#his wife works for the local community college

[himitsutsubasa]

Just got a call from a landscape architect. I don’t know how he got my number but it was very much a wrong number.

[pedgito]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘, 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 | BFD!Joel x Fem!Reader

summary | the rich father of your bestfriend, sarah — joel miller, was a mystery to you until one day he isn't and you quickly find that your interest in him isn't one-sided. [12k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, bfd!joel, ceo!joel, mentions of reader growing up poor/absent parents (joel is ridiculously loaded, it's fic y'all let me live lol), sneaking around, age gap (not explicitly specified, but reader is in final year of college and joel is probs late 40s/50s), vacations, gift-giving, unprotected piv, come swallowing, daddy issues if you squint, one (1) pussy slap, oral (f receiving), semi-public fucking

author’s note | anyways, here’s this. big age gap, some power dynamic stuff but not really. if you don’t like, don’t read & all that jazz. love you babies. xo.

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There was no hiding who Joel Miller was to the town of Austin—a pioneer in the community for rebuilding and building upon the surrounding shopping areas and neighborhoods to save the town from complete gentrification. He owned three companies at this point—one manned by his brother Tommy who dealt with larger businesses, handled the biggest amount of workload when it came to dealing with customers. The other was handled by his wife Maria, more often communicating with smaller businesses in the area. Mom and Pop shops, family owned and locally sourced shops. And Joel dealt with the community directly, building houses at an affordable rate that kept his business booming and well above the surrounding competition.

He was so sought after that the idea of him felt like an enigma.

But, to you—he was just Sarah’s dad. For years you never had the pleasure of meeting him, with his constantly busy schedule he was often away when you came to visit Sarah on their massive—almost too comically large piece of land on the outskirts of Austin, Texas. 

A large two-story farmhouse that seemed like something right out of a storybook—pristine and in perfect condition, surrounded by what felt like miles of grassy land and fencing. Horses, chickens, goats, growing piglets that were taken care of by Sarah and Joel themselves.

You’ve known Sarah since you were fourteen, aware of her upbringing and the type of family she came from, but it never deterred her from being the kindest friend you’ve had. And your shared, similar interest led to an easy friendship that lasted well into college. Sarah was also aware of your…less than ideal family situation, living under the roof of a single parent household, given you were an only child it wasn’t horrible—but your father was a drunk and didn’t manage his money well and that often meant going without. It didn’t matter what, but there was always something lacking that you wish you didn’t have to make up for with your already overwhelming amount of college work and lingering debt.

You didn’t have anywhere to go, unfortunately. 

But, Sarah was always there.

And it isn’t until your final year of college that you find yourself finally meeting the once mysterious Joel Miller, remembering that Sarah told you something about how he was trying to take a step back, allowing more responsibility on his trusting employees to head the company while he took a step back and managed everything as a whole from a distance—less involved, more time at home around Sarah, it was a win win situation.

With both of you working toward similar degrees, it was helpful and convenient to share notes and study as often as you could, especially as your final term papers were nearing and looming like a dark cloud.

It’s an unsuspecting Thursday night when you and Sarah are pausing the heavy studying to cook a quick dinner when Joel walks into the kitchen, approaching the island and nearly tilting your entire existence on this earth on an axis. Your breath catches briefly, eyes dragging over his figure. You’ve seen pictures—family vacations that Sarah has shown you when they were flying across the country over summer breaks and you were stuck at home. 

But, nothing compared to the real thing.

His hair is grown out, curling around his ears. A warm, soft brown that is styled and shaped so perfectly it seems unreal—but the loose curl that falls over his forehead gives it away. There’s a deep cut in his silk-pressed shirt that hangs loosely on his frame, some abstract pattern that shouldn’t work as well as it does on him, but his tan skin compliments the deep tones and varying designs. The faint dusting of chest hair is obscured by the chains that hang in the space the silk-button up creates where he lacks the ability to fasten them, or rather chooses not to.

And you try not to let your gaze linger on the cut of his jeans as they cling snug to his legs, cuffed at the ankles and showcasing a pair of—what you can only suspect are new loafers. A dark chocolate brown accented with a gold metal piece along the center to complement his jewelry around his neck and the few rings placed meticulously on his fingers.

It’s no secret his ring finger sits untouched, lacking the heavy weight of a significant other's mark. Sarah mentioned her mom dying young, much like your own—maybe that’s why you two bonded so easily. 

“Got enough for your old man?” Joel questions curiously, tapping away at his phone meticulously before pocketing it, eyebrows raised in question.

“You hate boxed mac and cheese,” Sarah argues flippantly, flicking the empty box at her father across the counter, “so no, I don’t.”

“No, babygirl—I just hate the powder kind.” He flicks it back just as easily and you note how easy their relationship feels, like this is how things should be. 

Sarah laughs, scrunching her nose up in amusement. “Charming, isn’t he?”

Oh—she’s talking to you? You look at her for half a second, confused, before you’re quickly nodding in agreement without fully listening to what she had asked.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to lie.” She assures, stirring the noodles in the pot over the stove.

Your gaze lingers selfishly, catching the faint twitch of a smile on Joel’s face as he catches you looking. It’s nothing more than a friendly smile, comforting rather than disarming. 

“You know—Sarah never brings her friends around.” Joel starts begrudgingly, eyeing Sarah down before switching to you, “Seein’ as I’ve been hearing all about you for years now and I’m just now meetin’ you in the flesh.”

“Dad, stop scaring her.” Sarah gripes, searching around haphazardly for a couple of bowls, “seriously—just ignore him. He doesn’t know how to act now that he’s home more.”

Joel rolls his eyes dismissively, extending his hand in a kind gesture. You grab it hesitantly and he senses it, pointer finger dragging along the underside of your palm as he holds it delicately and bows his head.

“She’s just mad she can’t get rid of me now,” Joel tells you softly, nodding toward Sarah over your shoulder, “how’s the studying goin’?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand immediately and you don’t try to escape either, allowing the brief moment of lingering contact before you slip it away, shoving your hands into your back pockets.

“Fine.” Sarah’s response is clipped.

It’s stressful, if you’re being honest. But, you could see that Sarah didn’t want to relay that to her father, side-eyeing you wearily. 

It’s the first of many interactions that led to the tiny crush you began to have for Joel Miller. Your once a week studies eventually turn into two or three times a week, desperate to spend as much time away from your own home situation as possible.

Eventually, it’s nearly an everyday thing. You and Sarah would finish your day of classes and drive the short distance to her house and spend most of the night studying. Gradually, you were introduced into their own routine. At first, Joel would offer to buy dinner and leave things be, allowing you the space you needed. But, it eventually delves into weekly dinners and sitting down as if you were a part of this pseudo-family situation you’ve interjected yourself into.

Sarah knew you didn’t like it at home, so it was never a problem. Joel caught on after a few weeks—noticing how you avoided any questions about yourself, your family, anything that would allow him any glimpse into who you were outside what Sarah had told him, which wasn’t much at all. He’s trying to make you feel welcomed and you can appreciate that.

You’ve offered to help pay for meals on multiple occasions, but it never works. Quickly thwarted off by Joel’s extended hand as he shoves your cash away, assuring you that it wasn’t your responsibility. This was his house, his gesture, and he didn’t want you to think you owed him anything.

Yet, something in you yearned to do so. 

You wanted him to know just how grateful you were.

-

His curiosity about you comes to a head on a night after a few beers with friends, poker table trashed and the kitchen a mess. You were bringing down the trash from Sarah’s room, the shared dinner you two had had as a treat for your first day without studying—it was relaxing, mostly because your day had been spent here rather than home.

Joel gathers a few bottles in his large palm, slipping the lips of the bottle through spread fingers. “You two enjoyin’ yourselves?” He asks, looking at you casually. It was a question you’ve heard often, a simple conversation starter. And talking to Joel was much easier now.

You nod, lips pulled into a tight smile. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

“C’mon now,” Joel jests, dropping the bottles into the trash, “none of that—it’s Joel. Shit makes me feel old, darlin’.”

The nickname wasn’t new either. He often called Sarah by her name or babygirl. 

Darlin’ though, it was all you.

He takes the dirty plates from your hands and places them in the sink, palm extended against the ledge of the counter while he rests his other hand against his hip.

“How are you doin’?” He asks, voice softer but still gruff. “Not that you have to tell me, I just want to make sure you’re feelin’ comfortable here.”

“I’m okay,” You say through an unsure smile that Joel notes but doesn’t press on, “it’s just easier to study here—I’m sorry if I spend too much time around here. Feels like you should be charging me rent by now.”

“Not a chance in hell, darlin’.” Joel grins, shiny white teeth showing behind his smile. The small bit of his shirt that was tucked in came loose by the rub of his fingers at his hip and drawing your eyes to the skin briefly, “you’re always welcome here.”

And you hate the way you crave even an inkling of physical contact from him. A pat on the shoulder, a hug, a fucking kiss on the forehead. You weren’t his daughter, you didn’t want to be. But, there was something about Joel that you couldn’t pull away from, trying your best to keep it at bay.

“You know what,” Joel says suddenly, pulling your lingering gaze back on his face, feeling guilty as you chewed on your bottom lip, “why don’t you come on vacation with Sarah and I next month?’

“Mr—Joel, that’s—” You’re quickly silenced by his hand actually pressing against your shoulder now—and fuck, when had he gotten so close?

“Sarah was thinkin’ about asking you anyways. We’re gonna take a trip to the Keys,” He rubs gently at the junction in your shoulder, the thick expanse of his thumb pressed against bare skin, “—just consider it, alright? Lord knows you both need a break as much as I do.”

The thing about Joel is that he was such a good father, something you haven’t been privy to in the couple decades and some few years you’ve been alive. You want to feel jealous and angry, spiteful that this was something you couldn’t have naturally. But, it feels nothing like that.

The crush you had on Joel was dangerous. But, that was all it was. A craving to be around Joel, to seek his approval and gain his trust. And bask in the care he provides. A simple case of daddy issues that you couldn’t admit to yourself was actually happening.

You shouldn’t entertain the idea.

 You shouldn’t even consider it. 

“Oh—okay. Yeah, as long as Sarah is alright with that.” You nod, a genuine, soft smile stretching across your face. Joel squeezes your shoulder tighter and you swear you feel it moving in closer, like he wants to hold you closer, cradle you in his hands. But, then the touch is gone and his fingers are running through his hair, curls separating through his fingertips.

“Alright then.” Joel says triumphantly, “You gonna be okay gettin’ home tonight?”

