#Tommy lead the entire time

[widestshoes]

Deleting my thing about how the ending of season 16 of rvb was goat but JUST GOT DONE WATCHING JACK MANIFOLD’S LATEST STREAM OMG??!!?!!

I don’t wanna spoil anything since it happened last night so I don’t think many people got a chance to watch it unless they’re crazy enough to stay up late and wonder if the jack manifold twitch stream “reacting to your bedroom” is the stream that had probably the last dream smp lore ever, but I do wanna mention one thing.

After jack and Tommy split up for the last time, jack spoke about how this was really an ending for him, how despite he planned on just logging on for the moment he felt like he finally had closure, he didn’t call it a new chapter, or season or whatever, but an epilogue, the ending already came this is just closing the book.

I did not think that yesterday night would be the time when the dream smp returned just for a little bit, and during that it was incredible.

And his mushroom, I don’t know but jack truly cooked when calling it an epilogue, it’s over isn’t it?

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

Half questioning my memory of the post s4 era, half side eying a certain character, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think there was ever a time when the Buddie fandom fully took the single “Evan” from the season 4 finale as Eddie receiving “Evan” privileges from then on. From my recollection, fics stayed mostly consistent with their uses of “Evan” by Eddie, perhaps just with an emphasis on important moments (love confessions, Christopher’s adoption papers, wedding vows, NDEs, etc.) after the finale. And I had to stop myself from wondering why that is because I know why. We all know. Because nobody wanted to use “Evan” in fics when Buck had just told his parents that people who know him call him Buck. So Buddie fandom heard that, accepted it, and uses it only sparingly. In canon and fanon, even Maddie only rarely uses “Evan” anymore, and it feels even less common for her to use post-Buck Begins (if at all, actually). So the fact that Tommy and BT fans tend to use “Evan” (at least, this has been my experience) is so utterly jarring. Buck told everyone his preference, and I believe LFJ has spoken about being told to use only “Evan” when referring to Buck, so I simply do not understand anyone who believes that BT is in love already or endgame. Yes, it could go the “Buck gave Tommy ‘Evan’ privileges off-screen” route, but then why push it off-screen? It would be a major allowance made for a new love interest, and a significant step in Buck’s character arc. Yet we see nothing of the sort. So why would anyone believe that’s what happened? The last we heard, Buck had told his parents and everyone else to call him Buck exclusively, with the minimal exception of Maddie (who was, for most of his childhood, his one and only lifeline and confidant). That sort of history and characterization is not ignored if there is not something very wrong with the writers’ room. It was not even ignored by a significant portion of the fandom post-season 4, although Eddie gaining permanent “Evan” privileges would’ve been a strong indicator of a Buddie endgame (had an on-screen explanation of Eddie gaining this privilege been released). It was not ignored, and it did not change the nature of Buck in fic nor fanon. So why in hell is the same not holding true for a brand new relationship like BT?

[johanna-swann]

I actually have sooo many issues with 911 lately that haven't even got much to do with any ships.

Like. They wrote out almost all of the side characters. Chris is gone, Linda and Sue are gone, Athena's kids are gone (even though Harry just moved in with her and Bobby again? Seriously, where is Harry?), Ravi is gone, Carla is gone. I know the GA maybe don't care that much, casual viewers might not even have noticed that this many characters have just vanished from the show, but in my opinion this is one of the things that give a show running as long as 911 life. Having a big cast is a good thing. Otherwise things are going to get very monotonous very soon.

Actually, that's my second point. They keep repeating storylines! Every season Hen and Karen have to fight a custody battle over one of their kids.

Every season Eddie ends up realising he has a lot of repressed trauma and issues which keep him from leading a healthy happy and free life.

Every season Bathena realise that they have communication issues and they fight about it, but then something traumatic happens and they forgive each other without ever really talking things out.

Every season we are reminded that Maddie's most prominent character trait is "traumatised", the writers just alternatingly bring up Doug again and sometimes the ppd arc.

Every season we see Buck being somewhat restless, looking and searching for something that will bring him true happiness and cycling through love interests that never stick around and each time when you think "oh, there it is, he's getting somewhere now" the writers go "BEEEP! WRONG!" and we start all over again. [This is not just about recent events aka Tommy, the break-up and Buck potentially going back to his 1.0 ways, this also happened in season 6 when he had his "it doesn't matter what other people see in me, I'm enough" revelation only to suddenly be like "omg, Natalia just sees me".]

And Chimney- he had his moment last season with the wedding episode, Kenneth Choi really ate that episode up, but his most prominent character trait is "Maddie's supportive husband". There's really not that much going on with him otherwise.

Another point I briefly touched upon above is consistency. Like Harry moving back in with Athena and Bobby and then just vanishing. Or Gerrard being more like a slightly unfriendly grandpa than an actual antagonist in season 8 when he was still spouting slurs in season 7.

And the timeline! We talked about this before ("last March", Mara's fostering to adoption timeline, Tommy tranferring to harbour "5 years ago"), but the newest "Tommy was actually Abby's Tommy" twist just adds to that. Tommy was with Abby for over 2 years. They were engaged. This was at a time when he was still at the 118. Tommy dated Abby presumably because he was in denial or maybe because he was hiding. In either case, wouldn't his team at least have heard about his fiancée, Abby the dispatcher? Wouldn't that have rung a bell when Buck eventually brought her around only a year or two later? Tommy did talk about his private life at least a little at work, even under Gerrard. It just doesn't make sense. (Not to mention this seems wildly out of character for Tommy who around the same time also said about himself "being single is easier".)

Then there's the pacing. This was a huge issue in season 7. They jumped from one personal soap opera drama to the next without taking any breathers, had almost no procedural in their drama the whole season, still somehow decided to spend one third of the entire season just on the opening disaster and also squeezed in a "Bobby begins for the third time now" episode. But okay, it was a shortened season, there were strikes, they switched networks, they were under a lot of pressure - I'll cut them some slack. At least they set up a bunch of interesting stuff for the following season.

But we're in season 8 now. The renewal was announced very early, they had a lot of time to plan this time. Also they have almost double the episodes they had last season, there's really no need to rush any of the major plots. I am done cutting them slack.

They wanna do a 3 part opening disaster again? Okay fine, you have the time now. I feel like they could've easily done it in 2 episodes (especially 8x02 felt a little "eh"), but okay. Better than the breakneck speed you were going at befo- Oh, what's that? 8x04 flying in with a steel chair. You resolved 70% percent of the plots you set up last season in one single episode with no build up, no emotional pay off and no lasting consequences? And you also squeezed in multiple unrelated calls at the same time? Damn, okay then. Good-bye potentially interesting storylines. Fuck me for being invested I guess. I thought there would at least maybe be some follow up in 8x05, but no.

Now that Halloween episode wasn't bad, it was actually the best episode of this season imo, but instead of following up on previously established conflicts and developments they just hit us with new Wilson family trauma and conflict that was also immediately fixed again. And now 8x06 has speedrun and dumped another storyline that had potential to go to deeper and interesting places. Not gonna talk too much about that though because this post is about the show as a whole, not ships.

And I am not yet convinced that there will be much more to come on the only thing that's left from last season: Eddie's deep dive into his trauma and repression. It's totally possible at this point that being told "you deserve nice things" by a random stranger actually solved all of his problems, it would be very in tone with 911's new style.

What are they even gonna do with the rest of this season? Revisiting the Hotshots set sounds fun, but ultimately inconsequential. You know what's great about a regular old procedural drama with ~20 episodes per season that comes on weekly? You have time. You can let the viewers sit with their emotions and thoughts for a week and keep them engaged by stretching things out a little.

But why should I bother getting emotionally invested in problems the characters are gonna solve within the same episode anyway? Or rather, even if I wanted to, how am I supposed to care if you don't give me the time to develop any feelings about anything that's happening? "Henren lost in court and are now completely forbidden from seeing Mara at all!" Damn, that must be so har- "JUST KIDDING! Ortiz is exposed and everything is perfect again now." Oh. Okay then, I guess.

Bottom line: The characters are all stuck in their own hamster wheels, they keep cutting side characters that could bring a breeze of fresh air (I'm honestly surprised they even kept Josh until now), they rush through all the storylines a such a ridiculous speed that I don't even have time to feel any sort of way about it, they don't even try to keep a consistency or sensible timeline going and they seem to strongly prioritise random funny bits that'll entertain the very casual viewers right now in this moment (tiger call, Billy Boils, Bee-nado, the 'Stache tm, "wait, it's the same Abby?", Gerrard being a fangirl at heart) instead of playing the long game and catering to people who actually pay a little attention to the show.

[On that last remark: I'm not talking about hardcore fans who analyse every single frame here, I mean casual fans who've watched the show on and off again for a while and who may not be involved in fandom but genuinely care about the show.]

I mean. What am I even still doing here? The show is treading water and I end up disappointed more often than not. I'm still holding out a little hope that they actually will do something interesting with Eddie and his sea-monkeys, but I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

[rosyhoneydew]

One of Buck’s favorite things to do in a relationship is kiss the top of his partner’s head. In the past, he dated women, and shorter women at that, so it was an easy way to show casual affection. It also tends to make his partners a little starry-eyed when they look up at him, which is a bonus.

When he starts dating Tommy he doesn’t even think about it. He slides his arm around Tommy’s waist when he’s passing him in the kitchen, and he tucks his foot next to Tommy's when they're out to eat. And he especially kisses Tommy on top of his head when he wants.

He’s not really expecting Tommy to notice, or particularly respond, but Tommy freezes when he does it the first time. So, Buck’s a little confused. It doesn't seem to cross any boundaries they have set, and Tommy always smiles at him after, but he's a bit careful about it for a while.

Late one night he puts the pieces together. When they first started dating, Tommy had been ready to take the lead. He had doled out affectionate touches and initiated sex and let Buck be the little spoon. So it's a rare night when Tommy is laid out between his legs, his head resting on his chest, that Buck sees Tommy's face the moment after he kisses him on the head.

He sees the way Tommy's expression breaks, just the tiniest bit, feels the way Tommy grips his middle a little tighter, and he gets it. He gets that urge to let go that Tommy feels, the feeling of safety and desire to let yourself be taken care of. He gets it because he's felt it the entire time they've been together.

Buck lets one hand drift down Tommy's back, holds him close, and runs the other through Tommy's hair, petting and scratching lightly and kissing him there. He revels in the way Tommy relaxes more and more with each minute, and he thinks I love you so much. I'll hold you like this forever. Let me take care of you.

It's not that their entire relationship dynamic shifts after that. Tommy still loves to be the big spoon and take the lead, but Buck sees it more. He sees those moments when Tommy needs someone to lean on, and he finds more joy than he would have thought possible in being the one to care for him.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[alchemistc]

"Is it okay if I call you my boyfriend?"

Tommy is - Tommy is maybe being ambushed. He's barely through the door, night five in a row of convincing himself (and then talking himself around under and through, and then re-convincing himself) that if Evan wanted a break, or time to himself, he wouldn't keep inviting Tommy over.

"Hi," Tommy says, overnight bag in his hands, the spare key Evan had given him on night three ("It's not too soon if we don't think about it too hard." "I'm just following your lead, psycho," Tommy had responded, but he'd gathered him in for a series of kisses, all the same.) still rattling amongst his own house and car keys in his hand. "How was your day, Evan? Mine was great, thank you for asking."

Evan shoots him a mildly snarky look in response, already rounding the kitchen table to grab for Tommy's bag. Tommy watches in something approaching dangerous levels of smitten as he hooks Tommy's keys next to his on one of the hooks above the sideboard, as he hefts Tommy's bag up out of Tommy's hands and behind him, four stairs up towards the loft, where one of them will inevitably trip over it when things get hot and heavy and they forget it's there. Tommy knows this, because it's happened four nights in a row already.

He should give Evan his spare. Let him nest by slowly bringing over pots and pans until he's satisfied with the tools available in Tommy's kitchen. They won't have anything to trip on in Tommy's ranch, Tommy lies to himself.

Evan hooks fingers in Tommy's belt loops, and tugs him in. This is where the real ambush happens. Evan will press his lips to Tommy's, slide his tongue to the roof of Tommy's mouth, bite down on Tommy's lip just when Tommy is thinking he might have a chance of coming out of it with his brain cells more or less intact, and then he'll pull a ridiculous move like sliding his hand into Tommy's back pocket and Tommy will lose the entire plot.

Or.

Evan tips forward and lets his lips linger over Tommy's, a beat, two, three, and then he tilts his head and rather than changing the angle of the kiss he pulls away, bright eyed gaze searching Tommy's face for - something. Tommy knows what the something is but they're moving at a pace that puts card carrying UHaul Caribiner Lesbians to shame so he's pretending he doesn't know. "Serious question, actually. I - you always use 'partner' when you're talking about your - the guys you - exes? and I don't want to make you uncomfortable but I - I kinda like boyfriend."

'Your - the guys you - exes' incorporates a fair number of pillow talk confessions Tommy's made about the overly casual relationships he's maintained in the past for months (years, sometimes) without a real label, so Tommy doesn't take offense to the way he stumbled through it. He's so utterly charmed by this man.

"Boyfriend is fine," Tommy tells him, because he doesn't really have a preference, either way. Partner is - easier. Partner had worked well for him when he was newly out and trying desperately to make it seem like he was a regular old member of the community, and not shitting his pants every time someone referenced Tommy dating a man, like it was a completely normal occurrence and not at all something he'd spent decades trying to hide. A transition phrase, really, only he'd gotten used to it and then he'd hit thirty-five, and then forty, and the first semi-serious relationship he'd had he'd used partner, and it'd stuck.

He's ready for a real kiss, now that that's decided, but Evan twirls away before Tommy can angle his head in for it. Something is sizzling in a skillet when Evan takes the lid off, and Tommy resorts to eyeing the pull of his shirt across his shoulders so he doesn't do something ridiculous like pout about not getting his mind-altering greeting kiss.

