“Not long.” You cleared your throat. “My sink was broken. Your dad was just helping me. With my sink.”

Smooth.

“So, you called him at eight in the morning and he took a shower in your bathroom?” Sarah said slowly.

“Well, you know your father. Always up at the crack of dawn.” You breathed, trying to sound breezy. Your voice was nothing of the sort.

“Just can’t help it.” Joel nodded.

Sarah blinked once.

Then twice.

And then looked between the two of you, wholly unconvinced, crossing her arms and somehow adopting the role of higher authority in this predicament.

“You two are being weird.” Was her final verdict.

You sighed and glanced at Joel before turning toward your daughter.

“Look,” You began, gently stepping toward her. “This is new. Like, very new. But … your dad and I are just figuring things out.”

“As in,” Sarah’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’re un-divorced?”

“Not really a word, pumpkin.” Joel offered helpfully. “But we’re back together, yes.”

He caught your eye and gave you a small, reassuring smile.

Sarah’s expression softened.

“Jeez. I’m gone for three days, and this is what I miss?” She shook her head and waltzed back inside, past you and Joel, toward the stairs. Before she could set foot on the bottom step, she paused and faced the two of you. “I’m glad you two are whatever you are, but can we talk about this after I’ve taken a nap?”

Joel let out a huff of laughter. “Go and get some shut-eye, pumpkin.”

Sarah shrugged, already halfway up. “Cool. Just, like … warn me next time, maybe. I don’t wanna see things I can’t unsee.”

Your face heated. “Sarah!” 

“What?” She called over her shoulder. “It would be extremely harmful to my development!”

And with that, she headed upstairs.

You turned toward Joel, wincing. “Think that could’ve gone better?”

Joel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. 

“Probably.” He sighed. “But, at least that’s over with. Telling our kid, I mean.”

“Right. Next up is telling family.” A shudder ran through your spine.

Joel smiled softly and beckoned you closer with a curl of his finger.

You acquiesced, moving to stand right in front of him. His hands immediately settled on your hips, softly caressing whatever exposed skin his thumbs found.

“We don’t have to tell everyone just yet, if you’re scared, baby.” He said, voice low and sweet and reassuring, his eyes holding yours like a lifeline.

“I want to.” You placed your hands on his chest, fingers fanning out and feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them. “Just … not how we told Sarah.”

“Agreed.” Joel leaned forward to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes as he did so.

You felt yourself smile.

“Next time I stay over, I’ll hide the evidence,” Joel mumbled.

“Stay over?” You pulled back to look up at him.

Joel looked back at you quizzically, a wrinkle making itself known in between his eyebrows.

“Yeah…?” He blinked. “We … well, we aren’t embracin’ some form of celibacy, are we?”

“No, I mean—I thought you were gonna move back in. Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” You inhaled, suddenly feeling your chest tighten. “Or, not. You know, it’s a very big thing, and I’d completely understand if you wanted to keep living in your apartment. I’m just offering it since, you know, we’re working things out and maybe it’d be easier to share a single … living space. Eventually. Not, like, tomorrow. Unless you want—”

Joel smiled. “Baby?”

You winced. “Uh-huh?”

“You’re ramblin’.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel hummed fondly, bringing a hand up to trace his thumb along your lower lip. “‘Course I’ll move back in.” He then pulled you into him, wrapping an arm around your waist, and kissing you like it settled the matter.

Your lips moved slowly against his, savouring the tenderness of his touch and the warmth of his body against yours.

Before you knew it, he spun you around so that your back hit the wall, all but caging you in against it.

A breathless gasp slipped from your mouth, so he took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips and—

“Seriously? I leave you two alone for one second.”

You both tore yourselves apart like you were struck by lightning, finding your daughter shaking her head at you.

“Came down to get my bag.” Sarah coughed, holding up her duffel.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Joel ran a hand through his hair.

“Gross.” She muttered under her breath, retreating back to her room.

You held back a laugh, returning your attention to Joel and trailing a hand down his impossibly broad chest.