Sarah was driving you home soon, like usual. You nod.

“Good,” Joel nods, “Goodnight, darlin’.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” You say sweetly, patting your hand against the countertop softly, unable to spare a look his way as you walk in the opposite direction.

But, he can’t help his own fleeting and inappropriate thoughts, eyes dragging along your figure as you walk away, hands gripping the countertop like a vice, internally kicking himself how indecent he was allowing himself to think about you. Still, it didn’t stop the thoughts from flooding in and if he found himself spread out on his sheets that night, cock held tight in his hands as he fucked himself into his fist—well, he could repent for it some other time.

-

You touch down in the early morning on a Sunday, still riddled with anxiety from the plane ride. Joel had tried his best to accommodate, even buying first class tickets despite his usual tendency to go business. He didn’t care much for amenities but he wanted to treat Sarah and you, making you feel guilty with how quickly your face lit up at the sight. Spacious seats stocked with gifts and snacks, a tiny television molded into the area, it felt like too much. 

It was. But, Joel assured you it wasn’t.

There was little planned for the week you had to spend there and you had tried to scrounge up a little cash within the month you had to save, picking up a few extra shifts at your job and stowing it away for this—hoping you could treat yourself to something, anything. Even if it was just a stupid tourist shirt that cost an egregious amount of money.

Joel quickly snuffs out that idea, putting his foot down as he assured you that this trip was a treat. Not just for himself, but for all of you. You never asked how much money the Miller’s had, but it was clearly more than you could ever fathom to be imaginable. He yanks the black Amex from his wallet and hands it off to every waiting server and store owner you three come across.

It’s abundantly clear that they don’t worry about money in the sense that you do—it wasn’t unwelcomed, but it was an adjustment that took a couple days to get over, feeling shame for enjoying it. He’d paid for the plane fare, booked the hotels and the activities you had planned, made sure meals were paid for and then some, even allowing you and Sarah some spending money to go shopping for clothes or whatever you needed. 

He didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. He just wanted you to feel welcomed. Like family…or something.

The trip is fairly harmless fun, a few swimming activities that tire you all out and lend to an early turn in on a couple nights, dinners that lended you to learn a lot more about Joel. Still, as much as Joel tried, you weren’t as open. Vague answers, sidewaying the conversation. He didn’t try to pry, though. And you were thankful for that.

But, with fairly harmless came a few instances that didn’t feel so.

The first comes in the deep end of the ocean, floating on a shared longboard in the midst of the calm waves, humid heat sticking to your skin. Fingers fiddling with the loosening tie around the back of your neck as Sarah wades off to the shore for a brief minute to reapply sunscreen. And maybe you shouldn’t have asked, but you see the lingering look Joel gives you, fingers curling subtly against the edge of the board.

“Can you help me?” You ask, slowly edging around the board until you’re beside him, turning before he has the opportunity to answer. “It’s hard to get it tight on my own.”

Joel clears his throat and offers a smile, “‘Course, chin down for me?” And you follow his lead, feeling his fingers brush against your neck and guide your head down, untying the loose not completely and feeling your swim top go slack, covered by the safety of the water and your back turned to him, but it doesn’t stop the touch of his fingertips against your skin as he ties the knot and tugs slightly, assuring that it was secure to his liking. You lift your head slowly when you feel his palm press flat against your back, fingers curling around the point where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Thanks, Joel.” You turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him, earning a small nod as his touch lingers, only loosening when you rescue your grip on the longboard in front of you.

“Enjoyin’ yourself so far?” He asks, always able to ease into steady conversation without missing a beat. “Any complaints?”

“Definitely,” You smile wide, huffing soft laugh through your nose as you shake your head, “I guess I do have one complaint, actually.” You tell him honestly, a subtle nervousness to your voice. 

“Well, I’m all ears, darlin’.” He responds, leaning his elbow onto the board as it bobbed slightly.

“I just…you don’t have to pay for everything, Joel.” You find yourself rushing out the words, hoping that it wouldn’t cause an adverse reaction, but instead, Joel smiles wider.

“Look, I invited you on this trip,” Joel explains, “and that means you aren’t paying for a damn thing. Alright?”

You nod meekly, quieting down as Sarah waded back into the ocean toward you both.

With Joel, it was something you would have to learn to accept.

You try to ignore the lingering touch of his fingertips on your neck, but now it feels like a burn in your skin that would only get worse as time went on.

The second instance isn’t as much of a thing, rather than a moment.

Eyeing a sundress that resembled some of the similar outrageous patterning that Joel wore, shapes and blobs morphed around the material yet somehow managing to look chicer than anything you’ve ever come across, strappy and long and deep cut down the center. It wasn’t for modesty, you could assume that much. You run your fingers along the creases and stitching in the fabric, admiring it as you flipped the tag in your hand, immediately gawking at the price.

Joel had been lingering by, browsing the various knick knacks and souvenirs lining the shelves off the small store—all hand-made pieces that he could appreciate, but didn’t find any use for himself. And he’s watching you, has been for a while, noticing the way your eyes kept flicking back toward the dress despite your path around the store.

Joel casually follows the same path, taking a subtle peek at the tag. It was a few hundred dollars, but given the silkiness of the material and him being very familiar with the tone of pricing around the area, it wasn’t an outrageous ask. He slips the dress off the rack, careful as he removes it off the hanger and finds you separated from Sarah as you peruse down a wall of jewelry—some cheap and some not, looking around with no real want, just admiring.

He slips the dress into your hands, rough, overworked palms cupping your own as he makes you physically wrap your fingers around and claim the garment, chest to your back as he speaks, lips a hair's breadth away from your ear.

“It’s a pretty dress,” Joel says calmly, much calmer than your rapidly beating heart and the sudden uptick in your breathing, silk material spread out over your fingertips, “shame for it to go to waste, darlin’.”

“It’s expensive.” You argue, voice soft as he locks eyes with you in the mirror nestled in the nearest corner, “It’s nice to want things Joel, but I don’t need it.”

“I dunno,” He responds, unconvinced, “and—maybe I’m speaking out of turn but I think it’d look great on you.”

And you’ve never been more thankful of Sarah’s obliviousness to certain things, so wrapped up in her own shopping across the store that you two remained unsuspecting, eyes still locked on one another through the shared mirror.

He can see the way your body twitches at the comment, responds, but what he doesn’t understand is how it makes your cunt throb, solid body pressed against your back as he squeezes the backside of your hands with his palm. The willingness of contact was still fresh and new but it never made you feel unsafe—in fact, it had the opposite effect entirely.

Joel speaks again, directly to you in the mirror.

“I might just have to buy it for you, darlin’.” He says quietly, “You alright with that?”

You hesitate for a moment, but nod shakily. “Thank you, Joel.”

“Don’t need to keep thankin’ me.” Joel assures, “I know it’s implied.”

But, the instance that had you reeling for days after, still replaying it vividly in your mind, was a night near the end of your trip. Sarah had long gone to bed and you, riddled by insomnia, find yourself at the hallway vending machine, looking for a snack to cure your growing hunger.

Though, it seemed that Joel had the same idea—fork halfway into his mouth as he turned the corner, a sizable piece of chocolate cake inside of a small to-go tray, looking even guiltier as he caught sight of you, feeling like he really didn’t want to get caught like this. It makes you laugh into the palm of your hand. Joel is acting like the kid that got sneaking cookies in the middle of the night, still not hesitating to lick the fork clean as he tucked it away in the styrofoam box.

“Don’t tell Sarah,” He swears you to secrecy, “she’s already on my ass enough about my sugar intake.”

“You’ve got a sweet tooth,” You shrug, “nothing wrong with that.”

“What about you, huh?” Joel’s eyebrows raise in question, watching as you peruse the various snacks but not finding anything particularly appetizing. “Late night snack?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” You chew at your bottom lip, feeling that this was useless.

“Wanna share it?” Joel asks suddenly, pulling your attention to him immediately. “That way I feel a little less guilty about it.”

“Oh—and then bring me down with you?” You tease lightly, “Of course.”

It’s how you end up in Joel’s room that night, no other intentions than to share that stupid piece of cake, lacking a fork so you trade off for a few bites until it slowly delves into you both feeding each other as you talk, one of you hogging the fork more than the other. You curled up in one chair and Joel relaxed out in the other, styrofoam box held to his chest and forcing you to lean closer to assure you didn’t drop crumbs everywhere.

Maybe it should feel weird, but it doesn’t. 

“You know—if there’s anything you do need—” Joel begins after a while, meaningless conversation having died out.

“I know—Sarah tells me all the time. I just have to ask.” It feels pointless, rehashing things again. But, Joel feels the need to reassure and comfort. It didn’t help that he was finding himself, at his age, attracted to you in such a depraved way. “I will—if I do, I mean.”

It’s forbidden territory he couldn’t cross. But realistically, that only made him want you more. 

Joel feeds you a slow bite, lips catching over the fork but smearing a copious amount of chocolate frosting on your chin. Before you have the thought process to wipe it away Joel is already there, leaning forward in his chair as he uses his pointer finger to clean you up, eyes following his movements carefully after the first initiation of touch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, expecting him to use his own mouth to disallow wasting the frosting, but instead he raises it to your mouth in a split decision, his eyes dilating slightly under your shy gaze. Your lips press against the side of his finger in a gentle kiss that quickly spreads, taking the full length of his finger into your mouth as you lick away the excess frosting, feeling the pulse of desire in your belly as it grew, knowing that if Joel wanted to keep you there he could, locked under his gaze with his fingers stuffed into your mouth and you’d let him.

It was despicable. Inappropriate and wrong. But, you couldn’t help how badly your body wanted him, despite your brain telling all of this was a horrible decision.

You pull your mouth away with a soft pop, watching as Joel curl’s his hands into tight fists as he pulls them back to his side lazily, seeming more tense now.

“I should go.” You say softly, terrified to disturb this moment and the tension that blanketed it.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, darlin’.” Joel says reluctantly.

Things only get worse from then on—and maybe worse is a strong word. But, it soon turns into a game that neither of you can stop, waiting until one of you finally makes the wrong move.

-

A few weeks later and your laptop takes the shit on a random Tuesday, head buried in your hands as Sarah tries to console you, but it isn’t much use. You knew it was a stretch to think the laptop could last you through the entire semester, and with just a few short months left, it couldn’t be worse timing. 