This is a pair of jeans Tommy hasn't seen before - lighter wash than Evan usually prefers, and doing absolutely amazing things for his ass as he shifts from foot to foot.

"Come taste," Evan says, darting a look over his shoulder and absolutely catching the way Tommy's eyes bounce up guiltily. They are apparently just blazing right past the 'boyfriend' thing.

It's - too early. Maybe. Tommy's never had the greatest idea for when relationship milestones are meant to happen, or in what order they should happen in. He's not about to ask Eddie, Mr. Move A Girl In And Have Her Watch My Kid While I Engage In An Emotional Affair With My Dead Wife's Doppelganger.

Which is a shame, because Eddie's one of the few friends he has that will really get into the nitty gritty of feelings conversations without a million no homo disclaimers, like Tommy isn't incredibly aware of how Not homo his friends are. Like Tommy has ever shown an inkling of attraction to ninety-nine percent of them (Sal, at his bitchiest east-coast moments, a glaring exception to a general rule).

He's too busy licking sauce off the spoon Evan's already blown on to cool for him to give it too much more thought. Screw appropriate timing.

"Mmm," he murmurs, when Evan raises a brow. "Needs more garlic."

"You always say that."

And Tommy feels a little warm, beneath his sternum, at the idea that they've done this enough times for Evan to be saying things like 'you always say that' with more than a hint of exasperation.

"Am I ever wrong?"

Evan pouts, and it's adorable in all the best ways. "No," he pouts some more.

Tommy finds himself a stool, and takes a moment to recalibrate, to resettle into his bones. He slides a finger along the edge of a leaf of the plant sitting front and center on the island, bought two weeks ago at a farmers market he'd had to drag Evan out of bed for. It's a little over watered. He's been meaning to tell Evan for three days now.

Tommy breathes, and breathes, and breathes some more. The plant - Geraldine, according to a very concentrated Evan, who'd stared at the thing until a name 'spoke to him' - stares back with the yellowed edges of her leaves.

"You don't mind partner, do you?" he asks, when he feels like he has his bearings again. He could... probably switch it up. Make an attempt, at least. The other option hovers over him like an anvil, just waiting for the Benny Hill music to cue up, for Tommy to think it a little too hard and a marriage proposal to come pouring out of his mouth in a comedy of errors that ends with them hitched in Vegas without any alcohol to blame. He doesn't need Eddie to tell him that is too much too soon.

Evan shifts his weight so that he can keep stirring while still maintaining eye contact. "No. It's - it's nice."

"A ringing endorsement. Evan, if you prefer -."

"I wanna be that. For you. Whenever - I mean I called you my boyfriend today on a call and Chim gave me shit for it the rest of the day but I started thinking about it. If - if you ever refer to me like that. Partner is... partner will be good." He's tiptoeing around the point, the whole reason he'd brought it up in the first place, no doubt.

Tommy can't remember ever having this specific conversation before. He'd so rarely needed it, had kept his work and personal life so separate that if the word slipped he never needed to worry about it getting back to the guy he was seeing at the time.

Tommy isn't reading into the preferences outlined. Partner, for Evan. Boyfriend, for Tommy.

"Am I --." Tommy pauses. He can tell based solely on Evan's reaction that he's doing a horrendous job of hiding the uncertainty in his expression. "Why boyfriend?" he finally settles on.

Evan's face flushes pink. "I...kinda didn't mean to say it? I - well it almost came out as My Tommy, and Hen would have died laughing and probably renamed you in the group chat. But. It was. I said it and it felt." He gestures, unsure himself now, which wasn't Tommy's intention. "I know we haven't talked about it. It's probably way too soon and you're just indulging me, but it felt like - like finally getting the last word in the Sunday Crossword. In pen."

He's constantly knocking it out of the park with contrived analogies that somehow make Tommy want to curl up under twenty blankets and watch Love Actually with a pint of Americone Dream. Tommy's gonna give him the extra spare that's been dangling off his keychain for a week and a half.

"Evan," he says, heart in his throat, the heavenly scent of garlic tickling his nose. "You gotta stop saying romantic shit to me or I'm gonna lock you in my spare room until I find a ring that doesn't come off."

It's not a proposal. They're - this is all - neither one of them has any chill about the other. He's shared secrets with this man he was sure he'd take to his fucking grave.

Evan smiles cheekily at him. "I always figured, with the job, y'know, I'd get a tattoo."

The hair on his arms stands on end, for a moment. Christ.

Jesus Christ.

"Sounds painful," he says, when he can't come up with a single way to bounce out of this conversation. He doesn't want to, is the problem.

He should want to, maybe. Probably.

"And, like, super permanent," Evan adds, still smiling, eyes doing that crinkly thing at the corners. "Definitely won't come off. Not without painful lasers, anyway."

"Better to just keep it, then," Tommy murmurs, voice a few registers lower than he usually speaks, doing everything in his power not to stare at the bare left hand Evan has settled on his own hip.

He blinks, and turns to stir the sauce. Clears his throat, and settles the lid back on the pan. "So. Boyfriend. It's - you don't mind- I can call you that."

Tommy watches him fidget and wonders how he'd ever managed to keep it cool for as long as he did. "For now," he says, and Evan swallows, and beams

[tobi-smp]

I don't want to hold anything against this specific person, because I Remember the discourse that lead to this and I know exactly how it could get passed around and warped (either through telephone or someone's own memory shifting with time).

that said, I never liked that discourse specifically Because it was a clear misreading of the text, and what better opportunity do I have to talk about it now.

the context was the bench trio therapy stream. tommy had been beaten to death by dream, sat in limbo for months, and then revived and told Explicitly that dream was planning on escaping prison and tormenting the rest of the server.

the mindset that tommy is in is that he Has to do something, but he's deeply traumatized by what's happened to him. he's Scared to go back to the prison, but he has no choice but to do it for the safety of everyone else in the server.

the "therapy stream" was bench trio Trying to do exposure therapy on tommy to help him work through his trauma in the lead up to attempting to infiltrate the prison. and the entire point is that they Absolutely Were Not actually helping.

what they were Actually doing was triggering tommy by exposing him to things that he was traumatized by, because they didn't actually know how to do exposure therapy and what they were trying to do wasn't healthy in the first place.

so the Context of this conversation is tommy desperately trying to just, Get Rid Of his trauma (something that is absolutely not possible) while entering a worse and worse mindset because he was intentionally triggering himself.

Likewise, the context for Tubbo's half of the conversation is that he Very Intentionally represses his own trauma, both from Himself and from other people. he puts himself in a little box that he buries under the floorboards and asks people to ignore the way the boards creak when they walk on him.

there's a million ways you could cut Why he does this. part it is his people pleasing, willingly pushing himself down for the sake of everyone else no matter how painful. seeing Himself as an accessory to the people he cares about, rather than a whole complete and important person. and in part because it feels Safer, it's Safer to pretend that nothing hurt him.

and Why that is is complicated. part of it is External. he doesn't Get to be angry about what he's been through, because the people he's angry At will just hurt him again. and if he thinks about how he's hurt then he Will get angry, so he just Won't Think About It.

and part of it is that I don't think he wants to process his trauma any more than tommy does. because it's painful, because he doesn't have the tools to actually work through it, because they aren't Safe so he can't afford to break down now (trouble is, there never Seems to be a "safe" time to think about himself).

they're the Repression Brothers. the difference being that tommy's at a different stage of it. not a Healthy One, but different.

tommy spent months not being able to put into words what exile was, what pogtopia was, was the final control room was. and he still won't be able to put it in plain words for some time from here.

but he's reached the point where he Can't ignore it anymore, but he still doesn't know what to Do about it. he's still frustrated with an (to an extent) Ashamed Of his trauma. he feels Lesser Than he was before and wants it to all just go away and go back to Normal.

he's doing this because he Has To, because he Has to be strong enough to fight dream. because if he's too scared to do it then he'd be sacrificing everyone else's safety.

he and tubbo are doing the Same Thing in different fonts, sacrificing their well being for the people Around Them, including Each Other.

so, lets go back to that moment that started all of this.

the exposure therapy was on the final control room section, with tommy working through having been killed by dream.

tubbo mentions that he died that night too, and tommy says something to the effect of "you did, but you have thicker skin."

this has been taken out of context to mean "you did, but I have it worse than you," when IN CONTEXT it means "you did, but you're stronger than me," or more accurately "you did, But I'm Worse Than You."

tommy does not see his trauma in the context of stupid apologist discourse. he sees his trauma as something that makes him Worse, as something he Shouldn't Feel. as something that makes him Weaker than everyone else, who Obviously are so much more put together than he is.

when he says this he's not saying that he's more important than tubbo, he's putting himself down in comparison TO tubbo.

and this is absolutely still harmful ! This is legitimately one of tommy's character flaws ! but it is Not the selfishness that people make it out to be.

it's tommy accidentally hurting other people by seeing Himself negatively. it's an unhealthy relationship with mental health, and a Realistic one considering the circumstances and setting.

likewise, it's Just As Much born from tubbo's own unhealthy coping mechanisms. tommy assumes that what happened didn't bother tubbo the way it did him because Tubbo wants him to think that.

Tubbo doesn't let tommy see how much he's hurting, which in turn feeds into this cycle.

tubbo assumes he Has to shove his trauma down for tommy's sake (for the sake of Everyone he cares about), and so tommy assumes tubbo was just Stronger than him and wants desperately to just shove his own trauma away the way tubbo seems to be able to.

this moment IS tragic, it IS an example of the two of them hurting each other. but it's BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER !!!

Both Of Them are trying to be strong enough to protect the other, and it's Hurting Them. it's unhealthy, but it 's not Malicious. it's self-sacrificial not Selfish. it's not something they've done to each other but what's been done To Them by the world they live in. what they've done to Themselves trying to live in it.

this shouldn't have been a discourse moment, it should've been clingyduoers tearing each other apart in the street at the tragedy of it

[space-cowgirllll]

Crush

a/n: soft jackson ellie ily.

not proofread, if you see any mistakes look away lol.

She couldn't stop staring. Sitting on a cold bench in front of Jackson's little schoolhouse, she hides behind the astronomy book she'd recently found while out on patrol. Frozen fingers flip to the next page every couple of seconds, far too fast to actually retain any information. She watches you lead Joel to a particular part of the fence that has clearly seen better days. The wood is rotting and splitting apart in certain spots. No longer safe for the children who play nearby. You nudge the post with the toe of your boot, eyes widening when it topples over. 

Her eyes follow the curve of your neck as you throw your head back, laughing at something Tommy said. Your smile lights up your entire face, sending a flutter of giddiness through her body, almost as if it had been directed at her. She bites her lip, averting her eyes when you crouch down to inspect the damage. Where you found jeans that fit you like that in times like these she'd like to know. One more quick glance and she contemplates walking away, leaving Joel to get dinner by himself.

"What are we looking at?" A familiar voice whispers behind her, causing her to almost drop her book. She clutches it to her chest.

"Nothing!" She whips her head around to find Jesse and Dina behind her. The pair plop down on either side of her watching while the two men try to make the broken piece work until Joel can come back and replace it later. You stand off to the side chatting, not wanting to get in their way. Ellie marvels at how pretty you look under the street lights. Your hair a messy halo of waves, making you look angelic. 

"So," Jesse knocks his knee against hers "Are you ever gonna actually talk to her?"

"I talk to her!" Ellie scowls. "She comes over to Joel's for dinner once a week."

"Oh, we know." He interrupts "We've been invited."

"It was brutal."  Dina winces. 

The couple quietly tease Ellie, reminiscing over that night a few months ago. She had begged them to come and serve as a buffer between you and her. They spent the whole night watching Ellie try and fail to not make a complete fool of herself. Stumbling over her words and cracking lame jokes that left her screaming into her pillow later that night in embarrassment. Jesse's foot kicking her under the table when she stared for too long. Ellie listens with a pout on her face. 

"You guys are the worst." She groans. Her eyes travel back to where you stand, widening a little when she sees you already staring. There's a tiny smile playing on the edge of your lips. Heat rises to her cheeks when you send her a little wave. Sorry, you mouth, gesturing to Joel and Tommy.

Dina's giggle seems to catch your attention. You shift from Ellie's flushed face to the brunette beside her. The two of you share a look, seemingly having a conversation with just your eyes. There's a sly smirk on your face when you finally look away. Her brows furrow in confusion. In that moment, Ellie wishes she spoke girl better. 

"You know what? Surprisingly, I think she might like you too." Her best friend pats her thigh as she stands. "Do something about it before she finds someone else who will actually make a move." 

She grabs a confused Jesse by the hand, leading him in the direction of her house. The two whispering as they go. 

Ellie digs the heel of her sneaker into the ground, the thin layer of snow crunching underneath her foot. Most of the people in her life knew about her little crush. The way she offers to take your patrol shifts if it was too cold. Always on the lookout for things that would brighten up your small classroom. Volunteering when you ask for help with random little tasks during town meetings. She isn't as subtle as she thought. There's no way you don't know she's spent the past year and a half pining after you and haven't said anything. 

Not only is she ridiculously awkward, Ellie speculates your disinterest also comes from the three year age gap between you two. At twenty four, you probably see her as a little girl with a crush. 

She can see how much you enjoy spending time with Joel, especially after your grandfather's passing. She would hate to ruin that for you. It's better for everyone if she keeps her mouth shut.

____

It isn't until a week later that Ellie sees you again. She's shirtless in the middle of her makeshift home in the garage just feet behind Joel's house. There's a small pile of discarded tops sitting at the foot of her bed. She huffs, trying to find one that nice enough, but doesn't make it look like she tried too hard.

You stopped by the stables in the morning, making plans with Joel for dinner and a game of poker. Ellie hid behind Shimmer, trying to think of a way to get out of tonight when a look from Joel told her she had no choice. She fumbles with the last couple of buttons on the flannel, too lost in thought to hear the sound of the door opening. 

