#and the way he was like tommy come look at this NONSENSE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fhatbhabiee · 5 days

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Cuz I Loved You | Part 3

DBF!Joel Miller x Reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: labor (nothing too descriptive), argument, mixed feelings, confessions, dad!joel, not beta'd, no physical description of reader

note: so idk if i wanna do a next part. i like the idea of an open ending- kinda leaving it up to y'all's imagination on how you want it to end, but if you guys would like a next part just let me know and i'll see what i can come up with- or if you just want drabbles based on this mini series shoot me some prompts in my inbox!

part 1 , part 2

You were sitting in the living room, going into full nesting mode and folding the loads of baby laundry you've been washing all day, when the doorbell went off. It threw you off guard- you weren't expecting anyone so who could it be?

You walked over and opened the door, only to feel your heart sink to the floor.

“Joel…”

His eyes went straight to your round belly, anger building up in his chest.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You didnt want to start over, remember?”

“That's my child! I'm it's father, I had a fucking right!” he yelled

“Yeah the child you never wanted! The child that you said was a dealbreaker before he was even real!”

“You still should have told me!!” You stepped back from him when he yelled again. His face was slowly turning red, veins and muscles becoming noticeable in his neck. You'd never seen him this mad before.

He let out a sigh, calming himself down before he said anything else. You both stood there for a moment, staring at each other and not knowing where to go from here. The silence was broken by the sound of Joel's phone ringing. He took his phone out and saw it was Tommy calling- most likely something happened at work.

“I gotta get goin..” you gave him a small nod. He looked at you again, like he wanted to say something but he just stayed quiet and made his way back to the truck.

Later that night you laid in bed, finger hovering over Joel's contact in your phone. You felt guilty. You truly thought not telling him about the baby was the way to go, but after seeing him get upset guilt filled your mind.

“Fuck it…” you muttered before tapping in his contact. It rang a few times until he answered.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just wanted to tell you that my moms throwing a baby shower this weekend at the house.”

“Do you want me there?” he asked.

“You don't have to come if you don't want to Joel, I was just letting you know.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “That your way of apologizing?”

“I wanna talk to you. Face to face.”

He let out a small sigh before responding. “I'll see you this weekend.”

— • —

There was blue everywhere- blue balloons, blue party streamers and a table piled high in the corner with gifts wrapped in blue gift wrap. Everyone was outside, chatting and enjoying themselves while you walked inside the house with your mom.

“Mom I think you went a little overboard…”

“Nonsense its my first grandbaby I had to.” she smiled, making you laugh. The back door slid open and closed, pulling your attention to who just walked in. His curls were slicked back, white button up tucked into black slacks and unbuttoned low enough to see his bare chest. Your heart fluttered at the sight of Joel. You couldn't tell if it was the pregnancy hormones or if it was the fact that he actually showed up.

“Hey.” he muttered giving you a small smile.

“Hey.” you smiled back. You looked over at your mom and gave her a nod. She gently squeezed your hand before walking back outside.

“You look beautiful.” Joel said, eyeing you up and down, admiring the blue sundress you had on.

“Thank you. You look good too.” you smiled. His eyes traveled down to your belly again and you noticed.

“Wanna feel?” you asked

“Can I?” you grabbed his hand and placed it on your belly. He smiled as soon as he felt the tiny foot press up against the palm of his hand.

“Wow he’s really in there huh?”

“Should see him at night.” you giggled. “It's like he doesn't sleep.” you leaned back against the counter and watched as Joel's hand traveled its way around your belly. You felt your heart swell. All you wanted was to kiss him and lay with him while he talks to your unborn baby.

“What do you want to do?” you asked, breaking the silence.

His hand dropped from your belly, leaning back against the counter next to you.

“When it comes to us… I don't know really, but I do know that I want to be a part of his life.”

You gave him a small nod. “Okay. You can take the gifts to your house, I have everything but a crib.”

“We can go look for one tomorrow if you want?”

“I have a doctor's appointment in the morning. We can go after.”

“Can I go? To the appointment?” he asked. You smiled and nodded.

“I'd love for you to go.”

— • —

“This damned thing.” he grumbled under his breath as he tried piecing the crib together.

“No, I think that part goes there.” Tommy muttered.

“It wouldn't make sense to go there.” Joel muttered back. You leaned against the door frame, crossing your arms over your chest.

“How many contractors does it take to put together a crib?” you asked, making the brothers face you and give you an offending look. “Don't look at me. There's a perfectly good manual sitting on the dresser.”

Joel scuffed. “Don't need no damn manual.”

“Well take a break. Dinners ready.”

“Sweet.” Tommy quickly got up and ran out the room leaving you and Joel alone.

“I could have called my dad to come put it together so you didn't have to spend your entire day off with me.”

“I don't mind darlin.. Plus I didn't really think you and your dad were on speaking terms.”

“Why wouldn't I be speaking to him?” you asked.

“Because he was the one that told me you were pregnant.” you scoffed, anger slowly building up in your chest. All this time you thought it was Tommy. After you saw him at the store you were sure he had told Joel but no. It was your dad.

“How?”

“Was over at his house for the game and he told me. Kinda just blurted it out.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Asshole.”

“Don't get mad at him. He was just thinking it was for the best-”

“It wasn't his place to say anything Joel.” you snapped.

“Okay okay just... Calm down. Remember what the doctor said this morning.”

Your doctor had put you on bedrest for the rest of your pregnancy, worried that your blood pressure was too high and if it stayed high you'd go into premature labor. You wanted to tell her to kick rocks, knowing you still had so much to do and didn't have time to be on bedrest but you had to take it seriously.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “You're right…”

“I'm sorry.” Joel placed his hand behind his ear and leaned down closer to you. “What was that?”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “I said you're right.”

“Mmm” he smirked. “How'd that taste coming out?”

“Like I'd rather cut my tongue out.”

— • —

It was time. You hated being a drama queen but your son was ready to come out and he was being very dramatic about his entrance into the world. To your luck, you were at your house with Joel when your water broke. You leaned over the back of the couch, slowly rocking back and forth as you watched Joel run around with his head cut off. Apparently after all those years he did forget what he was doing.

“Joel hurry up please.” you groaned as another contraction shot through your body. The pain was unbearable- like nothing you had ever felt before. All you wanted to do was curl up into the fetal position and cry.

“Alright I got everything.” he called out as he ran downstairs.

As soon as you got to the hospital they quickly put you into a room and started hooking you up to all these monitors. It was fairly quick because as soon as the doctor checked you she had you pushing. You leaned back into the hospital bed, panting and sweating

“I'm done.” you whined.

“Cmon darlin he's almost here.” Joel said in a soothing voice but you were at your wits end. The pain was too much and by the time you got to the hospital, it was too late for an epidural so you were feeling everything.

“It hurts Joel.” your voice cracked, nearly on the brink of tears. “It hurts too much.”

“I know it does sweetheart but think about our son. That sweet little boy you've been so excited to meet. All those nights you talked about having him in your arms- you finally get that. Just a few more minutes of pain, for a lifetime of happiness.”

Minutes later, the room filled with the cries of your newborn. Joel looked up, instantly falling in love with the crying baby. The nurses cleaned him up before placing him on your bare chest.

“Oh he’s perfect.” you smiled, gently kissing the top of his head.

“Beyond perfect.” Joel smiled. He gently nudged your shoulder, pulling your attention away from your son. “Proud of you mama.” he muttered.

“Couldnt have done it without you…” you admitted. His eyes glanced down at your lips. All he wanted was to press his lips against yours but it wasn't the time. Instead he kissed your forehead, making a small wave of disappointment wash over you. You really thought he was gonna kiss you, but maybe it was just your imagination.

“Do we have a name?” the nurse asked.

“I've always liked Blake.” Joel murmured.

“Blake Miller it is then.”

—

“Darlin do you want me to-” he got quiet as soon as he walked into your bedroom and saw you sound asleep with your newborn on your chest. He let out a quiet chuckle and gently picked up the baby from your chest, not wanting to wake either of you.

“Let's put you in your crib bud.” he whispered, gently rocking back and forth as he walked over to the crib you had tucked in the corner of your room. Before Joel set him down, he looked at the sleeping baby in his arms. He had the same grumpy look Sarah had when she was a baby, eyebrows scrunched together and lips puckered up. He has your nose and that was something Joel was very thankful for.

Your eyes fluttered open, not feeling the weight of your baby on you anymore. You turned your head and saw Joel staring down at him.

“Want you to know… Whatever happens between me and your mama I'll always love you with all my heart. I know I was scared before you came into the picture but… now that you're here, starting over doesn't seem so bad after all.” Blake let out a small coo, making Joel chuckle.

“Alright I'll shut up.” he kissed his forehead softly before setting him down in the crib and turning on the mobile. He turned around and saw you were still asleep. He pulled your blanket up to your chest and kissed your forehead before walking out of the bedroom. Your eyes shot back open as soon as you heard the click of your bedroom door close.

You clearly heard everything Joel just said. Now what?

divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel #joel x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #tw labor #joel x reader #joel x you

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livingemkayde · 9 months

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ch vi. bruises

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter six of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. ooof okay where to start, smut unprotected p in v, mentions of bruising from sex? fighting like actual real life fist fighting, rough but sweet sex, grinding, lowkey some cockwarming?? kinda unwanted kissing, tommy being annoying and somewhat overbearing, and unwanted touching, but not sexual. caroline. just, caroline. because she deserves her own warning for this one. no use of y/n.

summary: everything comes to a head at tommy's birthday party.

a/n: this is genuinely the longest part/chapter thing i've ever written so enjoy. tommy is really annoying in this one, im still deciding if he's going to have a redemption arc. sorry this took so long. as always, i love you all so much. MY TUMBLR LITERALLY SHIT ITS PANTS WHEN I TRIED TO EDIT THE TAGLIST SO IM SORRY IF YOU GUYS GOT TAGGED LIKE 400 TIMES.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel says, almost a whisper. You’re still not sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy. You can't take your eyes off Tommy’s gaze. From the looks of it, Joel’s question makes Tommy more angry and way more confused. “Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.” But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen.

You can almost remember it like it was yesterday.

A few weeks back, the first time you invited Tommy in for a drink after dinner. Sarah was asleep back at the house, Joel was doing — god knows what. The sun was set, the mosquitoes were probably out, and there was a quiet, even maybe too quiet silence when Tommy pulled up to your house.

He had asked what the rest of your plans were for the night.

You had said nothing much, not knowing it was an invitation — he stayed till 2 a.m. that night.

But it was okay. Because he made you laugh and you enjoyed his company. He was interesting. Tommy told you about how he never wanted to go into contracting in the first place. About his broken bones, his all time biggest regrets, how he was smitten with his old high school flame turned mean cheerleader until graduation.

It was the first time you ever realized he was — well — his own person in the sense. Not just Joel’s younger brother. But Tommy. Tommy Miller.

Maybe in another life Tommy might’ve even been good for you. A perfect pair — a match. He wasn’t mean and brooding and he certainly didn’t have 12 years on you.

And he made you smile. And he was genuinely—genuinely interested in your life. Your post grad prospects, college, books, and even how you played soccer just like Sarah when you were younger.

But when he leaned in that night, closer to you than ever before. You froze. Like genuinely frozen, and you couldn’t even dare to look down to his slowly approaching lips, let alone how his arms caged you in.

“First kiss?” you remember him asking.

You had just stuttered out nonsense, not wanting to breathe too hard and run the risk of pushing your lips flush with his.

“I — um —” you nervously laughed. You couldn’t even think—not in the way you should—not when the first person that comes to mind when Tommy says, kiss is his brother.

He had leaned in closer then—more tentative. Like you were a scared deer in headlights or a frightened kitten and he was inching forward, wanting to move closer.

But you didn’t really do — anything.

And he had pulled back a bit, gave you a teasing look and a ruffle on the head and continued with the conversation.

In all honesty you were scared that he might've been inching forward to kiss you. The small fear settling through a slightly erratic heartbeat and nervous laughs.

You were scared then, but can’t really remember the last time you’ve felt this kind of fear.

Hurt, discomfort, shock, maybe.

And although it was being quickly replaced with anger, you don’t remember this feeling — this kind of fear. Not even the kind you get from watching a scary movie — where you can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins and then dissipating when the screen goes dark, and the lights turn back on and all you have to worry about is if the scary nun from the big screen will appear in your dreams.

You can remember all the last times you’ve gotten mad, sure. Mainly at the Miller brothers.

But never fear — well, not until right now.

Because whoever that Tommy was is definitely not the same guy staring back at you right now, with a bruised fist, an angry look swirled with hurt marked permanently on his face and one emotion that you can definitely place behind his eyes — jealousy.

Some hours earlier.

You spread colorful tablecloth over the mismatched tables in Joel’s backyard. The string lights are being hung up, Joel stands on a ladder towards your right, the sound of a hammer echoing through the small backyard.

You pick your phone out of your back pocket, checking the time. You also find it in you to check Tommy’s texts again, but no other messages have been sent since last night. You look down at your phone — at the messages — and sit against one of the tables.

Yesterday:

You: can we talk in person?

Tommy Miller: I’ll see you tomorrow at the party?

You hadn’t seen the text until this morning, when Joel and you found it in yourselves to get out of bed, have a shower, and start setting up for the party. So when you saw it, you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.

You’re a bit nervous at the prospect. You did not want to talk to him at his party—honestly just trying to text him so that the air would be cleared for the party.

But his words echo in your mind.

“Just think ‘bout it before you say no.”

You let out a cursed sigh.

Tommy had to know. Right?

If he knew the dreaded ‘no’ was already braced on your lips he had to know. That this thing between you and Tommy would never work out. That you’re way better as friends. That it would ruin everything — the dynamics of it all — that you were smitten with his brother and you guys had just slept together for the second time without Tommy’s knowledge and that—

“Alright?”

Joel stands in front of you, dipping his head to see a scowl marked on your face. You quickly — maybe even too quickly — forget about the messages, hell, forget about Tommy.

Because Joel looks handsome. He’s always handsome, you’ve thought since the moment you met him at the bar. There’s something intoxicating about him, his arms, the curve of his neck. His brooding nature does him justice — a uniqueness about him that makes you want to uncover more, learn more, see more.

You remember last night—very vividly through small ebbs and flows of sleep. The moonlight seeped into your skin as you both rolled around in gray sheets.

It makes your cheeks heat a bit at the thought.

You remember everything. Every little detail. You don’t think you’ll ever forget.

You tuck your phone back into your pocket.

“Yeah, sorry. ‘S just…” you trail off, he nods his head in understanding, coming closer to you.

He braces his hands on either side of your body, caging you in. Your faces study each other’s mere inches apart.

“Tablecloth givin’ you trouble?” Joel teases in a soft whisper, looking down at your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Funny,” you say with a grin and run your tongue over your lips.

“You need help, baby, all you gotta do is ask.” Joel’s small smile plays on his lips for a fleeting second. You miss it as soon as it’s gone.

“Duly noted. But I’m not the one who’s been hanging up string lights for the past hour.”

He pats your ass a bit, teasing you and pushing out a playful sigh.

“Perfection takes time.”

Joel’s beginning to dip his head to kiss you, but you find it in you to bite back.

“And yet the left side’s still lower than the right,” you whisper, pulling your head back slightly. He turns quickly to look at the fence, but gives you a harder slap on your ass when he realizes the lights are, in fact, straight.

Joel chuckles, pushing off from the table, you turn back around to continue fixing the cloths, and look back at him over your shoulder.

He’s looking back at you too.

“You’re killin’ me,” he says, and you smile to yourself when you turn back around.

You look around the backyard and check your phone for the millionth time since the party started. You can hear Sarah running around, screaming a bit while jumping into the pool. But your brows furrow when you find that Tommy still hasn’t texted you.

You spot a tuft of red hair swinging through your vision and spin to find Janet Baker squeezing through the crowd.

“Janet!” you say, approaching her quickly. You’re happy to see her—Tommy didn’t invite many people you’re familiar with.

“Hey, Doll. Thanks for the invite!” she says, pulling you into a quick hug, but when she sees the look on your face, her mouth drops into a frown. “Sweetie, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I—Tommy didn’t…I don’t really know anyone here,” you reply while sheepishly looking around the small, bustling backyard. It’s the kind of feeling you try your best to avoid. Like everyone is in on some secret joke that you have no clue about. Or everyone knows each other and you can’t even put faces to names because you don’t know any names—like right now.

“‘S fine—I’m happy to see you made it,” you let out a defeated chuckle.

“‘F course, baby. Charlotte really wanted to see Sarah,” she nods towards the girls in the pool, Charlotte’s red hair looking strikingly similar to the woman standing in front of you. Janet seems to be on her second drink of the afternoon, you saw her tipping back a solo cup out of the corner of your eye earlier.

“What are you drinking?” you ask her, nodding at her cup.

“Someone brought a fancy lookin’ wine I popped open,” she says, giving you a sly smile. “Why don’t we get you a drink? You’ll like this,” she says, you don’t have much time to react, she’s already pulling you towards the drink station.

You both settle into a comfortable silence, looking around the backyard while Janet pours your drink.

“So,” she says, giving you a wink.

“So…” you echo, sending a nervous laugh her way.

“Who’s that girl,” she nods towards Caroline while passing you a cup, you take a big sip, Janet fills it back up to the top without a second glance.

“Caroline,” you say looking at her and Joel. They’re talking to some other people, a small group of them congregating by the barbecue.

“Caroline…” Janet tests out on her tongue, willing you to continue.

“Caroline—Joel’s,” you can’t help but chuckle. “date. I guess.”

“That bother you?” she says, finishing the bottle of wine while the two of you walk back towards the edge of the pool so she can watch Charlotte and Sarah.

“Nope,” you say, and it’s not a lie. Sure, it might be a little weird to see another woman clinging to his arm after yesterday. But you know now. And that’s all that matters.

“Joel can—” you laugh again, “—Joel can do what he likes.”

Janet stops walking suddenly. You tear your gaze away from Joel and look at her with a confused furrowed brow.

“Sweetie…” she says with eyes that look way too knowing for your comfort or peace of mind.

“Janet…?” you say, though her gaze just intensifies.

“You mean to tell me it happened since I last saw you?”

Your eyes widen, a shocked look crosses your face and you quickly try to replace it with a bad mask of confusion.

“W-what? I—”

“Don’t lie to me, doll,” she warns, and she looks like she really means it.

“Janet…” you say in a not as effective and halfhearted warning tone back.

“Don’t you dare,” she wags her finger—a final warning.

What has gotten into you and why can’t you find it in yourself to lie to this woman?

“Don’t te—” she gasps, “Janet, I mean it. Do not tell anyone.”

She shuts her half open mouth and makes the my lips are sealed motion across her face. You laugh while stealing a glance at Joel.

“I told you,” she whispers to you in a hush, joining your eyeline towards Joel.

You stay silent for a moment, just taking everything and everyone in—but at the same time just looking at Joel. when you finally break the silence you’re a bit shocked at your question. You’ve never talked about Joel like this with someone who actually knows him. Everything has always been a secret—like you were supposed to be ashamed or something. You never were.

“How did you know?” you ask, hushed. You’re not sure she’ll even hear you.

“Would love to say it was intuition, sweetie—but—it was him. It was written all over his face.”

You stayed with Janet for the better portion of the hour, all through silent peaks at your phone to see if Tommy had texted you. When it was getting to the point where people were getting curious, you’ve just about had your limit.

You approach Joel quickly, you don’t miss Caroline’s stunned face but you really can’t be bothered with—that—right now.

“Joel?” you ask, pulling at his arm a bit, he excuses himself from the group and follows you towards the backyard's edge.

“Where the hell is your brother?” you whisper.

“He’s not here?” he asks, the same hushed tone also pushing through his voice at your question.

“No! I called him, but he’s not responding,” you pipe back while pulling out your phone. Though the lack of notifications from Tommy—just as before—tells you enough.

You both look at each other for a fleeting second. But the same worried look is probably etched on both your faces — fuck.

“This fuckin’ guy,” Joel mutters under his breath while pulling out his own phone and then putting it up to his ear.

You pace around the small area you and Joel are in, observing the unfamiliar faces.