Joel walks in at your inconvenience, keys jingling in his hands as he slips off his leather peacoat, glancing at Sarah who didn’t give him much to go off of. He folds the jacket over the back of an empty dining chair and rests his hands against the top of it, eyes scanning over the both of you at the table, one looking a little more distraught than the other.

“Everything alright?” He asks curiously, earning a subtle head shake from Sarah. He clears his throat, “Or—uh, well, how is the studying going? Feel like that’s all you two do.”

You rub a frustrated hand over your face and sigh, “I’m gonna see if I can get a ride home or something,” You tell Sarah, sliding your phone off of the table, “I’ll deal with this later.”

Joel and Sarah share a quick look of communication, her hand waving toward you sharply, forcing Joel to speak up before you make another rash decision and spend money on a long ride home when had the perfect opportunity standing right in front of you. 

“I can give you a ride home.” Joel offers, much to your surprise. 

You’ve been alone with Joel a lot now, though inadvertently.

Sarah would sneak away in her room for longer stretches of time just to call her boyfriend—which wasn’t a bad thing, but it felt odd when Joel would come home and there was no one to greet him but you. Still, you stretched your lips into a smile and welcomed him sweetly. 

Even if this was his home.

Or times when you just happened to cross each other's path, even in such a large space. Sometimes the front porch when you were taking a break to stretch your legs, his watchful gaze dragging along your figure as he sipped on a hot cup of coffee in the evening, foot stabilized on the deck as he rocked in the wooden swing he sat on, crickets chirping loudly as the sun set.

Or just a simple trip to the bathroom, his bedroom across the hall and a couple doors down, often shut, but there were moments when you opened the doors, nearly face to face, and neither of you could look away. Joel would clear his throat, excuse himself, and kindly gesture for you to walk first. It happened often, too often—but neither of you addressed it. Instead, the tension grew. And grew. Until it felt like poking a sleeping bear. So it hibernated in both of you quietly.

Part of you expected things to change, that the small moment shared in his hotel room would make things hard to navigate, but if anything—it’s easier.

“Okay.” You agree easily, not having the proper energy to fight him over it.

The ride is quiet for the most part and Joel doesn’t need the step by step directions as he knows this town like the back of his hand, but he makes a wrong turn somewhere between his house and yours and you don’t feel like something is wrong, but it definitely feels off.

“Joel, you missed the last left.” You speak up as he continues down the road, glancing around leisurely as you soon delve onto a main street, lined with several shops. “Joel—”

“I’m gonna make a quick stop,” Joel attempts to ease your worries, fingers tapping against the gear shift positioned in the center console, “if you don’t mind.”

The moment he pulls into the parking lot of the electronic store, you know. You can see it in his eyes as he squints, checking that the store is still open and pulls into a parking spot near the front of the store.

“Joel, no—” You grab his wrist suddenly, his free hand reaching for the door handle and he looks down, eyes connecting where your skin touched before slowly flicking up to you, “look—just, I don’t need you to buy me a new fuckin’ laptop. I can handle it.”

Joel’s shoulders shrug in his obnoxiously patterned shirt, like he’s working out a kink in his neck as he repositions himself in the seat but doesn’t pull away from you. In fact, his hand gradually pulls toward your knee, fingers squeezing around your kneecap comfortingly.

“Considering it a loan then?” Joel tries to bargain, “Let me help you out now so you won’t have to worry about it and you can pay me back as you get the money? I see how often Sarah uses her laptop, it doesn't make sense for you to go without when I can help.”

You chew on your bottom lip thoughtfully, staring intensely back at him. You could put your foot down and deny his offer, but the idea of suffering through the rest of the semster without your sole life line to surviving through college—well, that was actually torture.

“I’m paying back every single penny.” You tell him forthright, waiting until he nods in agreement.

“Sounds like a deal to me.” Joel responds.

Joel spares no expense, which doesn’t come as a surprise. He buys you the highest, top notch laptop they have to offer—and even as you stare daggers into the side of his face, there’s an inkling in your mind that tells you he isn’t going to allow you to hold up your end of the deal.

-

Joel liked to party too—not giant parties that felt overwhelming and unwelcoming. But, he did have a close group of older male friends that he liked to play poker with on the back deck of the Miller household.

Sarah learned to block it out early on, knowing that at some point things would get just a little too loud and not as easy to ignore. But, Joel never made you feel out of place within any of these instances. You were welcome here all the time and Joel was clear about that.

He’s showered you with gifts and accommodation and you hate the way it makes you feel special, wanted—beyond the night in his hotel room it was only innocent glances. It felt like you were misreading things, making something out of nothing.

Things aren’t great at home and you like it here—love it, even. And you feel your mind nagging away to make a stupid, spur of the moment decision. You could ignore it, but then your eyes catch Joel’s through the slight crack in the door, trapping you in his gaze like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

He squints slightly, lips curling around his beet bottle as he takes a long swig, fist uncurling against his jeans as he rubs out his palm and smiles—he has you hooked in so fucking easy it feels pathetic.

This is wrong. You inhale a shaky breath and turn away, busying yourself with literally anything else—a scuff on the table, the chipped nail polish on your fingernails, something.

Eventually his friends filter out—and Sarah had invited you to stay over the night barring that it was the weekend and she enjoyed your presence just as much as you did hers—if only she could understand the now huge, harboring crush you had on her father. It was harmless, but it felt like a betrayal. 

And the feeling only increased as the night creeped along, your burdening insomnia keeping you awake, shifting and turning in the sheets beside her as you tried and failed miserably to fall asleep.

It was quiet out here, less commotion from the city. It was eerie, in a way. 

You slip out of the bed quietly, walking barefoot on the hardwood as you tiptoed until you were outside of her room, closing the door behind you. You weren’t hungry, so you didn’t bother with the kitchen, rather heading toward the front door that was already halfway open.

Part of you expected Joel to be sitting on the porch, no real rhyme or reason. But, even he is out of sight. The soft, well-kept grass welcomes the press of your feet as you wander outside slowly, the hug of the warm spring air on your skin even this late at night. You catch one of the Miller’s horses hanging out around the edge of their enclosure, wondering if they managed to nudge their way out of their stable. You approach slowly, still not as accustomed to them as you’d like to be. 

But, they were friendly. So, you raised a careful hand and rubbed gently at the horse’s mane, smiling at the soft huff it offered in return, leaning its snout over the fence more.

“Sunshine is always friendly,” Joel says from somewhere you don’t see, startling you out of your body as you jump, whipping your head around to look for him, eventually landing on his approaching form as he left the barn that held the stables, “—sneaky little gal, though.”

You laugh softly, finding it hard to believe that such a sweet horse was capable of escaping.

Joel whistles softly, beckoning her toward him. “Come on.” He nods, silently asking you to join him. You follow eagerly, watching as he unlocks the entrance to the fence for you to slip through, locking it behind you as you pass the threshold, catching up with Joel in a few steps.

“Don’t sleep well, do you?” He asks, heading turned over his shoulder briefly to look at you. You nod quietly, leisurely approaching Sunshine’s stable and watching as Joel locks her back up, rattling the gate for safety this time, ensuring it was secure. “Seems we have a few things in common.”

Joel stays quiet for a moment—in his own head, a deep moment of contemplation, carrying and safeguarding these thoughts he knows he shouldn’t have, wondering how your skin would feel against his palm, how the pulse of your heart would feel as he pressed his hand to the center of your chest and kissed you, full tongue and consumed your essence, this unignorable aura you had around you.

He feels sick, distraught. But, he can’t force himself to avoid you either.

“There’s somethin’ that usually helps me,” Joel tells you, hand pressed wordlessly against the center of your back as he guides you out of the barn and locks it up as well, “just goin’ somewhere quiet—lot of the time it’s just my thoughts keepin’ me awake.”

God, if only he knew.

He did, but that wasn’t the point.

Joel quiets for a moment, stuffing the ring of keys into his pocket as he glances over at the house briefly.

“You wanna go for a quick drive?” Joel asks suddenly, forcing it out before he can find a reason to stop himself.

“As long as it doesn’t end with you buying me another laptop, sure.” You chide deviously, watching the smirk grown on Joel’s face, knowing he still hasn’t taken a dollar from you.

And vehemently refuses every time you offer.

Joel drives you the path further into the land of property he owns, most of it still unexplored by you, eventually finding a clearing near the east edge, right on the edge of a body of water and a dock nestled near the shore. There’s a small boat tied to a post, big enough for a few people.

Under this light, as you exit the truck, Joel looks different.

He’s free of the weight of jewelry he wore, comfortable in his worn shirt and soft cotton shorts. For a while, Joel had been such an enigma that you weren’t sure what to make of him. Sure, he was just Sarah’s dad—but he was also Joel Miller, backbone of the town. His face was plastered everywhere. There wasn’t a single street you could traverse down that didn’t have him nestled away somewhere.

He spots a small mud puddle under your feet as he rounds the truck and quickly catches you before your feet get stuck, hands locked in yours as you jump over the small patch of wet dirt.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him, silently thanking him with your eyes.

“Can you swim?” He asks casually.

“Yeah…” You respond hesitantly, eyes locked onto the boat several feet away.

Joel releases your hands, but it doesn't matter. His touch still lingered painfully and you want nothing more than to pull him back in. But, now Joel is asking to go on a midnight boat ride with you and—really, how could you turn that down?

-

Joel rows you toward the center of the lake, your eyes locked onto the mesmerizing sight of the stars in the sky, so much clearer out here and away from the city.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Joel asks, not bothering to look his way.

You smile slightly, leaning back onto the palms of your hands.

“Yeah, it really is.” You miss the way Joel’s gaze lingers, admiring you.

“Now—sometimes I just come out here and talk to nothin’,” Joel explains when the boat comes to a full stop and he rests the oars inside the boat, knees spread as he resting his elbows on them, “then other times I just sit and enjoy the quiet.”

Your choice—that’s what he’s implying. 

You clear your throat softly, finally changing a glance his way.

“I just—I don’t wanna say I’m jealous of what you have here,” You say quietly, “but, it really is a bitter reminder of without Sarah or you, I’d have next to nothing.”

Joel stays quiet, allowing you to marinate in thought and figure out how to convey how you were feeling.

“And—I don’t know. Selfishly, I like it.” Liked him. “But, I don’t want to rely on it and you make that a little impossible. I do have money, Joel. I can pay for things. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to do any of this out of necessity.”

“I’m not,” Joel admits, “Now—what makes you think that, darlin’?”

“I just—I don’t want anyone thinking I need to be fixed, I don’t.” You tell him, “I don’t need charity, either.”