"Ellie, food's read- oh!" 

"Shit!" She spins around to find you standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on her panicked face as she pops the last button open. Ellie shoves her arms into the sleeves of the maroon flannel she'd borrowed from Dina, knowing it probably matched the color of her flushed cheeks. At least she'd thought to put on a bra.

"In my defense, I knocked twice." You state as you slowly make your way around the room, pausing to inspect the posters hung on her walls. She watches you pick up the comic she'd thrown on the coffee table earlier. Your eyes light up in recognition. "Oh hey! My grandpa used to read these to me. I think I have some you're missing if you ever wanna see them." 

Her breath catches in her throat at the prospect of spending more time with you. "Really?" She grins. "I'd like that."

You nod, walking slowly towards her. Your footsteps loud in the quiet room. Ellie watches the way your piercing gaze roams her face, slipping to her exposed torso for just a second before locking eyes with her. She hopes you didn't hear the embarrassing way her breath hitches when you replace her clumsy fingers with yours. Ellie basks in the warmth radiating from your body as you button up her shirt, your warm breath hitting her temple. 

"Cute." You smirk looking down at her. "Really makes your eyes pop." Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, you step back towards the door. "Don't make us wait too long."

Ellie stands frozen, heart pounding in her chest, listening to your retreating footsteps wondering what the hell just happened.  ——

After another slightly awkward dinner, she was shocked when you showed up at her doorstep again that night, this time waiting until she opened the door. Giving her a shy smile, you'd held out a box full of old comics, letting her know there was no rush on returning them. Ellie still remembers the grin that bloomed on your face when she'd invited you in. 

The two of you rarely left each other's side after that. Your friendship blossoming in the months that followed. It helped that you liked to talk and Ellie liked to listen to you talk. Most nights were spent together, either at your place or hers. She loved it when you read to her while she drew in her sketchbook. Some nights she would attempt to teach you how to play some of her favorite video games, enjoying how cute you looked when you were pouting after losing to her. The two of you had even started growing a dvd collection, always fighting over what movie to watch (she let you win almost every time.) 

She couldn't believe how quickly you'd become such a big part of her life. Ellie still had the urge to pinch herself on the mornings when she'd wake up to you sleeping soundly next to her. And on the nights where she'd stay awake, late into the early hours of the morning, memorizing every inch of your face, the magnitude of her feelings for you scared her. She'd do anything for you. 

Which is how she finds herself standing in the corner of the room nursing a drink, doing what she does best - watching you. You've been looking forward to the winter dance for weeks, begging Ellie to come with. The sweet look on your face when she walked through the door sent a rush of excitement through her.

You stay by her side all night until one of your friends pulls  you to the makeshift dance floor, managing to get Ellie out for one song before she quickly retreats back to where she was despite your protests. You're glowing under the twinkling lights, dancing and singing your way around the room. The navy blue sweater she'd gifted you for Christmas last month fits you like a glove.

"So where's your girl?" She looks up to find Jesse standing there, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat from dancing. Dina's laugh sounds off from somewhere behind him.

Ellie chokes on her drink "She's not my girl." She says through a nervous chuckle. 

"You mean to tell me you follow her around like a lost puppy and you'll sleep in her bed but you won't tell her how you feel?" 

She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. "We're just friends. I sleep over at Dina's all the time."

"You don't look at Dina the way you look at her." He sighs looking out at the crowd of dancing people. "All I'm saying is it's only gonna get worse the longer you ignore it. Are you prepared to be her friend while she dates someone else?"

Ellie's eyes follow to where he's currently staring. Bile rises in her throat as she watches you dance with someone else. Twirling around with another woman, her hands where Ellie's had been just minutes before. Her hand grows clammy around the glass. The blonde kisses you. Her lips far too close to your mouth for it to be friendly. Before she knows it, she's pushing past her friend and rushing out the door. 

The chilly January wind bites at her face as soon as she steps outside. Blood rushes in her ears as she quickly walks back towards her house. She's mad. Mad at Jesse for being right. You for leaving her standing there alone. But mostly she's mad at herself. What had she been thinking? That she would just get to know you more and not fall even further? Her cold palms press into her eyes, trying to alleviate the stinging sensation. This crush was going to ruin her. 

She stops just feet from her door, digging into her pocket for her key. Footsteps that are not her own pound on the snowy pavement behind her. "Ellie!" 

Her eyes squeeze shut, regretting not walking faster. She wants nothing more than to freak out while buried underneath her covers. For the first time ever she doesn't want to see you. 

Your hand grips her bicep, spinning her around to face you. "Els what's wrong?" 

"Nothing 'm jus tired." She mumbles shrugging you off and taking a step back. Your lips pull down into a frown at her actions. 

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have come back together."

She scoffs. "You seemed a little busy. Didn't wanna bother you." 

"Ellie-"

"Caroline's great." She interrupts. "Word around town is she has quite the crush on you. If you wanna go back don't let me stop you."

"Oh my god shut up." In the blink of an eye she find herself up against the wall, your body caging her in. Your hands fly to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the short strands of her newly cut hair. You tug gently, forcing her to look up at you.

"She kissed you." Ellie whispers looking like a kicked puppy. 

"And if you had stayed long enough you would have seen me brush her off." You cup her face, slowly dragging your thumbs across her cheeks in a soothing manner. The tenderness in your eyes will forever be ingrained in her mind. "There's only one person I want to spend my night with and she's right here."

"Really?" You nod, brushing the tips of your noses together.

"I don't want to be just your friend Ellie," You whisper against her lips, your breaths mingling together. Her ears ring at your confession, and she hopes you can't hear the way her heart is pounding. "and I know you don't either. I've been waiting for you to make the first move, but I'm real tired of being patient baby." 

Your lips press against hers in a soft kiss. It's hesitant at first, giving her the option to pull away. You see her eyes flutter shut, shaky hands wrapping around your neck. She whines quietly, wanting more. Her fingers slip down and hook onto your belt loops, pulling you in and deepening the kiss. Your tongue is soft and warm in her mouth, sliding against hers as you press her further into the wall. She shivers when your cold hands caress the warm skin of her lower back. 

Ellie's head goes fuzzy at the feeling of your thigh slotting in between her legs. Her hips seem to have a mind of their own as she slowly rocks back and forth on it, the seam of her jeans giving just enough friction to provide some relief. 

Her soft mewls and the wet sounds of your mouths fill the air. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes you two are still outside, where anyone walking by can see. You need to go inside. She just can't find it in her to care at the moment. 

Hands slide from their place on your hips to cup your ass, squeezing harshly, drawing a groan from you. "Hmm. Do you wanna know how many times I've caught you staring at it?" You ask as your mouth pulls back to kiss down the column of her throat. Teeth nipping the soft skin there. Ellie laughs breathlessly in response, somewhat lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. The dazed look in her eyes sends a jolt of heat through you. 

"Ellie?"

The two of you rip apart at the sound of Joel's voice. He stands just outside of his back door, the concerned look on his face vanishes when he spots you and Ellie off to the side of the garage. 

"You two alright out there?" 

You want to laugh at the clear discomfort and amusement in his voice. "Fine Joel, just walking her home."

"Uh huh." He doesn't sound convinced. "Well, best get inside before the snow picks up."

"Right. Good night!" 

Ellie rushes to unlock the door, pulling you in and slamming the door shut. 

"How did you know?" She asks, playing nervously with her fingers. Her freckled face deliciously flushed. A love bite peeking through the collar of her hoodie. 

"You weren't good at hiding it. I had my suspicions." you giggle, intertwining your fingers with hers. "Dina also might have put in a good word. Said I would love you if I just got to know you better."

"And?"

"She was right."

[punkshort]

Roll Call 2

a Roommates one-shot

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel convinces you to watch one of the videos he's starred in and you like it more than you expected.

Warnings: reader and Joel watching porn, smut (18+ MDNI - I don't know what came over me but it's surprisingly soft), language, dirty talk, infidelity, unprotected piv sex, creampie, alcohol consumption

WC: 2.9K

A/N: this was inspired by these asks and is not considered canon, it's just for fun

"It really ain't as bad as you think," Joel teased, watching with glassy eyes as you tossed back a shot with a wince. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth and shook your head.

"It's porn, Joel. It's pretty black and white."

"See, that's where you're wrong. You must be watchin' some low budget shit if that's your impression," he said over his shoulder as he lead you back to your table through the crowd of people hovering around the bar.

"What're you saying? Your porn is better somehow?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm sayin'," he said with a grin before sliding into the booth. You plopped down across from him and greedily took a sip from your water. "My stuff's produced by people who actually give a shit about quality and storylines."

"Uh huh," you said with a giggle. The two of you were waiting for Tommy to get off work but the bar was busier than expected that particular evening and you had been stuck for almost two hours with nothing to do but drink and kill time.

"You don't believe me? Lemme show you," he said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. Your eyes widened and you began to sober up.

"N-no, Joel, I believe you."

"C'mon, it's no big deal. We've slept together, for fuckssake, it ain't nothin' you haven't already seen," he said, eyes pinned to his phone as he scrolled on some website that had a suspicious amount of ads and pop ups. His eyes lit up when he found what he was looking for and fished his AirPods out of his other pocket, handing you one and shoving the other in his ear. You held it in your fingers, your mind reeling. You've never seen Joel's porn before, but Maria had, and she told you it was hot at the time but you'd never felt the urge to look it up for yourself.

Joel finally picked up on your hesitation and paused. "If you really don't wanna, it's fine."

You chewed your lower lip as you thought about it. You couldn't deny you were curious and you didn't have to watch the entire thing if it made you uncomfortable, so you took a deep breath and popped the earbud in. "Play it."

He grinned and glanced around. "Come over on this side, don't want anyone walkin' by to see."

You rolled your eyes, finding it laughable that he would even give a shit, but did as he asked and settled in next to him.

"Roll Call 2? Will I be lost if I didn't see Roll Call 1?"

Joel snorted and shook his head. "Shut the hell up."

He pressed play and you watched as the black screen faded to a classroom where Joel sat hunched over behind a desk looking busy as he scribbled on some papers. He wore thick rimmed glasses and a white button down shirt with a navy blue tie. You laughed and poked him in the shoulder.

"Maybe you're right. This is the most professional I've ever seen you dress."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

A door squeaked open and he looked up to find a young looking brunette enter the room with a stack of books pressed against her chest.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ryder, do you have a minute?"

"Ryder?!" you cackled, "are you fucking serious?"

Joel grinned but kept his eyes on the phone. "Yeah, alright, that was less than subtle, but the rest is good, keep watchin'."

"Tiffany? What can I help you with?"

You hid your grin behind your fist and kept watching.

"Can I talk to you about this test? I-I really can't fail this class or else I won't graduate."

"Tiffany" set her books down on the corner of his desk and pulled out a paper, putting it down in front of Joel and leaning over. Her own button down shirt only had three buttons fastened, at best, so when she bent forward, her tits practically spilled out of her shirt.

"Mhm, I noticed your grades have been slippin'. Maybe you could do some extra credit to help boost your grade?"

"Really? You'd let me do that?"

Joel's hand gently brushed up against the back of her thigh, his gaze dropping to take in her plaid mini skirt.

"'Course I would, s'long as you do somethin' for me."

"Joel, this is so corny," you said as you were about to pull out the earbud. He stopped you and scooted closer.

"It ain't 'bout bein' corny or not, it's 'bout the production and the set and how the actors are treated. When you have good people 'round you, it comes through on the screen and the performance is better."

You sighed and continued to watch as his hand snuck up the back of her skirt. Tiffany gasped and pressed her hips into the desk then looked down at Joel, who was gazing up at her like she was the only woman in the world.

"I don't know, Mr. Ryder..."

"Why not, darlin'?"

"W-what if someone finds out?"

"No one'll know," he assured her before taking her hand and placing it over his lap. She moaned softly and bit her lip before sinking to her knees and undoing his belt. He groaned and leaned back in his chair, watching her with a pleased smirk.

"Yeah, that's it," he whispered when she took him in her mouth. Suddenly you remembered you were in the middle of a bar watching porn with your ex and you yanked the earbud out.

"Okay, I think I get the idea."

Joel chuckled. "Fine, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable," he said, setting his phone down so he could take a sip from his glass, but the video still played. You couldn't hear the audio anymore but you saw his head tip back and his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. You wondered what kind of noises he was making, knowing he was the type to be more vocal during sex, an attribute you always appreciated. You tried to look away, focusing your attention on the people around you, but your eyes kept finding his phone. On the screen, Joel pulled Tiffany up by the shoulders and pushed her up against his desk. He slotted himself between her legs and pushed up her skirt before plunging his tongue into her mouth and rubbing slow circles over her clit.

"See somethin' you like?" Joel teased when he caught you looking. You pursed your lips before rolling your eyes and shoving the earbud back in just in time to hear him groan deeply into her mouth when he began to sink his cock inside her. You had to admit, it was nice when the video didn't cut to a godawful closeup of her pussy but instead took advantage of her wide spread legs and chose to capture both their reactions. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry, as you continued to watch the video. Much like Joel in real life, he was attentive and caring, subtly making sure Tiffany was comfortable. He didn't jackhammer her, he didn't remain awkwardly silent, but instead he rolled his hips leisurely while lavishing her with praise until he tugged on her shirt and wrapped his hand around one of her breasts, biting at her nipple. She moaned and grabbed his hair, whispering how big he was and how good it felt and fuck me harder, Mr. Ryder, I can take it.

He pulled out and flipped her around, pushing her hips into the desk before sliding back inside, her pussy and thighs glistening from her arousal.

"Goddamn, you're so tight. Oh, good girl, look at you. Takin' my cock like a champ. Fuck, y'feel so good."

He was slamming his hips into her faster now, so much so that the desk was beginning to move. Tiffany's fingers clutched around the edge of the wood, knuckles white, mouth agape and eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"How much of this is fake?" you asked breathlessly, unable to look away. He shrugged, no longer watching the phone, but instead his eyes were glued to your face. Your lips were parted and your breath was coming a little faster now.