“Nothin’,” Joel grovels, taking a peak over the fence towards the street to see if Tommy's truck has pulled up. “I’ll try ‘im again — just — you should mingle,” he says, still looking down at his phone.

“‘S fine. I don’t really know anyone here anyways,” you say absentmindedly, looking through your phone for Tommy’s contact and putting your phone up to your ear.

You hear yelling and shouting from the entrance to the backyard. You slowly lift your head, reluctant to tear your eyes away from frantic texts.

You spot him, in all his glory. Tommy Miller. Two hours late to his own birthday party—though he looks like he couldn’t care less, hugging old friends and new ones. He spots your eyes in the crowd and you can’t even be bothered to smile, a frown is almost permanently placed on your face—Late to your own birthday party?

He nods his head toward the house, a silent invitation to talk when he’s done greeting the guests. You nod back and turn to Joel, Tommy turns to everyone else.

“He’s here,” you say, pulling Joel out of his own phone, he does a double take towards the entrance and huffs out a groan.

“Goddamn idiot,” Joel says, running his palm over his eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go—” you say, nodding towards the house, towards Tommy.

“Yeah. Alright,” he replies, though he looks a bit concerned and unfocused, looking towards Tommy, then back to you, “You need me, ‘m there.”

“‘M not telling him about us on his birthday and It’s Tommy, Joel.”

Tommy—harmless.

Though Joel’s look sends a sweat to your palms for some reason. You don’t know why he’s worried.

It’s Tommy. It’s fine.

Right?

You hope as much as you make your way through the crowd. You beeline for the house and slip past the sliding doors into the kitchen where cups and bags of chips lay open and equally sprawled.

You can hear the door slide open and shut again behind you as you try and salvage the mess.

“Baby,” Tommy says, rounding the corner and coming close to you, “‘M sorry. The concrete guy was supposed to drop off the shipment tomorrow but he came today and needed a signature—”

“Tommy, it’s okay,” you almost have to will yourself to say. You also have to remember it’s his birthday.

He looks down.

“‘S okay. It’s your birthday. Happy birthday,” you reassure with a small smile.

“Looks great out there,” he says, fiddling with his phone in his hand.

“Thanks.”

You’re suddenly a bit nervous. You hadn’t really thought about everything that had happened when Tommy being late to his own birthday party was blanketing all the drama. But he’s here now, and you have no idea what to say. Maybe it would be better to not say anything at all—not address the fact that he asked you out, or you and Joel. But that guilty gnawing feeling eats you alive the longer you stand in silence.

“Joel helped you?”

“Yeah. I went shopping yesterday and dropped off the stuff here then we set it up this morning,” you say, nodding towards the backyard and then your car parked out front.

“You went shopping on your own?” he almost sounds offended.

“I wanted to go on my own.”

Tommy doesn't look convinced.

“Really, T. ‘S fine,” you brush off, leaning back against the kitchen counter and crossing your arms. He stares at you from the other side of the kitchen.

“Caroline here?” he asks, a hesitant look on his face as he switches from looking at the ground to your face—almost like he’s looking for a reaction.

“She’s out there somewhere,” you nod, keeping a neutral face masked with a small smile. “You should mingle. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

But he doesn’t move, he just keeps fiddling with the case on his phone again, looking down to the floor—his feet.

“I— you said you wanted to talk in person.”

Shit.

You both look at each other, waiting. A game of cat and mouse.

“It can wait, T. Enjoy your party,” you say, gesturing to the crowd outside.

“Is it about—is it about what happened Friday?”

“Tommy,” you say, almost warningly. This situation is shitty enough as is. You really don’t want to spoil everything—even if there’s nothing left to spoil.

He doesn’t say anything. His thumb fiddling with his phone is the only sound coming from inside the kitchen. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Almost unbearable. You crack way quicker than you’d hope to last.

If he wants it like this, at his own birthday party, then so be it.

“Fine. I just—I wanted to…” you scramble for words but they jumble in your mind.

“I’m—” you fall short again. “About what you said. What you asked me. I don’t think that it’s…something I want. I’m—sorry.”

“You don’t think it’s something you want? Or you know that—”

“Tommy,” you say, giving him an awkward stifled laugh. Like he’s being childish with his response. Because he is. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”

He turns away from you suddenly, towards the window above the sink and just stares at it for a long time. You can see his chest puffing. When he finally turns back around, it’s different. It’s the Tommy you know.

“‘S okay,” He says.

Maybe he’ll get over it quickly—you hope.

“Are you okay? I’m—I mean I hope that this doesn’t change anything since I’m still gonna be around—” you lift your arm up to run a ragged hand across your forehead and through your hair, you don’t even notice that your shirt riding up, “— I just don’t want it to like—”

“What is that?”

Your eyes snap to Tommy’s, confused. You think he might be looking out the window again but his eyes trail to you, but lower. Like he’s looking at your hips—because he is. You’re still confused for a second, before examining your shirt, looking for stains or anything out of the ordinary. But you don’t find anything, your top spotless.

“What? I don’t—”

“No—” he takes a couple quick steps forward, into your space, you try to find his eyes—yours blown out with confusion and shock but his are trained and laser focused to your waistline.

“What’s—” he tries to pull up your shirt, you shove him back out of reflex. “You’re hurt, what happened t’you?”

He almost pins down your hands to see your skin under your shirt, dipping his head to look at your waist and hips and you suddenly know. You know there are hand shaped bruises littered across the skin of your waist, turning it deep purple. Handprints that match Joel’s exactly—almost like they’re burned into you. You saw it this morning. It’s why you didn’t bother to put on a swimsuit and decided to keep a top on instead.

What’s even worse is you know Tommy saw it too.

“Tommy!” you’re yelling now, fighting his grip.

You slip up, unable to get a good hold on his wrist like he now has on yours and he pushes the shirt up to reveal the bruises.

“What the hell is that?”

“Fucking—get off!” he backs away with your second shove, a different kind of look on his face. “Jesus,” you huff out, yanking your shirt back down.

You both stand there. A pregnant silence between you. You can almost hear the gears turning, he stares blankly. Putting it all together. Like maybe you’re not hurt, but you wanted it—wanted it from another man. Somewhere in the back of his mind he might keep wishing someone hurt you so he didn’t have to feel so betrayed. So when he asks, it’s like he doesn’t want to admit that it’s true—the quiet possibility of someone else in the picture.

“Who,” he says slowly, pointing down to your waist, “did that?”

“Tommy—” you say, but footsteps cut you off, you both turn your head to the entrance of the kitchen as Joel rounds the corner. He looks out of breath and his eyes flicker from Tommy and his finger pointing down at your waist then back to you.

“We alright in here?” Joel stands, hesitant, his fingers play with the bottom hem of his shirt in an anxious way. Like he doesn't know what he’s just walked in on—you’re not entirely sure you know the answer to that either. You aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy so you stay silent, waiting for the man in front of you to respond.

“Yup,” Tommy replies, too angry to be believable.

Joel looks at you but he doesn’t say anything. Not out loud.

No. You try to say with your eyes. We are definitely not alright in here.

“Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.”

But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen.

He stands beside you, putting a flat sprawled palm on Tommy’s chest and silently tries to push him backward. But Tommy breaks first, pushing Joel’s hand off him, staggering back while looking at you and Joel.

And maybe he gets it then, you think. Because Tommy lets out a deep chuckle—like you’ve got clown makeup on. Like he’s never seen anything more funny. He’s a lot of things but he is not fucking stupid. So he looks past Joel to your eyes. To your face, almost covered—ridden—in guilt and he can see everything.

“Really?” Tommy says, not sparing Joel a glance.

“You put your fuckin’ hands on her?” Tommy says, almost at a whisper which makes it all the more intimidating. You can see Joel’s back puff, his anger rising. But you also know Joel would never hurt his brother. Not on purpose.

But you’re scared. You’re really fucking scared in this moment because Tommy is entirely too worked up and you know whatever excuse Joel is going to say won’t help.

“Easy,” Joel says, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

You’re sweating. The hot summer of July in Austin getting to you. They stare at each other for a long time. Like at the kitchen table, like when you all first met. But this time, Tommy breaks, and his eyes flicker to yours, he takes a tiny step to the side so he can see you better.

“Is this why? Is this why you’re fuckin’—jesus, fuck. ‘S this why he went to get you a tire?” you stand, you can’t really say anything, your stunned figure doesn’t move.

“He hurt you,” Tommy breathes out, his voice almost breaking if he wasn’t so angry. You shake your head.

You both know that the bruises aren’t from hurt. That they’re far from it.

“He didn’t,” you reply.

“No, no, baby. He’s—you’re—” Tommy almost looks like he can’t believe it, shaking his head, switching between you and Joel. The look you give him shuts him up, and makes him back away, until Joel unclenches his fists and relaxes his shoulder a fraction.

“I didn’t really want to tell you like this, I was—”

“Fucking my brother?” he bites back, interrupting you.

That makes you a bit mad. You’re not in love with his attitude, nor his tone. It’s not like he has any right. It’s not like either of them do.

Joel moves to speak but you do it first.

“Don’t give me that,” you say, almost laughing, though the situation is not funny, not in the slightest. “We’re not dating, Tommy. We never were.”

Caroline strides in at that, looking at the scene unfolding in the kitchen. She stops short of the three of you, her mouth slightly agape. You roll your eyes, fucking perfect. Let’s just bring the party in here instead. You’ll give it to the woman. She has impeccable timing.

“Needed some napkins…” she trails off, holding the empty napkin stand in her right hand up so everyone can see. “I—I can come back.”

“Did you know?” Tommy turns to her, gesturing to you and Joel.

“Tommy,” Joel says from in front of you, a warning. Tommy ignores him.

“Did you know?” he asks again, Caroline stares back shocked. But she does consider it, rolls the idea around in her head before speaking.

“Them two?” Tommy nods. “Her?”

Okay. You really don’t love that tone. You silently chastise yourself for thinking she was nice at the bar when your first instinct was that she was a bitch—because she is. You were waiting for her snarky undertones or spoiled takes to show. You knew it was coming, you just didn’t know when.

“No, ‘f couse not.” She’s almost laughing, like it could never be possible. It hits you harder than you’ll ever admit. “She’s — you’re…young,” she says, looking at you.

Tommy gestures to you and Joel like he’s saying, well believe it, because it’s true.

Joel moves faster than you can comprehend. He’s got a tight grip on Tommy’s arm. He probably doesn’t even have to say anything, Tommy knows what’s happening. But Joel warns him anyway—again.

“Quit,” he growls. You’d guess this might be the point where Tommy usually backs down. But this situation is far from usual.

“Or what?” Tommy bites back. When Joel doesn’t respond he continues. “You gonna mark me up? Leave me all black and blue?”

Tommy doesn’t stop there, you try to move past Joel but he stops you, turns his head to you slightly, a hardened look in his eye.

“Oh, I forgot you’d probably like that, huh?”

Joel remains frozen for a couple fleeting seconds before whipping around and pushing Tommy into the back counter. You’re rooted to your place, you don’t even care that Caroline is still in the corner, holding the fucking napkin holder in the air.

“What’d you say?” Joel barks in Tommy’s face.

“Look at her fuckin’ stomach, dude!” Tommy throws the words in his face, pushing him back slightly and making a vague gesture in your direction, it causes your feet to move towards the brothers before you can think.

Joel backs off then, sneaking a tiny glance at you out of the corner of his eye, like he really is thinking about the marks he left on your waist. He had seen them this morning, ran his fingers over them too, and saw how the notches matched the curves of his fingers perfectly. But you kissed him, and told him it was okay. That it was more than okay. Maybe even whispered that you liked it between muffled groans. So when a glint of guilt flashes in his eyes it makes your heart break more than it already has.

“She said no,” Joel says, looking back at Tommy. A tense silence follows—like you’re not sure if Joel is going to continue or Tommy is going to bite back.

“Get back to your party,” Joel growls after a while. You bite your lip.

Tommy looks at Joel with unwavering eyes. His glance turns towards the window where he can see the bustling crowd—can almost hear the laughter. Then he looks down to his hand, outstretches it, undoes his gnarly fist, and when it curls back up again, you finally bite.

“Tommy!” you say, moving closer. But it’s too late. Joel’s figure knocks to the side and his hand instinctively grabs his face, his nose, his eye. Maybe the worst part about it all is that Joel doesn’t even look remotely surprised, or that he wants to fight back—he just stays there, a little hunched over when you yelp in shock and Tommy groans, shaking out a now bruised fist.

“Fuck,” you almost yell, your body doesn’t know what to do between bending down to see Joel’s face and looking at Tommy—at his face—because you don’t recognize him.

Joel almost huffs out a laugh, and to shut him up, to get him to bite his tongue, you speak again.

“Okay. We’re done here,” you say, pushing Joel towards the entrance of the house, towards your car.

And Caroline is there, pushing Tommy towards the couches and for the first time, you’re grateful for her.

The ride back to your house is silent after a short and quick bicker about who can drive. You think Joel might want to sit in the driver's seat so you can’t see the quickly forming bruises on the left side of his face but you make a decent argument, enough to settle him in the passengers—looking out the window.

You send Janet a quick text, asking if she can watch Sarah for a few hours. Brother emergency. Janet replies back and says the girls haven’t gotten out of the pool since you left. It makes you smile a bit, despite it all.

When you park in your driveway, you hop out quickly, Joel following closely behind. He waits there, right behind you, when you pull out your house keys, and waits when you unlock the deadbolt and waits when you push through the door.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, nodding towards the couches and dropping your keys in the bowl.

You disappear into the kitchen and brace your arms on the counter, your head hanging between your shoulders. You let out a deep, ragged breath and try to control your heartbeat.

“Fuck,” you mumble, shaking out your wrists, grabbing two advil from the bottle on your counter, a glass of water, and peas from freezer.

Joel’s sitting on the loveseat, looking down at his hands. You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either. He just takes the water and pills from your hands and swallows it silently. You extend the peas to him, he thinks about it for a while and when you shake them again, huffing, saying—just fucking take them. He finally obliges.

You get a good look at his cheek when he turns to set the water down on the table and you have to stop yourself from gasping.

“Joel,” you murmur, reaching for him, bending down, he stops you, grabs your wrist, then grabs your hand. But he’s gentle. Not like Tommy. Joel’s gentle.

“‘S fine,” he says, and winces when the peas touch his face. “‘M fine.”

You settle in between his legs, looking down at him. He’s got one hand on his face, holding the peas, and the other, wrapped around the back of your thigh. He doesn’t even want to look up at you. It breaks your heart.

“‘M sorry,” you say quietly, his hand on your thigh trails upward. He plays with the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to take a peek at the purple that lies there.

He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, running a gentle, ghost-like touch across the bruises.

“He — saw it. I don’t…” you look down to your stomach. You can see the shape of his fingertips so clearly. It’s no wonder Tommy reacted how he did. “It was an accident.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t shake his head. He tosses the peas onto the table and pushes the cotton of your shirt up further, to where he can see all of it—all the black and blue there.

“Are you mad?” you whisper, hesitantly, as he stares at his own hands, his own branding.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you say, begging, “Please.”

“He did that cause—,” you breathe out, taking his chin in your pointer finger and thumb and getting your first good look at his cheek, “—it’s-’s my fault, I should’ve—”

“C’mon. Don’t do that,” he says, cutting you off, nipping your apology in the bud, “I should be the one who’s sorry, this is — I hurt you.”

You shake your head.

“You know that’s not—you know that I—” you stifle a short chuckle.

“That you what?”

You let out a couple hot breaths, looking down at him, the purple around his eye slowly taking shape.

“That I liked it.”

Joel bends forward then, and you gasp. The dull scratch of his beard is the only thing keeping your eyes open. He trails his hot breath across your stomach, and leaves gentle kisses on your sides, on your bruises.

“Joel,” you mumble, and you hate how your voice sounds so breathy, maybe even desperate. You tangle your hands in his hair, grasping at the nape of his neck he pulls you down, closer, so you’re slotted in his lap, straddling him. Joel pulls back and looks at your face, brushes the fallen hair from your eyes.

“I meant what I said,” you start, he furrows his brow, “Still—mean it.”

From the look in his eyes he knows what you’re talking about. The words you slipped into his ear last night.

‘S you, Joel — it’s-’s always been you.

“But if this is—if Tommy—” you cut yourself off, correcting your words, “If I messed it up—”

“Sweetheart,” he says. Your heart pulls, you almost put your hand on his cheek, but you see the rising skin and settle for his shoulder. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Are you sure?”

He pulls you down further, so you’re flush against him. He studies your eyes and rubs at your waist, your hips. It sends a little fire down between your thighs.

“‘M here—‘M…I’m right here,” he mumbles, and shakes his head. Like he’s telling you no to any silent thoughts of doubt that might be floating around your head.

And then he pulls your head down to kiss you.

It’s needy, and hot and everything you want at this moment. He’s everywhere and you can feel his growing arousal between your legs. You both needed this—you think. After everything, after—fucking—Caroline and Janet Baker and Tommy Miller. You both needed each other so bad that when you grind down onto him he lets out a little desperate groan into your mouth that spurs you on.

Joel slips his hand under your shirt and finds the hardened peak there. He pinches it and rolls it between his fingers, it sends your hips forward and suddenly he’s sitting up, and shucking your shirt off.

He grabs your hips and moves you against him, your most vulnerable spots grinding against each other. Giving you both blown out eyes and puffy lips and panting breath.

“Sh–it,” you gasp when your shorts catch on your clit perfectly.

“Pretty,” he says, grasping at your tits, at anything he can find while you grind against his length. “fuckin’—pretty like this.”

You claw at his belt and before you know it, he’s lifting you up so you’re on your knees and he’s pulling his pants past his hips. You get the memo and take your shorts off, tossing them behind you. When you sink back down onto his lap, you can feel his cock slip between your wet lips down there.

“Fuck, Joel,” you say, gliding along his cock, soaking it. You can feel all of him now—grinding along his hardness—the girth of him fitting perfectly between your swollen lips.

“Angel,” Joel pants out, through sloppy kisses. You look at him. He’s got a desperate look on his face. Like he couldn’t wait just like you. Not even to get upstairs to your bedroom or to get all his clothes off. Like he’s been wanting this all day. Just like you.

You move up and reach down, feeling the wet mess you’ve both made down between your legs. You find his cock, hard and wanting, and position it at your entrance. The head sinks past your walls, enveloping it somewhere deeper and you both groan at the feeling.

You sink down on him slowly, you’re by no means physically ready to take him. But you can’t wait any longer. He kisses you, and down to your neck, making it easier to ease yourself down onto him, and when you finally reach the end, and you’re seated fully in his lap, you both gasp.

Your walls clench around him, eliciting a quiet groan from Joel somewhere near your neck. Your eyes roll back in your head, your forehead drops onto his shoulder. You both just sit there, waiting for the other to make a move.

It’s kind of like a game.

See how long you can both relish in each other’s warmth — the first person who moves loses.

Your walls tighten again and he lets out another groan, “Jesus,” he mumbles, nipping at your neck. You’re slowly adjusting to him, relaxing around him. It makes you shudder.

You realize he’s not really touching you. He’s got his hands on your thighs, but they’re just resting there. Not squeezing or gripping your hips like you know he so desperately wants. Maybe he’s scared, you think. From everything that’s happened today. From the consequences his touch barred.

But you didn’t care about the consequences. You liked his touch, needed his touch, just as much as he needed something to hold him back down to earth, anchor him to you—in you. And afterall, you just want him to feel good. Feel better.

“Touch me,” you gasp out, reaching down to his hands.

“Am touchin’ you,” he forces out, panting near your ear. His thumb absentmindedly pushes down on the skin of your thigh a fraction harder and then eases up, like he’s saying this is the best I can do.

“No, Joel,” you moan, rock your hips a little, moving first, moving frantically and suddenly, “touch me,” you say into his neck, reaching down to usher his hands to your hips, your waist, you.

Joel gets it then, the silent permission. The it’s okay, and grips you harder, but not as hard as you know he would like. It’s good enough for you because he moves your hips, rocking you up and down onto his length—having enough of the senseless grinding.

