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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 3 months

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Dead Of Night (Rules, Part 2.)

Description: Coming back home was a doozie - it felt like starting anew. Meeting your dad's new best friend, however, turned your life upside down - and it was the two of you who had to set the record straight and figure out how to move on.

Part Summary: The night in the company of two Texan gentlemen is going well - Joel and Tommy are ensuring you're having a blast. Joel even goes up and beyond in this regard. It was too good to be true... Until it fucking wasn't.

Warnings: dad's best friend daddy joel (i don't think there's more to say to that) | age gaps all around, baby - joel being approximately 33 (reader being 8 years his junior), putting sarah around 13 years of age and sam at 18, reader's parents in late forties/early fifties | alcohol consumption | smoking (implied and active) | BILLIARD SHENANIGANS WITH THE MILLER BROTHERS™️ | NSFW activities - oral (f!receiving), sex at the bathroom stalls, inappropriate thoughts | i guess potential sub-con (we are drunk but very consensual) | we love a consensual king joel miller

A/N: The 'I like this song' is Orville's Peck Dead Of Night (name inspo, yay) - yanow, when it's late a party, they play slow and sappy songs to calm people before going down and to let all the lovey-dovey couples suck soul outta each other. And I love that.

Tagging: My sweetest, one and only @missdictatorme.

Word count: 10.1K - I cannot express how sorry I am for the length, but I had too much fun with this and didn't wanna pull out a two-parter with nothing exciting in it. I divided it into sections the best I could for easier reading.

Masterlist: H E R E | Playlist: H E R E

Leaving Joel and his compadre outside, you decided to spend some time playing pool - the elderly gentlemen occupying it were kind enough to let you play a few games. It was fun watching Anne getting tipsy, balancing on her tiptoes as she leaned her entire upper body onto the table, her tongue sticking out of her mouth due to concentration. You've won most of the games (mainly because neither of you knew the billiard or pool or whatever you've been playing), but Anne insisted on calling it a draw. Cheeky little pup, that's what she was. Just as you prepared the cues for the guys who'd landed them for you, a familiar Texan drawl could be heard behind you.

"Howdy, gentlemen." - The nameless guy greeted, nodding at the guys waiting for their pool table to be free. The elderly gentlemen nodded at the newcomers. - "Would y'all mind us havin' a few quick games with the ladies? We'll let you be after, promise. " "'s yours, son. Take ya time." "Yessir." - The guy thanked, walking over to Anne and pointing at the cue. - "May I? You're doin' it wrong, sugar." "'M not. But if you think you're more experienced..." "Been playin' pool with that rascal over there since we were tweens. Trust me on this one." - With that, he carefully tore the cue out of Anne's palm, seizing the cue chalk as well.

"Don't mind him, he's a show-off." - When his husky, melodic voice hit your ears, it almost gave you a heart attack - you were so preoccupied with watching Anne giving the guy a stare of death that you forgot Joel might be around too. You definitely didn't expect him to sneak up on you like that. "'s my technique bad, too?" "Worst I've seen." - He muttered, snickering. - "There's no technique to chalk a cue properly, don't worry. He's just makin' stuff up to be interestin'." - Joel explained, making you snicker too. You've handed him the cue nonetheless, making him put his beer down - he'd been skilled with it, you noticed; the two must've been playing since they were tweens, just as the other guy said.

Soon, you became too preoccupied with Joel's hands to care about some stupid pool - based on the callouses and small scars along his fingers and knuckles, he must've been used to working with his hands. Now that he'd folded the shirt's sleeves up to his elbows, you could see all the prominent veins and other scars, some of which were pretty deep. Without you trying to resist, your mind spiraled into imaginations of these palms taking handfuls of your ass, kneading it like bread. How would it feel to hold his hand? Would he let you entwine your fingers with his? How would it feel if he'd slap you - either teasingly or amidst all the heat and lust, say... Fucking you from the back? How would it feel when his palms would spread your thighs apart, his fingers sliding inside you? How would it... That's when you realized Joel was talking to you, watching you ogling at his forearms for a good minute. Your eyes jumped from his forearms to his face, looking at him dumbfoundedly - Joel scoffed upon seeing your expression.

"Huh?" "Was askin' 'bout your name, cutie, but don't take me wrong - wouldn't mind callin' you names." - Leaning closer, Joel gave you a warm smile. - "Have I interrupted somethin' in that head 'f yours, sweet girl?" - Oh God, he knew - he fucking knew. You were busted, flustered upon hearing his implication. Your brain blanked momentarily as you tried to come up with an answer. "Y/N." - You mumbled, mesmerized with the amused look in his eyes. - "Name's Y/N." "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, I see."

"You two done with starin' into each other's eyes?" - The nameless guy called out, startling you - Joel remained as cool as a cucumber, his eyes following each move you made. Trying to wave it off, you walked to the table, leaning your palms into the side. "Yup. Bet our cue is chalked up way better than yours." - Cocky tone present in your voice made the nameless guy grin. Following up on the statement, you raised eyebrows in Joel's direction for support. The man didn't let you wait for too long. "Don't ya worry. I'll win it thanks to how you chalked it... And for you." - Joel added silently, brushing his palm on your lower back before he walked straight to the table - the first game was reserved for the two buddies to warm up. Even this quick, seemingly meaningless gesture had you shivering.

"You guys get to it. I'll go for a cig and get you some beer while you two clash it out." - Anne offered, grasping your hand in hers. Then she turned her head toward the elderly gentlemen. - "Y'all good? Want us to bring ya somethin'?" "We're good, sweetheart, thanks for askin'." "You asked them, but don't ask me?" - The nameless guy whined, looking at Anne with a well-portrayed offense. Joel snorted, carefully putting the pool balls into the triangle. "Cut it off, Miss Dramatic. Imma get you both a glass of Jack, 'f course. Do I look like a monster?"

"Thanks, Anne." - Both guys muttered in unison. Joel poked the balls first, having them scattered all over the table. Then he grabbed the chalk, furrowing while thinking about his next step. "You better win, Tommy, or I'm pouring your glass down my throat." - Oh, his name was Tommy. Joel's buddy Tommy. Noted. "And who's bein' dramatic, huh? Go now, you two." - Tommy waved in your direction, laughing while he tried to figure out the approach to his next poke.

After letting Anne have her smoke break, it was time to make your way to the bar. It wasn't easy - people were taking a break from dancing and started ordering their drinks. All the people smoking outside were coming back in, ordering new rounds of cocktails, shots, beers, and what have you. It took a moment, but you got four beers, two Jacks, and two shots of Chupito, carrying the alcohol back to the pool table. Anne started running her mouth again as you approached the pool tables. "You believe me now, or..?" "Believe you what?" "Believe me what I said about Joel? He's fuckin' smitten." "Joel being smitten? Are you deaf or just purposely ignore how Tommy talks to you? Who's smitten here?"

"Ah, I see. Too bad he ain't my type." - Anne sighed, looking at the duo debating over one of the balls' and its position. You had no idea what was wrong with it, but both looked hot debating. - "Suppose Tommy looks like a fun guy overall - nothin' for me, though... Ehhh... Maybe as a friend? That could work out. Anyway, stop deflectin', girl. You and Joel, that's the topic. I can sense the vibes are present, the chemistry is flowin', he can't take his eyes off you, calls you sweet pet names, watches you when you don't pay attention and grins to himself. To add to the evidence, he touched your back even though he had zero reason two, and don't think we missed how he snuck his palm up your waist and prolonged the greetin' for as long as he could... C'mon, I've seen you starin' at him. And he saw it too - and that old bastard was complimented by it." - Well, it was time to stop pretending, you assumed. You couldn't counter everything she just dropped on your ass - Anne and Tommy saw it all anyway.

"Fine, fine. Thing is... I've never felt like this about anyone. I feel like we've clicked right away, not a word needed to be said. Girl, that man's smoking hot - have you seen him? Heard him?" - You whined, watching Joel chalking the cue up again while watching Tommy prepare for his poke. - "It's just... Scary. Bizzare, yannow? This doesn't happen with strangers all the time. Why me? That's the main question. What does he see in me? Is he just pulling my sock? Would it be a hook-up, or would he want to see me again? What if he does this on the reg, just pulls random women in the club, fucks them and goes home?" "You think he wouldn't wanna see you again? That's what's bothering you?" - Anne stopped in her tracks, looking at you with disbelief. - "Even if! Live your life - drag him to the bathroom stalls, fuck the soul outta him, and make him remember this night forever, girl. But, to be fair... Takin' the way he stares at us right now into account, just to make sure we hadn't run away, tells me this guy will definitely wanna see you again. On top of that, the birds chirped that they hadn't seen Joel smitten like this in a long time either." "... Tommy told you that?" "Shush now. Just be hot and live your best life. Joel's fuckin' mesmerized and so are you." - She muttered as you approached the table. Cheerfully, she waved the glasses in her hand, earning applause from the duo. - "How's it goin', you two? Figured out who's the bigger alfa?"

"Kicked his sorry ass, as always." - Joel muttered, letting Tommy set the table for you, putting balls into the triangle, ensuring everything was set right. "You clearly cheated." - Tommy whined, accepting his beer and glass Jack from Anne, the other one landing right into Joel's palm. "Or maybe, you're just ass at pool?" - Anne chimed in, smiling sweetly right into Tommy's face - this earned an earnest chuckle from the gentlemen watching your matches unravel. Just like before, Tommy snickered in disbelief, turning right to Anne animatedly. Before you knew, the two were arguing again.

"She's not being too nice to Tommy. Sorry for that." "Don't worry 'bout him, pretty girl. He likes 'em spicy. 's good for him to let someone deflate his ego now and then." "Mhm, noted." - You and Joel were leaning into an empty table next to the pool, sipping on your beers, standing with aptly distance between you two. As you watched the two bickering (something regarding the balls' placement and Tommy's balls if you hadn't misheard), the question slipped past your lips on its own. Alcohol made you courageous, it always did. - "And what do you like, Texas?" "What?" - Joel asked, ensuring that you've truly dropped the question, that he wasn't imagining it or mishearing. By that point, he was scooping over to you, his shoulder nudging into yours, his other palm finding the small of your back again, nesting there, his fingers playing with the fabric of your shirt. "I asked, what is it that you like?" - His face was close enough for you to feel his breath on the apple of your cheek as you cocked your head to him, innocently taking a sip of beer. He was at a loss for words for a bit, licking his lips as he tried to come up with an answer.