"What'dya mean?"

"Like, is she faking it?" you asked.

"No," he chuckled, casually draping his arm behind you. On the screen, Joel gently pressed a palm against her spine so she laid flat on the desk, then he reached down to pick up one of her legs to open her hips even wider. The noises she was making were so loud at that point, you didn't need to keep the earbud in anymore, so once again you took it out. He could tell how aroused you were, even though you initially tried to hide it. You squirmed in your seat and you rubbed the back of your neck before taking a deep breath. Your eyes met his and he saw you swallow thickly, your gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips over and over again.

"Joel?"

Your voice was low, suggestive, as you leaned into him a little more. The heat between you was growing thick. It was probably made worse by the alcohol coursing through your veins but he didn't care, and neither did you. He nodded and tore his eyes away.

"C'mon," he said.

He grabbed your arm and shoved his phone back in his pocket before leading you through the crowd, his cock straining against his zipper, knowing full well how that night was going to end.

"Where are we going?" you asked when he bypassed the bathrooms in favor of a third closed door.

"Basement. Where they keep the booze."

He swung open the door and flicked on the light before pulling you in after him and ushered you quickly down the stairs. He swiveled his head back and forth until he spotted a corner of the basement that had a small amount of privacy hidden behind boxes of liquor, then turned around and cupped your jaw before crashing his mouth against yours with a deep groan.

"We gotta be fast," you murmured before breaking away and tugging your jeans down.

"Yeah," was all he said, his heart thumping wildly in his chest when you pulled your jeans all the way off and started on your underwear. "Jesus Christ," he added when he realized you weren't messing around. Fast meant fast.

You tested the weight of what looked like a repurposed workbench before hopping up and grabbing the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward just as he undid his belt. You helped him unzip his jeans and slid your hand past his waistband, wrapping your fingers around his cock as you nipped greedily at his throat.

"Fuck, baby, you liked that, huh?" he murmured, grabbing onto your hips, letting you pull his cock out and line him up against your opening without his assistance. He hissed when the tip of his cock prodded at your folds, feeling just how wet you were from watching that video.

You didn't answer. You just spread your legs wider and scooted closer to the edge of the table. Your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him forward. A whimper fell from your lips when he slowly eased inside you, then tipped your head back with a gasp when he pushed all the way in.

"God, that feels good," you moaned, your arms draping lazily around his neck, forehead resting against his chest.

Slowly, he pulled his cock out, leaving just the swollen tip before pausing and pushing back in. You both watched in a daze as he slid in and out, emerging slicker than before with each thrust. Calloused hands ran up and down your thighs. Slowly, leisurely, adoringly.

"Faster," you mumbled, eyes fluttering closed, forehead still pressed against his broad chest.

"I don't like goin' fast with you," he whispered, then wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you even closer as he continued slowly feeding you his cock.

You moaned and dug your nails into his neck when he hit a spot just right, making your thighs shake and your breath stutter.

"L-like the video," you managed to stammer out. You pulled your head away from his chest and hazily looked up at him. "Don't you wanna make this table move like the desk?" you asked him with a teasing smile, but he didn't give you one back. He shook his head and rubbed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip.

"No," he said softly, still fucking you agonizingly slow. His eyes were warm and sweet as he stared down at you, scanning your face. His fingers slid through your hair, cupping the back of your head as he continued to look at you, watching the little flickers of pleasure cross your features every time he hit that one spot he knew made you come undone. "Don't wanna fuck you like them. Wanna take my time 'n really feel you." He rolled his hips, pushing inside you extra deep and you melted against him, giving up and letting him take you the way he needed.

The hand that was lost in your hair tilted your head so he could kiss you. His tongue, slow and lazy, slipped into your mouth, licking and savoring the taste of tequila and the cigarette you bummed from him an hour earlier.

Eventually, you lost yourself in the moment, raking your fingers through his hair and kissing him back just as deeply. You knew it was too intimate, you knew it was dangerous to be like this with him, but it was too late. Who were you kidding? It's been too late for a while now.

You finally had to break the kiss, your lungs burning for air the same way your thighs were burning around his waist. Tipping your head to the side, you slumped against his shoulder, gasping and panting while he continued to torturously fuck you slow in the dirty basement of your favorite bar.

The setting hardly matched the mood, but it didn't seem to matter.

"You gotta know, I don't fuck anyone else like this."

You squeezed your eyes shut.

His fingers dug into your ribs, the others into your scalp, pressing you against him as if you were one.

"Yeah?" Your voice was breathy and high pitched.

"Only you." He pressed his mouth against your hair, his cock splitting you open in the softest way possible. "Just you."

"Joel," you whined, one hand dropping to grab the thin material of his tshirt, fingers getting twisted as you tugged and pulled at him. You said his name again, a whisper that time. Being so close, you could feel his heart beating loud and fast in his chest. It felt like it matched your own.

"Yeah, say my name," he muttered, hips moving a little faster now. "You gonna come f'me, baby?"

You couldn't respond. You were too close and everything was too intense. Instead, you nodded and squeezed your eyes shut tighter, fighting back the two tears that sprung up out of nowhere.

When you came, you pulled harshly on his hair and gasped, warmth flooding your limbs as your orgasm washed over you. He was murmuring something but you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears and then finally, your muscles relaxed and you sighed.

"Fuck, Joel."

"I know," he grunted through clenched teeth. "Shit, you're gonna make me come. Feels too good, I can't... oh, god."

He made a move to pull out but your legs tensed around him once more, keeping him still. His hips slowed.

"What're you-"

"I want you to come inside me," you mumbled drowsily from his chest. You felt more than heard the low growl he gave you in response.

"Baby-"

Tugging him by the back of the neck, you pulled him down into a searing kiss, shutting him up. He cupped your jaw with one hand while the other remained wrapped around your waist, still holding you against him. It only took him a few more seconds before he spilled inside you, his moans getting lost against your lips.

Long after you had both recovered, your mouths were still latched together, tongues slowly dancing, neither of you wanting the moment to end, but it was you who finally pulled away.

"We should go before we get caught."

He hummed and pressed his forehead against yours.

"So what if we get caught?"

You practically stopped breathing at the double meaning behind his words, your brain unable to formulate a response. He must have sensed it because he continued.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Jail?" you finally offered, leaning back and giving him a smirk, purposely ignoring the real meaning behind his question. What would happen if someone found out about your affair?

He gave you a small smile and sighed. "You make a good point." He pulled out with a hiss, his gaze darkening for a moment when he saw your pussy leaking with him. "Christ," he whispered before backing away and fixing his clothes while you did the same.

"You ready?" he asked once you got your clothes back on and looked relatively presentable.

"Yeah," you replied, but took a step and stumbled. Joel quickly reached out to steady you, his thumbs rubbing affectionately over your arms as he did.

"Don't worry, I got you."

You looked up at him and smiled. "I know."

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x tommy miller

genre: smut, minors dni, no outbreak

word count: 2.7k

summary: joel knows you have a little thing for his younger brother so decides to indulge you for your birthday.

warnings: gonna state this very clearly: joel gets cucked by tommy and watches, everyone is consenting and it's discussed beforehand, piv, dirty talk, possessive!joel, daddy kink, size kink, established relationship between joel and reader, jealousy, some brotherly rivalry, facial, mild degradation kink, creampie

a/n: this work was commissioned through kofi by the lovely @losergurlsstuff, thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

**gif made by the amazing @pedgito thank you so much dear!! dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Everything has been amazing since you and Joel started dating. To you, he was perfect. The perfect man. The perfect partner. The perfect person. You are forever grateful to whatever god made your roads cross. You have no idea what you’d be doing without him. You’ve never felt so cared for in your entire life. What he doesn’t say with words he shows with what he does and today is no exception. 

“What do you want for your birthday?” 

You smile and shake your head, his head is laying right above your stomach, his one hand under your shirt, caressing the warm skin. “I have everything I need.” 

“Just tell me.” 

“I really don’t want anything, Joel. Especially not from you.” 

His hand on your skin stills, looking up, you giggle at the way he’s frowning. Shocked. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means, you dork,” you lean and brush your lips against his forehead. “That you already give me everything. Being with you is enough.” 

Joel’s eyes narrow. A pleasurable shudder rolls through your spine, you adore it when he looks at you like that. It reminds you of all the times you pushed his buttons, resulting in a delightful time. 

“I have an idea what you might want.” 

“And what’s that mister know-it-all?” 

“Tommy.” 

“W—What?” Your heart sinks to your stomach, your palms suddenly cold and sweaty. His younger brother’s name was the last thing you expected to hear. Joel spreads his fingers across your waist, gently, he squeezes. 

“It’s a’right, sweetheart. I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot and well, I think it might be a good gift for your birthday.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

You genuinely don’t. Also, he’s been thinking about it? The inside of your stomach feels like lead. It’s true that once upon a time you thought how it would be with Tommy—but that was before Joel. And after you two started dating well. . . sure maybe your eyes did linger a bit, maybe you leaned a little too close when he whispered something in your ear during a party. . . You genuinely thought Joel wouldn’t notice. 

“I haven’t asked him yet,” he says, thoughtful. “But I was thinkin’ of indulgin’ your curiosities.” 

You‘re still not quite sure what he means by that. Your guilt gnaws at the walls of your stomach. Joel gives you everything, yet you make him feel like he doesn’t. Your eyes move away, falling to the corner of the wall. You can’t bear to look at him. He deserves better. 

“Hey,” he says, hand cupping your jaw and pulling you back. “Don’t cry.” 

“I’m not crying.” 

“You look like you’re about to,” he cracks a small smile. “I don’t mind, darlin’. It’s just a fantasy ain’t it? I know that you’re mine.” 

“I am,” you say tearfully. “I am and always will be.” 

“And I’m yours. I just want to spoil you as best as I can, sweetheart. And this seemed doable.” 

“Why do you even think Tommy would agree to this?” 

“Oh he will,” he says with a grin that makes your cheeks grow warm. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.” 

You nod but doubt still taints your expression. You don’t doubt Joel’s words, but no one can deny that this might be a bit odd. You’re not entirely sure Tommy will be on board. But you trust Joel, so you don’t question it. 

Despite all the doubt, and tension in your muscles, excitement slowly brews deep within you. 

“Joel, I’m not so sure about this.” 

His head turns harshly to face his brother. There’s no way he’s backing out now, not when they were only inches away from the fucking bedroom door. 

Then again, he does understand. He’s ain’t stupid. But Joel had seen the way Tommy looked at you, the way his eyes would do a subtle sweep and linger on your ass whenever you walked out of a room. “I ain’t gonna suddenly choke you out if that’s what got your feathers ruffled.” 

Tommy shifts from one foot to the other. Joel’s not used to seeing his brother so deep in though. He fears that if he thinks a little harder he might break his brain. With a huff of breath escaping his lips, Joel throws a hand over Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing his attention. 

“Look, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told her, if at any point you decide you don’t wanna do this, just say so and we’ll stop. No one is gonna get offended.” 

Tommy visibly relaxes at Joel’s words. He nods, lips a tight line. It reminds Joel when he taught him how to ride a bike when they were kids. He had the same expression.

“A’right then, now that that’s settled, let’s not keep her waitin’ anymore.” 

Without warning he opens the door and pushes Tommy in. If it was any other situation Joel would’ve laughed at the way Tommy tripped over his own feet. But his attention is immediately dragged to the bed you’re perched on. His mouth waters. He knew you were going to get dressed, well undressed in this situation, but he hadn’t thought about what you would put on. Joel’s eyes briefly flicker to Tommy, he seems just as in shock. It’s hard not to be with what you’re wearing. 

The fabric is a luxurious, deep blue, reminiscent of the darkest hours when the stars come out to play. The material is silky and smooth against the skin, offering a touch of elegance and comfort. And he would know. It’s his favorite damn set. Shimmering sparkles that adorn the fabric, mimic the stars scattered across the night sky. These sparkles catch the light of the scented candle you’ve lit, creating a subtle and enchanting glow.

Joel gradually meets your gaze. As soon as he does he knows you’ve done it on purpose. His lips quirk up, amusement growing in his eyes, you’d pay for this little stunt. 

“Wow,” Tommy exhales and takes a step forward. “You look amazin’ sweetheart.” 

You seem a little out of breath already, it’s going to be fun to watch you crumble. Though Joel isn’t quite sure how he feels about his brother being the one doing it. 

“Thanks,” you answer, unsure. 

There’s a lingering tension in the air and Joel almost rolls his eyes at them both. Almost. 

“A’right then,” he pushes Tommy until he’s at the edge of the bed and takes a seat on the chair he brought in this morning. “Stop bein’ shy now. Tommy, you’re her gift, are you sure you want to be the person responsible for her havin’ a shit birthday?” 

Tommy’s chest raises, “N-No.” 

“Then what are you waitin’ for?” 

“Jesus Joel, it’s not like I'm bringin’ her a new plant, give us a second.” 

Joel grins at the way he snaps and Tommy only shakes his head, turning to you and finally focusing on the right thing. You. 

Tommy tenderly presses both palms on each side of your face, thumbs moving in circles. Your nipples are already hard, he can see them like little diamonds showing up through the fabric. His fingers twitch. Patience isn’t something that he has, but he’ll try. For you. 

Your lips part with a soft gasp as Tommy finally brings you in, their lips brushing before full-on pressing against one another. Joel doesn’t miss the way your chest heaves. Your hands fist his shirt and Tommy tilts his head in response, Joel hears your little moans, his own cock gradually hardening under his jeans. 

Fuck, you look too good in that lingerie set. It’s hard just to sit and watch. 

“Take off his shirt,” Joel grunts, sounding more cross than he intended. You nod, but not without giving him a wary look first. When Tommy’s shirt hits the floor, the younger Miller roughly grabs your chin and turns your head so you’re facing Joel. His spine straightens. 