“Fuckin’ good—” Joel groans, your hands fly to his shoulders, his hair. “You feel good.”

Your legs grow tired, he can tell. You try your best, but you’re sweaty and tired and fucked out, and when he hits a spot deeper inside you that makes you moan out, louder than before, and you almost collapse onto him. He ruts into you a little. Meeting you halfway. Fucking you deeper—maybe even a bit faster.

Your legs ache and you feel a sheen of sweat wash over both of you. And Joel’s eye is fucked up, his cheek too. Tommy is sitting back at the house—or god knows where—with a possible broken hand, Janet baker is watching Sarah instead of you or Joel, Caroline is still back at the house, and everything is a fucking mess, but it’s so right. He feels so right. He’s — he’s right.

You’re close then, the coarse hair on him inching you toward your climax. He knows, he can feel it from the inside. You don’t even have to say it this time, your question for his permission. He can see it already braced on your lips but he shuts you up with a kiss, a sloppy one, where he sticks his tongue into your mouth and your walls tighten around him again.

“Yes,” he says with a moan into your mouth, “yes, yes—ah.”

“Fuck,” you say tightening around him, becoming breathless and boneless, but Joel holds you up. He always does.

He grips you tighter, like how you know he wanted to, and you relish in the feeling. His thrusts become desperate and you brace yourself on the back of the couch so he can rut up deeper, chasing after his own orgasm. You can’t really breathe. Not when he’s everywhere.

“Shit,” he says, rocking into you.

Joel cums hard, holding onto you, wrapping you up in his arms as he groans somewhere near your temple. You let it spread through you, the mess of it all. He keeps you locked in his arms, even when you think he might pull away.

He finally pulls you off him, when he says it becomes too much and you sit on his lap, playing with his curls. When you both settle from your panting you can’t help but ask.

“What are we gonna do?” you say quietly to him.

“I dunno,” he grabs your hand and gives it a quick kiss. The bruise on his face is turning an ugly shade of purple. And the peas have gone warm, creating a small puddle on the coffee table. And your phone keeps buzzing from the entryway.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, running a hand on your thigh.

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. kisses!

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

In a Pinch

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

Joel keeps throwing his back out, but Ellie knows just who to go to for help.

warnings | 18+ allusions to smut, that's literally it, fluff ahead

a/n | is this entirely self-indulgent nonsense? why yes, yes it is. also, this ficlet belongs to the sweetness universe, but can totally be read on its own

.............................

This is the third time this week that Ellie has come home from her classes at the community school to find Joel sprawled on the floor with a pained look on his face.

“Back hurting again, old man?” He huffs, glancing at her from where he’s laying on the living room floor.

“I’m just– stretching.” She snorts at that.

“Oh yeah? What’s this pose called? I’ve given up-dog?” She bursts out in laughter, impressed by her own joke. Their pretty teacher-slash-neighbor-lady had been offering yoga classes during their free elective period in school, and Ellie had gone only because Dina wanted to do it, but now she’s happy for the material it provided for her to razz Joel with. He, however, does not look equally amused at her wordplay.

“Alright, smartass. Will you just help me up? Goddamn.” He shuffles into a seated position with a hard groan and Ellie begrudgingly offers him her hand. Right as he starts to pull himself up though, he lets out a yelp of pain. She didn’t know Joel could even yelp, quickly getting worried by the way he flops back down onto his back, his face twisted up in what could only be agony.

“Jesus– fuck!” That can’t be good.

“What? What’s wrong?” She hovers over him, getting more and more worried by the way he’s not moving a muscle.

“It’s my fucking back– I– something popped.” Because she isn’t a geriatric menace like Joel, Ellie knows nothing about what that could possibly mean, just that it’s probably not good that he literally cannot sit up right now.

“Uh, ok– should I– should I get someone?” Joel tries his best to shake his head no, more of a jerky side to side than anything else.

“No. Just gotta– wait it out.” She scoffs.

“On the fucking floor? What if I just get Tommy? He could at least get you onto the couch or something.” The shaky jerk of his head gets a little bigger, but Ellie’s already headed toward the door. Because she’s her, she turns on her heel just before slipping out.

“Be right back, old man. Don’t you go anywhere!” She just couldn’t help herself.

However, as she steps out onto their front porch, it dawns on her that Tommy is on patrol today. Shit. She racks her brain for who else she could ask for help, coming up with a big fat nobody. She’s distracted from her dilemma by the sound of faint humming, whipping her head around to see their neighbor - pretty teacher-slash-neighbor-lady whom Joel has a huge crush on - walking up the steps to her own porch and unlocking her door before slipping inside. Ellie grins, a clear solution suddenly laid right before her. Yoga is good for bad backs, right?

She’s already bounding across their yard toward pretty-teacher-lady’s house. It would take a fool to not notice that something has been going on between Joel and her, ever since that dance they both just happened to disappear from at the exact same time. As far as Ellie’s concerned, asking her to come help out the old man and his messed up back is a win-win, a two for one really. In one fell swoop, Ellie will get Joel some help and embarrass the living shit out of him in front of the woman he’s got the hots for. Now that’s a prospect she could never pass up.

…

“Ellie, what the hell–”

“Shut it, old man! She can help you with your messed up back.” Joel hasn’t felt this mortified in a long time, a hot flush creeping up his cheeks as his eyes dart between his smartass of a kid and their neighbor, the same neighbor he’s been fooling around with for the last few months. Probably not for much longer, now that she knows I throw my back out if I even sneeze funny.

“I’m fine– really. Just– letting things loosen up a bit.” Ellie snorts at that, turning to their neighbor with a smug look.

“He couldn’t even get up off the floor–”

“Ellie.” If there was a way for someone to die of embarrassment, he reckons he’d already be six feet under by now. Their neighbor, however, seems unphased by the whole thing, putting a hand on Ellie’s shoulder and offering her a smile.

“Ellie, I think Dina was looking for you at the stables, why don’t you–” Before she can even finish, Ellie is already whipping out the door. Joel lets out a huff, and then winces at the pain it sends shooting through his back.

“I don’t need any help.” She quirks a brow at him, kneeling down by his head.

“You sure about that?” He hums a yes. She doesn’t seem convinced.

“If you don’t need any help, can you sit up for me?” Fucking hell.

“I mean– I can. S’just, I’m good like this for now.” She tilts her head at him, her crooked smile letting Joel know she doesn’t buy that for one second.

“Ok, I’ll let you stay like that. But can you tell me what happened at least?” He turns his head just slightly to look at her, letting out a deep sigh.

“It’s my back.” She chuckles.

“I can see that. But what happened to have you laid out like this?” He presses his lips into a thin line, furrowing his brow, not wanting to admit to her what happened. She brings a hand to his shoulder.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Joel, there’s no need for that. Besides, I’ve already had you on your back more than a few times before, haven’t I?” She can barely get the last words out, dissolving into a giggle. Joel, however, does not think it’s very funny.

“Now you’re just being cruel.” She sighs, squeezing his shoulder as she dips down to give him a peck.

“I’m kidding, don’t pout. Seriously, I might be able to help you if you just tell me what happened. Please?” He huffs, already melting at the soft look she’s giving him.

“It happened at the stables– earlier today. Bent over to pick up a saddle and it just– something just tensed up. It’s happened before– usually just gotta lay down and it’ll work itself out– but then the kid came home and she tried to help me up and–” “Let me guess, something popped?” His jaw goes slack at her knowing smile and she rather comfortingly rubs her palm up his arm.

“Can you tell me what kind of pain you’re in right now?”

“It’s tight in my low back– but the pain is sorta– spreading? Down into my legs.” He’s surprised when she looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“Sounds like sciatica.”

“Come again?” She smiles.

“We all have something called a sciatic nerve. It runs from your low back down both of your legs. It tends to get pinched pretty easily from stuff like heavy lifting and the pain this causes is called sciatica.” He squints at her.

“Why exactly do you know this?” She sighs, already setting into action, shifting down to his feet to tug off his boots.

“Well, I was a yoga teacher in another life. Had a lot of men just like you come into the studio with the same complaint.” A new detail he hadn’t known about her. He nods, peering down at her where she’s still working at his shoes.

“Do you know how to fix it then?” She hums, shifting back up onto her knees and shuffling to his waist.

“Sort of. I can move you through some stretches right now to at least get you off the floor. But the real fix for something like this is gonna be strengthening everything around it. If you keep up with the exercises I’ll show you, this shouldn’t be a problem anymore.” Joel can’t help but grumble at that. He’s never had to do “exercises” in his life. His work always kept him fit, and after that, scraping by in the apocalypse had worked just as well, though he supposes things have gotten a bit more lax in Jackson. He doesn’t have much time to ponder this when she’s abruptly undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

“Woah, hey– not that I, uh, mind exactly. But what’re you doing?” She grins at him, her hands stilling at his waistband.

“Easy, Miller. I’m just gonna take off your jeans. Need you to have your full range of motion for these stretches and tight denim isn’t gonna fly.” He’s trying real hard to not be weird about it, but the sight of his pretty neighbor whom he happens to have seen naked on multiple occasions now gently shimmying his jeans down his legs is making his heart slam against his ribcage.

When she gets his pants all the way off, leaving him in his boxers and t-shirt, she stands up with her hands on her hips, surveying the situation. Joel can’t help but grumble.

“Feel like a fucking invalid.” She snorts at that, kneeling back down alongside his waist.

“Alright, enough of the pity party. I’m gonna guide you through some stretches, you tell me if anything hurts too much, ok?” He nods, trying to ignore the shiver that runs up his spine when she rests her hand on his hip.

“Which leg are you feeling pain in?” He tells her it’s his left side, the one closest to her, and she nods. She slides her hand down from his hip to the hinge of his knee, and he can’t help wondering if this is the treatment she gave all her clients before. He sure hopes not.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna bend this knee in toward your chest and see if that doesn’t release any of the gripping. If that feels ok, we can take it a bit deeper, alright?” He’s not really sure what any of it means, a little too focused on the way she’s reassuringly stroking her thumb along the crook of his knee, but he nods.

With a little assistance from him, she starts to bend his knee, tightness immediately pulling in his back as she tucks his leg in toward his chest. Well, sort of. His leg only bends to a bit over ninety degrees before it just stops. Her eyes dart to his, a furrow of concern clear in her expression.

“Does that hurt too much?” He huffs, shrugging a little.

“Not really– s’just tight. I don’t think it’s gonna bend anymore. Feels– I don’t know– rusty.” She sighs, her hand that’s not supporting his knee rubbing his chest in soothing circles.

“Ok, my sweet tin can man. Let’s try something else.” As she maneuvers him into what she calls a “figure four stretch,” he can’t help but study her face. He’s never seen her so focused, so determined, so at ease, and it’s clear to him that all this was a big part of her life before.

“So, this is what you did for a living? Helped people out with their messed-up backs?” She breathes out a laugh at that, keeping one hand on his shin as she looks up at him.

“This was part of it, yeah. I went to college for human physiology– suppose that’s why they have me teaching science at the school now. It just made sense to me, y’know? Muscles and ligaments and bones, how they move. Yoga just happened to be a passion that I turned into a job– I loved it.” He nods at her words, enjoying the distraction of learning a little more about her far more than the tight pulling sensation of the stretch she has him in.

Then, all of a sudden, another pop resounds through his back. But this one doesn’t feel like a tightening up, it feels like a huge release.

“Sweet jesus.” Her head whips up to look at him, hand slackening where it had been holding firm pressure to his leg.

“You alright?”

“I’m pretty sure something just let up– felt another pop– but a good one, I think.” She nods, sitting back and resting her hands in her lap as he tentatively unwinds his legs from the stretch she had him in, planting his feet flat on the ground with his knees bent.

“Well?” He sits up with a little groan, holding onto his shins to stay up straight.

“Feels a lot better. Still tight, but the pain has eased up for sure.” She practically beams at that and suddenly Joel’s heart is hammering in his ribcage again.

“Now that’s what I like to hear, Miller.” She helps him up, and this time, he actually makes it off the floor, quick to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her into him.

“Thank you for your help, darlin. Gonna have to repay you somehow.” She laughs into the downright salacious kiss he steals from her, lightly pressing on his chest to get him to let up.

“Oh, I’m not done with you. Still got exercises to learn.” He groans at that, jostling her in his hold and burying his face in her neck, but she rakes her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly to get him to look at her.

“And I’m gonna be checking in everyday to make sure you’re doing them. Can’t have you throwing your back out anymore, not on my watch.” He can’t help but smile at that, trying to kiss away the stern expression she’s giving him.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you say.” He reckons if the instructor is as pretty as she is, he won’t mind doing a few exercises every now and again.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot

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fooled-around-and-fell · 1 year

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Nursed To Health

Summary: Joel got hurt. A local nurse is trying to fix him up but he's being fussy. Or is he just nervous?

Genre: romance, fluff

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

"y/n! Help!"

Ellie screamed as she tried her best to support Joel's weight into the clinic. Tommy stopped talking to one of the guys before helping Ellie carry Joel and bring him to one of the beds.

"What happened?" You asked, putting on gloves.

"We were on our way back - A few guys ambushed us. We managed to fight back while escaping, but Joel.. he..."

You could see the wound on his stomach. It wasn't deep, but Joel had pulled the knife out and he'd been bleeding out for the entire journey.

"Fuck." You muttered to yourself. "Tommy, put pressure on that wound."

Joel screamed in pain.

"Sorry brother." Tommy winced, "Ellie, get out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere."

You and Tommy glanced at each other before continuing to treat Joel.

"Alright, get that bucket of water."

---------

He woke up a few days later, all bandaged up, pain in his abdomen.

"Don't try to get up." You put a hand on his chest. "You almost died yesterday."

"Where's Ellie?"

"She's out being trained by Tommy." You said, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth.

A sigh of relief.

"What were you thinking pulling out the knife that stabbed you?" You shook your head. "Years being out there on the field, I thought your survival instincts would be sharper than that."

"Quit sassing me." Joel groaned. "Where's my clothes?"

"Being washed."

He got up despite your warning not to and winced in pain.

"Would you please like back down? I did a good job stitching you up, I do not need you opening it again." You sighed, pushing him to lay back down on the bed.

The damp towel touched his wound and Joel audibly hissed. "Can you just let me go? I'm fine."

You frowned, staring at him, who tried to convince you that he's not in incredible pain. Taking the challenge, you pressed a finger onto his wound and watched him doubling over in pain.

"Quit being fussy."

------

You were expecting to see Joel still in bed when you came back from doing a few chores around the clinic, but your expectations were too high. We're talking about Joel Miller here, a man who does not know bounds when it comes to his own well being.

He was gone by the time you're back, and you knew exactly where he was.

Tommy was cleaning up the counter when his brother walked in -- limped in. He was obviously still in pain, but he couldn't stay in that clinic anymore.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Joel ignored him. "Just whiskey is fine."

"I am not serving you alcohol." Tommy said, "Go back and see Y/N. She must be worried by now."

"I'm fine."

Tommy sighed, "Joel, you got stabbed. We were all worried sick because it got serious. So please go back to the clinic and stay until Y/N tells you to leave."

Joel fidgeted in his seat. "I can't.."

"Joel-"

"I can't because I'm embarrassed." Joel continued, "I asked Y/N out the other day.. a while ago. She said no."

Tommy chuckled, "This is what you're worried about? Who woulda thought that my brother would have a girl problem."

Joel sneered at him. "Shut up."

"Alright, alright. I'm sure that you misunderstood somewhere, cause I heard her talking about you before. She seems pretty into you."

"Quit talking nonsense." Joel side-eyed.

------

It was just before midnight when Joel decided to lay back down in the clinic, the bed creaking due to its age. You were there, of course, awaiting his return.

"You could've gone home, you know."

He pursed his lips. "Didn't want to make you worry."

"I was already worried." You sighed. "Let me look at that wound."

You sat by his bed, lifting his shirt so you can examine his abdomen.

Joel couldn't stop looking at you, you were beautiful despite the room being dark. His hand grabbed yours and slowly put them down, making you look at him.

"Why did you say no?"

"What?"

You knew exactly what he was talking about.

Joel asked you out before he went with Ellie to go save the human race -- which, we all know how that went. You said no, and Joel never talked to you ever since.

You felt bad, but you needed to prioritize yourself.

"Why did you say no?" Joel asked again. "Tommy told me.. he told me you talk about me, and that you think about me. Is that true?"

Sighing, you nodded. "Yes."

"Then why did you-"

"Because I was scared." You said honestly. "I lost someone I loved to one of them, and you were about to leave and face them head on. I didn't want to lose you."

"So you do have.. feelings for me?"

Chuckling, you held his hand. "Of course I do, Joel. You're one of the only available and decent bachelors around here."

He laughed with you. "I don't think I can be called a bachelor at my age, sweetheart."

Smiling, you kissed his forehead. "Come on, I have a more comfortable bed upstairs that would fit the two of us."

"Oh, I didn't know we're already at that stage." Joel joked. "But if you insist."

"Joel!"

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so-that-was-okay · 27 days

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"Tommy was homophobic and racist, and now he's Buck's love interest?!"

Yes. Life it not a perfectly smooth line. Real life is not a friends to lovers 200k words fanfic you pour your wholesome fantasies into. For many people, life sucks then sometimes, it gets better.

I know it's tempting to say that Tommy was an asshole before the writers decided to change his narrative, and it's an important discussion to have. Because at first he kinda was, for what we could see. Though they only showed the 118 back then with 2 probies, Chim and Hen, so we don't even know how it would have gone with a white cishet probie.

But if you're dead set on thinking Tommy didn't change, or just conveniently changed, you really need to meet more people outside of people your age, your social circle and your fandoms.

A scared closeted person, and especially a man, will not hesitate a single second to over perform as a "real dude" and use any kind of discrimination as a defense mechanism and to fit the mold. Tommy was evolving in a very white and macho environment. The 118 was a real white boys club. Survival is also about being able to hide in plain sight and sometimes it means acting like the worst to make sure people see the character and not what's under the mask.

I'd have to rewatch the episodes from season 2 to be 100% sure but I think at the time, we see Tommy look around when things get tense. I don't know if Lou was directed to do that or if he just chose to play Tommy like that but Tommy is looking at the others, especially to Gerrard, to see how they react, probably to match their reaction. Like when Hen makes her great speech about "seeing them", Tommy turns around to see how Gerrard is taking this. And I took that as him waiting to see how he's supposed to react based on how the leader will react. This is also what you do to hide in plain sight: you keep your enemies, or potential threats, closer. You laugh at their jokes, you shake the same hands, you reject the same things. When Chim tried to befriend Tommy, Tommy just stayed silent, but Chim really wanted to start a conversation so Tommy had to say something mean so Chim would leave him alone. You can't be seen befriending the outsider either.

Then Chim saves Tommy and the whole dynamic changes because bros will be bros (and for the sake of drama and a positive storytelling, etc, etc.). They also make Tommy openly admit to Chim that his favorite movie is Love Actually and this wasn't a random choice. Tommy probably started to feel safe around Chim without giving too much away.

Also the Twilight gay "joke"? I mean come on, Tommy played dumb to make it look like he was so not gay he didn't get it. And I'd love to know if the writers really wrote Tommy as possibly queer at the time, because this reaction in particular was way too obvious. It's almost on the same level as Buck panicking during his date with Tommy and saying they'll find hot chicks after that. Again, over performing to protect themselves.

So to me, going from Tommy at the 118 to Tommy being out and proud of being who he is absolutely makes sense and I love that for him. We do love a good character growth, and drawing this kind of parallels with real life also needs to be done. Because it definitely happens in real life.

Also, don't forget it's a TV show. They will write nonsense sometimes and contradict themselves, and make questionable choices for the sake of keeping the story on rails.

#911 #911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard #and it's not even about liking tommy or not #anyone is obviously free to not like him #but from a rational pov his character makes sense #just like buck going from this cishet hypersexual guy who's into very feminine women to being bi attracted by a very masculine man #y all need to sit back and quietly observe the world more

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Beware the Thorns

(a NSFW multi-part ficlet)

In many in journalistic circles, Eddie Munson, was Steve Harrington’s partner. The eye candy on his arm, cool, indifferent to everyone, he didn’t stray to the cameras for his five minutes of fame, he breezed by them as if he were just… better than them.