Joel waves his fingers in a come closer motion, taking your slowly extending hands in his own, thumbs rubbing over soft skin tenderly, boring his eyes into your own.

“I’m gonna tell you this once and I need you to listen,” Joel says softly, but his voice feels so loud in the silence of the night, breeze hitting your skin and sending a sharp chill up your spine—but, you’re not how much of mother nature is responsible for that, “really listen, alright?”

You nod slowly, blinking a few times as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze.

“What I give you isn’t charity,” Joel tells you seriously, “and—maybe this is crossing a boundary I shouldn’t but, you’re somethin’ close to family. I take care of people I care about.”

Not family—he couldn’t conitate that with the feelings and thoughts he was having toward you.

“Close to family?” He was praying you wouldn’t harp on it, but you needed to confirm the underlying layer of tension that lingered between you two all the time. It was driving you insane, keeping you late into the night—he was the reason for your insomnia.

Joel smirks slightly, covering it with a quiet chuckle. His hand gradually cradles your face, rubbing along your cheek with a delicate touch, “I think you know, darlin’.”

God, he hoped you did. His thumb dragging along your plush bottom lip, eyes lingering for a brief moment before he pulls away, immediately missing his touch as he reigns himself to the idea that he may have crossed a line, quietly rowing the way back toward the dock.

Neither of you get much sleep that night anyways.

-

More time passes, lingering touches grow, and Joel is terrible at hiding his affinity for you now. Finding that those few words burned all regards he had toward keeping himself restrained around you. He had enough of a mind to keep it private—but there were comments, sweet little words that he’d whisper as you walked by or he caught you alone.

Nothing scandalizing, but just enough that it had your heart fluttering in your chest.

 Until there is a small slip up, helping the Miller’s with dinner one night as Sarah escapes to the bathroom for a brief moment, your arms outstretched into the cabinet to grab for something just out of reach.

“Use the stool, darlin’,” Joel sees your struggle, “safer that way.”

You look around observantly before you find a folded up stool tucked into the only open corner in the kitchen, taking it back to your spot and unfolding it.

“Good girl.” Joel comments quietly, catching the startled look on your face as your head snaps back toward him. And he has the nerve to smile, noticing the hitch in your breath.

And it only grows in intensity until you can’t stand it anymore, cornering him in the kitchen on a night where Sarah is already upstairs gathering herself for bed, thinking you had come down for a couple bottles of water.

Joel is nursing a small glass of whiskey and he’s silent, but his gaze tracks your movement. You move toward him.

There is a belief in you, fully realized, that something is up here.

"Joel," You lick your lips hesitantly, squaring yourself up against the counter, standing straight, trying not to seem like you were teetering near a dangerous edge of delirium, wondering if you were imagining all of this, "can I ask you something?"

There's a severe lack of distance between you two, knees knocking against each other gently from where you both stand, eyes searching out cautiously even though you know there's nothing to worry about. You were alone, something that has happened far too many times over the past few months. Lingering moments of wandering gazes, eyes connecting from across the room even if Joel was surrounded by people, partying with friends while you're tucked away in the corner while Sarah talks to you about the boys at school that you can't be bothered to give the time of day.

Because of Joel. Because your mind is so tainted by the idea of him.

His palm is flattened out against the counter, adorned with a couple golden rings that clack against the marble, gold chains to match that sat perfectly against his chest, framing the small patch of hair that peeked out over his unbuttoned shirt, silk-pressed and adorned in a silly design that somehow always managed to work perfectly with whatever Joel paired it with.

"Course," He assures you, "You need somethin'? 'Cause you know if things aren't alright at home you're welcome to stay with us."

He’s not amiss to notice just how much time you spend here and no one bothers to come around and check on you. Given you were an adult, it was still glaringly obvious you escaped here for a reason.

Joel reaches out to touch your cheek, the warmth of his skin melding with your own as your breath catches in your throat.

Touch wasn't new, but it never got old. Like a brand against your skin that screamed out for more. You look down briefly, mouth opening slightly to say something, but quickly resigns back to its previous position, lips pursed under a soft scowl.

"I can take care of you," Joel reminds, like you could ever fucking forget it, written all over your features and the outfits you wore now, the dainty gold chain that he'd leant to you as a gift when you pointed out how much you liked it—he'd bought it for himself but there was no resistance in offering over it over to you, bright smile stretching across your face in the moment that Joel felt a sickening addiction to, "—if that's what you need, sweetheart."

You nod instinctively, though you’re not sure what you’re answering too.

“We’ve got a spare room,” Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, the huskiness to his voice shouldn’t feel intimate speaking such meaningless words, “plenty of room for you, alright?”

“Mhm,” You answer weakly, feeling the distance start to close as Joel tries—really fucking tries to fight it, but he can’t help the way his eyes track the way your body responds to his teach, lip trembling when you release it from it’s hold between your teeth, “thank you, Joel.”

“For?” Your heart is racing, terrified of being caught but also enticed by how openly Joel is admiring you, eyes wide with adoration and curiousness, something undiscovered and new to him.

“Taking care of me.” You echo his words, but you’re both quickly retching away at the sound of a door creaking upstairs, separating in an instant.

This was all you had—fleeting moments that would never be.

-

The logistics are complicated to figure out at first, but finishing up the last few weeks of schooling away from the stress of being at home and somewhere where you could actually focus outside of school made the most sense. You pack a big enough bag to last you through the month, clothes and personal belongings you care about, and make the small guest room your new home.

At least, as much as you could.

Luckily, your final classes are a breeze—thankful that most of your discipline with studying had paid off, you and Sarah would graduate in another couple weeks and allow yourself a real break over the summer before deciding how you both wanted to continue. More schooling or not, you would handle that later—for now, you let your mind rest.

And Sarah, well, she escapes the first chance she gets—the first official day free of responsibilities she’s running off for a weekend vacation with her boyfriend, assuring she didn’t mind you tagging along if you wanted to come, but you could see it on her face—she wanted privacy.

So, you had no problem staying back.

A weekend alone—with Joel? Who could barely keep his eyes off of you know that you were around constantly, even in the early mornings when he’d walk through the kitchen shirtless and fumbling with the old coffee pot he refused to get rid of. It was a side to him you hadn’t seen much of and it was slowly etching itself into your memory.

Everything implodes the first night that Sarah is gone, unknowingly yet not unwelcome. But, it’s a turning point neither of you can come back from.

It’s undeniable the amount of boiling sexual tension that has stirred between you both between Joel’s heated gaze and scandalizing comments, stuff that he tries to hold in but fails when he sees how easily of an effect it has on you.

So, as luck would have it, your restless minds meet again.

Joel stops between his open bedroom door and the wall, watching as you approach quietly, smiling kindly as you reach for the door to the guest room, bidding him a soft goodnight.

He could spend his night writhing in bed, hand around his cock as he jerked himself to the thought of you a few feet over, nestled under your sheets—unbeknownst to him, relieving yourself in a similar way and yearning for the stretch of him rather than your measly fingers. It used to relieve the ache and help you sleep, but now it made things impossibly worse.

His fingers encircle your wrist quick, but carefully, silence your ultimate downfall as you stare over at him curiously, his eyes pleading something so desperate it roots itself into your own mind. Like an invisible string tethered to your bodies, it pulls you both together instinctively.

He doesn’t hesitate with touch now, slowly barricading his hands against the side of your neck, gradually working to cradle your head, tipping your head back as he leaned in, not willing himself to cross that line unless you allowed it. He knew the second you stepped over he was done for, similarly, you knew that to be true for yourself.

“Tell me to stop,” Joel begs, “—tell me and I’ll give this up.”

You double down, pressing your face against his own, nose pressing against each other, speaking against his lips in a venomous tone that seeps into his bloodstream.

“No,” You tell him, steadfast and unwavering, “I don’t think I will.”

Joel breathes in sharply before his reverence is breaking, pressing you up against the solidness of the guest room door and crashing his lips against your own, his grip bruising as he palms at your thighs, hooking a leg around his hip as he grinds into you, the feeling dulled out by layers of fabric but you can still feel him. He’s hard and straining against the soft fabric and making no attempt to hide how much you affected him.

“We’re makin’ a big mistake,” Joel says into your mouth, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth to prove his point, pulling a sharp moan from your chest at the slight sting, “you realize that?”

You find your courage and part from him briefly, open palm rubbing against the line of his cock, slowly trailing up and under his shirt, blunt nails clawing into the stomach, the muscle tensing under your skin, “I’m well aware—are you gonna stand here and have a moral dilemma about it or are you going to fuck me, Mr. Miller?”

It ignites a fury behind his eyes, ravenous and wild. He grips your face tightly, tilting your head up at a slightly uncomfortable angle, pussy clenching around absolutely nothing from the show of dominance, the grin spreading across your face all Joel needed to confirm his suspicions about you.

You enjoyed this—him, the little game you’ve allowed him to play over the past few weeks. And just as he’d said before, he wanted to take care of you—in as many ways possible.

“Say it again,” He warns, squeezing your cheeks together between his tight grip on your face, “—fuckin’ say it.”

“Mr. Miller,” You drone sweetly, best you can through his sturdy grip, “—hm, is that what you want to hear? Is that what gets off at night?”

Joel’s eyes squint slightly, attempting to read your expression. How would you know?

“Always want me to call you Joel because Mr. Miller is just too much, right?” You tease, “I guess you could lie to me, but the look on your face says otherwise.”

The back of your head drops softly against the door, nowhere to go as Joel has you crowded, hand tight on the doorknob and unmoving. You’re trapped and you can’t be bothered to care. 

His hand trails to your neck gradually and squeezes, eyes rolling into the back of your head briefly as his jaw clenches, teeth gritting together as he bares them and speaks, “Should’ve guessed you’d like it like this, huh?”

You feign cluelessness, eyes half-lidded and staring back defiantly, swallowing against the solid hand he held against your neck. 

“Tell me you want it,” Joel presses, feeling how mutely you attempt to press against hold and fail, “need to hear you say it first.”

“What? That I want you cock, Joel?” You say vivaciously, grinning at how his mouth twitches at your words, cooing out a soft, “Because I do.”

And that’s all the confession Joel needs before he’s breaking the barrier and shoving you inside the guest room, slamming the door closed behind him with a foot as he tracks and approaches you, hauling you from the back of your thighs as your ass hits the bed, scooting back slightly and spreading your legs to allow him to slot perfectly between them. 