“You ain’t the one given’ orders,” Tommy says. “If you want me to make her feel good, you’re goin’ to shut up and watch, understood?” 

Joel’s mouth goes dry but he nods anyway. His eyes narrow as Tommy’s smile grows, his hand slips between your legs and begins to stroke you through your panties. Joel’s breath hitches, his gaze landing where you grow wetter and wetter. 

“Who’s in charge baby, tell him.” 

Your hips grind down to his hand, “You are.” 

“Well that wasn’t much of a challenge,” he chuckles, eyes finding Joel’s again. “Don’t you think you’re bad girl sayin’ that in front of your daddy?” 

Heat rushes to Joel’s cheeks, crimson spreading from his chest to his face. He wasn’t expecting Tommy to know that. A tingle he hasn’t felt before spreads from the base of his spine. His jealousy is starting to brew, but at the same time, it feels oddly nice to be helpless, even though he knows he isn’t. 

“Answer my question,” Tommy commands, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Are you a bad girl?” 

“Y–Yes.” 

Your eyes roll when Tommy presses your clit, drawing rough circles, he smiles. “Tell your boyfriend who’s your daddy now?” 

Joel holds his breath. Beads of sweat coating his back. “You are,” he hears you say to Tommy. There’s a slight quiver to your bottom lip and every part of him wants to soothe you. 

But instead, his brother does. 

Tommy sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and kisses your deeply, his hands caressing the contour of your body. 

“Don’t worry,” Tommy says. “Daddy is goin’ to take care of you.” 

You’re about to lose your mind. Your body is a flame and with each devastating snap of Tommy’s hips, your mouth drops open with a guttural moan. You’ve always assumed he’d be a gentle lover. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that Joel’s presence might be a solid reason why he’s tearing you and building you up over and over again. 

He positioned you so you’re staring at nothing else but Joel, you see how hard he is under his pants, the outline of his cock visible and making you gush all over Tommy’s cock. You want him in your mouth so bad but you know this isn’t that kind of game. Joel’s eyes follow the sway of your breasts, your bra ripped from you a while ago. You were completely naked except for your panties—Joel’s favorite and now Tommy is fucking you in it. 

Tommy reaches forward and grabs your throat, pulling you up so more of your chest is exposed. His cock is bigger than you imagined, nearly big as Joel. He pounds into you mercilessly, his length stretching you every day, reminding you whose cock is tearing you apart. 

“Does it turn you on that he’s watchin’ how wet you’re gettin’ my dick sweetheart?” With his question another fresh wave of slick drips out of you, tears build in your eyes, your insides left throbbing. His hips stutter, going balls deep, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck. Joel, she’s soaked— does she ever get this wet for you?” 

“‘Course she does,” he grunts, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if he’s upset or not, but the fact that Tommy doesn't have a broken nose already must be a good sign. 

Tommy leans into your ear, loud enough for Joel to hear. “Bet the old man can’t fuck you as well as I do.” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. Both of them are so good at this, and your head is in shambles. 

Tommy suddenly stops, and you’re a brink away from breaking down. A whine tears away from your lips. He releases your neck, you fall forward, only upright thanks to his hands holding your arms. “Answer me.” 

“You’re making me feel so good,” you say instead and thankfully, he doesn’t try to gauge a different response. His cock pulses, making you believe that was all he wanted to hear. Joel observes the two of you carefully. 

“Say it again baby, tell him how well daddy’s taking care of you.” 

“Daddy’s taking care of me,” you slur as his pace begins to pick up again. Each thrust makes you squeeze his cock like a vice. Liquid heat drops down your spine, your stomach clenching as he edges you closer and closer to your downfall. “J–Joel,” you call out without much thought and his dark gaze meets your own. “He feels so good.” 

“Oh fuck—” Tommy chokes and swiftly pulls out, prompting you to let out a disappointed whine. “Shit, baby, I’m gonna— fuck— bring your face here—” 

The back of Tommy’s head falls against the headboard and you quickly hurry towards him, your glistening cunt now in perfect view. You hear Joel taking in a sharp exhale. You part your lips, dipping down to take Tommy into your mouth but he stops it, holding you by the nape. “I’m gonna ruin that pretty face of yours,” he groans, forcing you down so your cheek would be pressed right below his pelvis. He starts stroking himself, fucking into his fist, and the sight is so beautiful that you lick one of his balls into your mouth, his back arches. 

Suddenly, he grips you even tighter and starts moaning loudly in harsh gasps, his hips thrusting uncontrollably against your face. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of you. You can feel him pulsing against your skin. You moan in response, feeling the rush of excitement as you open your mouth wider to take it all in.

“Tommy, please,” you breathe out, your eyes locked with his as he releases a stream on your face, covering your cheeks and lips with his release. You can feel yourself growing even more aroused as he continues to stroke himself, coating your face with his warm come. You whimper, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine as he lets out a final raspy breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stares at you, your face damp and covered in his release. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up, the intimate moment causing your heart to race in your chest. Tommy reaches out, gently wiping some of the come off of your face with his thumb before bringing it to your lips, letting you taste yourself.

“Fuck,” Tommy murmurs, his breaths coming out in short pants. He pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce kiss. However, while you’re lost in his mouth, you don’t realize the bed dipping with an added weight. You hear a clink of a belt and suddenly Joel is buried deep between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit. You gasp against Tommy’s mouth, the sensations becoming almost too much to handle.

“You didn’t make her come, idiot,” he groans, fucking himself into your deeper and deeper. Your eyes roll, your lips parting an inch away from Tommy’s face. Joel sinks his teeth into your neck, hips rutting into you without leaving you. His other hand playing with the elastic of your panties, you break down around him, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. “Mine,” he growls, acting as if the two of you are alone. “Mine, mine, mine—” 

Joel spills into you with a deep and visceral groan. There’s so much, his cock twitching and pulsing as he forces himself even deeper, claiming you as his. Doing something Tommy isn’t allowed to do. You shiver all over, your body weak with pleasure. 

He trickles down the inside of your thighs as he pulls out, falling back to his knees. You collapse onto Tommy’s chest and you’re surprised when you feel his hand on your neck, rubbing soothingly over your warm skin. 

Joel leaves a trail of kisses down your spine, “You were amazin’, honey.” 

“Such a good girl,” Tommy murmurs, though both of their voices feel as if it’s coming from a distance. Your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion taking hold of you. “Let’s get her cleaned up and tuck her in.” 

Joel presses his mouth against you one last time before heading to the bathroom. 

[bekolxeram]

I'm late to the party I know, but I need to learn how to make gifs first. I actually find the Bucktommy dinner scene a bit awkward, but not because they "lack chemistry" or the "flirting is problematic". It's not supposed to be just a cute bonus scene, it's engineered to stuff as much information as possible into mere 55 seconds. Here is my read on it:

The good old always at the hospital joke, probably just Tommy trying to lighten the mood after such a hectic day for the 118, but mainly a set up for the next part.

Buck does not see the humor in it, he seems upset.

Tommy has apparently gotten to know Buck enough at the stage to immediately clock it, and under all the dark humor and sarcasm, he does actually care about Buck's feelings.

The scene of Buck and Eddie in the hospital room with Bobby ends up on the cutting room floor, we've only got that one shot of teary eyed Buck when he breaks the news to Eddie at his house, so this is the first time in the episode Buck gets to express his fear of losing Bobby, his father figure.

And here we are, controversial moment number 1. There isn't much context attached to this line, so viewers interpret it differently. I'm in the minority camp that thinks Tommy is being serious here, Lou's delivery makes it seem like Tommy says this out of concern. I believe it's a call back to this line from the medal ceremony:

Here Buck is talking about Phillip the same way Tommy and Chimney (possibly Hen too) talk about Gerrard: like he's dead. Tommy is probably wondering if Phillip is another Gerrard situation, and he invites Buck to talk about it if he wishes to.

Buck gives a humorous but one word answer, so Tommy gets that he doesn't want to get too deep into it.

From this line on, it's a set up for the Gerrard reign of terror in S8. Tommy reiterates the jealousy he mentioned in 7x04, that he wants to become a part of the 118 family, which he only had a little taste of before he left to become a pilot.

Tommy backstory crumb. Buck and Phillip at least see each other at family functions, Tommy doesn't have a relationship with his dad at all. Judging by the medal ceremony, he doesn't seem to have any family left.

It confirms Gerrard as the anti-Christ anti-Bobby. Buck becomes the person he is because of Bobby, while Tommy behaved the way he did in the 3 begin episodes because of Gerrard. It acknowledges Tommy's toxic ways back in the days, but as we can see by the time Bobby became captain of the 118, Tommy was already on friendly terms with Chimney and Hen, we might have a chance to see the transformation in between next season. I've heard that season 7 is supposed to be a soft relaunch of the entire series, so maybe Gerrard is a good plot device to make new viewers understand the positive influence Bobby has on the firefam.

Classic deadpan humor from Tommy, Buck gets the message that he wants to keep the conversation lighthearted.

Now Buck has the power to decide which direction he's leading the conversation into, and he gives us controversial moment number 2, he brings up daddy issues and makes it horny. Look at his smirky face, he's definitely not trying to have a serious chat about father complex. He's the one who starts flirting, not Tommy, and it shows us unlike the nervous fumbling at the beginning of their relationship, Buck is now comfortable enough to initiate flirting.

Tommy can't say no to that face, so he flirts back, but it can also be interpreted as him being in denial of his obvious daddy issues. More conflict and angst for S8?

More flirting. Boy's got rizz towards all genders. He basically admits he might have "daddy issues" in a sexual connotation.

Now comes THE controversial moment of the scene, if not the episode. I've seen people online bashing Tommy for "making it sexual" (Buck did), "interrupting a meaningful conversation to satisfy his daddy kink" (no one is actually talking about any kink), or even "exploiting Buck's trauma to put him in an inferior role in a dom/sub relationship" (What? That's not what d/s is about).

I raise you the point that the word "daddy" is no longer some kind of kink exclusive lingo. This word has entered the popular zeitgeist the last couple years, and now it basically just means a sexy older man. I bet the daddy kink thing doesn't even cross the mind of most of the GA, they just take it as Tommy hoping Buck find this older man sexy. I think we might have collectively read too many smutty fanfics, that's why we all immediately jumped to the very extreme of the kinkiness spectrum when it comes to this scene.

Conclusion, the dialog in this scene may not sound natural, but that's not the point. This scene is in fact, an infodump. Kudos to the actors for making it cute.

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: From Party of Two, to Family of Three

Sunday Surprise takes place right before this, but not necessary for this part

notes: you guys already know this is my favorite little crackhead family. While we've been enjoying Sarah's adventures out of order for a while, lot of people have been asking when we'll meet Ellie. Which I didn't feel it was right until we actually see Sarah's birth! So here she is. Please enjoy!

warnings: childbirth (not too graphic), a shit ton of language, comedy and fuff

- - - -

They say childbirth is a miracle. It's the single greatest, most amazing, most heavenly, life giving, breath of fresh air day of any parent’s life.

What they don't say (almost as if conveniently forgetting to even mention it) is that the moments leading up to the birth are the single most excruciating, marathon through the worst hell of a nightmare.

"YOUUU. YOUUUUUU MOTHER FUCKING--FUUCCKKEERRRR!!" The banshee (his wife, you) next to him in the car screeches directly into his ear, a death grip on his forearm.

He’s one handing these turns, blowing more red lights than he's ever yelled at Tommy for, while ready to lose his right hand to your talons and his hearing to your incessant wails.

"fuck YOU!OOOOWWAHAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

You squeeze your eyes shut, head crouched down while another wave of contractions splinters your insides apart. Every muscle known and unknown in your body is engaged. 

"We're almost there, you’re gonna make it--"

"YouFUCKINGfuckSTICkofaFuCkFuckshitheadfuckingbastard mothershitstainfrigginFUCK!"

You'd bash his head against his window repeatedly if your other hand wasn't already occupied cupping your rupturing belly.

Joel’s never been simultaneously in control and losing it inside all at once. He’s got one goal right now: get you to the hospital in one piece.

 That goes for driver safety but also to ensure the baby does NOT come out prior that because lord help him he would not know what comes next.

The truck screeches to a halt at the parking lot in 3 spaces. Joel tumbles out of the seat, missing a step and stumbling clumsily to his hands and knees on the pavement. He doesn’t even brush off the bruises and dirt as he’s running to you. You’ve nearly thrown him over again by how fast you swing the door open.

Both his sturdy, reliable, big hands are there for you when you take them, hoisting yourself with an agonizing yelp.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, baby momma, you’re—“

“FUCK!!!!!”

You’re clutching your belly, now way lower than it ever has been. Each step feels like fire, with Joel cradling your back and trying to get you to the front door with quick steps.

“Baby! Baby now!” Joel shouts, pointing to you with wild and pleading eyes.

You let out a horrendous scream, stopping in your tracks. Your spine, your bones, your head, and especially your stomach, is all being hit by a truck right fucking now. And you’re crying, you’ve never cried like this. It’s not the fake shit he’s gotten so accustomed to when you want a cookie or milkshake or pussy eating. This is real.

They get you in a chair and wheel you off to the delivery unit, your hand squeezing the shit out of Joel’s but he’s never once let go. He’s gone so pale, running and running alongside you, trying to answer their questions about when it started, how long, what was due date, etc. 

He’s doing a million things at once, and you’re just fighting to stay alive.

Oh, you also would forget everything you were saying at this moment. But thankfully, Joel, and the entire fucking hospital, wouldn’t.

“YOU FUCKING, COCK—FUCKER—SHIT FUCKCUnt cunt CUNT! FUCK-OHM Y MOTHERFUCKING GOD FUCK.”

They manage to get you stripped to the papery gown, push your ass onto the bed, spread you wide so the doctor can take a look.

They’re all so calm, walking around and nodding, hooking you up like you’re just here for a checkup, like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

Joel feels the worst stabbing pain along his skull as your nails dig into his hair and yank him down to your face.