He was beautiful, skin like pale porcelain, dark curls full of lustre, and volume, dark doe eyes mysterious and inviting, broad shoulders, slender waist. His body only ever donned in the most expensive of dark fabrics, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Dolce, nothing touched his skin but perfection.

To those who knew him better, he was Eddie Munson, professional escort, his services were expensive, he catered only to the rich, but he was good at his job.

Services included attending events, non-sexual but intimate bathing, the ‘boyfriend’ package, something Steve had been paying for, for ooooooh two years now? Long distance work, sex… sex was usually a given according to MOST people, and they did like to try and argue for it being included in the price of something basic, but Eddie charged more for it, and was often coy and promising enough to make them wait for him if he wanted to hold off.

And boy did he have them on a hook when he held off, the hunger to sink into his pert little ass keeping them paying, and paying, and paying for his time, for his presence on their arm. He was worth the wait, but he didn’t want to give in too fast, less they cut ties after getting what they wanted, they were his business, he had to keep them wanting.

He was a long game escort, he wasnt a wham bam ka-ching thank u ma’am/man kind of deal, wasnt a one and done sex worker. He put more time into it. He put serious effort into it. He was good at it.

He even had his own website.

Granted the website was listed as something else entirely so you had to know what you were looking for because wow, some of it was illegal, but word of mouth got him around more than enough to keep the lights on in his Indianapolis penthouse apartment, it was cosy, had everything he needed.

It helped that his clients were LOADED. One had to know where to go to get those big bucks, had to know which big fish to dangle the worm in front of.

He’d dangled that worm in front of Steve Harrington while on the arm of someone else, there were… rumours, of his sexuality floating about, stories from his high school years, that one gay bar he’d been spotted in with his friends, the way he’d touch pretty men, and look a little longer than necessary at things a straight boy shouldn’t be looking at while high as a kite.

He just hadn’t come out yet, at least, he hadn't until Eddie had been seen on his arm at a charity gala, having appeared to jump ship from the arm of the Hagan boy somewhere behind the scenes.

Nobody could get a word from the sole heir of the Hagan Hotel fortune as to what happened either, lips were zipped shut on the matter, he hadn't even tried to smear Eddie's name which some journalists found. Strange. Given Hagan's verbal evisceration of his previous exes.

Tommy wasn’t… bad, per-say.

He could be sweet when he wanted to be, but he rarely wanted to be. He was also overconfident, he lacked the ability to hold insults to himself, and had on more than one occasion called Eddie a useless whore in a fit of anger over some such nonsense.

So. Eddie cut those ties at the first big fish opportunity.

He was one of Eddie’s… longer lasting clients though, the half a year he spent seeing him regularly was… sometimes okay, the sex was fun, access to the good drugs was awesome since Hagan didn’t shy away from them, and he got paid nicely for his time, but he was glad he didn’t have to spend all his time with the man as an actual partner would have.

Probably would have strangled him by now.

Steve Harrington wasn’t like him though… Steve was his favourite client.

Eddie Munson had waltzed into Steve Harringtons life with all the ease and grace of a man who’d lived in wealth his entire life.

Like a rose he was beautiful, but hidden beneath the pretty petals there were thorns to consider.

He wasn’t truly his, and therein lay the thorns. He was paying for the privilege of his company, paying for him on his arm, paying for him to breeze by flashing cameras in fancy suits, paying for him to act the part of a loving, attentive boyfriend for the paparazzi trying to catch a glimpse of his love life.

It was easier to pay a professional, than allow a civilian into his life.

It was easier to bring Eddie home with him, watch him waltz around his living room in his tailored semi-sheer silk button-down shirt, tucked neatly into his black Gucci tux trousers, his blazer left draped over one of the chairs, it was easy watching him sway, the twinkle of his draping silver chain ear cuff catching the light from the lit lamps amidst beautiful dark curls, his slender hips swaying to the quiet music Steve had put on that evening after a long night of schmoozing with the press, with his peers.

People who probably knew who Eddie truly was, but… were tight-lipped enough not to spill the beans, because blowing that whistle would of course shine a spotlight on how they’d know.

It was safer for them to just smile and nod.

It was easy, joining him, slipping behind him, and pulling him close, ass to groin, trailing kiss after kiss down his warm, smooth neck, hands on his hips easing him back, into him, close to him in a slow, rhythmic grind of intent.

Easy to convey what he wanted to a professional, knowing he’d get it.

It was easy to lose himself in the idea that this man was his to take to bed, and because he wasn’t truly his, but an employee…

It was easy to let him go in the morning, his wallet some three grand lighter, depending on what they did the night before… it was easy… until it wasn’t easy anymore.

Until the brief press of lips to his forehead as he feigned sleep in the morning, and the soft rustle of his wallet being rifled through for the exact amount owed and nothing more, because he’d long since told Eddie where he kept it, and gave him permission to just take what was owed and go if he had to go.

Until all the things he’d found so easy about Eddie’s presence in his life… stopped being easy for his heart to ignore.

The soft press of lips to his brow in silent goodbye left him wanting nothing more than to pull his beautiful porcelain rose, thorns and all, back into bed and demand he stay just a few more hours, the feel of his body pressed close in the night, curled under the Egyptian cotton sheets with him, had him lying awake at night longing for the sun to take just a little longer to rise.

Eddie Munson wasn’t his. Not really.

And maybe, maybe he figured, as he slipped on a pair of dark leather gloves for his early Monday meeting, the touch of his hired lover still lingering on his skin, the bruising hickey the brunette had left during the night, before disappearing before dawn as he KNEW Steve had an early meeting, knuckles cracking as he flexed them within the reinforced gloves.

Maybe, he figured as the iron knuckles embedded in his gloves met the soft, weak, easily breakable jaw of the latest person to cross him and his business partners, the sickening crunch of bone breaking beneath skin...

Maybe Eddie not really being his was a good thing.

That didn’t stop him, or his heart, from wanting.

It being a good thing didn’t stop his hands from dialling those digits he’d long since memorised, he didn’t even need them saved in his contacts, he had them, the only number he’d ever memorized, he had it there by pure muscle memory. A number carved into his very soul.

Sometimes even if he wasn’t trying to call the brunette, his fingers would dial as if his heart had simply taken over his mind when it came to him. This time however, he purposefully dialled.

After cleaning his hands of the sickly, dark red that’d stained them, gotten under the fabric of his gloves and ruined them, he dialled, knowing that when his addiction answered, and he always answered… everything would feel okay again.

The racing of his heart would slow, calm would wash over him like waves slowing their turbulent rolls after a storm had passed.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite person in the whole wide world~” his voice thick and throaty, he always sounded so fucked out when he answered the phone, like the strongest whiskey mixed with the finest of honey. Steve knew this wasn’t a greeting purely for him, Eddie didn’t save numbers, he didn’t to keep his clients safe in case the police got hold of his phone, and he sure as fuck didn’t speak like that in private, he’d heard Eddie in private…

Heard him when the brunette didn’t think he could hear, when he thought Steve to still be in the shower, he was on the phone to someone, probably a friend, who Steve didn’t know but definitely not a client, Eddie always sounded different when speaking to a client… somewhere deep down… Steve almost wished he had that relationship with him instead. Almost.

He did wished he could see the real him, hear the real him instead of this imposter, instead of the façade he put on, it worked for him, fuck did it work, he could fuck his own fist for hours just listening to that voice, but… he wanted more, he’d wanted more for some time.

But he’d take what he could get. If all Eddie would give him were an imposter, then… an imposter he’d take. It wasn’t as though Steve were being truly honest about himself either.

Thorns. So many little thorns.

“Flatterer” he hummed, earning a deep laugh from the speaker that had his heart thump against his ribcage, fuck, he didn’t deserve that laugh, didn’t deserve the warmth it filled him with, a man lay broken not far from his feet, blood pooled around his head, barely alive, he didn’t deserve the warmth Eddie gave him.

But he’d greedily soak what was offered up.

Eddie didn’t seem surprised it was him either, which was nice, it made his greeting seem all the more real, he just… adapted, quick as lightning “as if you don’t deserve it, are you gonna be home tonight, baby?” Deep down he knew this wasn’t Eddie… deep down there was a fiery, excitable, loud, nerdy man hidden beneath the surface probably cringing at the tone of voice being used, but it was what he was allowed to hear, it was all Eddie was willing to share with him, and that was okay.

In every part of his life, he was in control, he could have what he wanted, get what he demanded… but with Eddie… he got what he was given, and he was happy for it.

“I should be home by eight…”

“Ugh good… I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” Whether it was the truth or not Steve never knew, he liked to believe it was, he liked to think his addiction missed him as much as he missed his addiction while he was away “what do you want for dinner?” He smiled against the phone, silent for a moment as he basked in the domesticity of it all, how easily Eddie made him just… BELIEVE that he was a sweet housewife, ready to tend to his every need “… baby?”

“Just thinking… you know I love everything you cook, so many options…” Eddie was incredible at everything, he used a knife better than some of his most skilled bodyguards, men who’d trained with a bladed weapon for most of their lives, he had two ex-black ops on his staff and neither of them could handle a knife quite like him, of course comparing them wasn’t exactly fair, one used it to fillet fish and cut vegetables, the others… cut into other things.

He liked Eddie’s use of them far more than the other.

“Want me to surprise you?” He liked giving Eddie creative freedom, liked it far more than when he told him what to do, telling him… didn’t always get the best results, Eddie liked his freedom to create far too much, surprises tended to feel more… personal, tailored to what he thought Steve might like.

“Please, I could never choose, it’s all so good” another laugh, softer, it sounded so real… so honest, a spell he dare not break by saying the wrong thing, tearing into the space they created together, the fantasy life together by insinuating that this wasn’t the norm… that he couldn’t always have Eddie making his dinner like he longed for.

“Have a safe flight, okay? I’ll see you when you get home…” he was doing something, couldn’t stay on the call, was he with someone else? No… he’d never answer if he was with someone else, the thought made him grip the phone tighter though, jealousy coursing through him at the mere idea that someone else could be occupying his time… stealing his attention away. “Love you, baby” it wasn’t real, just a fantasy.

It still made all his fears, all his worries vanish, pop like bubbles, washed away by the torrent of warmth that flooded him with those simple words.

“Love you too” he only wished Eddie’s words were as real as his own.

Part 2

#PirateWrites #BewareTheThornsFiclet #No Upside Down AU #Steddie #Escort!Eddie #Shady!Steve

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shaunashipman · 16 days

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I'm a new 9-1-1 viewer (binge watched the first 6 seasons like two weeks before the new one came out and been watching season 7 as it comes out) and I'm so glad I found your blog because it annoys me how most of the conversation around the show is always about b*ddie and I really needed to find people who weren't b*ddie shippers. Like, I get why people ship it even if I don't particularly see it or agree with it but they're always trying to prove how this plot point or the other points at them becoming canon next episode and it's so annoying? Especially now that Tommy is in the picture because I think he's such a great LI for Buck and has so much endgame potential but they're all talking about him being a "stepping stone" for their ship and completely ignoring how this is a chance for him to be in a loving, stable relationship in the long run, something he absolutely deserves.

Honestly sometimes I feel like b*ddie shippers don't even care or like Eddie and Buck, they just want them to kiss onscreen and ignore their well written arcs just because they don't end up in them being canon (which honestly after seven seasons of the same clownery they should have learnt by now that maybe it's just not happening and that's okay! they're well thought out, fully fleshed characters that don't need to be involved romantically to have a satisfying storyline!)

welcome to the fandom, and my blog 👋👋👋

it is unfortunate that the show has so many great characters and dynamics that get consistently drowned out by a single fanon ship. i get it if you're just here for b*ddie, but to make a big fuss over losing a single scene in another couple's big episode? when you still got something? sometimes you need a reality check that the show is actually about other people too

fandom is not about hunting for hints that your ship is going canon. like, i have never seen a fandom that seems to spend more time "proving" their ship is gonna go canon than actually, you know, doing fandom stuff. (i was not in spn/destiel, idk what nonsense went on there) we're supposed to ignore what the TPTB say while we play with our dolls because it doesn't matter, not ignore what they say because clearly they're lying and misdirecting and building up to do what they have have said, as explicitly as they can in tv world, won't be happening. this obsession with "going canon" is, frankly, weird in fandom.

my blood pressure goes up when i read the phrase "stepping stone". even if bucktommy doesn't last, they will never have been a stepping stone. one, because it is a relationship, and relationships can't be stepping stones, that is such a cynical way to look at things and really makes me wonder about some of these people's real life relationships (yeah i know it's fiction, but y'all take it too far in your vitriol for it not to be invading your personal lives) and two, because b*ddie is not happening, so it can't be a stepping stone to it.

they have done everything they can except saying "b*ddie isn't happening" because in tvland ambiguity is your best friend. but ryan calling eddie heterosexual twice is not ambiguous. and i've already said, but ignoring what ryan has said about the coming out scene because it doesn't fit your headcanon is extremely disrespectful. it is fiction, but it is fiction made by people drawing from real life experiences and y'all are shitting on that

and tommy does have such potential!! they like to shit on us for saying that, "oh he's only been there for 4 eps, we don't even know anything about him", and, ignoring that we actually do know some stuff about tommy, more than we've gotten for other LI's, that's why we say potential. we are looking at possible future storylines and seeing how tommy could fit. we are looking at what was lacking in prev LI's (not in a deficient way, just in a compatibility way) and seeing how tommy can fill the spaces they couldn't.

we're basing our theories of him at least sticking around for a bit, not on wardrobe hints and coded gazes and what actors post on their socials, but by what we've seen on-screen, what has been said in interviews in black&white no hidden meaning, and by simple knowledge of story pacing.

and we could be completely wrong. that's part of it being a theory; the acknowledgement that it is not guaranteed . once you start insisting something is 100% going to happen, it's no longer a theory

wow this got long 🫣 sorry for making you read all that, if you're still here lmao. but conciseness is not my strong suit, so enjoy my babbling if you stick around, and feel free to drop in my inbox anytime

#cleo gets mail #anonymous #911 #911 critical #bucktommy #anti buddie #i didn't realize i had written that much until i scrolled up lmao #but as you can see #i've got a lot of thoughts

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seeds-and-sins · 4 months

Text

Light My Fire - Part Seven

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x F!Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Curse Words, Sexism, descriptions of explicit sexual content)

Description: Phoenix faces a ghost.

Tagged: @tonixe @chernayawidow, @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites, @ophennie @virgoelf-blog, @my-obsession-spn, @capricxnt

Part Six

Your father died in the war.

1945. The Battle of Okinawa.

You were fifteen years old.

You don't remember much about him, but he was a good man. He promised to come home. When the soldiers came marching in, he wasn't with them. Your mother wasn't the same after that, but she didn't show it on the surface. She cried in the bathroom and whimpered into her pillow, but she never let anyone see her like that. You had admired her when you were younger.

But now?

You couldn't even recall what her face looked like. When you thought about her, which wasn't often, all you could think about were words: strong, independent, fierce, and hard-working. Your mother was a no nonsense kind of gal and that was how she raised you. She was a secretary for some big shot in St. Louis, a working woman that earned her own and fended for her own. If not for her, you wouldn't be here. You can imagine yourself aging, having married and had children ages ago. Maybe you'd be in a nursing home right now. Maybe you'd be in a grave.

But no.

Your mother refused to marry you off like all the other mothers of your time. She didn't believe that a woman belonged in the kitchen and she refused to allow you to think otherwise. She instilled in you a fury that remained even to today.

You both lost touch with one another when you were entered into the program. You were twenty-two years old, your mother had made the arrangements herself. You don't remember why she did, but frankly, it was so long ago you can't bring yourself to care. You never went out to find her. You were certain that she was dead by now. And of the things she left you with, 'I love you' wasn't one of them.

Don't trust anyone, she said.

And don't you dare fall in love. You'll just get yourself hurt. No one cares about you and no one ever will. Remember that.

You should have listened to her, but over time her words just became less and less valuable. You didn't take them seriously anymore. Not like you used to. You doubt she told you them under the assumption that you would live to be almost a hundred years old and look not a day over twenty-two. She couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be in your boots.

It was lonely.

Surely, that would be the exception. If you trusted someone along the way, that was okay. If you fell in love...

But no.

None of this was okay.

And you don't think your mother would approve of you attending the seventieth anniversary of the biggest hero fuck fest in history.

You were scowling in disgust as you made your way through the halls of the mansion. Tommy, Tessa, and the Deep had disappeared, but you weren't so concerned about it. If Tommy and Tessa were still alive, that meant that Ben wasn't here yet. But Ben was on his way and you needed to prepare yourself for the worst. The moaning, the exotic smells that permeated in the air, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, it wasn't making your situation any better.

You couldn't believe that the twins were still doing this. It was obvious by the look on your face that you had never been a big fan of Ben's annual Herogasm. He started it with some other heroes a long ways back and from that point forward he made it a habit to host the orgy in his penthouse every once a year. You had been invited on numerous occasions before Payback had even been formed. Back then, heroes were few and far between. You didn't have hundreds of them like there was now. The invites were little pamphlets with splashes of vibrant colors stamped down by a printing press, some poorly drawn pornographic comic scribbled on the front. They were sent out by whoever was Soldier Boy's assistant at the time. Knowing how Soldier Boy was after he met you in person, if the invites had been sent by him personally, he probably would have come and fetched you himself.

That was much like what happened after he met you. Being a member of his team didn't deter him from you in the slightest. Ben would invite you to Herogasm himself every year after Payback had been created. And every year that Ben approached you about the event, you gave a very firm and strong 'no'. Ben was so determined that he would try everything he could think of to get you to change your mind. As if him barreling through your penthouse door in the early morning wasn't already bad enough. He sent you sex toys, gave you intimate details on who was going to be there, attempted to bribe you with food and drinks and drugs.

It wasn't like you were a prude.

In your younger days, you would do anything to have a good time. You were reasonable and rule-abiding, but it was a known fact that you liked to party. And you were wild and fun and carefree. The world was your playground and you were so excited to learn and try new things. Heck, you weren't even that young then. But within the era arose a lot of great changes and great changes meant new things. Everyone was living life to the fullest and everyone was rocking and rolling, swinging, mixing drugs and drinks, learning about themselves. It was a new age. Gone were the ways of the old.

So, you weren't going to lie to yourself, part of you really did want to go to Herogasm. You couldn't count how many times you had nearly walked yourself all the way to Soldier Boy's penthouse. Be damned the reality of giving him the satisfaction, you just wanted to have fun. The rational and reasonable side of yourself would stop you. You would have to do a regroup on the top of a tower somewhere, pace back and forth as you thought up reasons as to why you shouldn't go.

Orgies were great and all, but there was nothing that beat the physical and carnal intimacy of being with someone in private.

Ben had tried to persuade you that way too: It'll just be you and I, how 'bout that? But there still was the problem of him being in a relationship. Take away the public aspect of it and there still was the fact that he was with Crimson. No matter how many passes Crimson gave him, you wouldn't be just some other girl, you wouldn't allow that. And you couldn't do that to Countess.

The idea of facing him in the workplace after that, you'd never be able to do that. You weren't sure how your teammates managed. Payback had fucked with each other in every which way, even outside of Heorgasm. Herogasm was supposed to be the fuck for free card: once a year, fuck whoever you want, however you want, no consequences. What happens in Herogasm stays in Herogasm, kind of bullshit. You would never be able to do that.

Your best bet was to stay away. And you did.

It was almost ironic that you would confront Ben, after all these years, at an event like this. You weaved through the corridors of the mansion, peeking into rooms and steering clear of naked bodies. You found a surprisingly secluded part of the home and took up a space there. You were fiddling with the edge of your cape, pacing back and forth as you waited.

"Okay. Deep Breathes." You told yourself, muttering reassurances that fell empty in your gut. "Everything will be fine. Everything will work out."

What would you even say to Ben? It wasn't his fault that he had been trapped by the Soviets all these years. If anything, it was yours. You blamed yourself for not saving him when you should have. Why did you wait to confront the team? Why didn't you just go get Ben? None of this would be happening if you did. Maybe you'd finally be retired.