The fabric of your shirt bunches in his hands as pushes it up and away, lips pressing hotly against your stomach, mouthing at the skin greedily, quickly forcing the shirt up your shoulders until you get the idea and rip the shirt over your head, bare breasts bouncing against the jostling of your body. Joel has half the mind to gawk before he’s latching his mouth around your nipple, biting gently at the flesh despite his choice to be more aggressive than you expected. It’s the right amount of too soft and too much, your fingers curling into his hair at the root and pulling, earning a soft groan in response.

His curls fall freely over his eyes from where he’s looking up at you, lips lingering against your breast tantalizingly, “Let me taste you.” He tells you, his fingers dancing along the hem of your bottoms, his body descending as you find yourself nodding absently, helping him in the impatient push and pull until he has you naked and bare before him, his cock straining prominently against the thin material of his pants, rubbing himself through the fabric as he uses his free hand to spread you wide, marveling at the sight of your slick over the lips of your cunt.

Joel settles against the sheets, broad shoulders supporting your thighs as he adjusts them over him and hovers closely of your cunt, waiting for your eyes to connect in a brief moment of confirmation

You wanted this. And so did he.

He remains wide-eyed as his lips connecting with your cunt, straight for your aching clit as he sucks, flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot with a precision that has you falling slack against the sheets, mouth open in a blissful agony as Joel works away at your pussy like he’s had a million years to study it, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you continue to pull and twist at his hair, selfishly grinding yourself against his face. 

He never breaks his gaze on your face, even when you find yourself with your head thrown back, staring up at the ceiling mindlessly, admiring the hurried rise and fall of your chest as you moan out something intelligible, slowly beginning to make sense in his hazy mind, “Oh—right—right there, Joel. Fuck, please—” You beg sweetly, feeling weightless as he lowers his mouth to your neglected hole and licks inside, his nose pressing perfectly against your clit.

“C’mon, baby,” He murmurs against your pussy, “keep talkin’, let me hear you.”

You sigh in exasperation, feeling the burgeoning ache of your impending climax, “Faster—” Joel is an astute listener, never missing a beat as he picks up his pace and adds more pressure, “–shit, I’m gonna—”

Joel silences you with his eagerness to make you come, words falling flat as he assales your clit with a determination to have you coming against his mouth, feeling the muscles spasm as you crying out his name in desperation, orgasming over his greedy tongue as he laps you up synonymously, forcing your body into overstimulation until you have to physically force him away.

Joel doesn’t have half the mind to speak, eyes darkened to near black as he rises to remove his shirt, pants and underwear following quickly after, undressing under your hazy gaze as you try to calm your rapidly beating heart before he’s fisting himself tightly, tip of his cock rubbing against the line of your pussy and catching your entrance, using the last bit of restraint he had left.

He should be courteous and ask about protection—but there’s a heat behind your eyes when you see his thoughts wandering, quickly snuffing out any worries. You reach gently for the hand not fisting his cock, cradling your knee gently, “We’re safe.” You assure him, the first moment of deep, unsettling reality as he realizes the weight of his choices before him—he’s already committed a few atrocities he knows he can’t come back from, so, what was a few more?

And he couldn’t say no to you, not with you staring up at him so wantonly, eyes pleading something desperate and meek, curious if this was all just a heat of the moment thing. Partly, it was—but this was months upon months of built up tension finally spilling into reality.

Joel isn’t sweet either, as he presses inside you. It shouldn’t surprise you, his impatient nature as he pulls you in close, hands gripping under your thighs and manhandling you until your folded nearly in half, hips pistoning sharp and rough, his gaze locked on the sight of himself disappearing inside of you, the sheen of your slick over his cock as you suck him in greedily.

“Come on, baby,” He grunts roughly, “keep showin’ me how good I make you feel. Show me how grateful you are.”

As if it wasn’t already obvious, obscene noises, feeling the quiet air as you sob out, feeling the angle change as he shifts his knee by your ass, angling your hips up slightly.

“Thank—thank you,” You say softly, broken as he snaps his hips roughly, hitting something sensitive inside of you, the coiling heat in your stomach rebuilding quickly, “thankyouthankyouthankyou,” You ramble mindlessly.

Mesmerized, you watch his curls bounce freely over his forehead, overgrown hair sticking to his skin from the soft sheen of sweat, the muscles in his broad shoulders straining as he holds your legs prisoner in his grips, hips aching dully from the unusual angle but you ignore it. He’s locked onto your pussy for a long stretch of time, entranced until he hears your soft moans, realizing you’ve been admiring him this whole time, eyes locking on you in a moment of vulnerability as he speaks directly to you, hips slowing to a manageable, but still slightly overwhelming pace.

“Always—know how to appreciate things, isn’t that right?” Joel asks, the redundancy not lost on you, “Take everything I give you and never ask. Never greedy—just lettin’ me spoil you.”

“Joel—” You whine, his hand slowly trailing the path to your joined bodies, thumb circling slowly over your clit briefly, “—harder, fuck me—harder.”

“But, look at you now—so fuckin’ greedy for my cock,” He’s speaking through a slight groan, releasing the straining hold on your thighs as he falls, spreading his legs out and using his arms for support as he holds himself over you, hands fisting into the sheets beside your head, “gonna make me cum, baby.”

You find yourself desperate for touch now, wrapping your arms around his neck until he’s nearly chest to chest, forehead resting against your own as you whimper into his open mouth, “I want it.”

Joel makes a small noise of question, “Want what, baby?”

“Your cum,” You reply softly, watching the way his pupils dilate at your words, “—please?”

Joel groans involuntarily, feeling the dignified squeeze of your walls around his cock.

“Where?” He asks slightly breathless, panting into your mouth.

You reach blindly for his hand, using his pointer and middle finger to breach your lips, pressing flat against your tongue, “Right here.” You mumble around the thick digits.

It’s the first thing you’ve ever explicitly asked for and who was Joel to deny that.

Joel pulls out quickly, rising on his knees as you push up to rest on your palms, his head hung back as he fucks himself into his hand harshly, a few short pumps and he’s pressing the aching tip of his cock over your tongue, spilling into your mouth with a deep growl, forced through clenched teeth, working himself through the aftershock as he squeezes out the last bit of cum he has to offer into your waiting mouth, forcing your mouth closed with his opposite hand and watching as you tilted your neck up and swallowed, tongue peeking out playfully as you show him your empty mouth.

You have half the mind to think he’s finished, but instead he’s swatting your thigh as he maneuvers your hips until you realize he’s silently asking you to turn over, quickly situating your ass in the air with his strong, domineering grip—burying his face into your cunt without a moment of hesitation, a gasp ripping from your throat. Your hips pull away instinctively out of shock, earning a sharp slap by Joel’s hand against your oversensitive cunt.

“Stay still.” Joel demands.

You answer softly, a pathetic acknowledgement and nod, obeying his order.

“Good girl,” He coos, muffled against your cunt, “Come for me, baby—you’re right there, I can feel it.”

There’s little resistance as his tongue swipes over your clit, sending you into a shorter but immensely more consuming second orgasm, feeling yourself lose consciousness for a brief moment as you sob into the sheets.

“Fuck.” Joel sighs as he rests back on his calves, cock softening between his thighs as you roll onto your back gingerly, thighs shaking from strain, feeling Joel’s comforting touch on the aching muscles as you close your eyes, letting the reality of the situation set in. 

You laugh giddily, “Yeah, fuck.”

Neither of you address the glaring issue of what just took place and somehow, that feels like the biggest atrocity to be committed. 

-

Secrets weren’t something you used to harbor, but it seemed like that was all you had now.

Sneaking off with Joel, lying to Sarah—it was the last thing you wanted to do. But, you and Joel had each other in an equally debilitating grip that neither of you could loosen up on.

And with secrets came gifts, more and more outrageous as time went on—big ticket items that had you fearing that, at some point, Joel would drop something like a new car on you—and that, for what it was worth, would help you. But, it was nothing you wanted. 

Sex started to feel transactional after a few more weeks, graduation creeping on you.

Joel never lacked in care and attentiveness, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of your mind, like you were this unattainable prize he was paying for and you were eating right out of the palm of his hand.

But, then graduation day approaches and Joel is acting odd.

So odd that it unsettles you. He’s there, along with his brother and his small family, cheering as loud for you as he does for Sarah, the obvious absence from your own family never lost on you or him. Then, night approaches.

He’d decided that throwing a party for the both of you in celebration was a good idea, just a small party with very few friends and he swore—swore that there was nothing else up his sleeve until he’s pulling you and Sarah off together, away from the party and there is a pair of matching, new cars parked in the driveway.

Sarah, given she already has everything she wants, is still thankful. It’s the one thing she had been trying to save up for herself, without the help of her dad. So, while she could be upset, she isn’t. She knows Joel’s intentions are good and that he’s just trying to be a good father—which is all he’s ever been for her.

But, for you, it stings. 

You linger, settled a few feet away against his beater of a truck, staring at the car like it was an eyesore.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it, Joel thinks. 

You thanked him regardless, but refused the keys. Joel had stuffed them into his pocket and allowed you the space you wanted, eyes pleading quietly. Sarah had hugged you gently, kind words left in your ear before she departed back inside.

“You’re like family,” She says with genuine love, “and he has more money than he knows what to do with—so honestly, just take it. You deserve it more than anyone.”

And that hurts worse, knowing that you’ve been lying to her for months. 

You weren’t family. Not to Joel. You were something much more convoluted and dangerous.

A drug. A trap. Something he couldn’t rid himself of, not that he desired to. But, he knew—once you were embedded into his life, it would be nearly impossible to get you out.

–

Joel finds you a while later, away from the party and beyond eyesight from the house, curled up against the front end of the truck and picking away at some of the ripped denim of your jeans, counting the frayed pieces. He takes a similar position, sitting next to you silently.

“You don’t have to take it,” He tells you, “but, it is paid for—”

“Joel, please—”

“What?” Joel asks suddenly, his own annoyance getting the better of him, “What am I doing wrong?”

“Joel—we have sex, you buy me something ridiculous. Or, you buy me something ridiculous without my knowledge and then we end up having sex, how does that look to you?”

“Now, I’m not doing that because of sex—”

“But, you see how it looks? How it makes me feel?” You argue with him, “Joel, I can’t help how I feel about you, like—it feels physically impossible, but the constant gifts makes this seem transactional. I don’t want that. I’m already a secret, I don’t need to be bought either.”

Joel shakes his head in silent disbelief, “You really think that’s how I view you? That’s it?”