“You wanna … take this somewhere else, big guy?” You tilted your head, a certain glint of mischievousness dancing in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and a smirk carved through his scruff. Right when he opened his mouth to respond to your suggestion, however, an exasperated grunt echoed down the stairs:

“I can still hear you!”

You both burst into laughter.

It had been a few weeks since you and Joel decided to get back together—a very good few weeks, at that. 

Life seemed to fall into place perfectly.

Joel moved back in, you two were attending Sarah’s soccer matches at the same time, and nothing at all was going wrong.

Until it all went wrong.

“Dad,” You balanced the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you wiped down your bathroom mirror, already regretting your choice to heavy-clean your ensuite on your day off from work. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll pop out one of your hip replacements or something? 

“It’s just fishing. Besides, why have a lakehouse if you can’t even use it this often?”

“The doctor said—”

A hearty chuckle sounded from the other line.

“Peanut, you sound just like your mother. The doctor can say all she wants, but nothing gives her the right to dictate my life!”

“No, no, just a fancy little medical degree.” You grumbled, rubbing at a particularly stubborn smudge in the glass.

“You only live once.” Was his fortified argument.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, opting to let out a long sigh instead. 

Evidently, he heard it.

“I’m fine. Really.” Your dad insisted. “In fact, better than fine. Reeled in quite the catch yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” You said distractedly, spritzing the mirror with more glass cleaner.

“Oh yeah.” Your dad parroted, a big, proud grin in his voice. “Caught myself a whopper yesterday—a big ol’ largemouth bass that fought me tooth and nail. Then there was that sneaky little crappie hiding under the dock. Darn slippery fella. Literally. Almost slipped right through my hands. Oh, and don’t get me started on the catfish. Little guy had the longest whiskers I’d seen, too.”

You tried to focus, but your stomach twisted with a sudden sharpness. You set the rag and glass cleaner bottle down.

“Dad, hold on—” You started, but he wasn’t done.

“Had to wrestle that sucker outta the mud, muddy as all get-out, slime glistening in the sun, gills flapping like a crazy bird. It was a damn enthusiastic fighter. I swear, Peanut, if I weren’t as strong as I am, I would’ve lost.”

Your vision blurred a little, and your hand flew up to your mouth.

“Dad, wait, hold on—”

Before you could say anything else, your stomach flipped violently, and you dashed to kneel in front of the toilet, dropping your phone as you felt yourself give way to what had been your breakfast.

The sound of your dad’s voice echoed faintly over the phone. “You alright, darlin’?”

Holding yourself up with an iron grip on the toilet seat, you let out a long breath.

Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again.

“Yeah, just—can I call you back, Dad?” You managed, slowly reaching for your phone.

“‘Course. I'd better get back to the lake, anyway. Give Porn Stache and my little Sarah-Banana my love.”

“He has a name, Dad.” You smiled weakly.

“He’s gotta earn it back after the divorce.”

“We’re not divorced anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

And, with the routine exchange of ‘I-love-you’s, you ended the call, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head hang above the toilet bowl.

This wasn’t normal.

‘This’ being, spontaneously hurling your guts out without preamble or provocation. And people don’t just throw up for fun.

A tiny, traitorous voice elbowed its way to the front of your mind. Unless…

No.

No, you couldn’t be. There was no need to panic; you had an IUD.

Sitting yourself on the toilet seat, you very ungracefully spread your legs and felt your way up your walls.

No strings. No IUD. 

Maybe there was a need to panic.

You sighed, angling your head up at the ceiling. There was only one way to test the very realistic hypothesis you didn’t dare say, let alone think, aloud.

So, you cleaned yourself up, grabbed your car keys, and headed to the nearest drug store.

When Joel came home a few hours later, you were already waiting for him at the kitchen table.

He stepped through the doorway, boots heavy against the hardwood, and froze mid-step upon seeing you there. Because you were stone-faced, worrying your lower lip with your upper teeth, and clasping your hands over the table like you always did when you had to get something off your chest.

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

He tentatively neared you.