Or maybe you just liked this too much...

You don't know how much time had passed, too lost in your thoughts. A sickeningly sweet smell filtered in, a cloud of smoke floating in the air. You inhaled deeply through your nose, nostrils flaring.

"Halothane?" The smell brought a sense of nostalgia. Criminals tried to use it on you a few times back in the day, assuming it would knock you out cold. Either some super kinky shit was going on or something was about to go down.

You followed the cloud of smoke, turning a corner to find it unfurling from a container that rested at your feet. Some sort of smoke grenade, you deduced. You stepped forward, trotting down a set of steps before coming upon two familiar faces. The two men were in conflict with one another, Butcher easily holding back the larger man with one hand.

"Well, if it isn't Billy fuckin' Butcher." They both paused, eyes landing on you. Butcher faced you, a small smirk lifting his lips.

"Phoenix, the fiery cunt, funny seeing you 'ere."

Billy had tried to kill you a few years ago. His team and him had been tasked with obliterating your entire career and even trying to find a way to obliterate you. They failed, of course. There was no doubt that they would. And you didn't blame them for trying to kill you, you were a loose cannon. Still were. You returned his smirk as you came down those last few steps.

"I wouldn't be smiling if I were you. Don't think ya'know what's about to happen." You paused, cocked your head to the side, your irises glowed red. All too fast, a gust of air slashed at your sides as you moved with a startling quickness. Your hand encompassed Butcher's throat and you pinned him to the wall. The wall crackled around the force of your combined strength and his weight. His colleague threw a fist at a nearby display case, the glass shattered onto the carpet floor, he withdrew a wooden baseball bat. The wooden bat splintered as it hit your back, falling into a mess of pieces. Butcher fought back with a grin, making a good effort, something you didn't miss. That grin of his faded when he realized he wasn't strong enough to pry your fingers away from his exposed throat.

"What have you been up to, you piece of shit? You've gotten abnormally strong since I last saw you." You showed your teeth, your hand as hot as a furnace, holding Butcher in place as if he were a mouse. "You couldn't have taken V, I don't take you to be that kind of guy." Your gaze wandered up and down with a sick curiosity as he continued to struggle, clawing at your hand with an iron grip. "Nooo..." You ponder with a pop of your lips. "You took something else. Ya'know you can't trust that shit, right?"

"Let him go!" His colleague stood back now, withdrawing a pistol. He fired six shots at you, the bullets hit your side and dropped to the floor in little dented beads. You plainly looked between the bullets and him.

"Really?" You spat, "Don't you guys know anything by now? For fucks sake, it's always the same shit with you people."

BOOM!

The explosion surprised you and you relinquished your grip on Butcher. The wall at your back exploded into a mess of rubble, a burst of heavy wind pushing back at you. Billy and his friend collapsed to the ground from the blast, while you stayed perfectly still against it. Your eyes narrowed in its direction. As the structure of the mansion around you wheezed and crumbled from the attack, you heard screams and cries for help follow. You made no move to save anyone. Butcher groaned as he shoved a wall off of him with ease. He smirked up at you.

"You're fucked." He laughed.

The walls were black with soot, plots of fire spanned out across the once pristine white. Your eyes vigorously looked around, you searched for the source. An explosion? Much like the one in Manhatten. John had told you that Soldier Boy had caused that. Stumbling from the sheet of smoke in the air, a figure appeared, down the same set of steps that you had come from, down the same corridor. They grew closer, Butcher stood to his full height, brushing off the layer of dust that had settled on him.

The figure halted when they came into view. His bright blue eyes squinted in your direction before a heated glare contorted his handsome features. Your heart stuttered in your chest, fists clenching at your sides. What were you going to say?

God-He looked just like the last time you saw him. Shiny and bright, a little rough around the edges, but just as strong. As if nothing had happened all those years ago, as if he was just coming back from a simple vacation, he was the spitting image of the man you remembered: the same suit, shield poised at his side, hair grown slightly thicker, no mask.

"Ben." He was going to kill you, wasn't he? You could see it in his eyes. His eyes lacked the fondness that haunted your dreams. When you wished you could be back at the beginning, before all this. Before Vought betrayed him, before Vought betrayed you. "Don't do this." You breathed, your eyes softened, the red in them was replaced by your natural eye color. You extended a hand. "Please."

"You haven't seen me for years and the first thing you do is beg." His voice. Even when he sounded threatening, you missed the deep, transatlantic accent that used to make you feel warm inside. You wished you had never rejected it. Fuck Countess. Fuck morals. You should have kissed him. You should have fucked him. You should have loved him. Seeing him here, none of that mattered anymore. Ben was alive. You were right. He was here. You wanted to run and hug him with all the strength you could muster. You wanted him to hug you back.

I'm better now. You would tell him.

You weren't sick anymore. Last time you saw him, he made you swear that you would be better by the time he got back.

Or maybe you were still sick.

Damaged. Deranged.

People could be sick in different ways.

Why would he want you?

Stop being dillusional.

You weren't the same person you were when you made that promise. When Ben promised to come back to you, he was Ben. Just Ben.

Your rational side returned: Ben wanted you dead now. He wasn't Ben anymore. He was the enemy.

More importantly, he wanted John dead. Who cares if Ben succeeded in killing you? You didn't care if you died. You welcomed it. But John? Fuck anyone who would dare hurt that man. You would fucking burn the world for John. He was like a son. He was your son. No one would fucking hurt him.

"I'm disappointed." Ben added, Butcher slowly walked to stand at his side. Butcher must have felt like he owned the world now. Butcher must have felt indestructible. With whatever substance was running through his veins, with Soldier Boy at his side, all of his dreams would come true: you would be killed and Homelander would be next. You wouldn't allow it.

"I don't know what else to say."

"I waited for you." Ben growled through clenched teeth. "Of all the people, I thought you would come for me."

"I tried." You replied quickly, almost pleading.

"You didn't try hard enough." His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke those last words, before his eyes flitted to something behind you. Someone. You looked over your shoulder: It was John, descending a staircase.

"William Butcher and Soldier Boy." He announced, halting beside you, shoulder to shoulder. "You were behind this. This whole thing. It really is all about me." Soldier Boy glanced back at Butcher, you saw a distant doubt at the edge of his gaze. "William, we made a deal. To fight to the death, you and me." Butcher's expression hardened, he was glaring at Homelander with a deep and sacred hatred in his bones. Heat rose in your fingertips, you were preparing yourself for a brutal battle. Homelander shot a beam of red in Butcher's direction and Butcher was thrown, hitting the wall behind him with a booming thud. Soldier Boy faced Homelander, a coolness washed over him and he stood at the ready. "You were my hero growing up." Homelander took a step toward Ben, "I watched all of your movies hundreds of times." Your breath caught as your gaze flicked between them, an intensity clung to the air. The corridor felt more tight and narrow than before. Fumes of smoke flowing from cracks in the walls, lingering after the explosion. "You were the only one that was nearly as strong as me." Those words came out soft, muttered off the tip of John's tongue. Homelander was wide eyed, someone seeing their childhood idol for the first time and maybe John was a bit disappointed.

"Buddy," Soldier Boy replied. "You think you're strong? You're wearing a cape." You grabbed Homelander's bicep. You could feel the tension vibrating in the muscle. You had a duty to stop this, right? You didn't want this. "You're just a cheap fuckin' knockoff."

"Shut up, Ben." You shot out through clenched teeth.

"And you?" Ben turned on you. "The Phoenix. Fire in the sky. You're the biggest fake of them all. The biggest fuckin' whore." Homelander's bicep slipped from your grasp and he flew at Soldier Boy with a roar. Soldier Boy collided with the wall, but he recouped fast and swung a fist across Homelander's cheek. You flew in to intervene, trying to rip the two apart. Soldier Boy shoved you and you stumbled back, Homelander's laser vision beamed at him. You were about to tear them apart again when a hand grabbed at your shoulder and ripped you backward.

It was Butcher. You blinked at him in shock, his fist collided with your cheek. It did nothing more than snap your head to the side, but you were still surprised. His eyes turned yellow and a beam was shot in Homelander's direction, shoving him back. John was momentarily stunned as his blue eyes lifted to Butcher.

"What did you do?" He snarled.

"Scorched Earth." Butcher replied, you returned by grabbing Butcher by his jacket and you yanked him away. Homelander directed his rage toward him, fists were flying, both of them dodging before making a hit. You turned your attention to Soldier Boy, he was rolling on the floor. You stomped to him, grabbed him by the collar of his chest plate and hauled him to his feet. He punched you. The hit drew blood, the boiling hot liquid ran from your nostril. Before you could collect yourself, Soldier Boy's hand was at your throat and he was choking you.

"I would have given you the fuckin' world." He hissed.

"They-" You choked out, "Got me-" Both of your hands wrapped around his wrist and you fought with all your strength. "Too." His grip loosened just a touch and his eyebrows furrowed at you in confusion. An arm looped around his neck and Homelander was drawing him into a chokehold. Butcher tackled Homelander from behind.

You held your throat, gasping for breath. You stumbled toward the three, reaching out for Butcher when you were shoved from behind. The shove wasn't enough to send you off balance, but you spun on your heel.

It was a naked man.

Starlight's boyfriend? He stared wide eyed at you, you stared wide eyed at him.

Upon recognition of his place in all this, you wasted no time, fire balled in your fist and you threw a wave of heat at him. He squealed, patting himself down, left intact by your attack. Your attentions went back to the trio. You punched Soldier Boy in the gut. Butcher climbed off Homelander to grapple you by the shoulder and throw you.

Soon. In a mess of limbs and fire, it was Homelander and you versus Starlight's boyfriend, Butcher, and Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy and Butcher were far more trained in specific combos of attack, while Homelander just aimlessly tossed his brute strength in where he could hit them. All of them had one goal. It was like you didn't even exist. Any move against you was one to keep you away. The three of them held Homelander down to the ground, Ben's chest began to glow yellow.

What was that?! What was he doing?! You had never seen that before.

"No! Stop!" You screamed, steam rose from the corners of your eyes. You grabbed Ben by the shoulders and pulled with all your might. "PLEASE!"

WHOOSH!

Your efforts were just enough to give Homelander an opening and he escaped their hold, flying into the sky and through the roof. You fell back, hitting the wall.

It was still.

Quiet.

You licked your lips, eyes focused ahead on Soldier Boy's hunched form. Butcher flipped on his side and Starlight's boyfriend stood with a limp and a grunt. Soldier Boy stood, one leg at a time, he slowly faced you. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath. You held against the wall as he closed in on you.

"I'm going to kill him..." He began, pulling loose tufts of his hair back with his fingers. "And I'm going to make you watch." You tilted your head away. "And then I'm going to kill you." Your vision just so happened to land on Butcher. He was grinning now, blood staining his teeth.

"This is not fair, Ben." You said weakly.

"Aww, are you gonna' cry?" He taunted, lacking any jest, all cold and callous. "Gosh, I don't remember you being such a pussy."

"I don't remember you being so cold."

"Well, that's what happens when the only person you ever fuckin' cared about leaves you to the wolves for four decades!" He shouted, spital ran off his sharp teeth.

"Fuck you, Ben. You don't even know anything. You don't know." You whimpered back, defeated. You couldn't even believe that was you talking. You lifted into the air and flew through the hole in the ceiling.

Ben's eyed followed you, head tilting back. His fists clenched at his sides.

"What did she mean?" He asked out loud, "They Got Me too. What does that mean?"

"Who fuckin' knows, mate. You can't trust a word she says." Butcher replied, eyes narrowing on Soldier Boy in question. Soldier Boy needed to think Phoenix was the enemy. Otherwise, they would never kill Homelander. "She's just tryin' to get into your head."

"That flying fuck and her, are they..."

"What do you think?" And that was the only seed Butcher needed to plant because Soldier Boy's answering grimace was enough. He was hurt and he was fuming and that was how Butcher needed him to stay. He needed Soldier Boy on his side.

"Guys, we gotta' go. Like, now." Hughie stated anxiously, Butcher nodded in agreement.

"Come on." Soldier Boy stood below the hole in the ceiling, his fists clenched at his sides, he gritted his teeth.

You were right there. Right in front of him. As beautiful as the first day he had met you...

And he should have killed you.

Return to Masterlist

#reader #the boys #homelander #the seven #black noir #vought international #crimson countess #soldier boy x reader #oc hero name #billy butcher #hughie campbell #starlight #mothers milk #tnt twins #payback

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buddiebeginz · 4 days

Note

If they are keeping Lou around for any part of season 8 the show has to put an end to the cameo nonsense. Some of the Buck/Oliver takes that are starting to make the rounds are next level insane. I saw one scolding Oliver for making Lou do all the promoting of the ship. Another post said the writers needed to up Buck's game because he's not at the level of commitment yet that Tommy is being written (wtf when were these episodes). And yet another post scolding Oliver for promoting Buddie and Buck for continuing to spend time with Eddie.

They are taking these PAID (you paid him to say this shit) videos and making them canon. No part of anything he's saying is canon. Firstly, he wouldn't be allowed to tell them any actual canon facts and secondly Oliver/Buck is the character/actor the show gives a shit about. He's encouraging this nonsense and it's gross. Him promoting himself is fine, it's low-key cringe given the fact the other half of the ship is silent but you do you, babe. Oliver's silence is what's pissing his fans off. Seriously tell me you're new to Captain Starks ways without telling me you're new. He promotes no ship but the Buddie ship, canon or not. These people are here for Lou. When he goes, happy for him to take them with him.

I'm not sure why they keep letting him do those cameos especially after he pissed people off when he said T*mmy being homophobic and racist to Hen and Chim was just teasing. He also talked about people recognizing him in Thailand in the AH interview and did this fake stereotypical asian accent. 🤦‍♀️He really needs a better agent and some media training because they'd for sure tell him to knock that shit off.

I could see the cameos being fun to do a few times when he first came back to the show even to garner excitement about B/T and T*mmy but the fact that he's done so many now and has even raised the price just makes him look desperate for attention. And like you said he gives all these headcanons about T*mmy in his videos that his obsessive fans have taken for absolute fact. We would never hear the end of it if Buddie fandom was paying Ryan for videos like that.

I agree with you that a majority of B/T stans are here first and foremost for T*mmy and Lou not Buck and Oliver. I still can't believe that a lot of them used to be Buddie shippers. I think everyone should be able to ship what they want including multishipping but I don't get how some of them dropped a ship they were seemingly invested in for years for the nothing that is B/T.

That part of fandom also loves to call us delusional and say we're seeing only what we want to see but a lot of times we're just pointing out what's actually happening. Like in the recent episode T*mmy was being a downer to Buck's enthusiasm (which has basically become the norm for them). The camera also paned to Eddie after Buck got his award not T*mmy. Buck chose to run off to Eddie's after work not to T*mmy's. These are things the show is literally showing us not just stuff we're imagining.

It's similar with Oliver. They can come up with all the reasons in the world why he's never promoted B/T through this entire season but it doesn't matter because he still hasn't and likely won't. I've seen them say Oliver doesn't post anything about B/T or Lou to avoid dealing with the hate or to not upset Buddie fans or to protect Lou. The thing is though Oliver has left social media before when he's had issues and could again if he wanted to. He's also been dealing with homophobic comments since Buck came out but he's never shied away from talking about Buck coming out and has even addressed the hate on his insta.

Oliver liked a couple of B/T pieces of art when the story first happened but I think that was more to support the bi Buck storyline and the artists than anything else. Multiple times during this season he's liked Buddie art (including a tattoo which he commented on three times) he's also posted Buddie related and Ryan stuff on his stories. If he wanted to show support to Lou or B/T he could easily post on his stories where people can't comment. B/T stans can think what they want but it's clear Oliver doesn't promote any of that because he's rooting for Buddie harder than anyone. I think he knows B/T isn't going to be around forever and he's trying not to lead people on about it as he's said in the past he hates to do that.

I really hope we can get rid of T*mmy at the end of s7 although knowing Tim he'll probably keep him for added drama until s8. Unfortunately even when B/T ends I expect those fans to do a lot of complaining because they've concocted this whole idea in their head that T*mmy is Buck's endgame soulmate. They even want T*mmy to be added on as main character and get a begins episode. So I fully expect some of them to riot when he inevitably gets the ax. The rest will probably run back to Buddie the minute it becomes canon and try to pretend they never left. Jokes on them though because a lot of Buddie shippers have blocked them for how awful they've been this season especially towards Eddie.

#ask #anon #911!

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guessimwritingficsagain · 11 months

Text

(Not) Entertaining the idea of (fucking you)

Summary : Joel's fixing a toilet in the Bison's ladies' room. He overhears something.

Warnings : Mature content, MDNI, masturbation.

Tags : Just ask. ———

The Bison’s bathrooms are divided. One for men, one for women. In each bathroom, there are two different toilets, which is why Friday night found Joel on his knees trying a fix the goddamn toilet that kept on breaking in the ladies’ room. It should be an easy fix, but he still had locked the door to give the giggling ladies who came in an out to use the other, functioning, toilet, a bit of privacy. The apocalypse hadn’t changed that : women still went to the ladies’ room in flock and turned the place into a gossip room. He’d fixed that thing so many times in a year being in Jackson that he’d heard it all - the pep talks, the compliments, the bitching about boys and girls.

Janine had a crush on her neighbor, except she never realized she was into women before that. He knew the neighbor, Lydia,a no-nonsense woman Joel liked enough to go visit at the bakery even though it was just to say hello.

Janine’s neighbor, Lydia, had a thing for Janine too.

Apparently that Tom guy Joel’d often seen at the stables was not good in bed. Details had been given, and Joel hadn’t been able to stop from quietly humming in agreement as the faceless, nameless woman had recounted what had clearly been an embarrassing moment for both parties involved.

Joel remembered when you’d came in, once, with Mrs Turner. The old lady had given you the secret ingredient to her famous apple pie, because you’d wanted to do something nice for some kid’s birthday. He’d take that secret to the grave.

Somehow, his bad ear didn’t seem that bad when he listened to gossip, hidden like some pervert spying on women.

He heard the door open and close, bringing him back to the task at hand. A voice he couldn’t place shouted a drunk and enthusiastic :

‘Girl, Jason is so into you !’

Giggles, then - Joel counted three or four women.

The lack of answer prompted another remark.

‘Come, Jul. She’s on patrol with Joel fucking Miller. She doesn’t care about Jason.’

‘Joel’s hot’, added another voice. ‘I mean, I’m sure he has a big dick. Like, you know, huge. Right ?’

Another fit of giggles. Then Joel froze, because you started talking, and if there was one thing he could do without, it was knowing how uninterested you were.

You were a young thing, early thirties maybe, and Joel had never once entertained the idea of trying anything but he was a man with eyes. And every time he looked at you, he saw something real pretty. You’d started patrolling together a couple of months ago after Tommy had stepped down to take care of his baby. You were quick on your feet, smart, funny. Pretty.

Joel had never entertained the idea but he was also a man with an ego and he didn’t want to hear what you had to say about him.

‘Listen, we work together. I don’t think about him like that. Y’know… I don’t think about like, his dick or whatever.’

Your words were slurred - he pictured you, with your cheeks flushed from being drunk and being hit on by Jason. Pictured you, hip leaning against the wall, arms crossed, shaking your head the way you had done that time when Tommy had suggested to switch patrol partners so Felicia could be trained by Joel.

‘She can come with us, but I’m not leaving Joel alone with someone who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’m his partner, and he’s mine. I get a say in this.’

Your words had left no room for discussion and Joel had felt himself relaxing into his chair, legs spreading slightly. That night, he hadn’t given a damn about not entertaining the idea when he’d fisted his cock thinking about he’s mine.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ The woman answered, bringing Joel back to the present. ‘I think you’re full of bullshit. His dick has to be huge, right. Like, painfully huge.’

Joel was not a shy man by any means, and he knew from Tommy that he was pretty popular with the ladies here, but hearing a bunch of women fantasizing about the size of his dick was something else entirely. It was not something he wanted to hear and yet, he could not come out right now. It would be embarrassing for everybody. Would be embarrassing for you. So he stayed put, his work long forgotten.