Just as Joel leaned closer to your ear and rubbed his nose in your hair, the grip on your t-shirt growing stonger, Anne turned to you, swinging her palms around in disbelief.

"That can't be right! No! Tommy, I know you're fuckin' with me. Joel, please tell him he's... Oh... Oh, fuck, sorry." - The girl giggled, growing flustered as she realized she'd just ruined your moment. Trying to salvage the situation, Joel cleared his throat, put his beer down, and grabbed the cue. Cool as a cucumber, just like before - except the blush spreading on his cheeks. The blush made you snicker, it was cute. "Ready for another round?" "Betcha ass. Imma blow smoke all up your arse, Y/N!" "I don't think that's what you meant to say, Anne." "Whatever, I sounded Bri'sh 'enough, didn't I?" - She reiterated, snatching the cue right from Tommy's palm, pointing her finger at him. - "If you try to talk into how I'm playin' pool one time..." - Aaand... They were bickering again.

"I know shit about pool and billiard." - You confessed in a whisper, having Joel hum while chalking your cue. - "Won by pure luck each time." "For starters, we're playin' billiard, sweetheart. Want some assistance? I definitely know more than that moron." "... I deadass thought it's a pool table, on my honor. Help? Would be brilliant, thank you." - As you leaned to take the cue, Joel pushed it out of your reach, knitting his eyebrows together. He seemed confused. "Are you really British?" "I won't tell, cowboy. Better if I keep you guessing for a bit. Makes me look more mysterious." - This time, you victoriously grabbed the cue, walking towards the table to offer Anne a handshake of truce and a good sport. You've done it before each game - the elderly gentlemen liked your sportsmanship.

Anne was doing the shot-up - leaning her entire upper body into the table, pushing her tongue out as she assessed the balls with a furrow, tapping her foot to Toto's Hold the Line. The shot-up was good, she even managed to score one, taking the striped balls for herself. Clear balls it was, then. "Damn." - Tommy sighed, nodding to himself. - "Well played." "Don't underestimate my billiard abilities ever again. I'm already playing leagues better than you." "She ain't wrong." - Joel chimed in, leading you closer to the table. Just like he planned, this gave the duo another reason to bicker, ignoring whatever it was you two were doing.

"My goal is to put all the clears into pockets, no?" "Fast learner, I see." "As if..." - Leaning onto the table, you did your best to replicate the finger stance your father taught you. - "Pops used to be a billiard enthusiast when I was little - that was before he fucked up his back. Did his damnest to teach me all about it." "Yeah, can tell it's been a while back time since you last played. Only blind people wouldn't see how bad that finger position is. Keep your hand like that, and it's gonna cramp in no time. C'mere." - As if he'd done it a million before, Joel walked up next to you, leaning over your back - his chest was pressed to your torso, his arms copied yours, and his chin settled on your shoulder. Your heart fluttered so hard you were worried about it jumping out of your chest. You didn't hear a word from whatever Joel tried teaching you, but God bless him for attempting anyway. Completely tuned out, you just nodded along, enjoying how his felt body pressed this close to yours (hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder), fingers of his left palm ghosting over yours, the other caressing the small of your back. God, Joel smelled so good - wood, soil, hints of cologne mixed with his musk? Absolute fucking heaven.

"Can you do that for me?" - The guy asked, turning his head to you, boring his eyes into yours. He was so close, his nose just mere inches away from yours - if you'd lean just in slightly, you could kiss him. "Do what?" - You whispered in an answer, having him snicker - the vibration ran through your body like lightning, igniting the bundle of nerves between your legs. This was when you realized you were fucked, at Joel's mercy. Shuddering and trying to keep a serious face on, Joel brought your attention to the posture of your hand, sweeping his thumb over your upper hand. "Keep your hand like this, pretty girl. It'll work better than whatever you were tryin' to create before." - Leaning away from you to let you play, he squeezed your hip to wish you the best of luck.

The moment he did so, a quiet whimper left your mouth, the cue bumping into the white ball at full speed - letting you score your first pocket. You were absentmindedly staring in front of yourself, your heart jumping right to your throat. Joel heard the whimper. It was written all over his fucking grin. He was also smart enough to put two and two together. If you reacted like that, how would you react once he's balls deep inside you? How would your sweet voice sound whimpering, whining, begging, frantically whispering his name? Joel hoped you'd let him find out.

The rest of the games were uneventful - whenever you and Anne played, the two men were sure to talk your head off, teasing you and pointing out what you did wrong. Tommy and Anne stuck to their bickering, their mutual insults getting more playful and out-of-pocket with each shot they downed. Joel stuck with the physical approach, trying to make you understand what to do and when to do it... Which meant you learned absolute fucking shit, being too busy drooling over him. His palms grew more daring the more comfortable you seemed around him - he stopped drinking in the middle of the third billiard match, saying 'He's had 'nough for the night' - Tommy immediately rebutting 'You sure that's the reason?'. Once, you'd swear his palm patted your ass before you poked, making you hit the black ball into the pocket, letting you win the game. 'Thank me later, cutie', Joel murmured into your ear with a wicked grin.

Whenever the guys were on, seven people commented on their match simultaneously - you, Anne, and the five pops watching you play. Whoever they were, you like these old geezers - they were fun to be around. To avenge you, each of the elderly ensured Tommy and Joel wouldn't come out of the match unscathed. Drunk and satisfied, you left the pool table around eleven, shaking hands with the elderly folk who kept you company most of the night. Everyone except Joel was pissed by the time you rolled around the bar, ordering a shot of vodka each. Hell, you've been mixing so much you were sure you'd end up sleeping through the next day. However, it was easy to get pissed in such good company - Tommy kept on coming up with various jokes (hit-or-miss situation there, really), having Anna cackle at each of them (she was blackout drunk, you were pretty sure).

Joel, while not saying much, hadn't moved away from you since you left the pool table - whatever you did, whoever you talked to, the man was behind you. His eyes observed every gesture and expression with a warm gaze, smiling warmly... But not creepily. It was flattering, having the biggest stunner inside the club watching over you. Made you feel special. Regarding what Tommy said earlier (that Joel hadn't been this smitten with anyone in a long time), he wasn't lying - didn't happen since Joel's late wife Angela, actually. Frankly, he was just as in the dark as you were. It wasn't easy to name what had gotten into him, but all he knew was that you're the fire, and he's the moth. Each time you moved, the magnet within you made him follow. Each word was a syren's call, each look a glance into a paradise. Chemistry was the main reason why you two got along this well, that much Joel realized - however, the longer you'd been around, the more captivated he was becoming. Everything about you made him lose his mind; your mixed accents, tapping of your boot into the rhythm, shaky breaths escaping your mouth whenever his fingers ghosted over any part of your body. Each detail, even the easily missable, got him fascinated. You had him mesmerized, took his breath away, had his head in a chokehold. Just as you were at his mercy, he was at yours.

Anne and Joel stuck to the bar when you finally took the dancefloor by storm - whatever you and Tommy were up to, it didn't bore any similarity to actual dancing. It was nice, seeing you laugh so hard, tiptoeing on Tommy's shoes while he clumsily turned around, holding your frame impossibly close to his body. He wasn't trying to pull you or seduce you - it was just hard to dance for two people. "Yannow..." - Anne mumbled from her drink, still watching as you danced. It was almost midnight - the club was closing soon, so most of the fast, heavy-hitting pop got switched for slower country songs. Songs for heavily intoxicated couples. - "I don't think I've seen her actin' like this 'round anyone. And I've known her for 20 years by this point." "Tommy can be a real charmer when he wants to, you're right." - Joel admitted silently, sipping on his lemonade - the same lemonade you made fun of just five minutes earlier. Instead of a response, Anne snickered and shook her head lightly. "Ain't talkin' 'bout Tommy, and we both know that... Drop the fuckin' act." - The girl muttered, losing her balance for a bit - Joel was there to catch her, carefully helping her back onto the stool. He didn't answer, just hummed for Anne to continue.

"Promise you'll be nice to her. Whether it's for tonight or longer, just... Be nice to her. And if you won't be..." "Lemme guess, kiddo - you'll find me and cut my dick off, won't ya?" - Joel grinned, watching Anne teasingly. She smiled, shaking her head again; she liked Joel's sense of humor and demeanor - he seemed like a solid, trustworthy guy. Albeit selfish, but reliable enough to keep his word. "Somethin' like that but ten times worse. You don't wanna cross Anne Marie Jones." "Yes, ma'am." - Joel nodded, tipping his imaginary hat off while bowing a bit. - "I'll go for a dance. Wanna join?" - She nodded in agreement, reaching for Joel's hand in hopes not to slip and fall flat on her face.

"Almost five hours. 's a good score." "Of what? Five hours of..." "You pretendin' that you don't wanna dance." "Were you countin' this whole time? Strong-minded's what you are, my compliments." "Stop and go get her, tiger. Thomas!" - She shrieked, waving at Joel's younger brother, her face filled with excitement. The said younger brother carefully helped you step off his shoes, thanking you for the dances, even bowing just to amuse you. You needed a break - your tummy hurt from laughter, and you were sweaty and thirsty.

"'s my time to be on the bench, huh?" - You asked as Joel stepped closer to you, putting his hand on your waist. When his other hand joined, your eyes frantically searched for an explanation - the only thing you saw, however, was the warmth of his gaze. - "Thought you don't do dancin'." "Haven't done it in a fairly long time. 's time to switch things up." "You changin' the rules for once?" "Hmhm." - Joel could feel your fingers creeping on his arms - his exposed forearms, up to his shoulders before finally entwining behind his neck. Your nails gently scratched his skin, lightly enough not to leave marks, but intensely enough to leave a trail of tingling sensation behind - each inch of his skin you touched started burning, and his dick started growing hard and pleasantly warm in his pants. - "It's worth breakin' the rules when someone's worth it." "Am I worth it?" "Without a doubt in my mind."