You didn’t answer. Not right away. You hadn’t exactly prepared a speech in all the hours you had before Joel ended work.

“Baby, you’re scarin’ me.” He whispered, taking another step.

And then, he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Don’t get mad.” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Now, why would I get mad?” A delicate kiss to your left wrist.

“Because…”

You took a breath. No sense in sugarcoating this.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slipped out like they didn’t belong to you.

Understandably, Joel’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeated, slowly, voice barely surpassing that of a whisper.

You nodded and pulled away to reach to the side, pulling a little brown bag from the drugstore onto the table and tipping it over. Three sticks clattered out.

All positive.

“Before you say anything,” You hugged yourself, watching as Joel’s mind buffered. “Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I thought I had an IUD. Apparently, it fell out. No, I didn’t know before today.”

Joel was still oddly quiet.

Your heart violently pounded against your ribs like it was trying to break free.

“Say something.” You whispered. “Please.”

“I don’t quite know what to say.” Joel shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Anything. Say anything.” You braced yourself for the worst.

“I mean, I’m thrilled—”

What?

“You’re thrilled?” You echoed, not entirely convinced.

“Yeah, fuck, sweetheart. I am. Thrilled, but awfully caught off-guard.” Joel ran a hand down his face.

A breathy laugh escaped from his mouth, and he leaned slightly back on his heels.

“I mean, one minute I’m patchin’ drywall in someone’s guest bathroom, and the next, you’re tellin’ me I’m gonna be a dad again.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, but the big smile growing on his face told you that he harboured no trace of fear or devastation at all.

You blinked.

“So… you’re okay with this?”

Joel’s smile widened.

“I love you, baby. ‘Case that weren’t clear enough.” He took your hands in his again, your fingers dwarfed in his big calloused palms. He squeezed your hands gently in a wordless reassurance. “And, I’ve already been fortunate enough to have one incredible kid with you. The thought of doin’ it again … well, that ain’t somethin’ I’d complain about in a million years.”

You were speechless for a moment, lost in the magnetic pull of his impossibly warm, sincere eyes.

God, you loved him.

“This was not how I thought this conversation would go.” You admitted.

“You really thought I’d run for the hills?” Joel chuckled, shoulders bobbing.

“Fifty-fifty.”

He grinned even wider, the wrinkles creasing the edges of his eyes disappearing.

Then, he opened his mouth to say something. And then, apparently, decided against it, pressing his lips together. 

You tilted your head to the side. “What is it?”

Joel shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating again.

“Ah shit,” He eventually muttered. “I was hopin’ to make this a little more special.”

“Make what more special?” You arched a brow.

“Stay right there, sweetheart, don’t you move.”

Before you could ask another question, Joel turned on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen. Judging by the quick, dull thuds ascending the stairs, he had run off to the second floor.

You sat there, stunned.

A full minute passed. Then two. The faint sounds of drawers opening and shutting drifted down the stairs. Almost a ruckus enough to drown out a muffled string of quiet curses. 

It didn’t take long for Joel to return after that.

And when he did, he held his hands behind his back and smiled brightly.

“Joel, what are you…?” You laughed.

But the breath from your lungs was stolen for you when he slowly knelt in front of you, revealing what he was looking for upstairs.

Small. Silver. Studded with a single shining diamond. Princess-cut, of course, you picked it out yourself.

“Is that…?” You whispered, covering your mouth with your hands.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah, it is.”

You shook your head slowly. “You were supposed to sell it.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He gave you a sheepish little look. “Y’know, for safekeepin’.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your eyes kept flicking between his face and the ring.

Your ring.

“Are you … proposing again?”

“Is it that obvious?” He raised his eyebrows, gasping slightly theatrically.

You lightly smacked his shoulder, rolling your eyes, but failed to disguise the wide beam forming on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” Joel interrupted softly. “I want to.”

He drew in a breath, steadying himself and glancing down at the ring in his hands.

“I was gonna wait a little while longer ‘til I did this again. Let things settle, maybe find the right moment. But, well, I feel like this is the right moment.”