‘Okay.’ That was you again. Joel turned his good ear towards the door. ‘I’m gonna- Gonna level with you here. If I thought- I mean if I did think about his dick, even though I don’t, and if- I thought it was painfully huge- and of course I don’t because I don’t think about his dick at all. But. I mean. If I did …’

You trailed off, then. There was just a second of silence, and Joel got worried you all could hear his heartbeat because he was pretty sure he was having a heart attack, right now. He heard you take a breath.

‘If I did, and if he was all of that, then, I guess I wouldn’t mind a little bit of pain.’

Laughter irrupted in the room and whatever was said next was drowned out by Joel’s mind going on repeat-

He’s mine.

I wouldn’t mind a bit of pain.

He’s mine.

When you all left, Joel was so hard he jerked off right there before finishing the job.

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom to see you leaning against the counter of the Bison, being chatted up by Jason. Joel’s feet dragged him to your side before he could reflect on what he was doing. His right hand found the small of your back on its own volition and his mouth asked :

‘Mind if I talk t’you for a second here, darlin’ ?’

Your eyes were so wide when they turned to him that he had no doubt you were drunk. Your beaming smile was the prettiest thing he’d see today, and your ‘Hey, partner’ the best thing he’d hear. One of your hand shot up to his bicep to steady yourself as you both took a couple of steps back, still close enough to Jason that Joel had to lean in and whisper in your ear to be heard.

‘I’ve been thinking’, Joel started, feeling more in control of himself now that he was grounded by you and you grounded by him, relishing in the way you were leaning on him for support. ‘Sunday we’re goin’ the long way round. Why don’t we take our time ? You can make that apple pie of yours- heard the kids loved it.’

He couldn’t resist, then, brought you just a little closer. Watched your eyes widen as he turned your face so your were looking right at each other. He knew the whole scene was one of possessive display, from the way he held you close to the way his hand was holding your jaw, thumb right below your ear.

‘Maybe’ He started, voice low. Stopped when he saw you gulp and felt your fingers slightly grab his shirt, your fingernails grazing his skin through the fabric.

‘Maybe’ He started again. ‘Maybe we can stop by that clearing, y’know ? The one where we saw that deer. I recon’ the weather’s better now. Ground was all wet then, but on Sunday, we can stop, eat some pie, y’know. If everythin’- you know. If all goes well.’

Your only answer was a nod, your eyes even wider than a second ago. You looked- He didn’t know. Dumfounded ? A tiny bit wrecked ?

‘Got somethin’ to show you.’ He added, probably fucking out of his mind. He was suddenly glad he was ancient because otherwise he’d be hard again, with the way you were pliant in his hands, Jason in the back completely forgotten. But that was also a stark reminder that you were not quite in your right mind at the moment. So he laid the offer, with an out, his hand discreetly leaving your jaw to rest on your chest, right above your breasts, naked skin on naked skin.

‘Somethin’ you’ll like. Show you a little bit o’ pain. Heard you like that.’

He heard you gasp but went on.

‘You got company, right now. And you’re drunk, pretty girl. You do your thing, tonight, and I’ll do mine. You don’t like the offer ? Just don’t bring the fucking pie, I’ll get the message.’

He turned you around, then, before he did something stupid like sneaking a hand in between your legs to see if you were wet, because you were in the middle of the Bison and you were drunk. He guided you back to Jason, a fake apology on his lips as he saw the weary look on the other man’s face.

‘Sorry, just heard the next patrols might be a pain in the ass- sights of runners and all. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I’m her partner, y’know, and she’s mine.’

He gave Jason a smile as he felt you tense next to him, and one hand went to squeeze the back of his thigh.

Joel walked away then, but before leaving, he did something so unlike him he’d deny it until the day he died. He spotted Lydia at a table, whispered Stop stalling, ask Janine out and walked out.

On Sunday you showed up on patrol with a shy smile, an apple pie, and you said as a way of greetings :

‘So the craziest thing happened after you left. Lydia kinda pushed Felicia against a wall and kissed her.’

Joel only smiled and motioned you forward.

———

Taglist

@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog @amidjarin @sara-alonso@justpedropasc@mrsbentallmadge @farfromjustordinary @hnt-escape @kirsteng42

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #Joel Miller/reader

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 5 months

Text

At the Cabaret Pt. 5 | Tommy Shelby x fem!character

Summary: Lady Lenore is back at the Cabaret and struggling to find her place there in her condition. She's still slowly recovering and with the help of her new partner, she learns how to heal. Cabaret is her first and only true love, is there room for more?

Warnings: Brief references to the previous sexual assault but no gory details. Discussions of sex and intimacy. Recovering from trauma, struggling with depression and probable PTSD. Sexism and objectification (less than in previous chapters). Outdated marital language and very binary. Brief mention of periods and blood at the very end.

word count: 2529k +

Sleep on The Floor- The Lumineers 🎶

I Want a Good Man- Annette Hanshaw 🎵

I'll Be Seeing You- Billie Holiday 🎶

Not proofed- sorry folks!

She went back to work the next day, still sore and uncomfortable. She wanted to get back, to put everything behind her. Her black eye was painfully obvious and she was still too sore to dance so she watched. She helped the younger dancers with their moves and waved away any questions about her eyes. Clara covered her acts and made a little extra which she needed. She sat in the audience during the performances, losing all the bad thoughts and memories in the glitz and glamor onstage. She had a small table to herself towards the back and wore normal clothing, hiding her in plain sight. She ordered rums and cokes and smoked heavily.

Towards the end of the night, she heard someone sit beside her and rounded on him. When she looked, it was Tommy. He took off his hat and placed it on the table beside him and sniffed.

“You know you shouldn’t be back at work.” He said below his breath and stole her glass of rum and coke.

“I’m not performing.” She answered softly. “I just wanted to watch.”

They sat in silence, watching as Clara stripteased the audience. She smiled despite herself and looked over to make fun of Tommy but found that he was looking directly at her, his eyes wild in the soft lighting.

“Come home with me, Lenore.” He said seriously.

“What do you mean?” She swallowed nervously. He took a deep breath and looked back at Clara, his eyes unfocused on her as he thought of Lenore.

“Be my wife.” He said nonchalantly and lit a cigarette, staring down at the lightened end. She ran her fingers through her hair and chuckled softly.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Try me.” He turned to her with the dare.

“You want to marry me, Tommy?” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Yes, I do.” He nodded and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I want to marry you, Lenore.” He said again and leaned in closer. “I’ll make you happy and I’ll look after you. I’ll be a good husband.”

“But do you love me?” She whispered breathlessly.

“Are you going to make me say it?” He sighed.

“Yes.”

“Ah, Lenore... I love you.” He said slowly in his serious, deadpan way of talking. She blushed and leaned in hesitantly, wanting to kiss him. He responded and kissed her slowly, his lips sucking against hers. She was breathless when she pulled away and caught him smiling a little.

“You’re smiling, Tommy.”

“Nonsense.” He continued to smile and put an arm around her shoulders. His suit smelled like Small Heath’s factories and coal. She rested her head against his neck and sighed. His hand stroked the skin on her arm and he rubbed his cheek against her hair.

“I’ll marry you under one condition.” She whispered.

“And what’s that?”

“You let me work for a little while longer.”

“I don’t love the prospect of having to share my wife with other men.” He grumbled and she smiled.

“Just up until we get married, ok?”

“Anything else?”

“No more whores.” She kissed his knuckle, still bruised from slamming them against the doors when she was assaulted by Kimber. He watched her quietly and licked his lips.

“No,” he shook his head, “no one else.” He kissed her head gently and pulled her closer. “No one but you, Lenore.”

…

After a week of rest she was able to go back onstage. It all still gave her a thrill to dress up and step out under the white glare of lights and eyes. Billy Kimber had assaulted the show-version of herself so each movement she exercised reminded her of his violation. She’d never thought of herself as a whore but stepping into the ring of light she realized she was a whore for the performance, for the audience, and for herself. It was a way to take Lady Lenore back from the bathroom floor. Tommy had come to every performance since he’d asked to marry her, taking Kimber’s old booth so whenever she looked over, instead of thinking of Kimber, she thought of Tommy and how much he loved her. He stayed and smoked his cigarettes and drank his whiskey until she was done and met her at the stage door like a true admirer, a single red rose held between his fingers like a school-boy.

She wore her engagement ring while she performed, basking in the waves of shimmery light that exploded out when the ring hit the spotlight.

“Sorry, boys!” She’d yelled, “I’m a taken woman now.” Tommy watched her with a smirk and flicked his cigarette into the ashtray. The crowd had applauded more out of fear, eyeing Tommy Shelby in the nearby booth, than actual excitement. They were sad to be losing their favorite sweetheart, Lady Lenore. “Say, none of you boys should be imagining me naked now.” She teased with a pout. The audience laughed and whistled. She could see Tommy laughing, his wide lips drawn up into a rare, beautiful smile.

The problem, she’d discovered, was that she felt too vulnerable as herself when she was anywhere else. Lady Lenore could handle anything but she couldn’t be Lady Lenore when she was with Tommy. As much as she tried to hide it, she was scared to have sex with Tommy, with anyone. He hadn’t asked for it but she dreaded the day when he would. Yes, she wanted to fuck him but what if it reminded her of Kimber? What if she started to hate him? What if it hurt? What if she could never satisfy him? She didn’t want it to be a wound that never healed, scar tissue that caused problems later. She hoped that her love would be enough.

In her routines since her engagement she’d switched totally over into a singer. She no longer did strip teases or barely-there costumes. It was her message to Tommy, a way of telling him that she was his and his only. She stepped out in a bright turquoise dress with butterfly sleeves, dotted with pearls. The dress itself was short in a flapper style and decorated with matching turquoise feathers. Dancers escorted her on stage with white feathered skirts. She took the mic and swirled her long strand of pearls.

“Gee, you all look a little lonesome out there tonight. Don’t they girls?” She whipped around to her dancers and they pouted dramatically, flickers of naughtiness in their doll eyes.

“Can’t you do something ‘bout it?” She asked with a sly smile. The audience roared.

“Don’t worry, boys. We’ve got the fix!” She winked at the band who struck up “I Want A Good Man.”

Gee, I’m awful lonesome,

I need company,

‘Cause I’ve turned my sweetie down

For he’s been cheating on me

She flashed her ring and the audience laughed. The girls broke out into a racey number, in their feathered tutus.

If you crave endearing charms,

I can fill your empty arms

I wanna good man,

And I want him bad

She hugged herself and did a brief Charleston step. The girls switched sides on the stage and shimmied their jeweled chests at the audience. She bounced on her heels and acted with her hands, selling the song.

For love indeed

Is what I need,

Affection is my line

In my plea, for goodness sake,

Won't someone give me a break?

I wanna good man,

And I want him bad

The dancers ran into the audience and surrounded the stage, forming a small kickline. Their garters slid slowly down their legs to their ankles and then flew off into the crowd of excited men. When she looked over, Tommy’s eyes were still stuck to her as if there weren’t half naked women throwing their undergarments off. His pretty face stared back at her and she smiled wider, dimples appearing on either side of her mouth. The dancers rushed back on stage with feather fans and fluttered them behind Lenore’s head. She stretched out her white gloved arms and turned back to the audience.

The rest is up to us

Here I am, make up your mind,

Girls like me are hard to find

I wanna good man,

And I want him so bad!

The crowd applauded and the dancers scurried off stage to change into their next set of costumes. She followed them and found her chair at the dressing table, dropping into it with a relieved sigh. Lucy changed into her next costume and congratulated Lenore quickly with a kiss on the cheek.

“You were wonderful, Nore!” She squealed and hurried back out for Clara’s number.

“Thank you!” She called after her and smiled at herself in the mirror. She felt herself switching back into her normal self, residue anxieties manifesting once again, heavy on her heart. She sat like that until the dressing room emptied before she started to cry, holding her head in her hands. No matter how much she pretended to be fine, she had to fight this feeling of overwhelming filth. She felt filthy and naked whenever she wasn’t acting. It was a cruel loop that she couldn’t get out of. Tommy was one of the only men that she felt comfortable around anymore. She was healing and it was hard. The dressing door opened and Tommy walked in, closing the door behind him. He approached her slowly with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his lip. He looked down at her, tears still staining her face and cocked his head slightly to the side before nodding.

“Come ‘ere.” He beckoned her over with open arms and she stood from the chair and wrapped her arms around his chest.

“Tonight is the last night, yeah?” He said smoothly and she nodded.

“No more.” She cried softly and he stubbed the cigarette out, one arm still wrapped around her. He rubbed her back and waited silently as she stopped crying.

As much as she loved Cabaret, it was clear that she needed more time away from the memories the room offered. He wiped the running makeup from her face and helped her change, fetching the last costume from the rack for her. It was a simple champagne colored dress that she wore with her hair pinned up. He trailed his finger down her bare arm but withdrew it when she shivered. She looked at his reflecting in the lighted mirror and took in the way his body looked beside hers. He was strong and full, sturdy, like a pillar in the wind.

"I love you, Tommy." She whispered to the reflection and he smirked shyly.

“You look beautiful.” Tommy whispered back. She nodded, tears already beginning to burn once again in her eyes. He slipped a warm hand around her waist and escorted her through the narrow hallway to the stage. She watched from the sidelines as Clara took her bows. She traded places with Clara and watched as Tommy went back to his seat at the booth, his arm strewn over the booth’s back. The audience whistled as she stepped up to the microphone.

“This is my last song for you boys. I'm retiring a bit early. It's a sad song and I hope it won’t break your hearts.” She smiled and nodded to the band. “I’ll Be Seeing You” began with a jazzy piano riff and a trombone whine.

I’ll be seeing you

In all the old familiar places

That this heart of mine embraces

She sang raspily into the microphone and squinted up into the moon glow of the spotlight.

I’ll be seeing you

In every lovely summer’s day

In everything that’s light and gay

I’ll always think of you that way.

She fought the tears in her sockets and smiled lovingly at Tommy, the one she wanted to hear these lyrics. God, she loved him. She loved him so bad that she felt a sharp magnetic pull, like their hearts were opposite poles, pulled together. The men in the audience reacted in different ways. Some looked sadly into their beer and others watched her, their mouths held slightly agape. Tommy watched her with his usual straight face and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it looked like he loved her. His head fell gently to the side as he smoked a cigarette, his eyes trained on her as she sang. She winked quickly.

I’ll find you

In the morning sun

And when the night is newI’ll be looking at the moon

But I'll be seeing you.

She repeated the last verse in a swelling voice that silenced the room and saddened her heart.

I’ll find you

In the morning sun

And when the night is new

I’ll be looking at the moon

But I’ll be seeing you.

The trombone played the ending out with a sour flare and she bowed to the loud clatter of applause and whistles. She wiped a tear from her eye and smiled, waving goodbye. She blew kisses to everyone and stalked slowly off the stage. The dancers offstage wiped away their tears.

“That was so beautiful, Nore.” Clara whispered and dabbed her eyes.

“Did you mean that this was your last performance ever?” One girl asked.

“I’m done with Cabaret and I’m ready to move on. I’ll have a husband soon…” She tried to smile and followed Lucy down the hallway back to the dressing room. She changed back into her street clothes and exchanged heart-felt goodbyes with the dancers. When she pulled herself away from the powdery haze of the dressing room, Tommy was waiting outside in the alley, his peaky hat’s razor twinkling in the moonlight. When she emerged, he discarded his cigarette, dropping it into a puddle and slipped a hand around her waist.

“Did you like my song, Tommy?” She smiled as he held her close to his side.

“Sad.” He chuckled.

“Did it break your heart?”

“No, no.” She shook his head, “It's already been broken.” He looked down at her and pulled her into his chest, kissing her. She sighed and kissed him back, relaxing into the touch that she was starting to crave.

“Who broke your heart, Tommy Shelby?” She asked softly against his lips.

“The same girl who’s mending it.” He smiled slyly and they continued to walk. They hurried around large puddles of coal dust and got to the entrance of her building, the street side was covered in black coal like matte black paint. She stepped up on one of the rough cement stairs and stood on the falls of her feet so that she was face to face with Tommy. She gave him quick little kisses like pecs and hugged him around his broad shoulders. Kissing him, she remembered what she’d been meaning to tell him all day. She was too nervous to tell him before but as he held her waist loosely in his gloved hands, she felt safe enough to finally say it.

“Tommy, I have something to tell you,” she pulled away and placed her hands on each of her shoulders, looking into his dark eyes in the shadows.

“What?” He inhaled deeply.

“I bled yesterday, Tommy.” She whispered with a sincere smile. “I’m not pregnant.” She almost started crying again with relief. He seemed surprised by the news, not expecting it. After a few short moments, he nodded and took her hands in his. He cleared his throat and appeared to be fighting tears too but didn't let them show.

“Good, good," was all he could say as he smiled and kissed her long fingers, his nose brushing her engagement ring. He clenched his jaw and she pulled his face up to meet hers. They stared at each other for a while, unable to come up with words.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." She nodded emphatically.

“I know, Tommy.” She kissed him and held onto him tightly. He pulled away after a minute, kissing her forehead. “We can put that all behind us now. We’ll be married in another two weeks.” She reminded him and he smiled, starting to walk away.

“Hmmm, that so?” He called over his shoulder playfully.

"Its too late to back out now!" She called after him.

"Go to bed, Lenore!" He called back and crossed the street, his long black coat swaying with each step.

_______ End of pt. 5 :)

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #cillian fluff #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #cabaret #burlesque #1920s #flapper #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinder imagine #cillian x reader

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year

Text

Letters to My Love // Part VIII

We’ll Meet Again

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Oh my goodness, it’s been well over a month since I last updated this story and I sincerely apologize for that! I hope you all enjoy Bobby and Peach’s next set of letters!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter comes from the song of the same name by Vera Lynn, a song which also happens to factor into this part of the story!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, brief allusions to war, and references to rationing. This chapter is mostly fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

March 6, 1943

Sweet Peach,

Looks like I have my own elephant in the room to address this time. You asked for a photograph, and I’ve inundated you with five. Trust me, you think Dottie is bad, but I would dare to wager that she’s not nearly as insufferable as the lugheads I’m bunking with over here. When they caught wind of the fact that I was planning to send you a photo—which, for the record, was not at all forward of you to ask for and which actually gave my ego quite a nice boost—you should have seen the holy hullabaloo they raised. You really would have thought I was planning to feature myself on the front cover of Life Magazine with the way they carried on.

My original intent was to send you my graduation photo from Annapolis. My mother ended up packing a copy of it with my things when I left home—I think she was hoping I’d find a nice girl to give it to. She’ll be thrilled indeed to find that I have. Speaking of which, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve mentioned you in my letters to my family. I feel like you’ve become such a special part of my life, if you don’t mind me saying so, and I wanted them to get to know you a little bit, the way I have.

But anyway, like I was saying, I was glad that my mama tucked that photo away with my things so that I could have something to send you, though it’s by no means as spectacular as the photograph you sent me. When Tommy Boy and Benny found out that was the picture I was planning to send you, however, they started talking a whole bunch of nonsense about how I needed to send more pictures that showed off “the real me.” According to Benny, I look way too stiff and formal in my graduation photo. I told him that I thought the ladies were supposed to love a man in uniform, but he told me that’s apparently not the case when said uniform looks like it’s choking the life out of you. Tommy Boy said I should send you pictures that remind you of the fact that I actually do know how to have a good time—his words, not mine.

Even Paul agreed with them. That traitor.

To make a long story short, Peach, that’s why you’re (hopefully) holding those five photographs in your hand right now. In addition to my Annapolis photo—which my mother still happens to think is nice, even if the fellas don’t—are a few photos of us on board our carrier. I’m glad that you remember what I look like so that you don’t confuse me for my much better looking buddies—I hope seeing us side by side doesn’t do me too much of a disservice. I labeled them on the back for you, but there’s a few shots of me and Paul, then me, Benny, and Tommy Boy, then all four of us, then me standing beside me and Paul’s plane.