“You haven’t tried very hard to make me think otherwise, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “I don’t need you showering me with cars and clothes and shit that I don’t need—and if that’s what you feel like you need to do, I don’t want to do…whatever this is anymore.”

Fucking him, sneaking around in secret. You weren’t dating, but it sure fucking felt like it. One intimate moment from a love confession that would seal the deal on your perception of him.

Joel kicks at the gravel as he rises to his feet, pulling you up by your forearm, an immediate look of both confusion and frustration crossing your features as he turns you and presses your chest against the front of his truck, shadowed by the cover of night. His belt clanks together loudly as he undoes his jeans behind you, tucking them far down enough he can pull his cock from the confines of his underwear, lifting up the hem of your dress and yanking your own underwear down your legs and off, and you should stop him—but you don’t want to.

This was the problem. You couldn’t get enough of Joel. 

He slips inside of you with ease, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest that he stifles with his hand, clasped over your mouth, fucking into you with a reverance that was new.

“Joel—we’refuck—we can’t here,” You try to say, yanking his hand away from your mouth, “we’ll get caught.”

Joel grips the base of your neck roughly, fingers curling around the sides as he tilts your head back and looks into your eyes, other hand coming around the bottom of your chin until you’re forced to look up and back at him, not a single speck of warm brown in sight. He looked angry.

But, it didn’t feel like it was directed toward you. Regardless, he fucked you like he was.

“I’ll return the fuckin’ car,” He starts to ramble, “I’ll return everything if that makes you think differently. God—” He snaps his hips harshly, earning a broken sob from you as you reach behind you blindly for something to anchor yourself on, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, “—never want you to think this is transactional, baby. It never—never was.”

Never would be, you want him to say.

“Whaddya want me to say?” Joel asks before you can speak, “That I care about you—baby, I fuckin’ do. I thought that was obvious. Know—know I shouldn’t, that it’s wrong, but I knew—”

You gasp raggedly, his hand leaving your chin to find your clit, just the right amount of pressure to have your hands clawing at his skin, head resting back against his shoulder as he fucked into you.

“And I’ll keep this a secret if—if it means I can have you but this isn’t transactional,” He continues to speak, despite your inability, tipping over the edge of your orgasm as his hips stutter slightly, “it never will be.”

That—that was what you needed to hear. Pulling him taut against you as he buried his mouth into the junction of your neck and nipped, biting at the skin roughly but not enough to break skin.

“Come inside me,” You gasp, chest rising and falling quickly, “please—Joel, please?”

“You like when I fuck you like this, don’t you?” Joel teases, “Never ask for anything but my cum—greedy girl,” You moan at his words, spurring him even further, “tell me baby, tell me how much you want it.”

“So bad,” You whine, “Joel, please give it to me—fuck—all of it, please?”

Joel snaps his hips a few more times before his hand is releasing your neck, crossing over your chest and squeezing tightly at your breast as he pulses inside of you, pumping his hips and filling you full of his spend.

Joel kisses at the exposed skin of your shoulder, pulling out with a soft grunt, the slow jingle of metal sounding behind you as you reached for the underwear he offered you, slipping it back up your legs and into place, despite how Joel’s cum dripped out of you, something he makes point of as his fingers drag along the material, causing you gasp softy at his touch, swatting his hand away. He chuckles lowly at the annoyed glare you shoot his way.

Joel shifts your hips until you turn in his grip, back pressing against cool metal. He crowds you in again, leaving you feeling breathless as he grips your face, but his touch is surprisingly tender.

“What do we say?” He says softly, lips pressing against your own.

“Thank you,” You retort sarcastically, capturing his lips in a quick, bruising kiss as you card your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck, pulling gently, “this doesn’t change anything—I don’t want the car.”

“You don’t have to take it,” Joel settles, “but it’ll be here if you need it.”

You pull away further, looking at him endearingly, watching as his eyes flick briefly toward the house.

“What do we do–about this?” You ask quietly, afraid someone might be listening in despite being alone, “About…whatever this is.”

“Hey,” Joel assures gently, “don’t worry about that—not tonight.”

“Joel—” You plead, eyes searching desperately into his own.

“I care about you, that’s all you need to worry about.” Joel speaks truthfully, his thumb rubbing along the line of your jaw as you swallow, muscles tense under his touch.

And you’re wondering if he’s just saying what you want to her—that maybe this was still a game to him and he was letting you feed into it, nodding to his confession. Joel is all in, offering you his metaphorical hand.

You sigh shakily, “Okay—I trust you.” So please, don’t let me down.

And you know things will eventually implode, but you intend to hold on the brief moment of hope you have now, safe under his gaze as he leads you back to the house, everyone blissfully unaware of the moments you’ve shared, leaving you resigned to appreciate the greedy looks his shares with you across the room.

It was a dangerous game, but you were willing to take the risks.

[m0ckest]

🥀 Goth

The Goths have a long history dating back to the Old Country as a dreary yet influential family. Imaginative but shy, Cassandra's dreams of musical fame feel undistinguished next to her elegant stylist mother, charming entomologist/writer father, intelligent younger brother, and her aristocratic grandparents. Even with the boundless support of her family, will she find the confidence to make a name for herself or will she shrink away from the pressure?

Vanilla makeover of the premade Goth family in Willow Creek, including the additions of Cornelia & Gunther Goth as well as their cats Hecuba & Menelaus.

Includes one of each outfit, hand-picked preferences, skills, careers, and more. CC skin details used in the preview pics but sim downloads are CC-free. Available on the gallery at m0ckest or tray files below.

⤷ simfileshare • patreon

Bella Goth

A graceful and compassionate woman who owns a personal styling agency with a devoted clientele among the wealthy and famous. She's a supportive—though sometimes disengaged—mother who passionately loves her husband and children. However, she frequently disappears without notice to board flights to her clients around the world. Life is beautiful for carefree Bella; it seems to always work out in her favor.

Mortimer Goth

An entomologist known for his fictional writing, particularly his novels heavy with somber insect imagery. Despite the dismal themes of his books, he's inherited his father's personable Old World charm (Bella loves his subtle Transatlantic accent) which wonderfully complements his wife's sociable tendencies. He's extra lenient with his children, partially due to his proclivity of becoming engrossed in insect research or novel-writing for days at a time.

Cassandra Goth

A reserved teen musician who is struggling with the decision to either follow the family's traditional expectations by working toward a professional seat on the Sim City Symphony Orchestra or to break away from the mold and pursue an independent career. Between staying on top of her studies and her after-school job at the local alternative clothing store, she always looks forward to experimenting with music with her more-experienced best friend, Ophelia.

Alexander Goth

An observant and quick-witted bibliomaniac who is already enjoying writing novels like his father—though he has an unexplained inclination toward science fiction stories. As his parents are often busy and his older sister has no interest in his endless extraterrestrial theories, he takes amusement in playing chess against egotistical adults at the park after school as well as playing piano (which he proudly boasts of his sister's exceptional skill).

Cornelia Goth

An aristocratic painter who was the founder of the elite Sim City Bridge Society as well as co-founder of Pleasantview but is more proud of her legacy as Cassandra and Alexander's loving grandmother. They look forward to their weekly afternoon and high tea times where she shares life stories of rebelling as a young socialite in prim and proper circles. She moved to Willow Creek to live her with her son after a fire claimed both her husband and her mansion.

Gunther Goth

A tremendously influential former college dean and town co-founder of Pleasantview from the Old Country. While his persistent community-based work and ability to selflessly compromise with anyone was admirable, he spent many of his years focused on matters outside of his family until he retired and was able to repair his relationship with wife, Cornelia. After perishing in a house fire, he now chooses to give advice to his descendants as well as warn them to avoid his own life mistakes.

Hecuba & Menelaus Goth

A set of twin Siamese cats raised by Cornelia and Gunther. When she's not verbally demanding attention, Hecuba enjoys concocting plans for other ways to get it. She considers herself much smarter than her brother. Menelaus also believes he's smarter than his sister but can't be bothered to move from his spot on the couch to explain why. They enjoy sharing fish cakes served by the butler.

[reality-detective]

On this day in 1992, Randy Weaver and his family were attacked by Federal law enforcement at their home on Ruby Ridge in Boundary County, Idaho. What began on that day would quickly become known as one of the most egregious examples of Federal police tyranny in the nation's history. 👇

Randall Claude Weaver, who preferred to be called Pete as he hated his given name, was born in Villisca, Iowa to poor farming parents. One of four children, his family was extremely religious, though they often struggled to find a denomination that fit their beliefs. In 1968, Weaver dropped out of high school and enlisted in the US Military. 👇

While home on leave, he met his future wife, Victoria "Vicki" Jordison. In 1971, Weaver left the Army at the rank of Sergeant and a month later, he and Vicki were married. Randy quickly enrolled in Community College with the goal of becoming an FBI agent, but the high cost of tuition prevented him from completing school. He found work at the local John Deere factory while his wife became a homemaker as they began having children. 👇

Over time, they began developing a deeper and deeper distrust of the government, and Vicki began having "visions" that the Apocalypse was coming. The family decided their only option was to move off the grid. They spent time among the Amish, learning how to live without electricity. Then they emptied their life savings of $5000 to buy the small mountain property in northern Idaho. 👇

In 1984, their troubles began. Randy had a falling out with neighbor Terry Kinnison, over a $3,000 land deal. Kinnison lost the ensuing lawsuit and was ordered to pay Weaver an additional $2,100 in court costs and damages. Kinnison took his vengeance in letters written to the FBI, Secret Service, and county sheriff, claiming that Weaver had threatened to kill Pope John Paul II, President Ronald Reagan, and Idaho governor John Evans. 👇

Randy and Vicki Weaver were interviewed by the FBI, Secret Service, and the County Sheriff. Police were told that Weaver was a member of the white supremacist Aryan Nation and that he had a large gun collection in his cabin. Weaver denied the allegations, and no charges were filed. 👇

The Weavers filed an affidavit in 1985, claiming their enemies were plotting to provoke the FBI into killing them. The couple wrote a letter to President Reagan, claiming a threatening letter may have been sent to him, over a forged signature. No such letter ever materialized but, seven years later, prosecutors would cite the 1985 note as evidence of a Weaver family conspiracy against the government. 👇

One of the Weaver's neighbors, Frank Kumnick, was a member of the Aryan Nation, and invited Randy to attend a World Aryan Congress in 1986. Unknown to either man was that Kumnick was already a target of the ATF. 👇

While at this "Congress", Weaver met a man posing as a gun dealer who was actually an undercover ATF agent. Randy invited this man to his home to discuss forming a resistance group against what they called the "Zionist Occupation Government". 👇

Later that same year, the ATF would charge Weaver with selling that informant two sawed-off shotguns. 👇

The ATF offered to drop all charges, as long as Randy was willing to become a confidential informant. Randy refused. The indictments came down shortly after, claiming that Randy was a "bank robber" with an extensive criminal history. These allegations were of course fabricated. However, Randy was still arrested and then released, pending trial. 👇

Trial was set for February 20, 1991 and subsequently moved to February 21, due to a federal holiday. Weaver’s parole officer sent him a letter, erroneously stating that the new date was March 20. A bench warrant was issued when Weaver failed to show in court, for the February date. Randy was, despite being completely unaware of it, officially labeled a fugitive from justice. 👇

The U.S. Marshals Service agreed to put off execution of the warrant until after the March 20 date, but the U.S. Attorney’s Office called a grand jury, a week earlier. It’s been said that a grand jury could indict a ham sandwich and the adage proved true, particularly when the prosecution failed to reveal parole officer Richins’ letter, with the March 20 date.