“MILLER,” you seethe, venom and sweat breaking through your clenched teeth and slitted eyes. 

“Y-yes?”

You force out harsh pants, groaning, but making sure he understands you clearly right fucking now. “Give me. A fucking. Epidural.”

“I-“

“NOW!!!!”

He looks around for some assistance. “Ep—is there an--”

“WHERES THE FUCKING EPIDURAL.”

Joel makes contact with the nurse, who checks below your legs again before resurfacing with the look Joel feared above all else. While you’re heaving and and moaning in pain, Joel receives the nonverbal confirmation she passes to him:

It’s too fucking late for an epidural.

Both Joel and the nurse also pass a clear, mutual understanding about how to pass that info on to you:

“ITS COMING!” He nods reassuringly to you, exceedingly over the top acting. “Right nurse? See she said it’s coming!”

“Any second now, we’ll get that epidural—“ she agrees, nodding and nodding with a thumbs up to you extra confidence.

“FUUUUCCCCKCKKKKKK,” you sink lower, back falling and head tossed as wave of new pain ripples through you.

“FUUCCKKING —Fuck J-Joel. Joel Miller—“

“yes baby, I’m here.”

“Im getting a fucking epidural.”

“Yes you fucking are.”

“You fuckers aren’t lying to me?”

Joel glances at the nurse again, who quickly shakes her head at you with her calm, straightforward, trusting voice of reason: “No ma’am we would never.”

Praise this woman, he thinks. “That’s right baby she’s telling ya, its coming—“

“I’ll FUCKING kill you, Joel Miller. Do you know that?”

“Yes-“

“I fucking HATE you right now.”

“Yes—“

“You shit—fuck bag motherfucker, I HATE you—you—you—“ and you start sobbing “—did this to me!”

“I did—“

“YOU!”

“ME.”

Back again to an angered, snarling beast, you growl, “I’ll rip your fucking cock off. I’m fucking you up so fucking bad when we get home, you can never FUCKIN’ do this fucking shit to me again. Balls in the fucking blender.”

“Balls in the blender,” he repeats with absolute conviction, not an ounce of protest in him.

“The FUCkING blender—you hear me fucker?”

“The fucking blender, for sure baby, anything you want right after this.”

“Ugh--oh dfuck Joel its coming!”

“Yeah?” He asks, and its the first time he hears his own voice waver. Holy fuck this is it. This is the moment for the last 9 months its actually here—

“Just another contraction,” the doctor confirms casually.

FUCK DOC HOW LONG DOES THIS TAKE I can’t feel my skull!

“CUNT SUCKER!” You scream, holding Joel’s head hostage as you chant through your breathing pants.

“Any where’s my MOTHERFUCKING epidural!”

“It’s coming! It’s coming!” Joel nods to his now best friend nurse, who’s also nodding dramatically to keep you distracted from the epidural that is absolutely not on its way.

“Miller,” you growl, shoving his nose right against yours. You stare into his very soul, like Death herself ripping his life choices out of his body and spilling them under your eyes. “I think that Bitch is lying to me. There’s no fucking epidural coming, is there.”

“There is, baby, she said it herself, I checked…”

“Are you fucking lying to me Miller?”

“Never baby, we’d never lie to you, right?” He gestures to the nurse again, who nods diligently again. “See baby, no lying, we’d never lie.”

He watches your jaw drop, voice disappear as another roar is ripped from your chest..

“I can’t do this.”

“You can, you can and will. I’ll give you anything you want, right after you do this.”

“I want you fucking DEAD.”

“Sure thing. Want a divorce too?”

“I’m CONSIDERING IT,” you bark a baritone lower like the devil. “FuuuUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!”

“I’ll get the papers printed right up. Favorite pen signed an’ all. But only after you have this baby tonight—“

The doctor checks the monitor again just as you let out a piercing scream. 

“Ma’am it’s time to push.”

“YOU PUSH!” You shout, waving your arm at him but unable to put a curse to the end of it. Your pains are coming through quicker, no longer waves but an unyielding rumbling as the baby kicks and punches and squirms and—

Joel is by your side, taking your hand in his. He’s prepped this speech in his head a million times, every night, every time he felt that baby kick or watched you struggle to tie your shoes, every single second, he’s perfected it:

“It’s here. Its happening. You’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this together, you and me, right now—“

“Nope.”

“We—what?”

Your voice is calm and face plain. “Changed my mind. Not having this baby.”

“Yes you for fucking sure are.”

“Nope no. I’m returning it. Got the receipt.”

“There—there IS NO RECEIPT.”

“Yes—I got it—90 day warranty—“ your face tightens, clenching out the last word as if you’re mentally willing this baby to not pop out right now. But by god this baby is not taking your bullshit any longer.

“We are way past the 90 day warranty, honey, you’re having this baby, TODAY, Right NOW!”

“Nope, nope I’m gonna suck it back in!” 

It seems all ability to ‘suck it back in’ has failed, as the nurse shouts clearly “I see a head!”

Your voice breaks in the most heart wrenching “I CAN’T—“ you sob, terror in your voice.

You scream again, and it’s the worst thing Joel’s ever heard. He feels like a kid again, for the first time in a long while, when his parents fought, and the sounds of their voices carried upstairs to his and Tommy’s bedroom. He wanted to run, hide in the closet, cover his ears, cradling himself and rock back and forth, shut his eyes and his mind out, drain everything away. Instead, he held Tommy, he watched Tommy, he calmed Tommy. He bared the brunt of it, and the fear, he learned to control it.

The control is gone. He’s fearing again. And it’s not his parents having an argument over watermelon seeds, but his wife experiencing the most unimaginable pain right now, and it’s because of him, it really is, just like you said. Worse than nails on a chalkboard, glass in his eyes, fire on his feet. He’s so scared, everything he had tried to train for, for you, for this moment, is collapsing before him, and he’s not gonna make it—

Every fiber in his body grips your hand more tightly than possible. “You can,” he says, sturdy yet trembling. He’s scared.

He’s always known what to do, what comes next, how to make your pain and sadness and tears go away. He’s perfected it, knowing what to get you or what to say to make it all better, but now?  He doesn’t know what comes next. Doesn’t know how to make it stop, help you through it, take your worries and griefs—you’re on your own and he’s just next to you, and its not enough, and he can’t help, and he doesn’t know what to do—He doesn’t know what to do-Hedoesntknowwhattodo!

“Hey.”

He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder; the nurse who’s holding all the pieces of his heart and sanity together. She looks at him, focused, locked in from the moment your wailing, miserable self was wheeled in here, and has been doing everything he can’t.

“We’re right there. I need you to ground her,” she says. “Can you do that?”

He nods, tightening his lips. He remembers your hand in his now, remembers where he is, in this moment, and its all the matters.

He’s here. And he wants—needs you to know he’s not going anywhere.

He calls your name. “It’s time, okay baby?” Steady. Reassuring. Level headed. Strong. Rock. Crutch. Love. Everything he’s good at. Everything you know him by. “I need you to push.”

You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenching hard. But he nods, because he’s gonna do the nodding, and the yes’ing, and he’s gonna take everything that’s ever caused you wrong or pain or sadness away because it’s what he does.

It’s what makes him keep going.

“FUCK! MOTHER———MOTHERFUCKER!!!!AHHHHHHHHH!!”

“Keep going!” The nurse encourages. “Dad, you’re doing great, keep getting her to focus—“

“I’M NOT GETTING MY FUCKING EPIDURAL!!!!!!!!!!!!” You sob in finality, the truth seeping into your bones. “YOU FUCKING—MOTHERFUCKING CUNNT SHIT STICK LITTLE BI—“ 

“For Christ’s sake, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The nurse howls, and the entire room goes silent, even you. Joel stares at her dumbfounded. 

‘“The baby. Is HERE,” she huffs definitively. 

“Now fucking—PUSH!”

 - 

Joel’s heart has stopped. 

He doesn’t know where it is, but he knows it’s no longer in his body. 

Its not until he hears the first, most beautifully devastating croak of an angelic cry that he’s felt his heartbeat resume again, and its being cradled gently by the nurse as she pulls the tiniest, wrinkliest, most precious thing on this planet from between your legs.

“Congratulations, mom and dad. A healthy, happy baby girl.”

There’s no way this little—thing—this… bean—can be a baby. It’s the size of both his hands together, and so incredibly delicate, my god, weighing almost nothing and yet the sheer weight of who she is has him nearly capsizing at this very moment.

She’s wrapped delicately in cloth, face and nostrils wiped of fluids before landing gracefully in your outstretched arms. And it’s like the cosmos has realigned in harmony.

No amount of sweat, tears, crazy hair and braised skin, torn clothing and achy muscles could possibly deter the absolute love bursting from your chest as you hold the tiny baby in your grasp. “Hi,” you whimper with a big smile, eyes floating in a shiny haze pf exhaustion and happiness, looking down upon her. “Hi baby girl.” you laugh, tears falling freely as you shake your head and hold her closer, as close as possible, reabsorbing her into your bare chest, and you feel it. Her skin on yours. You’ve carried her this entire time, and yet it’s like you’re feeling her for the first time in your life.

Joel curls next to you, his big palm splayed over top her whole body, touching her. And it’s the first time, the first time he’s felt his daughter. He had been separated by the membrane of your belly, anxiously, excitedly waiting all this time to meet her, and now she’s here. She’s here. Neither one of you can believe it.

Your little baby wiggles, cooing noise stuck in her throat as she settles from her cries. she’s so wrinkly, skin still absorbing all that fresh air, working color into those cheeks and hands, fingers and toes. Her eyes are too swollen, not yet ready to say hi to this world. But that’s okay. Because her mom and dad are still going to be right here when she wakes up, the first people who will introduce her to the world around her. Because she is their world.

“Joel,” you whisper softly. He hears you. He’s here. He hasn’t left your side once. You know he’s here, you’re grateful. He’s here. He loves you. 

“Joel,” you hum again. “She’s beautiful.”

You tremble against him. Shaken from love and joy, more than your entire achy body can contain as you bring her little head to your lips and press the most fulfilling kiss to her.

Joel cups her little head. He wants to hold her, but he’s gotta wait. Fuck after all this time, he’s gotta wait. And it’s enough. He can handle it because he’s so fucking overwhelmed that she’s finally here.

“She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasps into your hair, kissing you tenderly.

Joel steps outside the room, softly closing the door behind him. He watches from the glass window pane, with you perfectly framed in the center as its only subject. Just the way he’s seen the world every day since he met you. 

Only this time, you hold another part of you, and him, in your arms.  The two of you, together. Like the only things that will ever matter to him.

And suddenly, Joel lets himself feel it all.

He clutches his mouth with the entirety of his palm, his yelp buzzing in his hoarse throat. He feels his knees give way, tumbling to the ground, one hand holding the wall while the other grips his face to keep the cries at bay. And he cries. He cries harder than he’s ever cried, and they’re wonderful. They hurt like kisses, burn like candy, ache like love. 

He wants to go back in there.

Quickly wiping his face clean, he stands up, straightening himself.

“Hey.”

The nurse who had delivered his baby stands next to him.

“She did fantastic. You both did.”

Joel tries to clear his throat, but his face is so obviously still red, swollen and barely holding it together. She doesn’t question nor judge the tough guy facade, yet completely speaks to his soul, telling him everything he didn’t know he needed to hear. “She’s 7 pounds, 2 ounces. Ten fingers and toes. Brown eyes. Hearing is great, so is—“

“Thank you,” he interrupts.

She goes quiet but offers a gentle smile. 

As he stares at her, the literal saint that got you and his baby through this, from point A to B, he realizes  nothing is coming to his head.

“I’m sorry, I … I don’t even know your name.”

She laughs. “I would not expect you to. You had way more to worry about.”

“Well, I just … really, really wanted to say…. Thank you…”

“Sarah,” she responds.

“Sarah,” he repeats. He repeats it over and over again in his mind, as if its going to stick, and he doesn’t quite know why yet.

“I’ll give you two—three, some time together,” she says, gathering the checkerboard hanging by the wall. “Then I’ll be back to help get her ready to take home, and let your wife sleep some more.”

He nods, looking down then back up, just as she’s patting his shoulder reassuringly and turning away to attend her other duties.

-

When he steps back inside, you look up to him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispers back. Now that the dust has settled, he can finally see just how exhausted you are. The absolute train wreck that has battered your body this last hour really settling in, and it makes his chest sore to see you like that. Your gown pulled halfway down to your ribcage, tousled hair sticking awkwardly to your forehead and back from all the dried sweat. And yet none of it, absolutely nothing, is getting in the way of that smile that hasn’t left your cheeks since the moment you heard her cry.

“She’s sleeping,” you hum, looking back down at your daughter, who’s coddled up in a wrap and little cap.

“You thinking about putting the baby down, getting some sleep too?”

“Never.”

He smirks, looking down at her again.

“You think about any names yet?” You ask, stroking over her little forehead.

The two of you had thought about it. A lot. You didn’t want it to be random, but you didn’t want it to be weird. It had to have meaning, but not so closely related to a family member that you’d always mess them up at thanksgiving. It had to remind you of someone strong, unique, purposeful but distant enough that she could to grow and make it her own. 

And this was a girl, after all, so it had to be someone that could put momma AND papa in their place whenever shit got too crazy. 

“I’ve got…one.”

-

Joel helps dress the baby from her swaddled blanket into clothes.

“They’re gonna be a little bit big at first—“ you say, giggling as the two of you realize that the smallest clothes in the world are still a little too baggy on your little—so fucking little—girl.

Joel doesn’t waver, helping put her bitty legs through the loose pant legs…

You see him wipe his lips quickly, swallowing a lump to clear his throat.

“Joel, are you crying?”

“No,” he rasps like a whimper. “M’just sweatin’ through my eyes.”