You know, now that I really think about it, I have a feeling that Benny and Tommy Boy’s grand scheme all along was to make sure that you had photographic evidence of them to show to all your friends and fellow USO volunteers. I tried to explain to them that you had very kindly informed me that most of the girls you know are spoken for, but they both still seem to have it in their heads that you can find a couple nice girls for them. Like I told you, they’re completely insufferable. Good thing they’re also pretty great guys, otherwise I don’t think I’d be able to stand it.

Anyway, all that to say that now you have some photographs, Peach. More than you asked for, I know, and I hope they don’t disappoint. Perhaps it was you who’s been remembering things with rose-colored glasses all this time and not me? Either way, I’ll stop rambling about it now.

Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny send all their best. Paul especially appreciates all your kind words, and your thoughts for him and his family. He says he knew you were a great girl, right from the start when you nearly spilled that punch all over him.

Speaking of punch and the dance, congratulations to your friend, Emily! A little bit of good news in the midst of all this madness is always greatly appreciated. And I’m sure that when the time comes, you’re going to be the prettiest bridesmaid there ever was.

Can I be honest with you though, Peach? I’m sure Emily is a lovely girl, especially if she’s lucky enough to count you as a friend, but at the moment, I have to confess that I don’t hold her fiancé in quite as high esteem. Now to be fair, I don’t know much about this Eddie guy, but from what I do know, he has to be one of the most foolish men I’ve ever seen. Before I explain, I should mention that I saw Eddie at the dance that night, right before he pulled Emily out onto the dance floor. You might wonder how, and I’d tell you it was because I was standing a few feet away from the punch table like a total coward, trying to work up the nerve to go talk to you. So the truth, Peach, is that I saw what happened between you and Eddie—how he approached you and asked you if it would be alright if he asked Emily to dance.

On the one hand, I was selfishly relieved that he didn’t ask you. That meant that all hope wasn’t lost, and I might still get a shot to talk to you. But on the other hand, I couldn’t understand how one man could be so stupid, if you’ll pardon my saying so. Like I said, I’m sure Emily is a lovely girl, but I don’t understand how anyone could see you, Peach—especially that night, when you looked so beautiful in your pretty party dress—and think to dance with anyone else. I suppose you’re right though. It is funny how things work out. And as big a fool as I thought Eddie to be at the time, if I saw him right now, I might just shake his hand and thank him. Because if he hadn’t been a fool, I might not be talking to you right now. And let me tell you, Peach, that is as depressing a thought as any I can think of. So three cheers for Eddie and Emily! I wish them nothing but a lifetime of happiness, and I’ll join them in praying for an end to this war so that they can have their big wedding.

It sure is wild to think that in your last letter, you were telling me about your holidays, and now it’s already March. Time feels like it’s flying much too fast, but not quick enough at the same time. Do you know what I mean?

Paul still can’t believe how big Clara and Paul, Jr. are getting every time Natasha sends him updates. In her last few letters, she wrote that Paul, Jr. has finally started talking—she was very smug that his first word was “Mama,” but only because Clara’s first word was “Dada.” And now that he’s started, he just can’t stop. He’s starting to call everyone by their names—or at least his version of their names—and he even says “Dada” now when Natasha points to pictures of Paul. In her most recent letter, Natasha said he was even starting to walk and that she’s been having to chase him all over the house. “He’s going to be a runner, like his daddy,” she wrote. Did I ever tell you, Peach, that Paul and I ran track and field in high school? He could always run circles around me. Paul’s quite the proud papa, and he’s been bragging about his family to anyone on the carrier who will listen—it usually ends up being me, Tommy Boy, and Benny.

I’m sure little Frankie—or maybe not so little anymore—is starting to walk and talk now, too. Has he been giving you, Dottie, and Paddy a run for your money?

Peach, you once called me an honest man and so I don’t want to lie to you now—as much as I’d like to say that I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been attending any more dances, I’m just not as good a man as all that. The truth of the matter is that I’m quite chuffed (can you tell I’ve been spending time with a lot of Brits?) to hear that you’re saving a dance for me. It makes me want to finish this war and get home all the faster, knowing you’ll be there to welcome me back.

You know, we’ve actually gotten to enjoy a few USO performances over here recently. It does a lot to lift our spirits, and it always makes me think of you. One of the singers performed that Vera Lynn song, “We’ll Meet Again” the other night and I couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to be dancing with you again. I thought I might share some of the lyrics with you, the ones that really made me think of you:

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Til the blue skies chase those dark clouds far away

I believe deep down in my heart that we’re going to meet again, Peach. Just like the song says, I might not know where and I might not know when, but I know it’s going to happen. And what a happy day that will be, when I get to see your smiling face again.

I haven’t even sent this letter yet, and I already can’t wait to receive your next one. I hope whatever you’re doing right now, Peach, it’s bringing a smile to your face and that you’re doing real well.

Until next time and until we meet again.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I’m very embarrassed to admit that for a farm boy from Iowa, I’ve got quite the brown thumb. My only advice to you and Dottie when it comes to your Victory Garden is don’t do anything I would do!

April 2, 1943

Dear Bobby,

What an absolute treat to receive not one, but five wonderful photographs with your last letter! You can tell Tommy Boy and Benny that they were dead wrong—I would have been MORE than happy with just your photo from Annapolis! I think you look remarkably handsome in it, and I’m very thankful to your mother for thinking to send it along with you. The other photos you included are just the icing on the cake.

I love getting a tiny glimpse of what life is like for you over there, and it’s so good to see all of you smiling, despite the circumstances. Tommy Boy, Benny, and Paul all look very handsome as well, but between the two of us, I don’t think any of them could hold a candle to you. Still, it does make me wonder if being handsome is a requirement for joining the Navy nowadays? If so, I’d say you all certainly fit the bill.

Dottie was quite eager to see your picture, and I’ll have you know that she declared you even more handsome than she had been imagining—and my big sister has quite a vivid imagination, let me tell you. Paddy teased her about it endlessly, saying that maybe she should find herself her own pen pal considering how much she seems to enjoy sticking her nose into my correspondences. Just to get back at him, Dottie traded our extra coffee rations with one of our neighbors for more sugar rations. Paddy grumbled about it the next few mornings, but Dottie made it up to him with a chocolate cake after dinner.

I’ve been keeping all your photographs on the desk in my room, Bobby, and I’m looking at them right now as I pen this letter. I promise you that I certainly wasn’t remembering you through rose-colored glasses and that, in fact, you’re even more handsome than my faulty memory could recall. I especially love the pictures of you with your friends—your smiles are all so bright that I can actually feel the joy of your friendship just by looking at them. You have such a lovely smile, Bobby, made all the lovelier by the fact that you have such a wonderful heart underneath.

While we’re on the topic of photographs, it seems that you and I are starting to play tag with them. Since you sent such sweet photographs of you and the boys, I thought I might send a photograph I really loved that we took while we were home in Georgia for Christmas. That’s me, Dottie, Frankie, and Paddy on Christmas morning, right before everyone started opening their presents. Since I talk about them all so much in my letters, I thought it might be nice for you to put some faces with their names. Besides Paddy, of course, since you already know his face.

By the way, I’m truly touched to know that you’ve mentioned me in your letters to your family. Of course I don’t mind it! My family knows all about you, so it seems only right that you should be able to tell your family about me. Maybe one day we’ll all get to be together to share some peach cobbler and pumpkin pie!

Tell Paul, Benny, and Tommy Boy that I say hello and that they looked great in those photos! Tell Tommy Boy and Benny in particular to keep their chins up, and that they’ll find two lucky girls to call their own very soon! And you can tell Paul that I’m still mortified about that punch spill.

Oh, Bobby, I’m so embarrassed to think you overheard my conversation with Eddie that night! Truth be told, in that moment, I felt so silly. I thought for sure he was going to ask me to dance, so I felt a bit ridiculous when it turned out he just wanted to know if it was okay to ask Emily. In all honesty, I really wanted to leave after that. But then you showed up and everything changed. My whole night turned around. Dottie always says that everything happens for a reason, and I really do believe that. I think Eddie and Emily were meant to meet each other that night, just like you and I were meant to meet each other, Bobby. Knowing you has brought so much goodness to my life, and I can’t imagine what it would be like if our paths hadn’t crossed that night. So now I can say thank goodness for Eddie wanting to dance with Emily!

I know exactly what you mean about time, Bobby. Dottie and I were just talking about how we want time to slow down because it feels like Frankie is growing up way too fast! Just like Paul, Jr., Frankie is walking now and we have to be vigilant at all times to make sure he isn’t getting into any mischief. Just the other day, he somehow managed to get his hands on Paddy’s keys and hide them under the couch. We spent hours looking for them! He also said his first word a couple months ago—Dada. Thankfully, Paddy was home to hear it, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so proud. Dottie pretended to be miffed—”Fifteen hours I spend in labor with that boy and he says ‘Dada’ first!”—but she really was excited, too. Now he also says Mama, hi, bye-bye, and milk. Sometimes he’ll say doggy, too, when we see dogs out on the street. The funniest thing is that he seems to have given me the nickname “Cookie.” Whenever Dottie asks him who I am, he laughs and says, “Cookie!” So to you, I’m Peach and to my nephew, I’m Cookie. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve all these food nicknames!

I’m so thrilled to hear that the USO has finally made its way over to you boys! I can’t imagine what you’re all going through over there, but I know that you do deserve an opportunity to relax and unwind.

That Vera Lynn song is so beautiful, and my heart is so full to hear that it made you think of me, Bobby. After I read your letter, I remembered that we actually have a record of that song in the house, so I immediately went and put it on. I admit, I played it a few times and imagined that you were here dancing with me. We will meet again, Bobby, I just know it. I feel it in my heart, too, the same as you. And the sun will be shining bright when we do, just like the song says.

I hope the sun is shining on you right now, Bobby, and that wherever you are, you’re safe and you know that I’m thinking of you and wishing you the speediest return home.

Until we meet again, know that I’m sending you all my very best.

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Dottie and I have been cursed with brown thumbs ourselves, but we’re determined to make this Victory Garden work! I’ll keep you updated on our efforts!

P.P.S. I know it will probably be a while until we hear from each other again, so I want to wish you a very Happy Easter. Stay safe, Bobby!

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #WWII AU #1940s AU

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evita-shelby · 6 months

Text

No substitute for experience

My first Tom Bennett x milf!reader smut (some slight Tom Bennett x reader's daughter sprinkled there)

If its a little wonky please remember i am asexual and writing this was already a feat in itself.

For @hoosbandewan and @elizarbell , who convinced me to do it

Cw: sex, power play, boss/employee dynamic, erotic asphyxiation, infidelity, younger man/older woman

Internet cookie to those who figure out who is the reader's husband.

Gif by @violaobanion

You are old enough to be his mother and yet that’s no issue for him.

He'd gotten a gig as your chauffeur and for the first time in his life he'd been eager to work. Before the first week had ended you’d given him a raise for his great service.

Tom’s been with plenty of girls, but now as he was shown how great sex was with an experienced woman, there was no way he was missing a single day of work.

The fine Bentley is the most common setting for your escapades, but the two of you have grown bold enough to fuck in the car garage, the stables where your husband kept his prized thoroughbreds and even the bed the two of you shared when he wasn’t away in London or your country estate in Birmingham.

Tom knew this was just a fling and would end once your business in Manchester ended, but there was something about you that drove him wild.

“You wished to speak to me, ma’am?” He plays the employee when he is ordered to your office by the housekeeper who does a great job of pretending she doesn’t know why you go through chauffeurs like he goes through packs of cigarettes.

You do not give anything away, dressed to kill and lips red as a bombshell as you play the stern lady of the house. You wear a tight number, something that put your best assets on display.

No one could touch you and live to tell the story, every one knew what your husband did besides politics.

He was playing with fire, but oh how good it felt even of it burned.

“I have had reports of your behavior with the maids, Bennett.” You try not to smirk and yet your eyes betray you as his do. You have the riding crop across your lap and the blonde miscreant knows he’s going to enjoy the punishment you dole out.

You like control, you have your husband wrapped around your finger and put the fear of god into anyone who dared to stand in your way.

If they put you in a room with Hitler, you’d put a stop to his nonsense with look.

“Just being friendly with Sarah and Alice, nothing serious.” He shrugs and adds, “Are you jealous, Y/N?”

You don’t know yet that he’s also been fooling around with your daughter, but for know he keeps his mouth shut. Tom didn’t want to lose the only job he's ever liked yet.

“Mrs. L/N.” you correct. You are Mrs. L/N when you play the boss and the chauffeur with him, but he’s come to enjoy going off script and making you lose your patience.

He knows he’s in for a spanking anyways, why not remind you he’s not one to keep his head down and bite his tongue?

You like his fire, you’ve told him yourself when he’d ravaged you after a visit from your husband.

Bet he can’t go on and on like this anymore, he’d said making use of his youthful vigor.

Oh, silly boy, there’s no substitute for experience, you’d said bopping his nose as of he were one of your children.

“How will you punish me, Mrs. L/N?” he asks taunting you with your own name and keeping himself defiant. “Will you spank me like a kid again?”

The fucking is always better when he provokes you.

“God, no, I’d hate to be predictable, Tommy.” You then asked him to join you on the fancy couches he’ll never afford in this lifetime.

You sit on his lap revealing nothing underneath your skirt, but you don’t let him touch you or even unbuckle his own belt.

“Only good boys get to touch me.” You playfully removed his hands from your waist before springing his cock free from its confines. “I have to teach you to obey, sweet boy.”

He doesn’t need much to be ready for you just as you were already fired up and ready to fuck before he even came into the room. You feel good, so good he thinks you aren’t going to punish him further.

“This doesn’t feel like a punishment, Y/N.” Tom groans lowly as you begin to ride him. He can’t touch you, but really its no hardship.

Your hands roam up his torso and settle on his neck. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

You have a wild and occasionally sadistic side to you, beside control you like inflicting pain onto your toys. Tom was no different and he bets every man and woman before him didn’t give a shit either.

“There is a Siberian prayer called Khlysty, where a priest would place their hands on your neck and give you the most wonderful ecstasy via strangulation.” You begin and waits for him to agree or refuse.

You only go as far as he allows and while the idea frightened him, he knows you wouldn’t hurt him or worse kill him.

He's in safe hands, literally.

“Russians always know where the fun is, don’t they?” Tom relaxed under her touch as the hands around his neck grew tighter.

But you don’t stop fucking yourself with him as if he were a toy and he fights the urge to touch you and return fire.

Feels damnably good. Better than anything so far.

And when he feels he can’t breathe anymore, when it begins to hurt despite the fact that he’s about to cum, you bring your lips to his ear and whisper the last thing he expected.

“Can my little girl make you cum like this, Bennett?” You let go and Tom unraveled in ways he’d never done before.

He's barely regained his ability to speak when he answers, “No substitute for experience, ma’am.”

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x milf!reader #tom bennett smut #ewan mitchell #ewanverse

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smok3r7 · 1 month

Text

One Door Closes & Another One Opens

Joel x OFC!Divorce Lawyer

Explicit, 18+

Voice To The Face

Main MasterList & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: She’s a divorce attorney and he’s a husband looking for help to save his daughter, and himself, from his gambling addict wife. Renae Russo is a woman who fights for her clients and wins. She’s satisfied with her life and what she does - but she wishes she could have a little more. What happens when Joel Miller becomes her client and an old flame of Renae’s reignites in the same breath?

Chapter Summary: Both Joel and Renae finally find the courage to make the right decisions to better their lives and find true happiness, partially together and partially not. Better late than never.

Word count: 5.8k

—

Mindlessly pacing back and forth in Tommy’s backyard, Joel can’t seem to stop talking to Renae. The conversation flows so easily, there’s no awkward silence, no vile words being thrown around, no drunken nonsense, and no slot machine music in the background. It’s the first time in years Joel feels listened to and has someone who actually engages in conversation.

His flip-flops pop on the cement that surrounds the inground pool - he’s probably done at least two dozen laps in a matter of minutes. The sky has changed to a soft blue with a hue of orange coming from the sun that’s starting to set, soft bubble-like clouds scatter the sky, and the vibrant oak and ash trees dance with the wind that lightly blows. Summers in Austin can be outright magical, but they can also be dangerously hot. Thankfully this year has been more of the cooler weather, but Joel’s not gonna jinx it because he’s noticed as he gets older, he hates the heat.

Joel didn’t expect to be by the pool for this call, so his jeans stick to his sweaty legs and groin as he paces, making him adjust his semi-hard cock that's been fighting with his zipper. If he would’ve known the first call with a divorce lawyer would’ve gone this way, he wouldn’t have been around Tommy. He started the call sitting with Tommy in his front lawn, both sitting around an ash-filled fire pit with whiskeys in each other's hands, but after about five minutes of Tommy wanting to know every tiny bit of what she was saying, Joel just stood up and walked to the backyard, whiskey in hand.

The phone call started out professional; he went into extreme detail about his financial details, how he wants physical and sole custody of Sarah with no strings to Annie, and that he wants to keep everything except the Toyota. She can keep that damn thing for all he cares, it’s of no use to him.

However, about thirty minutes into the call, after Joel mentioned he also wants to keep the cabin he and Annie bought when they first got together, Renae is the one to change the energy of the call from business to somewhat casual. She talks about how she loves camping in cabins and that she hasn’t gone camping in over a decade, and Joel makes sure to remember that she’s been to ten different campsites in Texas.

If things go a certain direction, he might be able to help her add to that list. At the same time, Joel can’t stop from thinking how he’s already looking into the future with her, during a time where he’s getting divorced. But he quickly finds himself getting distracted by the way her business voice morphed into this bubbly, sarcastic one that has Joel hypnotized by her every word.

And just like that, the floodgates open and the divorce talk is forgotten about completely by both parties.

Another thirty minutes go by of Joel and Renae getting to know each other through talking about fun activities they’ve individually done in the past and things they both enjoy. He talks about things he’s done with Sarah throughout her life, the memories of going to Disney World, to Cedar Point, the Grand Canyon all start to play out like a movie in his brain. Joel hasn’t thought about some of the things that play for him right now in some years - he’s been too occupied to reminisce about the past, so he goes silent for a moment getting lost in little Sarah giggles and hugs.

“That reminds me of the time my sister and I went tubin’ and both of us flew- and when I say flew, I mean we went like ten feet in the air!” She laughs on the other side of the phone.

Seriously? Joel can’t help but chuckle as he asks her, his left hand rubs the back of his neck as he passes the metal handle that leads to the pool steps. Circling for what could very well be the hundredth time.

“Yes, Joel, my dad is insane when it comes to his boat. But I wouldn’t have anyone else drive it, and he wouldn’t either.”

“That sounds like a smart man to me. Sounds like me with my pontoon.”

“Joel, stop it right now,” her southern twang takes control as she drags out her words almost in a whiny voice, but not annoying like Annie. Quite the opposite, actually, any tone from Renae has Joel drooling from his mouth and dick.

“You keep surprisin’ me with these fun little facts about you.”

Heat rushes instantly to his face, and he’s so taken aback that his feet plant themselves and he drags his fingers through the top of his curls and stops them on the back of his head, where he softly scratches his scalp. Something about her smart-ass attitude, silk-like voice, and confident cadence all combined and tied with a large bow to make it better has him not feeling like himself, and he can’t tell if that’s good or not.

“I’ve lived a pretty full life darlin’, there’s lots of things you’d learn from me.”

Joel feels like he must be on a roll or something because of the way she giggles; it’s almost like he can see her sun kissed cheeks start to turn red and her teeth shine from her smile. His heart beat thumps in his chest and cock that’s now supported by the waistband of his boxers and jeans. Thankfully he’s somewhat smart enough to have his back facing the two story home to hide the effects from this one woman.

“Well, since you’re offering, I couldn’t possibly pass that up. That would just be pretty dumb of me.” Joel knows she’s serious but he also hears the bit of sarcasm that laces her words. It’s like a fun game of cat and mouse, who’s gonna fold first, and Joel is loving every second of it.

Joel’s body feels light and airy, his chest isn’t tight. Most importantly, he’s not walking on eggshells. It’s become so natural for him to always be on alert and pay attention to the little inflections of someone’s voice and body language, but that hasn’t happened once since he’s been on this call. It’s refreshing to have a simple, yet meaningful, conversation with someone - her slight southern charm with some street knowledge, and with him knowing her physical attributes, Joel can’t complain in the slightest.