The episode fed into the worst preconceptions, of both sides. Marshalls developed a “Threat Profile” on the Weaver family and an operational plan: “Operation Northern Exposure”. Weaver, more distrustful than ever, was convinced that if he lost at trial, the government would seize his land and take his four children leaving Vicki, homeless. 👇

Federal surveillance of Ruby Ridge began. Marshalls attempted to negotiate over the following months, but Weaver refused to come out. Several people used as go-betweens, proved to be even more radical than the Weavers themselves. In a rare show of reason under the circumstances, Deputy Marshal Dave Hunt asked Weaver neighbor Bill Grider “Why shouldn’t I just go up there … and talk to him?” Grider replied, “Let me put it to you this way. If I was sitting on my property and somebody with a gun comes to do me harm, then I’ll probably shoot him.” 👇

On April 18, 1992, a helicopter carrying media figure Geraldo Rivera for the Now It Can Be Told television program was allegedly fired on, from the Weaver residence. Surveillance cameras then being installed by US Marshalls showed no such shots fired and Pilot Richard Weiss, denied the story.  Even so, a lie gets around the world, before the truth can get its pants on. (Hat tip, Winston Churchill, for that bit of wisdom). The ‘shots fired narrative’ now became a media feeding frenzy. The federal government drew up ‘rules of engagement’👇

On August 21st, 1992, six Deputy US Marshalls entered the property to provide ground level reconnaissance and choose a spot to ambush and arrest Weaver. Deputy Marshall Art Roderick threw rocks at the cabin to see how the dogs would react. The cabin was at this time out of meat and, thinking the dog’s reaction may have been provoked by a game animal, Randy, a friend named Kevin Harris and Weaver’s 14-year-old son Samuel came out with rifles, to investigate. Vicki, Rachel, Sarah and baby Elisheba, remained in the cabin. 👇

When Striker discovered the team's locations, on of the Marshalls shot and killed the dog. This caused a brief firefight. By the time the shooting stopped, Deputy US Marshall William Degan had been shot and killed by Harris. Tragically, 14 year old Sammy was also dead, shot in the back by the Marshalls while trying to help his dog. 👇

The situation quickly spiraled. The National Guard was called in, as well as SWAT teams and helicopters. The Weavers moved Sammy's body into a small shed near the main house, then retreated into the house. 👇

The next day, August 22nd, Weaver and his 16 year old daughter Sarah, along with Harris, left the main house to enter the shed Sammy's body lay. FBI sniper Lon Horiuchi fired from a position some 200 yards distant. The bullet tore into Weaver’s back and out his armpit. The three raced back to the cabin. Horiuchi’s second round entered the door as Harris dove for the opening, injuring him in the chest before striking Vicki in the face as she held baby Elisheba, in her arms. Vicki did not survive. 👇

Two days later, FBI Deputy Assistant Director Danny Coulson wrote the following memorandum, unaware that Vicki Weaver lay dead:

“Something to Consider

1. Charge against Weaver is Bull Shit.

2. No one saw Weaver do any shooting.

3. Vicki has no charges against her.

4. Weaver’s defense. He ran down the hill to see what dog was barking at. Some guys in camys shot his dog. Started shooting at him. Killed his son. Harris did the shooting [of Degan]. He [Weaver] is in pretty strong legal position.” 👇

The siege of Ruby Ridge would drag on for ten days. Kevin Harris was brought out on a stretcher on August 30, along with Vicki’s body. Randy Weaver emerged the following day. Subsequent trials acquitted Harris of all wrongdoing and Weaver of all but his failure to appear in court, for which he received four months and a $10,000 fine. 👇

In August 1995, the US government avoided trial on a civil lawsuit filed by the Weavers by awarding the three surviving daughters $1,000,000 each, and Randy Weaver $100,000 over the deaths of Sammy and Vicki Weaver. Randy would pass away on May 11, 2022, after a long illness.

The atrocity at Ruby Ridge would not be the end of the story. Six months later, many of the same agents would be involved at the siege of the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas.

The story of the Weaver family and Ruby Ridge reminds us all that just wanting to be left alone is often not an option. The Federal government, in particular the FBI, ATF, and US Marshalls, used deception, outright lies, and terroristic tactics, all in an attempt to entrap a man who refused to become an informant against his neighbors. 👇

History is not what we were told. Everything is a fμ¢%in' lie. 🤔

Posted August 21, 2024

[brucewaynehater101]

I do have a few more examples! Tim offers Mister Freeze unlimited funding to help his wife on the condition that he sometimes helps with other projects. He hires Harvey Dent to be his personal lawyer (not that he needs one). Blood Sport, Death Stroke, Dead Shot, and many other mercenaries are hired to "break into" Drake Industries to hunt down and "kill" Tim or "steal" important information in order to test his companies defenses and tell him exactly how they got in so that he can patch any holes. He hires one to break in every 2 to 3 months but never the same person in a year. Like if he uses Deathstroke in August he can't use him again until January.

Tim also doesn't want to force these rouges to move far away from their homes so he opens up branches in Metropolis, Central City, Star City, and others too. Anywhere he opens an office for Drake Industries, crime rate always plummets thanks to him hiring all the Henchmen and giving them stable jobs that pay at minimum double the minimum wage of the area plus really good health insurance and other benefits. They even have dental and 4 months paid maternity *and* paternity leave! The desk work may not be as exciting as their previous jobs but boy is it safer.

Also I would like to make one note. DI is one of the few major cooperations in America that openly does *not* donate to the Jusitce Leauge. Tim is still salty about Bruce Quest and during an interview where someone asked how much he donates to them, Tim said, "oh I don't. At all. It's not that I don't believe in them, I do, uts just. There's already so many places funding them they don't need me. But you know who does? The younger generation of heroes. Did you know that The Teen Titans only get funding through the Justice Leauge? I don't think that's very fair so I donate to them. I donate to Young Justice. I track down and do research on dozens of younger heroes who aren't part of any organization and check to make sure they're doing good in their community and then I directly donate to them. Superheroing is expensive, just look how much the JL spends on it! Could you imagine? Being fresh out of high-school, working a minimum wage job, and having to make your own suit and gadgets while also paying for *college*? The stories I have heard from some of them! This one poor kid, he told me that he had to use this roll of regular fabric he found in a dumpster because buying a roll was to expensive! Of course I sent him to a super hero tailor on my own dime, after all he just wanted to help his community saving kittens from trees and stopping local mugging. But still, small heroes like him are important. After all, didn't Superman start by saving cats from trees? Didn't Green Arrow start by stopping a mugging? Didn't Batman himself start by stopping a purse snatching? You never know who the next big hero will be in 5 or ten years."

I might have gotten a bit to into that rant. Listen. Listen this is a subject close to my heart. Small Time Heroes Are Important!

My gods, I love this so so much. You combined two tropes I love: Tim using Business to fund social programs/decrease crime/hire ex felons and criminals, and Tim turning his back on the JL after the BruceQuest.

Added with Tim funding small time heroes???? This is phenomenal

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for correcting my niblings without my brother's input?

I had a massive falling out with my family when I was a teenager. I was into goth/edgy/horror culture and true crime before it was accepted by the mainstream, plus my parents were older when they had us and we lived on a farm. They needed my brother and me to keep the farm going, and I decided to pursue college instead. At some point after this they sold/lost their farm, but I do not know when, which fueled their resentment. At their request I did not speak to them until 2021, when my brother found me on Facebook to tell me my parents both died of covid and we held a Zoom funeral. After that he moved several states over to be closer to me so we could work on reconciliation and forgiving me for the farm incident.

So now I (45f) babysit his (44m) two youngest children (10m, 8f) for free, and have been since 2021. Initially he had full custody as his ex wife did not have a job or any job experience when they divorced (before we reconciled) but she now has a full time job so they share custody currently, although she is in our home state, so they decided the kids should go to school there still and spend holidays and summers with him. I am currently an art professor at a local university and for summer semester I only have morning classes and he works afternoons, so it works out.

Last week, his youngest asked me; "OP, how come you lie so much?" Her brother tried to shush her but I asked for clarification. Her brother told her she wasn't supposed to tell me, but she did anyway, and then he also chimed in to confirm. Turns out, whenever I told his kids about any vacations to other countries I took, he said I was making it up to sound important. When I told them I went to medical school, he said I was lying and was a glorified art teacher and only went to community college. I have a serious boyfriend who I have mentioned, although I do not spend time with him while babysitting per the mother's request not to have any adult with her children before meeting them and giving the okay, and so my brother insists I made him up.

I was very hurt, and so I showed them pictures, diplomas, videos, etc proving I was not lying. It is true I got into a community college near our home town on an art scholarship and an FHA grant, but I was able to skip generals due to advanced courses I was taking in high school. I quickly got interested in the medical field and was able to transfer to a medical school on several scholarships and obviously loans. I became a pediatric oncologist and was happy with that until my later thirties. I had kept art as a hobby but eventually realized I wanted to do more with it. I retired from pediatric oncology and then became an art professor five years ago. When I was a doctor, I met my current boyfriend (46m) who is a trauma surgeon. Starting in my late twenties, until covid, I was able to travel throughout the US and even to many foreign countries, sometimes for work, sometimes for vacation. There was no way for him to know this as we were not in contact, but I was very hurt that instead of believing me, he has been telling his kids I'm a liar for the past two years. So yes I did show them the photos and videos specifically because I was hurt.