And he looked up at you.

And, seeing the tenderness on his face, you already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t even asked yet.

“I love you. And I am dead-set on doin’ things right, this time around. I’ll take out the trash more, cook on weeknights, hell—I’ll even go to those damn parent-teacher meetings. Long as I get to be with you again. Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I ain’t lettin’ you go this time.”

You blinked fast, attempting to overcome the emotion swelling in your chest and threatening to leak out of your eyes.

“Meant what I said that night,” Joel murmured, bringing your knuckles against his lips, eyes still holding onto yours. “You’re it for me. You’re everything. Always will be.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders softening as he held your gaze.

“So.” He cracked a shy little smile. “If it weren’t clear enough until now, I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me. And I’ll spend every last breath I have lovin’ you like you deserve. And you deserve far more than I can give, but I’m willing to try my damndest, anyway.”

Joel raised the ring, the jewel catching the fluorescent lights of the overhead lighting and shimmering softly.

“So … will you marry me, sweetheart?” He asked, voice low and vulnerable and hopeful. And then, he added through a light laugh, “...again?”

His eyes held yours as if the world had narrowed down to just this moment. An entirely fitting simile, because the truth of the matter was that you were his world. And such a fact was written plainly in every line of his face, in how he wore every piece of his heart in his eyes.

You didn’t give him an answer.

Instead, you leaned forward, cupped his jaw with trembling fingers, and kissed him.

You pressed all the feelings you had accumulated over the past day onto his lips. Fear, wholeness, but most potently—love.

And Joel gave the latter and more back to you, curling a hand into your hair and holding you against him, his brows furrowed.

When you pulled back, a smile tugged at your lips.

Breathless, he asked, “That a yes?”

“What do you fucking think?” You outstretched your left hand.

“Just checkin’.” He grinned, gently took your hand, and slid the ring onto your ring finger. It fit just as perfectly as the first time.

Joel turned your hand slightly, admiring the way the diamond glinted, how it sat there like it had never left. 

“Looks real good on you,” He murmured, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. 

Your heart was full and thudding as you stared down at it. And then at him.

“Always did.”

Through a love-drunk smile, he slurred, “is that right?”

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time, but just as deep. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, the other still holding yours, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world vanished.

You were so lost in the kiss, you almost didn’t notice how Joel’s jeans grew tighter, giving way to a hardness in his lap caused by the sensation of your body against his.

However, you did notice how Joel snaked his big hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the table.

You gasped against his lips. “What—?”

Urgently, “Where’s Sarah?”

“Sleeping over at a friend’s house. Why?”

You pulled away just enough to catch the almost depraved grin that split his mouth, heightened by a certain dark glint in his half-lidded stare.

Almost too casually, almost as if it was incredibly obvious, Joel replied, “Gonna make sure it sticks, baby.” 

And he pushed you down, causing you to lie flat on your back, a half-baked protest swallowed by his mouth and dying on your tongue. Or rather, his.

He hitched your shirt up, up, up, until the fabric gathered just below your collarbone.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Joel tutted. “Need to show these tits some love before I gotta share ‘em.”

Well, fuck.

With that, he trailed a messy line of kisses down to your sternum, nipped at the peak of your right tit like he just couldn’t help himself, and closed his mouth around your nipple.

You gasped, a hand clinging to his messy curls, holding him to you as he took and took.

He alternated between swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud and sucking it into his mouth, brows knitted as if he couldn’t decide whether pleasure was pain or salvation.

And it wasn’t long before he gave the same amount of attention to your other tit, moaning against your tender skin in desperate need, unable to get enough of you.

You were practically drowning in a pool of your own arousal from Joel’s ministrations, feeling a demanding wetness grow in your underwear by the second.

If he didn’t touch you there, you were very sure you’d—

But your hazy mind was robbed of finishing that thought when Joel came off your tits with a wet pop, leaving a light sheen across your cleavage, and dipped his fingers under the waistband of your sweats.