No matter how drunk you were, your mind screamed that something was wrong there, that you should leave Joel at the dancefloor, call for a cab, and never look back - this man was a stunner in his best years, not old enough to have back pains and crackly knees but not young enough to be hot-blooded and wanting to fuck for the fun of it. You've seen the hot-blooded type in London a million times, and Joel was different. His demeanor, compared to theirs, was calm and collected. This man wasn't forcing you into anything that hadn't crossed your mind already - his kind smile and gentle touches made you relaxed, letting you realize how desperate you wanted this. How desperately you wanted him. The question still hadn't been answered - why you? Why not any of the beautiful women in the club? Women his age? There were a lot of them, one prettier than the other. Why was it you who had been blessed with the attention of this Adonis with gentle yet assuring touch, with tender, lazy (and also hot as fuck) smile, and watchful gaze?

"I'm a horrible dancer." - You weren't willing to disrupt the intimacy by asking questions - the answers haunted you more than the question itself. Licking your lips, you stepped closer, securing your arms around his neck. "Doesn't seem to me." "Have you seen how I danced with Tommy? Kicked his shin like twenty times." "'s what he deserves, wouldn't worry about it too much." "Doesn't solve the problem at hand." "I have a solution." - Joel mumbled, halting his moves. You were looking at him with an amused furrow, trying to figure out what he was up to - it didn't work, but at least you could carelessly stare at him, memorize each muscle of his face in case you'd never see him again. "Go to town, cowboy. Tell me."

It wasn't a matter of describing. Instead, Joel pushed a few strands of hair off your forehead and face, his eyes taking each detail in. Even though he had thick fingers, callused hands, and big hands, his touches were feather-light - if he hadn't been holding his other arm around your waist, you'd suspect he wasn't even real. All the couples around were still moving at a lazy, slow pace, cuddling as the slow song progressed, but your world froze for a bit. To let Joel know you trust him and want this, your palms started repeating the movements of his fingers - slowly dragging along his jaw, down his neck, to his chin, cupping the apple of his cheek, thumb dragging along the sweet spot under his eyes, putting his damp curls away from his forehead. "Still wanna lemme show you?" "Stop talking and thinking about it too hard, Joel." - Joel felt your weight shifting as you tiptoed, your breasts clashing with his chest as you pressed your body onto his - one of your elbows leaned into his shoulder, your fingers entangling in the hair at the back of his head.

You've been the one to kiss him - one palm grabbing his shirt, pulling him closer; the other still entangled in his hair pulling him away, giving the kiss the right edge. A mix of desperation, desire, and unsaid worries. While your lips mashed, his hands got to exploring - your shoulders, shoulder blades, your back, the small of it, and then, finally, that sweet, sweet fuckin' ass in the tightest piece of clothing he'd seen. He'd swear you're vibrating under his touch, lust getting the better of you - the kiss got rougher, teeth clashing, tongues entwining, lip biting, whining, and quiet moans escaping without either of you wanting them to...

It wasn't clean, but it definitely was the hottest fucking shit and the best kiss Joel had in the last few years. "How does... What does it have to with dancin'?" - You whispered into his ear after you pulled away, nesting your chin on his shoulder, clinging onto him as if he'd disappear if you'd let him go. Slowly, you started moving in the rhythm again, a pleasant male voice singing some kind of country ballad. It was lovely. "Nothin', little lady. Just a poor excuse to do what I've been waitin' for the whole night, 's all." "You damn rascal." "That a bad thing?" "I'm fond of men who make me laugh." - Your playful tone made Joel chuckle, the vibrations carrying onto your body. He gently pulled you closer, kissing your neck while humming at your smell - he'd remembered the scent of your perfume and shampoo, and it was nice, but mixed with alcohol, Tommy and Anne's cigarette smoke, and your musk was even better. You've smelled like a good night, like a lot of laughter, sinfully beautiful.

"Think it hadn't helped yet... The method 'f yours." "Strange, helps me every damn time." - Joel played along, letting you drop back to your heels just so he could look you in the eyes. Even though the club was humid, hot as all hell and the air smelled of alcohol, cigarette and weed smoke, sweat, and too many perfumes mixed into one, Joel missed the warmth and softness of your body the moment when your heels touched the ground, putting a few inches between your bodies. "Didn't sell me on it, anyway." "My apologies, ma'am. Anythin' I can do to remedy the situation?" "Think you should try it again." - You've had him mesmerized when you ogled at him like that - your expression and gaze were innocent, but your actions hinted at everything you've had on your mind. Your gentle hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans solidified what you've alluded to and erased every doubt he had had in his mind.

"What if it won't work?" - Joel hummed, already pulling you back into his arms - his head was cocked to his shoulder, a wicked grin gracing his face. The man knew what question he was asking, his confidence boosting yours. "Think I have a thing or two on my mind, Texas." "Oh?" - He whispered, stealing a peck from you. - "Wanna share?" "'s better to show it to you." "Go on, little lady." "... Somewhere private." - You specified, losing focus for a bit. Something had caught your attention, making you smile as you started moving in the rhythm. - "I like this song. Give your method one more try, and then we can test mine?" "Your wish is my command."

Over the last few years, Joel forgot how fun it is to dance with someone - how exciting it feels when you twirl your girl around, to see her crack a smile as she comes back to his arms, kissing her like there was no tomorrow. He hadn't danced with anyone since Angela passed - thirteen fucking years. You, however, were a great choice of partner to break the streak of sitting at the bar, watching other couples snuggle and giggle, unaware of anything beyond their small little bubble. Neither of you were good dancers, per se, but that made it much more enjoyable. Joel was in his small bubble now, devoting his focus to you. Only you. Feeling you sway in the rhythm, clumsily stepping on the tips of his boots while holding to his shirt for your dear life, was the most endearing thing that happened to him recently. Even if you wouldn't meet again, he'd be grateful for this one night you've given him.

By the time the last chords of the song played (honkey-tonk banjo strumming), you'd been just like every other couple on the dancefloor - hastily stealing kisses, pressing your bodies impossibly close, tugging each other's hair, moaning and whining under your breath. You wouldn't expect this gruff cowboy man Joel to be vocal at all, but his groans actually made everything ten times better. "... Tell me it didn't work." - He muttered, roughly kneading your buttcheeks with his fingers, pressing your pelvis on his - you could feel the outline of his dick perfectly, your mouth watering. "Not in the slightest. I'm still a horrible dancer." "Thank fuckin' God." - His palm grasped yours as he turned on his heels, leading you deeper into the establishment. Joel was broad enough to make the way for both of you. He was making sure you were still following as if he couldn't feel your nails digging into his palm - he made sure a million times. His eyes periodically trailed between you and the space in front of him.

Once you entered the bathroom stall, everything got blurry - Joel's palms trailing your curves, his lips drowning in the skin of your neck, your palms holding onto his shoulders as he lowered on his knees. You wished you could take a picture of the view - Joel on his knees, one of his palms carefully lifting the hem of your t-shirt while he looked you in the eyes, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your abdomen while his other hand smoothed a trail on your upper thigh. Just as you expected, his palms were rough, full of calluses, and left a tingling sensation on your skin. Pressing his face to your abdomen and slowly getting back up, he pressed a kiss between your breasts before kissing the sweet spot on your neck again. Your breathing was irregular by the time his fingers curled around your chin.

"Are you sure you want this, little lady?" - He was purring into your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and playfully nibbling on it - the reason you were still standing was clearly that he pinned you between the door and his body... Palming your hot, wet sex teasingly, applying just the right amount of pleasure at the place you needed him the most. - "I don't plan on makin' you do somethin' you'd regret later. We clear?" "Joel... Please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up." - That's all you could muster - your body begged to feel his lips, for your hands to explore everything that's been hiding under that neatly tucked shirt and perfectly fitted jeans - you could see the outline of his dick, hard as a rock, but you wanted more. You wished to look at it, have it in your mouth, swallow it whole, or gag on it, whatever he'd like. The arousal building at your center made you forget words. When you tried to kiss him, he tsk-tsked you away, applying more pressure on your clit.

"Just say the words and it's all yours, pretty girl." "Remember how I said you're a rascal?" - You whispered, grinding against his palm gently. - "You're just a... Mhm... Shit... Fucking dick." "Such an eager little thing, aren't ya?" - Joel grinned, kissing the apple of your cheek, leaving his hand in place. You seemed to be horny enough not to need his help with your endeavors - all you needed was his fucking palm.

But Joel wanted more - he needed to hear you also want it. He needed permission before destroying you, fucking your silly little head empty. He could, however, also sense the reason for your hesitancy. What was he? Just a random guy at a club pulling a chick just to fuck her at the stalls and never see her again. Understandable. Because of that, he'd been willing to give you a bit of assurance. - "C'mon, be a good girl. Use your words." "Will you spank me if I misbehave?" "If a good ol' spankin''s whatcha after... We can talk 'bout it on a date." "A date?" - Your eyes lit up, your motions stopping for a bit - to keep you occupied, Joel started applying pressure with his fingers, having you staring at him with your mouth agape. You looked... So damn hot. - "Are you serious, Texas? You want to take me out?" "Mhm, of course, little lady. You'll gimme your phone number, and I'll give you mine. You'll set the date, and I pick out the restaurant. My treat, 'f course. There, you can tell me all you want 'bout spanking that cute ass 'f yours. Sounds good?"

He was... Serious. There was a cocky smile on his lips as he watched you, but he was asking you out. No buts or ifs. No games. It took you a moment to process his proposition - his fingers lazily circling around your clit were making it fucking hard to think. "I'd... I'd love that, cowboy." "Good girl." - Joel cooed, carefully pulling strands of hair out of your eyes with his other palm, leaning his arm to the door behind you. - "What do you want me to do now?" "Everything." - You whispered, stealing a peck from his lips. - "I wanna take everything you're willing to offer. I want this, I want you, wanna feel your lips on me, your dick inside me, fuckin' Christ, I want everything."