He feels like he’s hit the lottery with Renae and he hasn’t even met her yet.

“Well sugar, how about I come to see ya’ tomorrow ‘n I’ll teach ya’ some things.” The second glass of whiskey gives Joel the confidence he needs to keep up the playful banter and not feel self conscious about it. A second goes by and he swears he hears her try to cover up another giggle, I still got it. Joel hasn’t flirted in years, after so long he was convinced he could never do it again and he was going to be this cold hearted old man for the rest of his life.

“Come by anytime between noon and four,” she says, her voice low and sweet, “Just say you’re here for Russo and she’ll bring you to me.”

“Someone’s eager,” Joel can’t help but grin, “But it sounds like a deal, darlin’.”

“Well I wanna put a face to the smooth voice- uh, I-” she’s now stumbling on her words trying to hide the fact that she just slipped up more than she wanted to. “You may want to bring paper copies of bills, properties you own, and any evidence against Annie that you have. Ya’ know, for our first conciliation- free of charge for you.”

“Will get as much as I can by then-”

“Dad!”

Joel spins around and sees Sarah standing in the doorway with her Nightmare Before Christmas pajama set and her brown hair is pulled up in a high bun that sits on her head. “Are you done yet? I wanna play uno before bed!” She shouts with both of her hands sitting on her hips as she pops her left hip out dramatically and her face has a scowl the size of a monster.

He can’t help but snort at the amount of attitude that spews out of his four foot daughter - oddly enough, he hears Renae snickering in his right ear.

“Give me one minute, kiddo, just gotta finish this call.”

“Ugh, you said that over an hour ago,” Sarah groans and spins around to storm off into Tommy’s, but before she takes a step Joel is quick to check her. He lets some attitude and smart ass comments fly, but not when it comes to something like this. It’s too close to her coming off as a snooty kid - which is not the kind of behavior he will tolerate.

He rests his phone on his chest as his voice booms across the pool and yard from her, “Would ya’ rather just go to bed?” This stops her and causes her to turn her head. I’m sorry, she apologizes. He nods and she’s gone inside. Then he shakes his head, raising his left hand to his face as he rubs the corner of his eye for a moment to collect himself.

“Sorry ‘bout that-“

“Don’t be,” Renae interrupts him, “When duty calls you gotta act on it, I get it. Well, not cause of kids, but- you know what I mean. Anyways, I’ll let you go for the night and I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t want to hang up, he could talk with her for hours and hours. But ultimately he knows he has to, there’s no other option. He’s been dreading this part of the call, partially due to the fact he knows he’s gotta go back to reality.

“Alrighty, Ms. Russo,” he purrs, “Rest up so ya’ can see if my face meets your expectations.”

Renae giggles and the shaking of her bracelets clangs together faintly in the background. “Night, Joel.”

Then just like that, she hangs up. Leaving Joel smirking like a fifteen year old boy who just talked to his first crush and got her number. But now he’s alone with his conflicting thoughts and feelings about how he should handle this delicate situation.

—

On my way back now, a client surprised me. Be home in 10<3

Renae hits send to Gia, who texted her about five minutes ago reminding Renae that she said she’d be home no later than six-thirty - it's ten after seven. Renae had gotten distracted by her phone call with Joel, that she forgot her sister and niece were even in town. There was just something about him that entranced her and kept her wanting to learn more and more about him and who he is as a person.

Renae’s phone goes off with a ding, and she picks it up and unlocks it to see a response.

Kk I just got B out the bath and she’s playing with Frankie, see you when you get here<3

Renae smiles and holds down the message and presses the heart reaction, letting Gia know she read it. After tossing her phone in her purse on her passenger side, she puts her car in drive and heads home.

But she can’t stop thinking of Joel. The way his southern drawl slurs his words just a bit, his laugh deep and sounds like it starts in his belly and climbs into his chest, and the way he talks so highly of his daughter like she’s the most precious thing to him. It’s almost too perfect - but yet again, he is getting divorced, so maybe that’s his red flag. She can’t help but think maybe he wasn’t so innocent in the way things ended with Annie, because there’s two sides to every story.

Even with those negative things floating around her head, she can’t leave the idea of Joel alone. Renae can’t think of the last time a man who has been open about emotions and relationships and a stand up guy all around.

Well, that’s kind of a lie.

Dominic Amaro.

That man will forever be the standard of a boyfriend that Renae will ever have. When they broke up, she told herself that she would never settle for anything less than that and she has upheld that since then. It hasn’t been easy, Renae’s used to the toxic, needy guys - for some god awful reason - so she’s had to learn how to steer clear from those people.

Joel seems to be the opposite of what she would be into, however she’s only basing this off of his voice and personality with a mix of his playful humor.

Sugar, darlin’, Ms. Russo.

Renae can’t stop replaying those words in Joel’s voice. She’s hooked, addicted even. She’s not sure how she’s gonna be able to keep her composure tomorrow. If he looks anything like she imagines - she’s fucked, and not in a good way.

Well, maybe…who knows?

By the time she reaches her apartment complex, she’s already looking forward to sleeping. But she knows she can't. Bianca is going to want to watch The Princess Bride before she goes to bed tonight. It's become tradition since the first time Bianca traveled five years ago. The first night they stayed, Gia suggested it and Bianca just fell in love with the movie. The next time they visited, Renae surprised Bianca with baking sugar cookies before the movie so they would be done about half way through. Then they could snack on some treats while enjoying the movie before they all went to bed.

It’s helped heal a bit of Renae’s broken heart that she denies having; being able to create joy for Bianca out of something so minuscule is all Renae needs.

“I’m back!” She announces as she pushes her front door open and instantly spots everyone in the living room to her left. “So sorry I’m late, I got caught up on a call.” She can feel Gina’s eyes scorning her back as Renae faces her kitchen, setting down her purse and laptop bag. Like she always does.

But before Gia can get a word out, Bianca is at Renae’s hip, saving her from any bullshit her mom was about to unleash. “It’s okay, we got the movie all set and got the cookies mixed up, they just gotta go in the oven!” Bianca squeals as she looks up at Renae with this enormous smile that Renae can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy; she looks so much like a mix of Gia and Renae, the Russo genes are strong.

“Lovebug, you are the bomb,” Renae lowers her right hand a low five, which Bianca smacks hard. “Just lemme’ go change and we can start!”

“Okay!” Bianca cheers as she hugs Renae’s hips and runs back into the living room with Gia and Frankie. The apartment is now filled with puppy barks and growls as Bianca plays tug-a-war with him on the dark gray carpet that has a hint of navy blue to it, that covers the living room.

“Can I talk with you for just a second?” Gia asks with a snide tone while standing up from the navy leather couch, then walking behind Renae who’s heading to her room.

“Don’t think I have much of a choice,” Renae sighs in defeat while opening her bedroom door. In a strange way, she now feels like the little sister who’s about to get scolded by the older one for god knows what. However, deep down Renae knows that Gia can sense something is up. When she and Bianca are in town, Renae is never late and won’t ever give a half-assed excuse, for anything - so Gia definitely knows something is different.

Before Renae can even get one heel off, Gia is already shooting off a hundred questions at once. To anyone else it would sound like pure gibberish, but Renae has no problem making out each word and being able to understand them.

So who’s the guy? How old? Does he have money? Is he tall? Fat? Skinny? Short? How long has this been goin’ on? Are you and Dominic talking again? You only glow like this when you’re with or talking with him- She takes a split second to gasp out of a realization, oh my god…it is Dominic. When were you gonna tell me? How long?

By the time she’s finished with her array of questions, Renae has already changed into her oversized tee and shorts and is now in her bathroom relieving her face from the makeup that’s melted to her face from the brutal heat. Completely ignoring her sisters ridiculous blabbering, but yet hating the fact that she’s right - partially.

With both her hands flat on the pearl white countertop next to the matching white square sink that sits above the counter, instead of in it. A little touch of something different than any other place she was looking at to rent, the bathroom is really what sold her on this one bedroom, one and a half bathroom apartment.

She observes her reflection opposite of her, she can tell there is a small glow that shines from her face; her cheeks have a brighter color to them, her green eyes piercing but soft, her shoulders are relaxed and low. She’s not tense, like she has been for the last few years. Not because of anything in particular, she just hasn't been able to let loose like she wants.

After a few more seconds of taking in her appearance, she sees how happy she looks. The defined lines in between her eyebrows are softer, the smiles lines grow from the permanent smile that paints her lips. Her eyes are full of hope and desire, much like how she feels about tomorrow. The promise of tomorrow is what’s keeping her light on her toes; the possibility of something new and unfamiliar excites Renae.

She has to venture out of her comfort zone, Dominic can’t be her safety net forever.

“Hello,” Gia drags out as she vigorously flips the light switch on and off, “Earth to Renae, anyone home?”

“Shit, yeah.” Renae shakes her head before she slides her bracelets off, along with her rings, and hoops. Then setting them on the counter next to the sink; knowing that she’ll more than likely wear them tomorrow, she doesn’t put them in her jewelry stand.

Quickly glancing over to her sister and her bump, who’s no more than a couple meters away, Renae smiles at the fact Gia is living her life exactly how she wants. The jealousy still lingers in her soul, it always will, but it’s pushed into the back of her mind for now. She goes back to her reflection and starts to put her thick hair into a low bun that sits at the bottom of her neck.

“For your information, Dominic and I aren’t back together, but we have been talking-“

“I knew it!”

Renae now completely faces Gia with a playful - kinda annoyed - expression, “Bitch, are you gonna let me finish? Or do ya’ not want the story?” Crossing her arms in front of her chest and popping her right hip that bumps into the drawer.

“Can’t help myself!” Gia scoffs as she turns around and sits on Renae’s bed, one hand planted behind her supporting her body up and the other one spreads across her belly. Her worn gray Yankee’s tee lifts enough for her belly button to pop out, Renae can't stop her lips from curving up. Pure love and compassion pours out of her whole demeanor. Seeing Gia legitimately happy and enjoying herself and her life, getting everything she wants and needs for her and her family, is such a beautiful feeling for Renae.

The big sister finally feels like the baby has finally found herself and it digs at her a little bit because she doesn’t need Renae. At least not like they did as kids. But it also fills her with this accomplished spirit because Renae was the one who pushed Gia to move to New York and make that one last step.

Now look at Gia; a badass business owner, wife, mother, and homeowner.

“I get excited when this shit happens to you, Rae… Cause you deserve it and I want it so badly for you.” Gia’s tone is now low and sincere, her body language even. She swipes the loose pieces of her shoulder length hair that’s a bright cherry blonde behind her ears and slightly sitting forward. Almost too fast for Renae to catch but she sees a small tear fall down Gia’s cheek before she quickly wipes it away with her right hand.

“Please know that I’m rooting for you in every way possible, even with our little tit-for-tat shit we do.”

Renae now in the doorway between her bedroom and bathroom with the right side of her body leaning against the frame, her left leg crossed behind her right one that supports her body and her arms still folded. The image of her pregnant sister in front of her instantly soothes her body and mind, she can never stay mad at Gia.

“Don’t go gettin’ all fuckin’ sappy on me,” Renae chuckles, “Buck up, camper.”

“Whatever, so how’s Dominic and his ma?”

“Not good, uh, he told me she’s maybe got a year left in her. Her organs just are not functioning like they should, so he’s pretty shaken by that.”

“Aw, Rae. I’m sorry, honey.”

“Yeah, well, anyway Dominic is comin’ to visit next month, so I invited him to stay with me for those few days he’s here.” Renae watches as Gia’s eyes bulge and her mouth starts to open, however she’s quick to stop her. “Nothing serious is gonna come outta it, I just figured if he’s gonna be in Austin he could save money by staying here. And maybe we’ll fuck or not, I don’t know okay?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Gia smirks as she raises her hands in surrender. “But I know that’s not everything that happened today… Spill.” Both her hands back on the mattress supporting her body as she leans back a bit with a cocky smirk.

Renae can’t help herself from laughing as she turns to flick the light off in the bathroom and slides past Gia towards the door that leads out to the rest of her apartment. She doesn’t want to explain the Joel situation right now mostly because she hasn’t even met him yet, so she really has nothing to go on. She’ll fill Gia in tomorrow after her meeting with him.

“Nice try, your daughter’s waiting for us.” She flicks her bedroom light off, “In five seconds I bet she’ll call for us. Five…four…three…two..”

“Mamaaa, are y’all almost ready?”

In her dark room the two sisters can’t help the burst of laughter and snorts that leave their mouths at the perfect timing of Bianca’s voice from the living room. Renae was just trying to switch the topic of conversation off of her before she got stuck answering to her sister.

Even though she’s a lawyer - a very good one - Gia is able to corner Renae into telling her things. She’s never been able to understand why her baby sister is the one to crack her and it’s been like this since Gia could talk. So Renae found out she has to switch the conversation or just leave the area, because otherwise Gia will sit there and pick apart every minute detail that Renae subconsciously tells.

“We’re comin’, lovebug!”

—

The flicking of Renae’s nails on her thumb and ring finger on her right hand takes over the office, her nerves tingling with anticipation. It’s the first time she’s ever been nervous to meet a client. Well frankly, she’s never had a client like this before.

She can’t stop pacing her office; around her desk, around the table that sits in the middle of her room, up and down the length of her five foot window as she stares down twelve stories at the people who look like ants. Her stomach is in knots, her throat feels dry even though she’s pounded a couple of bottles of water.

Burning rays of sun shine down on her through the window pane, causing her to turn back to her office as she scans her surroundings. Making sure everything is exactly how she wants it and nothing is slightly out of place; first impressions are huge for her.

Renae’s office is her prized possession, she’s worked her ass off to get where she is; right after high school she jumped into college - four years of college to get her bachelors in Sociology and then she did three years in Law school. Luckily she knew Rachel York through a family friend, who put a good word in for Renae and was able to start at R&R Law Firm immediately. So the last thing she wants is for a client to walk in and be instantly turned away by how her space is decorated or kept together.

Maybe that’s a stretch for anyone to think but she’s heard plenty of stories from other attorneys, where their desk wasn’t kept up completely and the client complained about him being disorganized. So ever since then Renae has been a stickler about her work space.

Why did I give him such a huge window of time? She repeats on a loop in different ways so she can try to understand her logic, but there’s no right or wrong answer. She was simply too distracted by him and too eager to meet him to even think about giving correct information. She cracks her thin fingers on both hands and a little bit of her tension is broken, at least in her hands - the other parts of her body are another story.

She tilts her head up to the clock above her desk, one o’clock on the dot. She inhales through her nose and lets it sit in her chest for a second, then exhales through her mouth once to try to escape the reality of meeting Joel. But it doesn’t help. She walks about her mahogany desk and sits in her matching colored office chair, adjusting her fitting white button-up that’s tucked into her high waisted baby blue dress pants so she’s comfortable.

Her usual curly hair, now pin straight with a middle part, reaches the top of her butt and a few money pieces in front of her shoulders and temples on her face. The gold of her jewelry shimmers with her sun-kissed skin that lays underneath the thick, choker-like chain necklace, accompanied by her medium sized hoops, bangles on each wrist and groupings of rings on either hand. Her French tipped acrylics being the cherry on top for her.

“Knock, knock.”

Renae stops like she just got caught sneaking out the house as a teenager.

He’s here. Holy shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

With her open toed white heels she spins her chair towards her door to see the mystery man that she already knows is going to uproot her life. Her body stops all movements, but her brain is working a mile a minute.

He’s from the diner… He’s the hot man from the diner.

But he’s cleaned himself up. He’s now crossed the threshold of the door about five or six feet away from her, give or take. First thing that catches her eye is how he shaved his face, keeping the mustache so not quite a baby face but not the full beard she loved yesterday. His salt and pepper curls are combed back and not messy, it even looks like he may have gotten a small haircut on the top. His dark chocolate orbs glistening along with his tanned skin from the sun that beats in from the window across the room.

She can’t believe this, it’s almost comical. In fact, she can’t help but laugh and slightly shake her head side to side while she stares up into his eyes. Joel does the same as he holds a stack of papers in a Manila folder tucked between his left bicep that’s covered by a light gray button up, which is bunched up and about ready to rip and his side.

“So you’re Joel Miller?” She giggles as she pushes herself out of her chair and steps towards him to properly greet him, for real this time and not just a quick moment of intimate eye contact while she walks away.

“This is me, darlin’,” he says, and she watches his eyes do a quick up and down gaze of her body as she gets closer. Her heart flutters at his voice, it's soft but deep like it comes from his chest and his southern tone is heavy when it comes to pet names.

Now directly in front of him, Renae extends her arm to shake his hand - for more reasons than one - her thin gold bangles chime together.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Miller”

Joel’s quick to grasp her hand, which is completely swallowed by his thick, calloused hand that squeezes for a second, “Likewise Ms. Russo.” His voice is like honey that drips and drips, having Renae begging for more of it.

—

“So you did know it was me before you came here?” Renae questions Joel with a smirk, as she barely sways her chair and pops her gum, while he sits across her desk.

Joel shifts his body just enough so his shoulder blades now rest on the back of the leather swivel chair, his right hand scratches his stubble while he chuckles at her reaction. His eyes roam around her body, even though she’s all he wants to look at. He’s partially embarrassed because he feels like a stalker of some kind, even though she’s reassured him that he’s not dozens and dozens of times.

It’s been close to two hours since he arrived at her office. The first hour was all about the divorce bullshit he’ll have to go through; canceling insurance on Annie’s Toyota and changing the title to her name, taking her off his phone plan, changing locks, taking her off of the family insurance policy. Then the worst two things that he wanted to avoid at all cost, he found out he’s going to have to deal with it - the whole process will take four months minimum because there’s a child involved and that he’s going to have to fight for physical and sole custody because Annie’s going to, and already is, fighting it.

Renae could tell he was feeling down and out of sorts just by the way his whole body tensed when Sarah came up in the conversation. So she swiftly changed the course of their conversation and turned it more easy-going and natural than the previous. Which ended up turning into an hour of joking about the fact they have somewhat already met one another and the fact the odds of that happening are slim to none.

“Yes… But,” he sits up, now halfway off the seat and his elbows rest on his knees, while his palms and fingertips pressed together, “I just happened to click on R&R Law Firm. I saw your picture - beautiful one by the way - ‘N I told myself, or, made myself is a better way to describe it. And I had to just make the call.”

Joel loves the way her face brightens whenever he compliments her or he makes a joke that she finds hilarious; the way her nose scrunches when she tries to hide her laughter or smile, makes it hard for him to stop staring. He’s just getting to know her and he’s already obsessed, addicted, fixated. It’s kind of scary how possessive he already feels around Renae.

“Thank you. It’s an old picture, I’m sure you can tell,” her hands gesture to her face for a moment before she rests them back on her armrests and scoffs. “Side note, I believe you Joel. Don’t have to defend yourself, that’s what I’m here for!” Her teeth gleam with her smile as she rolls her chair a bit to her right and gently pulls the middle drawer of her desk open and grabs a sheet of paper.

“Exactly why I wanted ya, darlin’.” He draws out the beginning of ‘exactly’ as he watches her move so smoothly behind her desk. Gliding to one side and her orange strands of hair fly with her, grabbing a pen for him to use and the top part of her button-up open just enough for Joel to get a peak of her breasts, and back in the middle as she turns the paper to him.

“Just sign here,” she circles the bottom section on the front, then flips the sheet over, “‘n here and I’m all yours.” She purrs, handing the blue pen to Joel who happily takes it. Joel rarely liked the look of Annie’s too long, bright acrylics but Renae’s simple style and length makes him rethink his opinion on acrylics. He starts to think about how pretty her French tips would look wrapped around his throbbing cock or how ravishing she looks when she’s dripping with arousal as she glides through her folds and teases herself.

Mindlessly he signs the form and sets the pen on top of it before he slides it back to Renae who’s admiring him from behind her desk. Joel's brain can’t wrap around the fact that someone as gorgeous and intelligent as Renae, is even interested in a guy like Joel. Maybe too much of the belittling and the trauma from Annie has diminished his self esteem, but he can slowly feel it coming back.

She’s all mine.

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