With an impatient yank, he pulled them down, revealing the dampened seat of your panties. An airy curse left his lips.

“Can I—?” He breathed.

“Yes.” You nodded, instantly.

Feverishly, he shredded the material in half with eager hands, leaving the halves to hang loosely on your hips.

A low growl escaped from his throat.

You were drooling for him, puffy folds glistening with your wetness and beckoning him to indulge himself in the most irresistible of temptations.

And Joel was nothing if not a sinner.

“Fuck that’s pretty.” He sighed. “Need me that badly, huh?”

You whined restlessly in response.

Taking such a noise as assent, Joel easily slid a thick finger into your crying mound, stroking your pulsing walls.

He gave no time for acclimatisation and, shortly after, sunk a second finger alongside the first, curling both again and again and reaching that spot of yours that summoned little black dots to dance in your vision.

“One more, baby.” He cooed. “One more and I give you my cock, hm?”

A third soon joined his motions, and you flung an arm up to grasp his bicep, feeling it tense as he pumped his fingers and dragged down your walls at an erratic pace.

Sweet words spilt in a loose mumble from his mouth, easing you into your orgasm. His lips worshipped you with whispers, ceaselessly praising:

That’s my girl.

C’mon, baby, just like that.

So pretty for me.

And other such gentle murmurs.

He continued fucking you with his fingers, relentless in face of your writhing, until, with a scream of his name and your clint grinding against the heel of his palm, your stomach tightened, fluttered, and let go.

“There we go. Oh, so good for me.” He sighed, breath tickling the hollow of your ear as he worked you through your climax.

When the tingling pleasure had fully subsided, he slid his fingers from you and kissed a path up your neck to your lips, licking into your mouth almost greedily.

As if it were second nature, your hands flew to undo his belt, desperately trying not to break the kiss and feeling Joel smile against you.

Just when you found the outline of his hardness in his boxers, Joel groaned and took your wrists in his hands, pinning them over your head against the cool oak of the table.

“Let me.” He said, breathing raggedly.

And he shifted to take hold of both your wrists with his left hand, while his right hurriedly fished himself out of his jeans.

You never quite got used to the obscene sight, and you doubted that you ever would; thick and tanned and dribbling slightly with pearls of his precome.

And, lord help you, he was big.

Joel hovered his mouth above your needy cunt as he slowly pumped his drooling cock. You held your breath, mistaking his position for a hesitant desire to taste you and fuck you with his tongue. 

To your surprise, Joel, instead, spat directly onto your quivering pussy.

You gasped as if it was betrayal, clenching on nothing as his glob of spit slid down your already-dripping mound like a soft caress. 

“Please.” You whined pathetically, hands still stubbornly restrained and held captive by the broad span of his left hand.

He lined himself up, nudging his flushed, almost angry tip against your soaked entrance. And, with a firm grip around his base, he dragged his cock through your puffy folds once, then twice. And the creamy blend of his precome, your arousal, and his spit smeared over his head, staining it in a pale blur.

“You don’t gotta beg, sweetheart.” Joel shushed you, dipping down to press a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you everything. Give you the whole damn world if you asked for it.”

Despite the almost painful dawdling, his words were a soothing reassurance.

Another pass through your soaked folds. And then another, his tip catching onto the seam of your cunt for a single delicious second.

And then, in a low, possessive rumble, “Anything for the mother of my children.”

You squirmed against his hold, feeling a bolt of heat run through you, unable to stifle a moan bubbling up your throat. 

The mother of my children.

Your moan, however, quickly graduated into a shrill wail of his name as he chose that exact second to sink his drooling cock into you, forcing himself in until he was seated fully inside.

A sharp inhale came through his clenched jaw.

“Fuck, you feel perfect.” He whispered, more to himself than to you, but you were happy for the praise.

He was a tight fit; this, you knew.

Oh, you knew.

Every slow push in of his thick cock against your tight walls caused you to choke his length. Every slow drag out pulled a shaky breath from your parted lips.