You let out a chuckle, and Joel tries to do the same, but then he looks down at his little angel again, who’s stretching herself out in the new cloth that’s practically a giant coat on her. Joel starts to tremble. “She’s so perfect,” he weeps, and the shine in his eyes are clear as day.

“Oh baby, it’s okay to cry! I’m gonna cry too—“ you bawl, and now the two of you cry over this little girl who’s just trying to figure out why this blanket is stuck to her.

Not a great first impression from mom and dad but she’ll just have to deal with it.

And just like that, the Miller family went from party of two, to family of three.

-

6 weeks later…

The baby monitor crackles to life, and Joel is already tossing the blanket aside before the baby utters her first cry. He’s already up, kissing your forehead with “I’ll get her," almost excitedly through the heavy lull of sleep. You barely get a noise out of your throat, already snoring away into the pillow. He’s exhausted too, but his feet carry him onward with droopy eyes as if on their own.

He’s still not happy about the pink paint color of her bedroom, but that hardly matters right now. Terribly dramatic cries echo from the crib ahead. He scoops his little bean—since that’s what she looks like all curly in her onesie—supporting her head carefully and tucking her into one elbow. 

He rocks her squirming, agitated body back and forth in one arm as he shakes the now warmed bottle in his other hand. Joel tries to get her screaming mouth to take the cap, but she shakes her head, avoiding him at all costs to her own detriment.

 "Oh you’re such a squiggly girly for daddy. I got ya bubbas right here, quick ya cryin’. You’re gonna wake up mommy." 

As if she understands how she wouldn’t want to cause YOU any problems, his baby stops crying and accepts the bottle between her lips. Once she finally has her snacking, she peacefully looks back up to him, studies him. 

"There she is.  Told ya." He grins, swaying back and forth as she stares back at him with those big beautiful brown eyes. You definitely got one of your wishes: Joel’s eyes. The rest of her, is yours.

He’s hypnotized, so in love with her he didn’t think it was possible to love something as much as you. He already knows he’s gonna get her the dog, the kitty, the pony, the car, credit card, dress, house, anything she points to really; he’s never going to be able to say no to those enchanting eyes.

All of her bitty fingers fist around Joel’s pointer, as if to anchor her, and she doesn't let go as she drinks safely.  

She’s only 10 pounds now, but he feels like Atlas, carrying the entire weight of the world all curled up in his arms right now. Ans he'd carry this weight forever if he could, would pump iron and concrete slabs and oceans just to stay in shape and keep his girl in his arms for eternity, never to tire.

“My babygirl,” he whispers with a grin, pursing his lips close to her. “My little baby Sarah.”

- - - -

taglist:

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[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

Side Effects | Bucktommy

“He’s going to be drowsy and a little out of it, Evan,” the nurse tells him as the nurse leads him through the recovery area to where they wheeled Tommy back. It was a simple surgery to fix a torn ligament in his elbow, which happened when his arm got hyperextended on a call.

“Oh I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s tough,” Buck assures the nurse who gives him an amused smile. Buck doesn’t think about that too much and goes to open the curtain and he sees Tommy in a green gown with leads and IV lines hooked all around him. Buck couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips as he saw Tommy ultra concentrated on the world's smallest juice box on the tray in front of him.

“Hi baby, how’re you feeling?” Buck asks and ducks down to press a quick kiss to Tommy's hairline.

That gets Tommy’s attention and he looks up at Buck with still glassy eyes. “Wow, are you my new nurse?!” Tommy asks.

Buck chuckles and settles in the chair to the right of the bed. “No, not a nurse. I am your firefighter though,” Buck replies thinking they are in on the same joke.

Tommy’s eyes go wide and look at Buck with new concern, “firefighter? Did you save me? Is that why you're here?” Okay maybe Tommy is a little more out of it than originally thought.

Buck takes Tommy’s right hand in his being mindful of the heart monitor and sling his elbow is in. “Nope, didn’t save you. You had a minor injury, but the doc fixed you up.”

Tommy sighs in relief and is quiet for a moment, Buck thinks he might be starting to get a little more lucid. “Good. Because it’s always awkward hitting on someone after they save you, and you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. What’s your name?”

Alright. Not there yet, Buck sneaks a look at the nurse who’s monitoring Tommy’s vitals and they share a knowing smile. Even still, Tommy can make him blush out of nowhere. Buck plays along. “My name’s Evan, most people call me Buck though.”

Tommy scrunches his nose, “No, I don’t think I like ‘Buck’, I like Evan better,” Tommy declares confidently. Buck definitely likes Evan better when it comes out of Tommy’s mouth too.

“Well that’s a relief since my husband likes Evan better too,” Buck goads Tommy, mainly just to see his reaction.

Tommy throws his head back against the pillow and all but whines, “Noooo, of course all the hot ones are taken.” Buck hears the nurse stifle a laugh.

Buck feels a little evil. “Well luckily for you, he and I aren’t that serious,” Buck tells Tommy with a wink. Apparently Tommy has no awareness of Buck’s hand that has been connected to him this entire time. But, you know, details.

Buck scoots closer to Tommy’s face, inches within kissing distance and Buck is looking at Tommy with a smug smile, he plans to give Tommy all of the shit about this when the anesthesia fully wears off.

Tommy is staring at Buck’s lips as he whispers, “won’t your husband know?”

“Not to worry, handsome, he’s on a different planet right now,” Buck whispers back and closes the distance to kiss his stoned husband chastely on the lips.

When Buck pulls back, Tommy’s dazed eyes are roaming his face and lifts his left hand to Buck’s cheek and runs his fingertips lightly down his face. The light glints off his own wedding band and Tommy looks shocked at his hand then back to Buck with this mouth falling open.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says like he’s heartbroken, on the verge of tears, “I’m married too.” This time both Buck and the nurse lose it.

***

About an hour later when they get home Tommy seems to be back to normal, only a little groggy.

“Ugh, so happy to be home. Thank you, baby for taking care of me,” Tommy sighs as he walks up to Buck and kisses him. His smile turns into a frown when he looks at Buck's face. Buck returns with his own confused look.

“What happened here? Did you hit your head?!” Tommy asks full of concern and Bucks is lost until the second Tommy strokes his left eyebrow carefully. Buck has to close his eyes and bite his lips to keep his laugh in.

“Baby, that is a birthmark, it’s been there this whole time,” Buck replies evenly.

Tommy shakes his head with an unsure laugh, “right. Right, of course.” He pointedly avoids Buck’s sparkling eyes. “I’m just tired, bed?”

“Yeah, bed.” Buck turns Tommy around and guides him by the hips towards the bedroom.

[majestyeverlasting]

Hellooo, can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad day at work and she’s calling him from the bathroom crying and he immediately rushes to pick her up? 🥰🩷

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader 

Summary A disheartening setback at work leads you to call Joel, who always knows exactly what you need [fluff, 1.6k].

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! Really enjoyed writing this one.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Hi, are you busy right now?

A heavy exhale is freed from your chest the moment you hit send. It’s quiet in the bathroom except for the rhythmic drip of the leaky sink faucet. Muffled voices arise from the hallway as people pass by, some preparing to commute home. Warm tears stream down your cheeks. 

No sooner does your phone vibrate to life, a picture of you and Joel at McKinney Falls filling the screen. There isn’t much time to compose yourself before you press the accept button with a shaky thumb. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Got done early today, we’re cleaning up the site,” Joel greets, wind in the background. Tommy’s voice emits from nearby as well, followed by rowdy, cackling laughter. “Hold on a second, lemme get someplace quiet.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

There’s shuffling on his end of the line that eventually subsides. It’s still worth clinging to even though he’s miles away. 

“Sorry about that. Everything alright?” Concern dances around the edges of his words. You can tell he’s trying to keep them from being consumed. 

After Sarah moved out for college, he’d gotten better at accepting that every phone call he received from her didn’t automatically mean trouble. Most of the time, she simply wanted to catch up now that she lived two hours away. 

However, the opposite was true between you and Joel. Nowadays, you spend so much time together that there’s seldom a need to talk on the phone. The fact that you were calling him, from work, no less, meant something was up. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, but it doesn’t do much for the wavering of your voice when you finally speak up again, “Just wanted to hear your voice.” 

Your subsequent sniffle makes him grow still. You can see it through the phone. It’s in the way he doesn’t immediately respond, gears undoubtedly turning in his head. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” There’s a gentle, almost melodic quality to his voice that makes you wish you could lay your head on his chest and feel the rumble of his words. 

“Today’s just been a lot,” you tell him. “You know Alexander, the Bulletin’s editor?” He makes a small sound of affirmation. “It wasn’t his decision, but he pulled me aside to let me know my feature has been put on hold for further revision.” 

Relaying the news makes fresh tears well in your eyes. Over the past few weeks, Joel has watched you pour yourself into each stage of constructing the story to do the subjects justice—the meticulous research, heartfelt interviews, and late nights perfecting every draft. 

It was a labor of love, a piece that sought to illuminate the struggles of longtime Austin residents, artists, and small business owners navigating the challenges of gentrification and displacement. 

“Something about it being redundant.” Which, for all you knew, could be higher-up code for we don’t want this stepping on the toes of donors with deep pockets.  

“You’re kidding,” Joel grouses, disappointed for you. 

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “I wish I was,” you breathe. “Redundant, yet they’ve got room for age-old dieting tips and holiday gift guides every year,” you say, voice wavering. 

“I know, I hear you. I’m so sorry, baby,” he soothes, releasing a heavy sigh. “At least it hasn’t been canned entirely. That’s worth something.”  

He’s right, but it still feels like a slap in the face considering all the time invested. From you and everyone who shared their story. 

“It just sucks,” you sniffle. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and now I feel even worse.” A dull ache has settled in your temples. 

Shuffling arises on Joel’s end of the line again, and you remember that he’s still on site. 

“I’m sorry. You can go if you need to.” 

Instead, he comes back with, “Hang tight, okay? Gonna come get you.” 

When you bite your lip instead of responding, he keeps talking, “Should be there in twenty, give or take.” 

As appealing as it sounds to be whisked away, reality is quick to set in. 

“No, it’s fine, Joel. Tommy and the guys need you. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t good for it,” he replies. 

•••

Outside, you’re met with a relaxed breeze and the dwindling warmth of downtown, where the sun eases towards the horizon. A few tourists mill around, men and women in business casual stride by with messenger bags. At Joel’s truck, which is parallel parked across the street, he gets the door for you. An 80s station plays low on the radio, Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run faintly recognizable. 

You watch as he rounds to the driver’s side in that relaxed stride you love. He looks handsome despite his mused hair and the specks of dried paint on his shirt. When he climbs in, you’ve taken notice of the ice-cold raspberry tea in the cupholder closest to you. 

Along the way, he’d stopped and gotten it from the cafe you and Sarah frequented whenever she was visiting from school. You only went alone as an occasional treat, but he knew how much you liked it. 

A smile buds on his face when you pick it up and take a grateful sip. There’s a softness to his gaze that makes warmth bloom in your chest. With him, even the little things seemed to say, I see you. 

When you extend the cup his way in a silent offer, he waves you off. However, curiosity gets the better of him after he pulls off the curb. “Guess a sip won’t hurt.”

For the first time in what feels like hours, you smile when Joel hums at the flavor. For a moment, it doesn’t feel like the world is ending anymore. When he places his hand on your thigh, you intertwine your fingers with his, and he gives your hand a squeeze. 

A comfortable silence settles between you. It isn’t until you’ve left downtown that Joel speaks up again, voice measured and sure, “Your story will get out. Those guys know good journalism when they see it, and they’re gonna have to run it.” 

You glance over at him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as hope kindles in your chest.

“Hell, I’ll make my own publication if that’s what it takes. The Miller Times.” 

A chuckle bubbles out of you, but you could cry at the same time. For an entirely different reason this time. 

“I could get in trouble for going to a different publisher,” you remind him, running your thumb over the back of his hand as a small smile plays on your lips. “I’m on staff.”  

“I know, honey.” Joel squeezes your hand, a playful glint in his eyes. “Admit it, though. You thought about it for a second. The Miller Times has a nice ring to it.” 

He can see you fighting against your growing smile. “It’s alright.” 

“I’ll take that,” he concedes. Then, a greater air of sincerity settles over him. “What’s that one saying—setbacks are setups for something better.” 

You nod, gazing out the window as you turn into his neighborhood. 

“Don’t let this weigh you down.” 

You felt worlds lighter with him. 

•••

The warm spray of the shower feels so good against your skin that you remain under it even after the day’s troubles have washed away. Three months ago, you would’ve had to use Joel’s body wash, but your products and belongings had since made their way here. Some, he bought because he knew you’d be around, and others—namely, clothes—that migrated from your apartment. 

The word home has lost its shape in that regard. Not in a detached way of not belonging in any one place, but in that Joel’s house had begun to feel like just as much of a home as your cozy one-bedroom a few miles away. 

When you finally step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around yourself, you can see straight into the bedroom, where Joel is stretched across the bed. The sound of the shower door closing prompts him to sit up with a low grunt. You offer a shy smile upon meeting his gaze. 

“Promise I’m not creepin’ around,” he says, standing to his feet. “Just wanted to see if your headache was gone. Can bring up some Tylenol if you need it.” 

“It’s fine. I feel better now,” you assure. With a satisfied nod, he turns to leave with the intent of giving you space, but stops in his tracks when you speak up again, “You’re allowed to creep around if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Joel saunters into the bathroom doorway, propping an arm against the frame. The motion causes his bicep to strain against the sleeve of his shirt. Getting to see you like this, the intimacy of it all, always makes him feel grateful and warm. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“You’re the boss,” you lilt.

With a low chuckle, Joel pushes out of the doorway and moves to stand behind you. You stare at your joint reflection as he rests his large hands on your hips, then leans down to press a delicate kiss to your bare shoulder. His frame is broad and rugged behind you, but his eyes are kind. 

When you rest your hands over his, he presses a second kiss to the crook of your neck. Then another just beneath your ear. His lips are so soft and warm against your damp skin that you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine and makes you press back into him. 