That was all Joel needed to hear, the words to set him in motion. His hands gently cupped your head as he kissed you with passion, his mouth devouring each inch he'd kiss, his teeth gently sinking into your skin - just enough to let you feel it, but not enough to hurt you. Not caring about the tent in his jeans, he'd started lowering on his knees again, pulling your t-shirt off your body just so he could hungrily stare at your tits rising and falling with each labored breath. He couldn't but palm them, squeezing them gently. Not wasting more time, he got back to work - worshipping each inch of your skin with his palms, leaving a trail of wet kisses from your chest to your abdomen, stopping above your shorts. He didn't look at what his fingers were doing - Joel simply continued undoing the zipper and button, staring you in the eyes. His right thumb slipped on your clothed clit, having your body react immediately - shuddering, moaning upon the sensation. This wouldn't fly - you could be kicked out if you wouldn't be careful. He wished to listen to those sweet sounds, but...

"Can you somethin' for me?" "Mhm?" - You let out in response, your eyes already darkened with lust. Just a few more beats and Joel would send you heaven, he swore to himself - he started taking his flannel shirt off frantically, handing it over to you. "Bite on it, honey. We don't wanna everyone hearin' how good I make you feel, do we?" "No." - Doing as he asked you, you buried your entire face in his shirt - it smelled just like him, the discovery making you whimper. Lost in the moment, you barely noticed your panties and shorts being removed - before you grasped it, Joel was already filling the newly discovered territory with his face, spreading your thighs far apart.

Under different circumstances, Joel would be delighted to play with you - tease you, let you tiptoe on the edge of paradise before allowing you to drown in all the pleasure, pushing you towards the cliff's edge - you two, sadly, didn't have enough time. You weren't splayed over his bed, your arousal wasn't staining the sheets, and he couldn't let you scream at the top of your lungs before you'd squeeze his head with your thighs. Secondly, he was too fucking horny to hold back. Working you up with his mouth, he untangled your ankle out of your panties, throwing your leg over his shoulder - allowing himself to push as deep as possible in such conditions. His tongue collected each drop of arousal, warm pain setting in his jaw as he did his best to lick your slit clean, just like a plate of his favorite dish.

After he made sure you won't fall down, Joel put his lips to good use (sucking on your clit), and his palm started discovering the valley further below, spreading your folds teasingly. You noticed his finger slowly entering you, digit after digit - his fingers were wider and rougher than yours, filling you up better than yours ever could. Trying to muffle a loud moan, your face disappeared in the fabric of his shirt, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. Joel loved having your fingers tangled in his hair - lost to the moment, you couldn't care less about how violently you're tugging on it, each tug getting a guttural growl out of him. The sounds echoed through you, reaching into all parts of your body, pushing you over the edge.

You couldn't name what precisely caused your orgasm to approach so fucking fast - you were under the impression that usually, it took way longer for you to come. Could be anything - his smell all up your nose, his tongue flickering on your sensitive cluster of nerves at an impressive speed, his palm holding onto your thighs, or two (maybe three) fingers curling inside you. Probably everything combined. The next thing you realized was that you mumbled his name like a prayer, riding through your high on his face, trying to catch your breath as you leaned your head into the door, eyes closed, Joel religiously watching and memorizing how you liked like when you came undone. You were beautiful.

"You good?" - Joel asked after your thighs relaxed and let go of his head. His voice was raspy. It took him a bit to pick himself up (his knees went numb), but soon, he was there to steal a kiss from you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your flushed, relaxed expression was adorable - he hadn't had a woman looking at him this way in a long time. Your eyes were open lazily (offering him a tender look), your smile hinting at all the bliss circulating in your blood. "Never better, sugar." "Don't think anyone called me that before." "You like it?" - You asked, playing with the hem of his gray t-shirt, caressing his abdomen, his flannel shirt still hanging off your palm. "Gets me all railed up." - With a grin, Joel approached you, picking your leg up to circle it around his waist. The jeans felt cold against your burning and sensitive core, the rough material putting a strange edge into Joel's pelvis grinding against yours at a lazy, teasing pace. - "You want this too, baby? Think you can take it?" "I want everything."

"Okay." - He hummed, trailing his fingers along your shoulders, brushing lips over your jaw and lips. Before you knew it, his palm crept back between your thighs, his fingers sliding inside you, working you up to relax you and get the arousal going. - "How do you want it? Should I sit down? If you wanna, I can get deeper if you bend forward. C'mon, be a good girl and use your words." "Just... I want... Fuck." - Not being able to put a single sentence together, you shushed his palm and godly fingers away. Bracing yourself, you leaned into the door comfortably, shaking your ass a bit to tease him. Joel didn't hesitate to play along, slapping it to see the tender, soft skin jiggling. It didn't escape him how you almost purred, whimpering from the friction. He was half-sure you joked about the spanking bit, but seeing you get off on it put a childish grin on his face.

Before he undid his belt (your head was turned to him the entire time, hungrily watching each move), he'd pulled his wallet from one of the pockets, pulling a condom out. Biting on the aluminum packaging gently, Joel threw his wallet away carelessly, feverishly undoing his jeans before pushing the pants and underwear down to his knees. His dick sprang free, having you hypnotized while Joel put the condom on - you'd swear you hadn't seen a nicer-looking dick in your lifetime, not even in porn movies you watched. It was decently long, pre-cum leaking from the tip, with few veins giving it a nice texture. What put a slight frown on your face was the width of it. It was girthy, for the lack of a better term, massive, to say the least. The challenge excited you, giving you more reasons to take him balls deep. Moan escaped your mouth upon that thought.

"Oh, I know, baby girl." - Joel whispered, stepping closer to you, kneading your cheeks like dough - digging his fingers in one moment, lovingly squeezing them in the other. - "I'll take care of everythin', I promise. Just relax for me." "Okay, sugar." - Complying, you tried your best to relax when he ran his palms down your back, massaging soothing circles into your skin. Hearing the nickname, Joel snickered under his breath. "You gonna me drive up the fuckin' wall if you keep that nickname up."

You started to turn your head in Joel's direction to reply, but before you could do so, the tip of his dick slipped inside you - the burning sensation had you banging your first against the door, opening your mouth, eyes closed firmly, chest heaving as you adjusted to him. It wasn't unpleasant - it was just unusual - you hadn't had sex ever since that 'British stud of yours' as Anne dubbed Felix. And any toys couldn't do Joel's dick any justice. "All good, little lady?" "Mhm, never better." - Nodding, you took a long breath before lowering yourself down on his shaft, feeling it stretching you out inch by inch. There weren't many things that would make Joel Miller speechless, but watching you sliding down while his hands held your hips, hearing you muffle your whines and moans was pure fucking magic. The closer your ass got to his base, the harder it was to breathe for him.

"Look at you, sweetheart." - Joel cooed, closing the remaining gap between your bodies - the tip of his cock brushed your cervix, making you gulp. The man didn't move for a solid minute, letting you relax and adjust, rubbing soothing circles into your hips. - "This would make a man lose his damn mind, Jesus fuckin' Christ. You're doin' so fuckin' well for me." "That dick would make any woman lose their mind too, Texas." - Saying that, you giggled, unintentionally tightening around him - Joel's hips buckled in response, making you whine happily. - "You can move, yannow that? I ain't made of glass." "Promise to tell me it'd get uncomfortable for you, yeah?" - The man asked, kissing your shoulder. Nodding, you lazily smiled at him. "Promise."

In a few thrusts, you could perfectly understand why Joel promised he'd stop if things got uncomfortable for you - he struggled to find his tempo, sloppily thrusting in and out of you in unforgiving, needy movements. But as soon as he found his footing? His movements became determined and precise, each trust stretching your tight walls gently, almost lovingly. He was gripping your hips, the nailbeds digging into your smooth, gentle skin - so tightly that you'd swear you'd have small remnants of him with you in the morning. Anytime he felt like it, he'd make you meet his dick halfway, breathlessly snickering at your ecstatic expression. You both mumbled nonsense, motivating each other to keep going, movements growing desperate as you started chasing your highs. Without Joel needing to mutter a word, your palm sneaked to your clit, your fingers rubbing frantic get gentle circles around the bundle of nerves.

"'M gonna... 'M gonna..." - Joel muttered religiously, palming one of your breasts to gently play with your nipple. "Just a bit longer, and I'm... Fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel." - It came across as a pathetic whine - the tip of his dick brushing against the most sensitive spot inside you. The burst of warmth and pleasure made you shudder, meowling to your forearm as you tried to keep your shit together. "Ya with me?" - Joel pressed on, his brain barely capable of making meaningful sentences. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes." - As he brushed the spot again, a mind-numbing orgasm washed over you. For a moment, you didn't know who the fuck you were, what your name was, where you were, or whom you were with. All you could feel was concentrated pleasure washing over your body, leaving you whining and moaning into the fabric of his shirt before letting it fall to the ground. Joel's last trusts were sloppy, almost too brutal, but soon, he was grunting as his load leaked into the condom.

"Jesus." - He muttered, gently slipping out - the emptiness hit you like a truck, almost leaving you begging for more. You'd beg if you could form any word on your tongue. - "How we doin', little lady? All parts where they should be?" - He whispered, gently helping you to stand up as he pulled your underwear and shorts back where they belonged. If you'd let him, he'd memorize how you looked - sweaty, breathing irregularly with a contained expression. Every inch of your skin was a masterpiece Joel'd carve into wood just to have it always with him. Fucking on a bathroom stall, however, wasn't the right place or time to ask for some lovey-dovey nonsense.