“Yeah—” His breath caught in his throat as he felt you clamp down on him after an especially rough thrust. “—that’s it, mama, let me in. Jus’ like that. We’ll take it slow, for now. Then I’ll fuck you full of my come, again. Make sure I put a baby in you.”

You felt yourself flutter around him in response, pulling a breathless expletive from his lips. His dick twitched inside you, practically begging to make good on that promise.

And there was that depraved grin again. “Oh, you like that? ‘S true, mama.”

He rolled his hips into you again. 

And again.

“I’d give you ten more if I could.” He grunted, cloudy, lust-drowned eyes locked onto yours. “Love knowing that it’s my come in there, swelling you up. My baby. My woman.”

And, with that assertive claim, Joel picked up the pace, setting a tempo that had you on the verge of passing out.

You were overwhelmed by the sensation of his cock pounding in and out of you, the insistent sound of his balls slapping wetly against your ass, the feel of being held in place by his grip on your wrists—powerless to the force of his adamant desire.

Joel’s gaze fell to your tits, which were helplessly jostled by every persistent thrust of his hips.

“And these…” He all but growled, his free hand coming down to brush a thumb over one of your nubs. You shivered in response. “Fuck, they’ll look so pretty, all swollen up.”

A familiar warmth pooled in your gut; your eyes fluttered uncontrollably; your heartbeat sped up against your ribs as if it were going to burst out.

You were going to come. And hard.

“Joel—Joel, I’m close.” You bleated.

He grunted from above you in acknowledgement, stray curls falling over his forehead as he rammed into you. And he brought his hand to press against your belly, feeling the faint outline of him sawing into you.

“Let go for me, then, beautiful. Let me feel you come on my dick.”

And you did. 

And it was toe-curling and back-arching and forceful. So forceful, in fact, that it managed to steal your consciousness away for a moment or two.

Your eyes fluttered open after you had ridden out the entirety of your orgasm, finding Joel breathing heavily through his nose above you, his pace paused.

“Shit, that was pretty.” He said, in awe, releasing your wrists from over your head. “You got one more in you, baby?”

Unable to speak, you nodded.

Smiling proudly, Joel whispered, “Attagirl.”

He carefully pulled out of you—which made you involuntarily whine at the sad feeling of being so empty—and gently turned you over, your stomach pressed against the table and your feet planted on the floor.

Not wasting another second, Joel fed you his entire cock in one steady thrust.

You hissed as your walls once again struggled to accommodate his generous size, but were ultimately helpless to the throes of his white-hot need.

His arms came around you, hugging you to him and pinning you flat to the table under his crushing weight as he slowly built up a rhythm that matched his earlier manic tempo.

The carpenter of the table that had stood in your kitchen for over a decade probably hadn’t foreseen that such craftsmanship would be instrumental in the ferocity of Joel dicking you down. But you were, nevertheless, thankful for the sturdiness of his creation.

Because Joel fucked you into that table like he wanted to break it.

Every thrust had his tip kissing your cervix.

Every thrust sent the table knocking against the hardwood floor.

Every thrust had you seeing stars.

“Make some noise for me, mama.” Joel’s voice was in your ear, low and absolutely wrecked. “Show me how good it feels.”

Obediently, your mouth fell agape. An incoherent string of moans and mewls of his name spilt from your lips, tumbling out in a staccato rhythm that was emphasised by every snap of his hips as he frantically chased his release.

It took a dozen more before you felt him seize up.

“I’m … shit, I’m almost there, baby.” He gasped shakily. 

And, miraculously, so were you. You would’ve alerted him of such a fact if he hadn’t already fucked your brains out.

Oblivious to your predicament, Joel continued. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? S’all you can do, baby. Lay there and look pretty while I stuff you full of my come.”

“Please.” You whimpered. “Please, Joel—”

He came like he had been holding off for an eternity, shooting pearly ropes of his seed inside you, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and face desperately buried into the crook of your neck.

Thankfully, his orgasm sent you toppling over the edge for what felt like the thousandth time that night, and you fell completely limp against the cool surface of the table as Joel rode out the last of his climax.