“I like you like this,” he whispers. “Relaxed…smiling.”

Now that you’re in his arms, it’s hard to imagine having stayed at the newsroom. With the meetings, chatty colleagues, and constant blue light. It’s quieter here with Joel. The world at large has disappeared while your smaller one keeps turning.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” you admit. 

But Joel did. He always did. 

-

Thank you so much for reading. Like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all.

MORE

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x reader who can control shadows

@klerns-birdie

Thomas Hewitt

• Thomas loved you with all his heart and cared about you, but to be honest, sometimes he was really scared of your ability to control shadows. It's not that he was afraid of you, no, he was just very worried about you.

• Other family members, in particular Hoyt, were quite delighted to learn about this ability of yours. Hoyt was glad that the chance of catching potential meat increased by a whopping 200%.

• Whenever you transform into your shadow self, Tommy is haunted by the fear that you won't come back. At such moments, it was as if an animal thirst for blood and violence really woke up in you, not that Thomas encouraged it. But he understood that all this was to protect the family, and the family always comes first.

• Thomas is extremely fond of physical contact with you. Because of your ability to control shadows, sometimes it seems that your skin is as cold as ice or grave earth, so he likes to squeeze your palms in his big ones and keep you warm.

• Thomas is a big boy, very big and big. Sometimes it's even embarrassing to watch when the victim manages to fool him and simply run away from home. It's at times like this that you show up. Such a sweet and fragile girl instantly turns into a cold-blooded killer with a crazy smile sparkling in the dark. Your translucent body gracefully moves softly and smoothly around the unsuspecting victim, and your shadows wrap cold tentacles around the body of the poor victim. You act quickly and accurately, and Thomas can only watch from afar as lingonberry drops of blood cover your dark body.

• After your little 'hunts', you turn back into your 'I' and smile, gently brushing the blood off your clothes. Thomas's heart swells with warmth from your sudden change of emotions. The way you tenderly examine him for wounds and tell him that everything is fine. Your shadows gently glide over his skin, causing goosebumps. Like the touch of a wet tongue, they calmed and brought a sense of comfort, because Thomas knew for sure that everything was under control.

Michael Myers

• Your abilities definitely arouse his genuine interest. He had spent his entire life in a hospital, so he could not even imagine that such a thing really existed.

• He will watch you and your shadows like a curious little child, but he will never admit this to you or ask you to show him anything at his request. In this regard, he is quite closed and does not know how to fully express his feelings.

• You and Michael have some kind of unspoken games like hide-and-seek or catch-up. There's something hot about him knowing that you're always watching him from the shadows. To know that you are watching his every move, every murder and stabbing, causes his body to tremble, and his breathing under the mask becomes rapid and moist. And he gladly accepts this challenge and looks for you in this dirty darkness, hoping at least this time to win this game of cat and mouse.

• Sometimes Michael gets so carried away with you that he forgets about the victim in front of him. The unfortunate man is trying to escape, but he does not even suspect your presence. You easily wrap your shadowy arm around the fragile throat and squeeze it to a nasty bone crunch. Michael lowers the bloody knife and listlessly watches the scene unfold in front of him, unable to contain a slight smile.

• After the murder, you slowly come out of you, your body turns back into its usual self, small droplets of blood flow down your face when the victim coughed up blood a little. You approach Michael and freely take him by the elbow, leading him towards the house through the deserted streets of the city at night. As if you were the most ordinary couple who had never done anything wrong. Michael feels your shadow wrapping around his waist, and it brings a sense of comfort.

• Michael is terribly fond of your coolness and cruelty with which you kill victims. Like a crow, shamelessly pecking out the eyes of sinners hanging on crosses. Sweet and dangerous at the same time. A wonderful combination, warming Michael's blood up.

Bo Sinclair

• Bo loves you madly. But this does not mean that he will talk about it directly. After all, since childhood he has had certain problems with aggression and the manifestation of his emotions and understanding of others. Therefore, sometimes he can be quite persistent and too clingy.

• He likes to make you jealous, knowing full well about your ability and cruelty. Bo can deliberately flirt with another tourist just to see how later your shadows will close around her delicate neck and tear the unfortunate girl into pieces of meat. This bloody show causes a pleasant shiver in his body. Perhaps he would also not mind if your gentle shadows and cold hands walked over his body.

• Bo really likes to realize that such an amazing and ambitious girl is his and only his. He doesn't intend to share you with anyone. If he's hanging around other girls (solely to annoy you), then he won't tolerate anyone else around you. If some new tourist gets too close to you, Bo will come up to you and put his arm around your waist, hugging you closer to him so that everyone around knows whose girl you are. It is better for this person to quickly understand his place if he does not want to die a very painful death.

• You often use your abilities just to tease him or get on his nerves. On the one hand, it annoys him, but on the other hand, he likes your attention, but he won't tell you about it. And he won't say that your cold weightless shadows on his skin cause pleasant sensations in his body. But you'll probably see it in his smug grin.

• You often go to his gas station when there are another couple of tourists on it. Seeing such a sweet, nice girl really calms future victims and weakens their vigilance. This strange man has such a sweet girl, obviously he only has a stern appearance, but a kind heart, there's nothing to worry about. Oh, how wrong they are, because it is this little sun with an innocent smile that poses a much greater danger to them. You'll be happy to hear the crunch of their bones under your tight grip a little later.

Vincent Sinclair

• Your cold shadows feel good on his scarred face. At first, he was worried about this and did not want to show you his face, but the tenderness with which you stroked his rough skin gave him a pleasant calm. He clung to those black tentacles like a little kitten craving affection. The touch was both cool and strangely warm and gentle, it sent shivers down his spine.

• At first, Vincent was afraid when you literally came out of nowhere, although in fact you just turned into a shadow and followed him almost everywhere. Over time, Vincent got used to it and even learned to find your presence in this sepulchral silence of the basement. He likes how your dark translucent body moves in the light of a dozen candles, how graceful and beautiful your body looks. He finds a strange comfort knowing that you are almost always there, watching him from the shadows. After one of the victims attacked him at the most unexpected moment and broke his mask, which led Vincent into a momentary stupor, he was incredibly grateful when you killed this scoundrel on the spot. It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening, but your gentle touch made everything bearable. Although now he will have to wipe off the blood and the basement floor, but these are just small things.

• You're like his guardian angel, his shadow protector. It's a very pleasant feeling. Vincent knows that you are always on the safe side, that you will always help him if necessary. Because of this, he tries to do everything carefully so that you enjoy the show presented to you in full.

• Sometimes you use your shadows to hide Vincent himself. It helps a lot when the victims find the basement themselves and do not suspect anything about the danger. This creates a good surprise effect. And the proximity of your body to his own gives comfort and a sweet aftertaste of the upcoming murder, because after Vincent's flesh and blood, your soothing cold hugs are always waiting.

• He likes that most of the time, because of your abilities and temperament, it is you who take the initiative and a more dominant role. Vincent loves it when you tell him what to do, when you gently touch him with your cold shadows, when you shower his skin with wet kisses, in stark contrast to the coldness of your cold hands and shadows.

• Sometimes he really worries about your cold hands because he's afraid you'll freeze. That's why he likes it when you spend time together in a warm, almost hot basement. Vincent also likes to sculpt wax with you, because the wax is warm, and it will definitely warm you up a little.

Ghostface

• Billy and Stu really like that you have such abilities. This is very suitable for their kind of activity and the image of a Ghostly face, so they almost immediately initiate you into their business. At first, of course, you don't really like it, but something inside you really wants it.

• They both like the surprise effect with which you kill an unsuspecting victim. One moment they were being chased by a tall man in a black suit and a ghost mask, and the next they were literally suffocated by cold air while your shadowy limbs grabbed the body of the unfortunate.

• After particularly successful kills, the boys clamp your still translucent shadow body between them like a sandwich. The blood from their suits is slowly soaking your clothes, but you didn't seem to care. The guys' hands slide over your body, hips and waist as they hold you closer to them. The sight of you covered in blood causes a sticky, almost animal desire inside them.

• Billy is usually a more reserved boy, while Stu relentlessly says all sorts of obscenities that you could do with your interesting ability. The idea that you can watch them while they're doing some personal stuff and they don't even know it makes them both damn hot.

• They love the horror that flashes in the eyes of the victims whenever you kill them with amazing dexterity and weariness. Guys love to take pictures of it. They have a whole photo album with similar pictures, one is better than the other. Stu even has his own collection of photos, but of a more explicit nature, which hangs above his bed in the bedroom.

[chronicowboy]

Eddie isn't entirely sure how he ends up on Tommy's doorstep. One minute, he's stuffed into the corner of his couch, staring at the two empty cushions beside him, trying to will joy out of thin air. The next, he's grabbing his keys and knocking on a familiar door. But it's not too familiar a door. It's not the right door, he thinks. It should be Buck's door. But this feels safer somehow.

Buck's door is joy. Buck's door opens into a room filled with sunlight. Buck's door is a portal to all the good things Eddie has never found himself worthy of. He's still learning to trust the good things, joy. And whilst he trusts Buck implicitly, intimately, instinctually. He still doesn't quite trust himself.

Tommy's door is... Well, Tommy's door often opens on casual camaraderie. Tommy's door mainly leads to the sparring mat in the garage. Tommy's door is just a door. Eddie doesn't know if he's there to see it open or seal it shut.

It's been a week since. Since Eddie had danced around in his house in a pair of tighty whiteys he'd forgotten he'd owned. Since an intoxicatingly simple joy had buzzed through his veins and filled him with a glowing pink light that had almost burst out of him when he'd looked through the peephole. Since Buck had offered him a beer and stuffed himself into the corner of the couch to drink in stony silence between sniffles. Since Eddie had resisted the urge to make himself small and had instead spread his legs, so he could feel the warmth of Buck's knee burning into his bare thigh. Since both of them getting drunk enough on beers and each other that they'd danced around Eddie's house until they collapsed on the living room floor. Since they'd laid there on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling, and Buck had finally mumbled his way through a recital of his breakup.

It's been a week of Eddie biting down on his reflexive guilt at seeking out joy whilst Buck wallows in despair. Of Eddie plastering himself to Buck in every spare moment because, even when he's down in the dumps, he gives off joy like a spaceheater throws out heat. Of Eddie allowing himself to bask in it without the whispering warning voices in his mind for the first time ever. Of Eddie allowing himself the simple pleasure of Buck without fear of ruining him.

Eddie startles a little when the door opens, but it's alright because Tommy startles too. His whole face stretches in shock then scrunches up with a wry little laugh and a shake of his head.

"Guess I probably should have expected this, huh?" he says.

And Eddie thinks that's odd. Hadn't expected it himself. Doesn't know why he's here. Doesn't know what he's going to say. But he opens his mouth anyway, lets whatever is in his throat claw its way out, and what he says is,

"Buck is worth the risk."

Tommy blinks. Eddie blinks back.

Something pools in his chest. Something warm. Something hot. It's the warmth of Buck's knee against his thigh and the heat of boiling anger. It's scorching. Eddie can't tell which one burns worse.

"Okay," Tommy replies evenly.

"Buck said that you said you couldn't move in with him because he'd break your heart."

"I did."

"He's worth that risk," Eddie repeats. Doesn't know how else to say it. "Don't you get it? He-he's so smart and passionate and kind and full of love. His head gets a little messy sometimes, but he's still so so full of love. Why can't you see that? He's beautiful inside and out. And he's worth the risk. You can't not take the risk with Buck. He's worth a hundred broken hearts, don't you get that?"

Eddie's chest heaves. A thousand more words crowd his mouth, but he can't wrap his lips around any of them. His brain is flying a mile a minute, everything slipping through his fingers just when he thinks he's grabbed a hold of it. And Tommy is just staring at him in that slightly disconcertingly blank way he stares.

"Eddie, I think maybe you should try giving that speech to a mirror." His voice is still even, but there's an edge to these words that makes something in Eddie sing, makes him want to press against it until it draws blood.

"What?"

"I think you think Buck's worth a hundred broken hearts because you and him have been breaking each other's over and over for the past six years."

Eddie flinches.

"What? I would never—"

"Just because you didn't mean to doesn't mean you didn't." Tommy sighs and drags a hand down his face. All the defensiveness melts out of his posture as he leans against the doorframe. "Okay, let's talk about me, yeah? You wanna know why I didn't take the risk with Buck?"

It's a rhetorical question. Still, Eddie says, "yes."

"Because." He shrugs. "Six days, six weeks, six months, six years. He'd never mean to, but. He was always going to break my heart, Eddie. And he was always going to break it for you."

There had been this moment when he'd first sat down in the confessional between the click of the door closing and Father Brian's greeting where the whole world had seemed to fall silent. It was a crushing thing. In that moment, twenty-three years of sins had fallen upon him like a helicopter. It was as if the booth itself was trying to swallow him whole. Now, Eddie feels it again. Feels it so vividly he almost thinks he's back in that stifling little wooden box. Feels it like a whole new confession, unforgivable and yet inevitable.

"And you were always going to let him, right?" Tommy doesn't even leave room for an answer. Just nods to himself. "You can be angry with me if you want. I hurt him, I know that. But I took the risk when I started this. The writing was on the wall from the beginning. I knew I was living on borrowed time, but... Well, I don't have to explain to you why he was worth it, do I?"

"W-what do you—"

"God, Diaz," he groans, and presses his forehead against the edge of the door. "He was never trying to get my attention. Jesus. He spent that whole game pulling your pigtails."

"No, he was jealous of—"

"Of me because I had your attention." Tommy shakes his head. "I'm not doing this. I can't. Please leave."

And well, Eddie's never needed all that much of a nudge when it comes to running away. He's halfway to his truck when Tommy's voice stops him in his tracks.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Yeah?" He turns, watches something complicated break across Tommy's face.

"He's worth the risk."

The door closes. Another opens.