"You some kind of mechanic or what? I'm good, don't worry 'bout me. Gave me exactly what I wanted." "There she is, the sassy little sweetheart I couldn't get 'nough of. And... Somethin' like that. I'm a carpenter." - Joel explained, ensuring you looked somewhat presentable. It wouldn't be gentlemanly to let you walk around looking like a cute, freshly fucked mess - no matter how much this idea aroused him, letting all the men who eyed you over the night know that he was the one you chose to have the time of your day with. Instead of answering, you started laughing, catching him off-guard. - "What's funny 'bout me bein' a carpenter, hm?" "Nothin', nothin'." - You whispered, shushing his palms away to control your make-up. Well, it was decently smudged but still presentable. With how Anne looked before you and Joel took an abrupt detour to the stalls, you'd be soon on your way home anyway. - "I'll be working for a carpenter, starting fairly soon. It's just a funny coincidence, 's all."

"I see. He's a lucky man, then." - Joel hummed, caressing the apple of your cheek with his fingers before letting you steal a peck from you. - "If you'd be workin' for me, I wouldn't keep my fuckin' hands off you, sweet girl. You tell him you have another carpenter in town who wouldn't waste a second hirin' you, yeah?" "You don't mean that. That's the sex talkin'." "On my honor. If he won't treat you respectfully, yannow who to call. I can always use some help." - Teasingly slapping your ass, Joel picked his shirt and wallet off the ground, adjusting his belt and jeans. - "There's the business card, you call this number, yeah? The second one. The first one's for my office. And as a promise, you take this with ya." - Carefully, he tugged you into the shirt, smoothing your upper arms. - "'s my lucky shirt. I never go out in anythin' else. You better keep an eye out." "This gets the ladies going?" - Was what you replied, pushing your arms through the sleeves and buttoning up the lower half of the shirt. Ensuring you won't lose the card, you pushed it inside your phone case, showing it to Joel. "It got you goin', didn't it?" "Was that bloody smirk 'f yours, asshole." "Never been turned on by anyone callin' me an asshole. Whatcha doin' to me, girl? You ready to go?" - The lock was undone, and as a gesture of gratitude (and another promise), Joel offered you his palm to hold onto. To your surprise, he let you entwine your fingers with him without protesting. "Yeah. Let's go."

Thankfully, when you walked back onto the humid, heavy-aired club, Tommy and Anne were still dancing - both appeared heavily intoxicated, holding each other tightly, dancing to a sweet serenade. That, thankfully, meant no questioning for either you or Joel. As you also predicted, Anne wanted to go home when she spotted you hanging out by the bar.

Joel and Tommy helped you find a taxi, settling Anne down in the backseat - it was raining heavily, all of you jogging to the car with laughter. The night started to get cold. It was time to go home, lulled by the prospect of a date - the man in question was just pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, kissing your temple, whispering sweet nothings and goodbyes to your ear. Tommy, even though he was usually as perceptive as a stomp, left you alone and moved to smoke under a nearby umbrella, grinning from ear to ear as he watched you being all cheesy and lovey-dovey - he knew better than to mutter a word. Joel'd definitely fire back at him.

"Here's the money for the ride, tip included. Take 'em wherever they want to, the rest's yours." - Joel leaned into the cab, handing the driver a hefty bill while patting the roof - what a typical gesture. Staring at him in shock, you shook your head in disapproval - Anne pointed at him with a drunkard giggle. "I'm startin' to like your grumpy Texan ass more 'n more." "What a compliment." - Joel answered with pure irony. - "Take care, ladies. Text me when you get home, 'kay, sweetheart?" "Will do, sir. But betcha ass we'll be discussing this later." - Vaguely pointing to the driver, you spared Joel one last smile before the cab took off, driving you home. - "Take care!" - You cried out, watching his figure disappear in the distance.

Getting Anne to your room without waking up the whole block was a superhuman task - she'd trip over nothing, kept on shushing you (even though you hadn't said a word), giggling under her breath as she tried to keep her balance. You expected Mom to bust in at any minute, but only Sam inspected the ruckus. "Jesus fuckin' Christ." - The girl muttered, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The sight was hilarious, you needed to admit - Anne was sitting on the edge of your bed, rocking from side to side while attempting to take off her shoes. Her tongue, as usual, was sticking out of the corner of her mouth with pure concentration. - "I take it that the night was good?" "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. Go to sleep now, yeah?" - Smoothing her shoulder, you watched as Sammy nodded sleepily and started retreating toward her room.

Before going to sleep, you made sure Anne's clothes were hung enough to dry out before she departed after tomorrow's dinner, and that her hair was neatly covered with a towel. As promised, before hitting the sack, you sent Joel a short text to let him know you're both safe at home, wishing him a good night. The night was something - sex with Joel helped you sober up, and thanks to Anne's overwhelming, unmissable snoring, you took one hell of a time to fall asleep. While Anne was knocked out in an instant, you had to roll around for quite some time before you finally fell asleep - dreaming of Joel, his big hands, honest smiles, and passionate kisses.

"Are you fuckin' with me? That happened? And it was that good?" - Anne squealed, pushing half a waffle inside her mouth. Her appetite (despite the hangover she must've had) always surprised you. Nobody should be this hungry after digesting such an ungodly amount of alcohol... Nobody. Sam, responsible for bringing you a very late breakfast to bed, had her eyes glued to your lips, listening to how you described what had happened in the bathroom stalls. - "... Didn't even notice you two were gone." "No wonder. You two were fucking out of it. They were wobbling around to Long Long Time by the time we got back, both sobbing their asses off." "Uh-uh, that didn't fuckin' happen. Don't believe a word comin' out of this wench's mouth, Sammy." "In all fairness, it's a solid song." - Sam reiterated, having Anne snapping, humming approvingly. "Amen, sister. Girl knows her stuff."

"Back to the guy. So you texted him goodnight? As he asked?" - Sam pried further, laying down as she stared at you. "Mhmh." "Had he replied?" "Yes." "WHAT DID HE-?" - Anne squealed even louder, earning an elbow to her side. Rubbing the spot, she looked at you. - "Bitch, you hadn't told me he actually reached back out. What did the super hot, hunky, gruff cowboy say? Spill it." "Well, he wished me a good morning for starters, unlike someone..." - Alluding to how Anne's first sentence consisted of 'Girl, I don't know if it's gonna come outta my mouth or ass first, so you better move' and keeping the duo tensed up, a smile spread on your lips. - "He started asking when I was free but told me he couldn't go out today because of this dinner with his best buddy. So... I have a date tomorrow." "You're shitting me!" - Anne muttered, giggling her ass off. "Dude, keep it the fuck down. I don't wanna explain this to my mom." "Yeah, yeah, whatever. What's your take on the situation, young padawan?" - Without sparing you a look, Anne just waved you off and pointed her fork in Sam's direction.

"He sounds like a genuinely great guy. A bit of an age difference? No prob, sis. On the other hand, if you'd bring home an eighty-year-old gramps with diapers and prescribed meds..." "Samantha!" - Gasping for air, you threw a strawberry her way - grinning from ear to ear, Sam caught in on her first try. - "'s that what you think of me? Thank you kindly. That's so fucked up." "You asked me a question, and I gave you an answer. Grow up. But no cap - you're glowing just talking about the guy. You're all flustered, giggly, playing with your hair and... It's nice to see you like that." "She ain't wrong... She ain't wrong at all."

Dinner preparations consisted of pure chaos - Fleetwood Mac's biggest hits playing out of your dad's stereo as you helped around the kitchen, Anne occasionally dipping to comment on the baseball game your dad watched in the living room. The entire house was pristine, not a dust particle in sight as if the Queen of England was about to drop for a visit. Your mom pulled out her best decorations and fanciest set of plates, asking you to decorate them with napkins. Sam was with you the entire time, carefully watching your moves as if you weren't real - even giving in to dance with you to Dreams, both laughing as you clumsily wobbled around the dining room.

When it was around 4pm, you all hid in Sam's room to make yourselves look presentable - Sammy opted for a cutesy wollen vest, a short-sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. With her hair styled in a high ponytail, she looked genuinely cutesy. Anne borrowed one of the fancy dresses you used to wear for work, pairing it with her pair of good ol' trusty pair of Vans - as per usual, Anne would've looked hot as fuck even if she'd worn a potato bag. You opted for a more casual, relaxed fit. You dug out a flowy black dress with polka dots all over it, choosing a relaxed hairstyle and light layer of make-up to go with it. You assumed you didn't have to sit around dressed like you were waiting for a job interview since the guy was your dad's best friend.

"They're here!" - Mom cried out over the music blasting in the living room - your dad changed it to good ol' Bruce Spingsteen's Born in the U.S.A. "Aight, how do I look?" - You asked, twirling around to let both the girls see - you wanted to leave a good first impression on your soon-to-be employer and a trusted family friend, as well as on his brother. "You're looking good. I've told you a million times already - Joel doesn't make a fuss about such things. I've worked for him for a year and a half, so I'd be the one to know." - Sam muttered, rolling her eyes. She'd spent the last hour assuring you looked amazing and impressionable, that was much true. - "Just come already, Jesus. You'll relax once you see him." - With that, she started descending the stairs, loudly greeting the guests.

"Like a snack." - Anne suggested, having you shaking your head. "Not the time..." "What if he's like... Smoking hot?" "He's also my dad's best friend. No way in hell..." "Never say never." "That's why I usually don't ask for your fucking input, Anne." "Chill, girl, you got this. Take a breath, shake the nerves off... You look fucking amazing, and you're way smarter than... Oh... Oh, fuck." - She was standing on top of the stairs, her palm clutching the railing until her knuckles turned white. All emotion suddenly drained from her expression, her face growing pale, and her eyes widened at the sight. Slowly, you peeked around the corner, your eyes meeting the strangers immediately.

What if he was smoking hot, huh? Well, you knew for a fact he was. Those lips were kissing you yesterday. Those palms chalked up the cue for you, teasing you how to play billiard without getting a cramp in your palm. These eyes watched you as if you were the only woman in the club, following each step you took, his palm never shying away from grasping the small of your back. You saw him undress for you. You felt him pounding into you when he chased his release. You listened to his voice pouring sweet nothings and perverted, arousing nonsense into your ears as he fucked you. You had his number saved in his phone. You had a date set with him. It was Joel. Joel, the mysterious hunky gruff cowboy. Joel, who was staring back at you with the same horror in his eyes. Joel, who was your dad's best fucking friend.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck indeed.