He recovered after a minute, pressed a sweaty kiss to the spot in between your shoulder blades, and delicately pulled out, wincing as he did so.

“That enough for you? Hm? Let me see.”

Tiredly, you spread your legs and pushed your ass out. Needless to say, Joel was entranced by the filthy sight of his milky come oozing slowly out of you.

“Oh, baby.” He tutted. “As beautiful as that is, we can’t let that go to waste, now can we?”

He didn’t wait for a response and gingerly plugged your cunt with two thick fingers, pushing his come back inside. You blew out a breath at the sensation.

“That’s it,” Joel cooed, eyebrows furrowed. And then, softer, “that's my girl.”

Satisfied that he probably gave you twins, Joel gently took your chin in his hand and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was tender and slow and felt like home. Because, as you finally realised all those weeks ago, Joel was your home.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss.

You pulled away, a dopey grin on your face. “You know, we should really do this on a bed, sometime.”

Joel laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did.

“Good thinking.” He smiled.

thank YOU for reading and for waiting (my bad) and ty all for the love & support y'all have given for this two-parter!! hard to believe there are people who are interested in the silly things i write :-) more to come!! 🏷️ (1/3 — sorry if your @ somehow didn’t work?? tumblr isn’t feeling me today): @onlythehobi, @billionairecowgirl, @lonely-ey3s, @kellyxo1, @missxjennipascal, @bloodyfkghell, @marlynn97, @pedritosgfreal, @kja06, @hhallefuckinglujahh, @irmpyrz, @joelspeach, @lostinthestreamofconsciousness, @mori1b2bpad, @hannahmassey30, @staley83, @lanternnightgarden, @themarvelousmaks, @ilovppascal, @yslgreen, @joelspickle, @possiblyafangirl, @strawberrylis, @bonneyszk, @whaddupbaby, @callofdiva, @trixcate, @p1tterp4atter, @immalosersblog, @sohaaa6, @alesomoza99, @faceache111, @pedge-page, @appl3ogr, @heartsandstars34, @niaissodone, @reiketsunomizunomegami, @zohree, @beebloopbleep, @holholliday, @amoooeba, @smexy-bucky-waifu, @keerygal, @pearl-diver-m, @teenytinylilcrawdaddies, @oh-thats-cute, @ivuravix, @kissykris, @lovesbyblog, and @wkuwcb.

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[verloreneschaos]

Das Glas des Bilderrahmens, wo einst unser Foto zu sehen war, ist schlussendlich zerbrochen, wie unsere Liebe zueinander.

[verloreneschaos]

Ich hoffe, dass dir jemand irgendwann mal genau solche Wunden zufügt, wie mir.

[verloreneschaos]

Folgt mir gerne auf @sticktoyourgans ✨

[verloreneschaos]

Dieser Account wird vorübergehend still gelegt, da ich nicht mehr dieser Mensch von früher bin und mein Leben, mich selbst und meine Gedanken verändert habe. Ich habe einen jahrelangen Kampf hinter mir mit meiner psychischen Krankheit und lebe auch heute noch damit, aber ich habe gelernt in diesen 8 Jahren damit umzugehen und mit dem was passiert ist abzuschließen. Viele Menschen sagen, dass ich mich verändert habe nicht nur äußerlich auch innerlich und genau das soll auch so sein. Ich habe mich verändert und ich bin zufrieden damit, ich habe neue Menschen in mein Leben gelassen, die ich nun zu meinen Freunden zählen kann. Ich habe viel an mir gearbeitet und bin auch jetzt noch nicht am Ziel, aber ich möchte, dieses Leben, was ich früher hatte nicht mehr und habe einen Weg gefunden es loszulassen. Ich weiß, dass diese Tage wieder kommen werden, wo alles aussichtslos erscheint, aber ich habe auch mit der Zeit gelernt, dass ich das schaffen kann zu überwinden und das es auch wieder besser wird. Was ich damit sagen möchte, verliert niemals den Mut, auch wenn es noch so aussichtslos erscheint, es gibt immer einen Weg und es folgen auch wieder andere Zeiten, arbeitet an euch selbst und macht euch selbst zu eurer ersten Priorität. Ihr seid wertvoll und verliert euch nicht selbst, nur weil euch andere Leid zufügen. Denkt immer daran, it‘s okay to be not okay“ und anders, als andere zu sein, macht euch erst besonders. Ihr seid nicht alleine. 💗