Thank you for reading! 🩷 Reblogs and comments are appreciated; in case you have any questions or scenarios you'd like to see, hmu in dms or under the post. 🩷 Have a nice day!

#dbf!joel #dbf!joel x afab!reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #tommy miller #tommy miller the last of us #well boys #here we fucking go #the cat's out of the bag #everything's doom and gloom #also I love writing for tommy #he's so fun to play around with #smutty smut smut #dbf!joel brainrot be too strong for my sorry lil ass #like lord help me #this man is too much for me

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bummie4dummies · 12 days

Text

as long as there is an ocean ✧ read on ao3

the abyssal plains of tommy's subconscious are littered with the carcasses of his father's favorite adages.

no matter how valiant his attempts have been to pry them free — and despite the meticulous, delicate nature of his methods — it seems that many of the sea-skeletons have been left sitting beyond salvation, now inextricable from waterlogged sediment. they're too far-sunk to extract safely; if lucky enough not to crumple like a sheet of discarded tissue paper on the journey down, he'd explode his lungs to red mist on the way back up to the surface. it's almost easier if he imagines them this way, as broken fragments of corpses too fragile to exhume:

the fleshy tissue of a half-eaten squid — actions speak louder than words. the crushed shell of an unfortunate lobster — beggars can't be choosers. the rotting remains of a clever eel — boys who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. the ribcage and spine of a starved shark — do as i say, not as i do.

one saying in particular has been mummifying for longer than the others, a giant humpback frozen in a state of watery decay, embalmed in the sandy gunk of his darkest trenches — keep your shoulders straight and your head on straighter. oft punctuated with a caustic, kid.

it's pretty ironic, considering the fact that tommy kinard has nary a straight bone in his body. maybe that's why the line burrowed itself so thoroughly into the deepest, slimiest crooks of the substrate of his mind, slow-growing algae coating the slippery crevices of his hippocampus to rankle him perpetually. tommy hasn't spoken directly with his old man in years; these days he couldn't if he wanted to, or at least not without a ouija board and an uncharacteristic flair for masochism, neither of which he cares to equip himself with.

nevertheless, the phantom whale fall of his father's most-reliable phrase continues to nourish the last hungry, lonely fish left scouring the ocean floor of tommy's mind. nearly every move he makes is centered around practicality, every decision sewn together by threads of vigilance and observation.

with nearly four decades of practice and application under his belt, he's gotten good at keeping his shoulders straight, and gay as he may be, he thinks his head's on just fine, although such would be a contradictory and controversial statement upon the ears of one thomas kinard, senior. thankfully he'll never have to hear it.

tommy can live with his own amendment to the man's words because tommy knows himself and therefore knows the truth. his posture is excellent and he's a considerably level-headed guy. he can't be straight; he doesn't want to be. what he can be is pragmatic. he can be logical, he can be useful, he can be rational. he can be quite capable and, as it turns out, even likable. he can be funny, and charming, and vulnerable with the right people. he can be queer, he can be gay, he can be loved, he can love. he can become without becoming unmoored.

for thirty-some good years, tommy kinard does a bang-up job at keeps his shoulders straight and his head on just fine. he's pushing forty when he meets evan buckley and eddie diaz.

───────────────

evan buckley and eddie diaz exist as a singular entity within the confines of tommy's skull. two sides of the same coin, grumbles the detached jaw of an imaginary anglerfish.

it takes some effort to extract one from the other, but tommy finds ways. over mutual interests in muay thai, basketball, and helicopters, he and eddie become fast friends. over mutual interests in each other's inquisitive minds, curious hands, and wanting mouths, he and evan become even faster lovers.

he makes out with one of them, roughhouses with the other; it all feels the same, gets identical synapses firing. he knocks eddie to the mat, steals spit-flecked exhales off of the inches of air near his wild-grinning lips and brings them home for buck to drink down, licking them into his ravenous mouth, delivering him secrets to unwittingly swallow. he smelts himself down to the base and seeps in between them, liquid copper in the nickel sandwich of their clad coin.

it isn't until tommy's got both of them sprawled out on his couch one night, months into his increasingly complex relationships with each of them, that he truly starts to grasp how evan and eddie might exist as a singular entity outside of his skull, too.

top gun's ending credits march, sans serif ants, to the glowing edge of tommy's television screen. fuzzy, synthetic white-blue haze pours into the room and across the skin of buck and eddie's limbs and faces in a manner that makes tommy think of marble hewn painstakingly into handsome statue, of rock tumbled smooth by a patient, perpetual stream, ever-flowing towards the sea.

tommy thinks, i could be a sculptor. i could be a river.

copper in the nickel.

the two men are draped across his sectional like lions in the sun, impenitent and unabashed in the way they take up space, in the way they take up each other. buck's legs are long, stretched out along multiple cushions, his head heavy on tommy's lap. eddie, on the opposite end of the couch from tommy, started out the evening upright, but the drone of the movie — combined with tommy's easy laughter and the literal and figurative warmth pouring off of buck — had helped to coax a more relaxed posture out of him. now he slouches deep into the pillows, legs spread wide to knock up against buck's bare feet where his sweatshorts ride up his quads. tommy almost expects the point of contact between the pair of them to spark, start a blaze that would surely incinerate the three of them in spite of their résumés.

his heart's been a tinderbox for long enough that he can usually recognize flint even when it's disguised as water; the thirst that parches him convinces him it's worth attempting a sip without regard of probable risk.

he lets out a long exhale and drops a hand to card through evan's hair, half-listens to eddie babble on about how the shots of the F14 fighter jets are still so cool all these years later. he's beaming like a kid the whole time, sunshine-ray of a smile gleaming straight at buck.

tommy watches as buck can't help but smile right back, and god, if the energy radiating off of them could be harnessed for physical usage, tommy would never have a utility bill again in his life. he watches, enraptured, as buck flexes and curls his toes against the soft dark hairs of eddie's thigh, pressing dents into his skin. watches as eddie presses back.

eddie falters in his warplane musings when buck's foot skids over and catches in the edge of his shorts.

buck says, "sorry," not convincingly.

eddie clears his throat and drags his gaze from the arch of buck's foot resting against his leg up buck's calf, to his knee, to where the exposed pale of his thigh disappears behind them hem of his shorts. he takes his time wandering up the rest of buck's body, lingering especially at the relaxed curve of his dick under loose cotton fabric, the relaxed curve of his gently parted lips. finally he meets buck's answering stare and blinks, languid, like he's searing something into his memory, buck-shaped sunspots in his retinas. he says, "no big deal," not convincingly.

before tommy's eyes, water transmutes into flint and back into water and over again, metamorphosing in a churning lazy whirl. it dizzies him, blurring his vision until there is no difference between the two; there's just a murky charcoal pool, molten obsidian shimmering like glass, rippling like the surface of an ocean less haunted than the one sloshing in his cerebrum.

an ocean glinting with the reflection of two incandescent stars careening towards each other at a devastating rate, a spectacle to behold.

relaxing his shoulders, tommy orders them to, "kiss," more certain than ever. when they hesitate, he adds, "each other," bracing himself for the likelihood of a stellar collision.

when eddie clambers on top of buck and leans down to crush their lips together, pushing his head down against tommy's thighs, pushing tommy out of his own, it feels more like the calm soar and twinkling glitter of a shooting star against the navy velvet sky, the soft crash of a wave against the edge of a silky coast.

there's no threat of unkind flame, no exploding celestial dust.

it feels like water.

tommy kneels at the sacred place where the luminous sea laps at the heavenly shoreline and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

───────────────

drinks become shots become wandering hands in the generous backseat of a stranger's car, an obvious cocktail to use as a scapegoat for the hammering beneath tommy's breastbone. the depths of his mind bubble up with, trust your gut, not your heart.

he has mixed feelings about that one, but at present he's not sure he can trust any singular part of his corporeal form, so at least it half-applies.

hearts and guts aside, tommy is starkly aware that things between buck and eddie may be escalating a bit beyond his feasible reach. he'd come into the evening equipped with the knowledge that he's successfully constructed his own internal witch's cottage of cake shingles and sugared windowpanes in this questionable "date" night between the three of them, however mutually agreed upon the night may be. he's self-aware enough to understand that he's destined to walk himself straight back into it, naïve as hansel and gretel without the excuse of not knowing better.

he just hadn't realized how famished he's become, and how tempting his own makings would look.

with buck seated comfortably between himself and eddie, tommy has no real access to eddie outside of the smush of knuckles-on-upper-arm from the hand he's got slung around buck's shoulder. as per usual the concept of space does not seem to exist between the other men, and tommy's fingertips get wedged so tightly between their limbs that it feels like with just a little more effort, maybe they could do some damage. the sick, private, bourbon-drenched gutters of his mind surmise that maybe he'd let them.

he watches as they exchange a heated look and a hotter liplock, uncertain as to whether he'll ever get used to witnessing them like this. in the weeks following the fated night of their little home movie screening, tommy's been lucky enough to encourage and initiate several more exchanges of both kisses and conversation among the three of them.

"i... still want to be with you," evan had mumbled against his chest, as they laid in bed together the morning after their tag-team makeouts with eddie to the soundtrack of top gun's menu screen music on a muffled loop.

"i had hoped," was tommy's response. after a beat, "and eddie?"

buck had peered up at tommy, eyes so earnest and open and stupidly fucking blue. "yeah, yes, eddie," he'd said, almost apologetic. "i— i do want to be with eddie," like he had to.

"i know," tommy had told him, the organs in his abdomen heaving tumultuously. "it's okay, evan," he'd said, his heart a hummingbird fluttering frantic. like the idea wasn't sending his ribcage collapsing in on itself, he'd even managed, "i can leave whenever you're ready for me to go." he'd assumed all along that he was on borrowed time; couldn't be a beggar and a chooser.

buck, with love bursting forth from every single inch of his being, with more than enough to go around, had admitted to wanting tommy to stay, if tommy would be okay with it. he pitched the idea that they could talk to eddie, try this together, give it an honest shot.

tommy had flashed back to a childhood history lesson on the u.s. mint where he learned that certain coins aren't made in layers, but instead by melting all of the metals together to become a solitary slab. his copper edges fuse further into mirroring ponds of nickel.

three sides of the same coin, he'd thought to himself. imagine that.

"god, eddie," buck rasps now, voice low, clandestine enough to stay in the backseat. "want you so fuckin' bad."

eddie's answering, "jesus, buck, i— want you, too," honest and shameless, snaps tommy fully back into the present moment in perfect timing.

their rideshare driver whips into the driveway of tommy's house, personified stress wearing a thin windbreaker of customer service as he vocally ushers them out of the car — ahem, looks like we're here, have a pleasant rest of your evening, goodbye. as eddie and buck tumble out of the passenger's side rear door in a picture of resolute gracelessness, tommy, clutching stubbornly onto an ounce of awareness, pauses to give a rearview-mirror nod of thanks to the weary-eyed dude white-knuckling the steering wheel. he promises a significant gratuity for bearing with their shenanigans and lets himself out on the driver's side of the car.

while he steadies himself on his feet, gravel crackles under the wheels of the gratefully retreating sedan, headlight beams fading to shadow. tommy observes the silhouette of the inelegant, eight-limbed, two-headed harbinger-creature making its way to his home's front entrance in a clumsy tangle and waits for his innards to spike with fear, with reluctance. he meanders up the drive and overturns every stone lining the path to his warranted doom, expecting to find the tattered shreds of his decomposing clarity, or maybe a colony of vicious fire ants. all he finds is fertile, loamy earth, rife with potential.

he stumbles up his porch stairs and unlocks the door when he gets there, opening it for the lot of them to fall through together.

───────────────

together on tommy's mattress, buck and eddie writhe and moan and curse. they haven't been able to break apart since toppling out of the backseat. they kiss like it's the very thing keeping them alive.

from where he's snuggled up to buck's back, tommy's got a front row seat for the premiere screening of his most-likely demise. he can see the saliva bubblling on the edges of eddie's tongue as he smears it from buck's throat all the way to the cap of his shoulder, a glistening snail trail scattered through with blooming bruises he'd sucked into buck's skin minutes before. he can hear every wet catch of buck's breath in his throat, every soft grunt eddie lets out into against it, every exhale shared between them.

tommy's head spins, so god damn far from being on straight. he feels like a balloon released into the wind, miles above the cold and familiar waters of his deep-ocean, stranded somewhere in the high desert of his psyche. loose dry earth kicks up in a vortex around him, carried by the tempest of his culminating untended emotions. when the dust cloud settles enough for him to think, he recalls the term raison d'être.

it's french, that's why it sounds fancy, is what his father had said to teenage tommy, long before he'd cared to even attempt a grasp on the concept. he'd been moody, hormonal, and wildly, spitefully uninterested in all of the things the man he shared a name with held so dear. rolled his eyes at the gruff, translates to 'reason for being.'

"buck, buck, c'mon," is what eddie says as he scrabbles for a good grip on buck's shirt, taking fistfuls of fabric and wrenching it over buck's head in a frenzy. says, "come here," like buck isn't already melded into him, bare torsos flush, thighs slotted close. says, "come here," again, and it registers that eddie is calling for tommy, too.

tommy eyes snap onto eddie's across the naked curve of buck's shoulder to find them scalding. "fuck," he breathes out, "okay," like it's permission enough for all of them.

for now, it will suffice.

the skin stretched over buck's bulky trap muscle is tacky with eddie's spit when tommy sets his mouth against it, bursting salty-bitter on his tastebuds. buck whimpers into eddie's mouth and grinds his ass back against tommy's crotch; eddie's hips follow after them in a sinuous roll. into the blushing hollow of his ear tommy asks buck if he'd like to feel eddie inside of him, makes sure it's just loud enough for eddie to hear, too. he feels eddie's ankle hook around his own, overlapped with buck's.

"please, yes," urges buck, fervent and wanton, lust and liquor fraying the last threads of his hesitancy. "i've been wanting that."

"you have?" eddie asks, as tommy says, "he has."

"god." context aside, eddie's tone is reverent. he says it again, as though the word is synonymous with buck's name. then, like it's still a secret to himself, admits, "i've been wanting you, too."

buck groans and shifts, or maybe it's eddie — as tommy's faculties render off in the burn of both the top-shelf whiskey in his bloodstream and buck and eddie's immediate intimacy, it becomes progressively more challenging for him to distinguish the fine details. it all feels the same, gets identical synapses firing.

he tracks eddie's movements as he smooths a hand down buck's side, sure and attentive, as natural as breathing. when he keeps moving south to bump his fingertips up against the waistband of buck's jeans and the boxers beneath, buck's breath hitches, hips jerking. tommy tilts against them in pursuit.

eddie asks, "can i?" and it's double the approval he's seeking.

"yeah, eddie, please," buck begs again while tommy nods, delirious with overwhelm.

in an uncoordinated jumble, eddie gets buck flat on his back and makes himself a home between his open-lolling legs. right away his palms return to the broad planes of buck's chest, the curves of his strong stomach, the slight slants of his hips. he makes constellations out of kisses on buck's collarbone, his nipples, in the divot of his sternum.

it looks as close to worship as anything tommy's seen.

tommy wonders if it's worth telling eddie how he'd taken his time working evan open that morning, fucking him deep and thorough so he'd be easier for eddie to push inside of now. if it's worth telling eddie how he'd come, sudden and hard and so fucking good, from thinking about buck taking him so readily.

when eddie's devout, trembling fingers struggle to unclasp the button of buck's jeans, tommy decides to backburner the dirty talk. instead, he rests a hand on top of eddie's, gentle yet authoritative, and says, "let me help."

buck's hips lift for tommy's hands without second thought, making it simple to shuck the pants off of him as eddie shimmies out of his own. before he can even process the sight of evan buckley and eddie diaz naked, together, on his own mattress, tommy's met with twinning expectant gazes and understands that he's meant to strip, too.

"i—" thought i would stay on the sidelines, he tries to say. but as seconds pass under the scrutiny of the other men, the reluctance dies in his larynx, and he jostles around a bit until the denim of his pants is bunched down low enough to free his dick.

he's too preoccupied by the fact that he's got both objects of his affection directly in front of him, touching and loving on each other and spilling all of it onto him, to truly comprehend the magnitude of the moment. his head is so far into the atmosphere that he almost misses eddie say, "tell me what to do, tommy."

re-tethered to the earth by the string of eddie's voice, tommy doesn't miss buck's impatient, "aw, c'mon, eddie, just get in me." his desperate, "need you," is clear as day, clear as his afternoon sky irises, brighter against the rosy blush ruddying his cheekbones. he's always so damn pretty when he pleads.

tommy glimpses down at buck's dick, finds it stiff and pink and already leaking a mess onto his belly; he flicks across to the heft of eddie's where it rests heavy in the lax grip of his own hand. it's a beautiful cock, flushed dark and filled out, not quite as thick as tommy's but a nice, proportionate size. tommy knows buck will unfurl for him at once, a blossom to the morning sun.

meeting the bonfire of eddie's anticipative stare, tommy decides to say, "it won't take much, i got him ready for you this morning. right, baby?"

if buck could nod any more vigorously, he might snap his vertebrae. he adjusts the angle of his hips a little to make more of his ass visible, scoots onto a pillow so that he can prop himself up enough to get a better hold on eddie's waist.

"jeeesus," drawls eddie — a rare slip of his honeyed-rye texas lilt — and then, like he can't help it, "christ." his eyes rake down buck's body, idling on his twitching dick before trailing further, like he'll be able to find evidence: tommy was here.

that makes tommy smirk. he wishes he could keep his instructions ambiguous, left up for eddie's interpretation, something like he can handle whatever you're willing to give him. instead, mindful of the fact that this is largely uncharted territory for eddie, he suggests, "start with your fingers, you won't hurt him."

tommy's trusty bottle of nightstand lube is within convenient reach, making it no trouble to squeeze and slather some across eddie's fingers with a lewd jerk. a bit of extra coats the side of tommy's hand and he uses it to rub along the cleft of buck's ass, prompting a shiver out of him.

"there you go," tommy rumbles, "nice and wet."

the synchronous broken moan that the two let out when eddie finally finds the courage to nudge his fingers into buck is one that will most likely play like a broken-record loop within the walls of tommy's skull forever from this moment forward, for better or for worse.

buck promises, "i can take more," with the bleeding edge of a prayer still present in his tone. "i want more, want you, eddie, come on. it's alright, you can fuck me, you're not gonna break me."

eddie asks, "are you sure?" dually directed.

"never been more sure," buck affirms, as tommy says, "trust him, he knows his own limits," all the while knowing he can't make the same claim about himself.

regardless, he casts himself into the riptide, plummets into the undertow and captures buck's lips in a greedy kiss. he licks behind buck's teeth and drinks up his whines as eddie rides his dick along the slick valley of buck's asscheeks. before he even pushes inside, buck's making these fucking tiny wounded noises that make tommy's heart swell and cock throb.

when eddie lines up and sinks, at last, into the place inside of buck that tommy has come to learn and know and adore, buck breaks away from tommy's kiss with something close to a genuine sob. one of his hands finds one of tommy's, the other still firm on eddie's waist, keeping both of them close. he's got a leg hitched up over one of eddie's hips for better leverage, and his toes curl when eddie starts to move, shallow and slow.

eddie's name has never sounded better to tommy's ears than it does falling out of buck's lips now.

"buck." eddie's tone is reverent. he says it again, as though buck's name is synonymous with god, the two a singular entity within the confines of his skull.

tommy nearly has to look away from them, they blaze so brightly. evan buckley and eddie diaz, starfire contained in terrestrial form, crashing and combining and dazzlingly white-hot.