[verloreneschaos]

Ich bin gerade wieder an diesen Punkt angekommen, wo ich nicht mehr da sein möchte. Ich kann nicht mehr, ich kann das alles nicht mehr ertragen. Ich kann diese Schreie in meinem Kopf nicht mehr aushalten. Ich will hier raus, ich will hier weg. Ich will nicht mehr leben. Bitte lasst mich endlich gehen, damit ich meinen Frieden finden kann.

[verloreneschaos]

“Trust me it gets better.” -Chester Bennington, my love will never end for you angel. 🖤

[tolovemeistosuffermeee]

[verloreneschaos]

Manchmal wünsche ich mir, dass du dich einfach wieder bei mir melden würdest. Wir wieder gemeinsam was machen würden, aber das Kapitel ist längst abgeschlossen. Ich hoffe, es geht dir gut, wo immer du auch bist. Und ich weiß, dass es dich nicht mehr interessiert, ob es mir gut geht. Aber falls du das jemals lesen solltest, pass’ auf dich auf.

[verloreneschaos]

Und da gibt es immer noch diese Lieder, die mich an dich erinnern und die ich nie wieder hören kann, weil sie mich jedes mal aufs neue an uns erinnern werden. An eine Freundschaft, die anscheinend nur für mich existiert hat.

[verloreneschaos]

Glaubst du, dass du mit deinem Blog vielen Menschen hilfst oder ist der Blog eher dafür da, dass du einfach deine Gedanken los wirst ?

Eher um meine Gedanken loszuwerden, aber vielleicht hilft es anderen Menschen genau wie mir.

[verloreneschaos]

wieso hast du mit tumblr angefangen? Gab es irgendwelche Gründe oder hast du diese App aus Zufall entdeckt?☁️☁️☁️

schon zu lange her, ich hab’s damals einfach als ein tagebuch gesehen, in dem ich einfach, das was in meinem kopf vor sich geht, hier nieder schreibe und es vielleicht mir oder andere weiter hilft.

[verloreneschaos]

Ich wollte euch nur mitteilen, dass ihr in dieser Welt aufeinander aufpassen sollt‘, mehr als jemals zuvor. Wenn ihr Menschen seht, die eure Hilfe brauchen, schaut nicht weg, sondern nimmt diesen Hilfeschrei an. Ihr wisst nicht, wie schnell ihr Menschen in eurem Leben verlieren könnt. Und dieses Gefühl will niemand spüren, wenn man eine geliebte Person verloren hat. Bitte achtet auf euch und versucht niemals euch selbst aufzugeben, sucht euch Hilfe, sprecht mit euren Freunden, zeigt dieser Welt, dass das Problem nicht ihr seid, sondern, die Menschen, die diese Hilfeschreie als „Aufmerksamkeit“ oder ähnliches sehen. Und euch schlussendlich zum schweigen bringen. Helft euch gegenseitig, hört genau zu und nimmt euch Zeit füreinander. Denkt immer daran, dass ihr niemals alleine damit seid. „Have hope it‘s okay, to be not okay.“

[verloreneschaos]

sometimes goodbyes the only way.

[shawngaryspencer]

“Some kids are so depressed at home and how people treat them in school, that they cut themselves. This happens all over the world - kids who don’t want to kill themselves, but nobody understands how much they hurt, so they cut themselves with razor blades.”

— Chester Bennington (1976-2017)

[verloreneschaos]

Und so wurde ich so kalt, wie ein Eisbär, denn Gefühle sind in dieser Welt ein Scheiß wert.