───────────────

white-hot aftershocks zap through tommy's nervous system as he sits at the edge of the mattress, back turned to the two other men. his fingers are gooey with spatters of buck's come mixed with his own, his softening dick sensitive and sticky as his entire body pulses from the dopamine spike of his orgasm. being a spectator to eddie and buck's otherworldly connection — and a helping hand in their ridiculously hot, intimate sex — has him feeling triply unmoored.

he's supposed to be getting them something hydrating to drink; he'd been the one to offer after eventually peeling himself free from the gordian knot of their bodies. evan always gets thirsty after, in particular when he gets a little teary from the pleasure overload, so tommy figures he could use a glass of cold water. they all could.

he tries to will his legs to stand; he finds his knees locked. impulse turns him inward and sweeps him cliffside on the tallest peak of his high desert mountain range. there, he can stand with his shoulders in repose and head in the clouds, squinting far into the distance where he can decipher the unmistakable expanse of an ocean that glints with the reflection of two incandescent stars careening towards each other at a devastating rate. a ghostly whale breaches the surface for a flash, a mere speck on the horizon from here, vanished before its presence totally registers.

his heavy eyelids flutter shut and he mulls, achingly, over the term raison d'être.

he can hear buck and eddie behind him exchanging lazy, smacking kisses and sweet murmured praises.

"you made that so good for me, thank you."

"mm, you were pretty fuckin' good yourself. now come kiss me some more."

the sounds and sentiments soak into tommy's soul like they're meant for him. his lips tingle as though the press of another mouth is against them; his ears warm as eddie waxes on about how fucking glorious that all felt. his heart swoops at evan's quiet, bashful laugh.

upon opening his eyes the fog in his line of sight clears, and even through a blur of unwanted tears he can clearly recognize that he is no longer in the desert but in the sacred place where the luminous sea laps at the heavenly shoreline. the call of the waves isn't far off at all — the surf is actually rippling at his toes, splashing at his knees and calves. he's been here since the night that eddie diaz kissed evan buckley in his lap, feet sunken into silt, warm tides rising and falling around him.

translates to 'reason for being.'

"come back to us, tommy," summons eddie, as evan's hands reach out and welcome him back down to their mess of rumpled sheets and sweaty limbs.

tommy thinks, i could be a river, and lets himself melt into the embrace of their current, stream into ocean, copper into nickel.

#bucktommy #buddie #bummie #this is so fucking extra. lmao #i was in my emo poetry feelings while writing okay #healing something in my teenage soul #i don't actually imagine them being quite *this* dramatic and complicated in actuality but god. is it a joy to write lmao #but i think it still has a happy(?) ending?? lmfao #idk. i just love writing messy + melodramatic + emotionally claustrophobic things #threw a whole kitchen sink of comparisons at the walls of this one and for better or worse many of them stuck ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#also this does feature some of my more unkind headcanons about tommy's father and related issues lmao #the gc is the originator/authority of the fact that our beloved tommy is not the first in a line of tommy kinards #and i personally believe that tommy had/has a contentious and complicated relationship with his family - namely his dad #and that he may or may not have a relationship with him at all anymore (obviously not in this fic because i decided to be over-the-top af)#but yeah #anyway #mine #oh and just a heads up - ao3 has proper capitalization and tags

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mariatesstruther · 6 months

Text

okay WAIT an eloise at christmastime x tlou au in which tommy and joel miller work at the plaza hotel to support their niece sarah, who gets to live at the plaza in exchange. ellie lives there too, for the same reasons—anna is working there as a line cook, and the plaza’s owner has allowed both of them to stay for as long as they need. tess is their general manager, and maria is the owner’s daughter, a law student at columbia who stays at the plaza to help out her father when she has the time

the plaza is owned by hank moreau, a hotel mogul who made a legacy being the first black man to own and manage the plaza through his longstanding hospitality company. he employed anna, joel, tommy, and tess at the plaza when he took-over, both as a thanks and as recognition for their hard work at his other hotels for years

okay so the actual plot: maria is coming back in town because she’s engaged and set to be married at the plaza, but her fiancé is actually a douchebag and tricking her into thinking he loves her so that he can steal her and hank’s money. sarah and ellie find this out somehow, probably hear him bragging about his plan to his buddies over poker as they sneak around in the adults-only area if the hotel. and theyre like!!!!!!! absolutely!!!!! fucking!!!!! not!!!!!!! we NEED to stop this guy!!!!!

exposition and maria/tommy first meeting under the cut 🫶🏾

sarah and ellie have known maria for years, since they were both little girls that had just moved into the plaza and maria had invited them both up to her penthouse suite for snacks and movies. she told them all the best places to hide, the best days to get free food from the banquet and the days to avoid, as well as who to go if they ever need help—including her, tess, and her father. point is, the girls love maria. they’ve always loved maria. so theyr’e Not Fucking with this Fiancée Asshole or this farce of a wedding

they also know that tommy is in love with maria, has been basically since the moment the two met, which was just a few weeks before that first sleepover. sarah and ellie were there to witness it all: they’d been messing around with tommy’s tool cart as he went through rooms and lame parts of the hotel to fix shit. sarah had sent ellie flying down the hall with it right as maria had been walking around the corner—ellie crashed into maria so hard, she’d been knocked into the wall behind her, the folder full of papers she’d been holding flying all over the place

tommy, sarah, and ellie had all winced at the crash. at that point, they were all new and nervous to be there, and they knew who maria was by name but had yet to meet her. still, without knowing who she was, all of them knew fucking around in front of the guests was the number one way to get kicked out of the plaza.

“jesus, girls. mira por donde vas!” tommy had immediately gone over to where she was on the floor, offering her his hand, expecting her to be pissed and for his and joel’s chance to give sarah a better future to go straight down the drain he’d just fixed.

but then he’d heard her start to laugh. and it was the most glorious giggle he’d ever heard. maria smiled up at tommy from the ground, papers fallen around her like snowfall and bringing out the sparkling white of her teeth—he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with her right then and there.

“ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, reverently taking the small, perfectly-manicured hand she’d slipped into his and pulling her up gently. “i am so, so fuckin’ sorry for that—i mean, uh—i apologize for them. think the girls got a lil’ too carried away.” the last part had been expressed pointedly over his shoulder at ellie and sarah, who were standing shyly by his cart with childlike embarrassment on both their faces.

“no, it’s fine, i’m just fine. no need to be sorry,” maria’s still laughing by the time she gets up, smiling right up into tommy’s face and—wow, is she beautiful. he doesn’t remember ever being stunned by anyone this much in his whole life. she’s got long, beautiful locs with loosely-curled hair at the ends, falling long down past her waist like rapunzel. wearing a short pink blazer dress and matching heeled loafers, she’s a confusing yet dazzling combination of intimidating and adorable. tommy feels the heat of her hand in his even after she lets go. “i may have needed the laugh, honestly. thanks, girls.” she directs the words to ellie and sarah kindly and genuinely, and tommy feels himself immediately warm to her as he watches the anxiety on their faces ease from over his shoulder.

“sorry for knocking the shit out of you, lady,” ellie says, and he cringes.

luckily, it only serves to make maria laugh once more, and the woman lifts a hand to wave away the apology. “i wasn’t watching where i was walking, anyway. my fault,” she insists kindly, then turns her attention back to tommy. he finds he likes being under the weight of her sharp, pretty brown eyes. “the real problem here is that i don’t recognize you guys, and i recognize everyone. are you new? i’m maria. maria moreau.”

“oh, shit,” tommy can’t stop himself from saying. he feels sarah and ellie both turn their eyes to him, instantly picking up on his nerves. he can see the amusement on maria’s face at his clear and shocked recognition. he immediately goes down to start picking up her fallen papers, hands fumbling as fast as his words. “we really are so, so sorry, ma’am, and didn’t mean to disturb your day. we don’t do this often at all, i promise ya. i just needed to watch them the girls while i took care of an emergency repair, so—,”

“jesus, cowboy, calm down,” maria cut him off immediately, voice amused and her smirk melting into a pleased, charmed smile. to tommy’s surprise, she drops right down to the floor next to him and starts collecting her papers beside him, uttering a small thank-you as he passes her the ones he’d already picked up. “i told you already, i needed a laugh. don’t worry about it.”

“so i won’t have to worry about your father comin’ to my door and firing me for nearly knockin’ the head off his daughter?” tommy’s tone is joking and light, but there is clear underlying anxiety in his voice as he asks. the quip is said low enough that neither sarah and ellie hear, the girls talking behind them as they pick up the few tools knocked from tommy’s cart in it’s collision.

“not if i have anything to say about it,” maria says, her tone light but serious. she gives him a long, pointed once-over that he can’t help but interpret as flirting, a blush heating up his face before he can control himself. “i really don’t recognize you at all, cowboy. i was right about you being new, wasn’t i?”

“yes, ma’am.”

“what’s your name?”

“tommy,” he responds as they both get up. at first, they end up just a tad too close, so he takes a polite step back as he hands her the last of her papers.

“tommy,” maria repeats back to him, and he feels a rush of something shoot up his spine, forcing him to stand up straighter and taller, at the sound of his name from her lips. she must notice, because she smirks at him knowingly as she holds her messy folder to his chest. “you don’t have to worry about a thing. i think i’d like to keep you around.”

and she had—well, her father had, technically. but maria had remained close friends with the millers and the williams for years, always treating sarah and ellie with gifts, stopping by the halls to talk with joel while he fixed pipes or by the kitchen to hang with anna while she did her prep—and always speaking, joking, and flirting with tommy every chance she got. they never became anything official; mostly because, according to joel and anna, tommy was always too chickenshit to ask her out. by the time maria finished her ADA training and moved out of state, tommy was surely in love with her but equally determined not to hold her back. he always wanted the best for her and believed she deserved far better than the maintenance man at her father’s hotel, so he held his tongue. she left. then she comes back with a complete douchebag of a fucking fiancée, set to be married at the plaza on christmas

and it’s up to sarah and ellie to stop the motherfucking wedding

for my mariatommy lovers, specifically @ameerawrites @bumblepony @clickergossip and @liveandletcry23

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