The following day my brother called me and shouted at me, angry I had deliberately contradicted him. He was angry enough he was shouting at me. He has been dragging this on through text for the past few days. His ex wife also contacted me, asking for my version of events, as apparently their children called her crying about the situation. I told her exactly what I said here. He called me not an hour later screaming. Unbeknownst to me, she has been trying to get full custody of the children and he's convinced that this situation will get his kids taken from him, something he has a fear of due to the fact he has two adult children from a previous marriage who went no contact when they both turned 18. He insists that his ex wife turned them against him, and now he is terrified it will happen again. I was not aware of this until recently, nor did I think this would cause an issue with his custody. It has been very awkward babysitting his kids, as they have been very quiet since this whole thing happened. I don't have kids myself, nor have I been divorced, so I don't understand parenting or divorce etiquette, but I am still very hurt and even angry with him for calling me a liar to his children. Before I make any further decisions regarding an apology, I wanted to get advice as to whether I am the asshole for not bringing it up with him before showing his kids evidence that I did, in fact, do those things, and if so, how I can rectify this appropriately.

What are these acronyms?

[soul-controller]

Dad, Be Careful What You Wish For...

Ever since she was born, Brooke wanted nothing more than to gain her father Brad’s approval and love. Even from a young age, she was aware of the fact that she wasn’t the child he had expected. He was seemingly dead-set on having a son, so despite the confirmation of his wife being pregnant with a girl, he still set up a more masculine bedroom for his first child. No matter how hard he tried though, he was unable to make Brooke as athletic and manly as he desired… and he was quite pissed about that. 

Whenever his wife would work a night shift, Brad would force his daughter to watch ESPN with him while making sure to share his anger with his young daughter after having a few too many beers. “I really wish that you had been a boy,” he would say with a drunken slur, “I’d rather have no child than some bratty little girl”. Of course, these statements only furthered Brooke’s own shame in regards to her gender. 

This wasn’t the only sexism that Brad displayed though, as his wife was forced to subscribe into conventional gender roles (such as making dinner and doing all of the chores around the house) while actually working two jobs to provide for the family. No matter how hard she tried to fight back and assert herself, Brad was quick to dismiss her and knock her down a few pegs. As such, it wasn’t a surprise that she finally got up the courage to divorce Brad and flee from the state. While Brooke totally understood why her mom left, there was still some resentment felt as she was now forced by her father to pick up the slack and do those household chores for the family. 

No matter how hard she tried to be athletic though to win some approval from her father, she was never able to make it onto the basketball or cheerleading teams as her lack of hand-eye coordination consistently prevented her from ever making the final cut. Luckily for Brooke though, some relief from Brad’s constant athletic-related torment came when Braeden and Brighton were born when she was 6. The twin brothers were able to be easily molded into the athletic jocks that Brad had always wanted to help create, which was made especially clear as the trio sat in the living room watching sports and cheering while Brooke was forced to clean up their messes and keep the house looking clean. 

This fact was even more of a devastating blow as she made it through high school and found herself constantly coming face-to-face with old photos of her father plastered at the school’s athletic hall of fame display. With so many sad and pathetic try-outs under her belt, it had become clear to her that this innate ability to play sports wasn’t something that she had inherited from her father. Instead of putting her body through an intense workout in a gym or on a court though, she did end up finding a favorite pastime that kept her interest. Almost every day after school, she would head to her local library and study countless topics to keep her mind constantly learning new and interesting information. Despite this interest though, her father certainly didn’t approve and constantly ridiculed her for being a “pathetic wimp”. As such, it wasn’t much of a surprise that she felt constantly ashamed to be the daughter of such a well-renowned jock. 

Even as she moved on to a local community college, she couldn’t escape hearing about the impressive senior twins at the nearby high school who were surely both on their way towards a full ride athletic scholarship anywhere they wanted. Due to the constant praise about her siblings while she remained completely ignored by both the city and her family, it wasn’t much of a surprise that she felt constantly ashamed to be the nerdy daughter of such a well-renowned athletic family. In fact, she had grown so depressed that she almost always fell asleep wishing that her life could change for the better. 

One day after arriving home after some classes at the college, the 23-year-old was feeling especially upset due to the fact that news had broken that her twin brothers had not only won a full-ride scholarship for their sports abilities, but they also decided to attend her dream school. Upon dropping her bag onto the floor, Brooke felt completely exhausted and emotionally broken. So as soon as she fell back into her bed, Brooke allowed a few tears to run down her cheeks as she slowly cried herself to sleep. As she drifted off into unconsciousness, there were so many thoughts running through her head. She wanted so badly to be respected by her father and brothers, her mind couldn’t help but feel intense rage towards them. Just because she was some average girl not gifted with insane athletic ability didn’t make her useless! “I wish I had been a boy,” she slowly said under her breath, the last words she spoke before finally falling asleep. Unknown to her, the universe heard every thought and word that she muttered and began to help her achieve her dreams and fulfill her wishes… 

* * * * * 

As the early morning chimes of an alarm rang out in Brooke’s bedroom, a hand was quick to come out from under the covers and turn it off. But instead of Brooke’s pale and dainty arm coming out of the sheets, a tanned, buff, and hairy arm was what quickly slammed down onto the clock. As this same arm ripped away the covers and sat up in the bed, it soon became that the former Brooke had become replaced with an absolute hunky stud of a man. Instead of golden blonde hair and an average-looking face, this new brown-haired individual was graced with modelesque features and impressive facial hair. Even as the man widely yawned aloud and stretched out his arms, he still looked absolutely gorgeous while doing it. Upon rubbing his eyes a few times, the man finally got himself out of bed and started to make his way towards the bathroom. As he passed the threshold of the doorway, he quickly closed the door and flicked on the bathroom light. 

While waiting for the shower water to warm up, the man took the opportunity to check himself out in the mirror. It was at this point where it soon became clear that the body of a formerly meek and nervous woman was gone besides one remnant - their shared deep brown eyes.

Besides that though, the man standing in the mirror was a far cry from the woman she used to be. But for the original girl who had made that tearful wish, she had no way of knowing what had happened to her as her mind was also completely transformed. Instead of the name Brooke, the only name that came to mind was Brock, which was most certainly befitting of a bonafide stud like him. His body was the most noticeable difference as his average and slightly toned physique was blessed overnight with incredible musculature: biceps, pecs, and abs that surely would have taken years of hard work. But in his mind, he had undergone all of that hard work as memories conjured up reminded Brock of his upbringing.

From as soon as he could walk, Brock was a naturally athletic and active man. Throughout his childhood, he played countless sports and still found himself eager for more. It was a bit of a chore for his mother to drive him to every possible game and tournament, but she was still willing to do it for her own child’s happiness. Luckily, the man soon found the perfect area to tire himself out: the gym. As soon as he was given a gym membership for his 14th birthday, Brock practically lived there whenever he wasn’t at school or at practice. 

Along with these memories, Brock also learned more about the new relationship he had with his father. For years, they had been incredibly close, but as Brock continued to mature and grow bigger and bigger, some strain emerged in their relationship. Clearly, Brad was intimidated by his son’s physique as he grew bigger than he had ever been, but nothing left him angrier than his son’s success in all of the same sports that he played in high school. One-by-one, Brock found himself beating his father’s long-held records to the point where the high school’s athletic hall of fame display was primarily composed of photos of Brock’s young jock self. Due to this, their relationship had this one-sided beef due to Brad’s intense jealousy. However, this shifting in personality made it so Brock loved that jealousy as he loved getting under his dad’s skin. In fact, there were many memories that even involved him taunting his dad by calling him “short stuff” or stating that he was looking smaller than usual. In many ways, these little jabs against his father only pushed him to get bigger and hunkier than his father ever could be! 

When it came to his other memories regarding his family, the relationship he had with his brothers seemed to be rather standard. Given his status as the buff older brother, there wasn’t a moment that went by where he wasn’t tormenting them in clear displays of his power (both physically and mental). Whenever they were distracted, Brock loved nothing more than sneaking up on them and pulling them into a headlock. It was always humorous to watch them struggle against the bulge of his bicep and dampness of his armpits, so even when they begged him to stop, Brock refused to ruin the fun he was having. 

While he was certainly enjoying his trip down memory lane, the steam billowing above the shower curtain told Brock that it was finally time to get washed up. So upon stripping out of his clothes, he took a moment to admire his muscular ass and above-average cock before stepping in and washing every inch of his broad and buff body. 

Once he had headed back to his bedroom and got dressed, he wasted no time grabbing onto his gym bag and making his way down to the kitchen. The area was rather hectic as Brock’s brothers were making a racket while Brad sat in the adjoined living room drinking coffee and watching ESPN. To Brock, this worked to his advantage though as he took the opportunity to sneak up on Braeden and do his usual headlock gag. 

“Pfft, Brock stop!” Braeden attempted to say, only to be stopped by finding his face coming face-to-face with Brock’s still slightly damp armpit. Chuckling as his young brother flailed in search of an escape, the buff older brother finally let go of Braeden and watched him fall back away from him. “Gosh bro, why do you always have to do this shit?” Braeden angrily said, trying to be intimidating but clearly failing due to his smaller build. 

“Because it’s funny when you whine like a bitch afterwards,” Brock said with a smirk, slugging his brother lightly in the shoulder before making his way over to the kitchen counter. Upon arriving, the stud began to instinctively make his usual morning protein shake before he headed off to the gym. Throughout this entire process, the two brothers were doe-eyed while talking to their brother. Clearly, despite his torment they still admired him and aspired to be as big as him one day. It was a pleasing thought to Brock as well, especially as he’s always desired to have the most respect out of anyone else in the room at all times. 

“So, when do you think you’ll finally let us be in one of your videos?” Brighton asked, trying his best to evoke puppy dog eyes while asking the same age-old question to his brother. Ever since he was 16, Brock had created social media accounts that documented his muscle growth and various routines. To his surprise though, his account “brocktherock” went super viral around his 18th birthday due to his hunkiness and affinity towards thirst trap videos, which quickly turned him into an overnight sensation. Before long, Brock had dropped out of college to embrace his workout dreams by turning his account into something that shared both knowledgeable workout tips and tricks along with consistent thirst trap material that always brought more people into his sizable following. 

With the creation of this “brocktherock” brand, this allowed him to quickly become quite wealthy from all of the brand deals, modeling gigs, and offers to pay for personal training he received. Although he still lived in his childhood home, the 26-year-old hunk was thinking strategically by living off of his father’s hard work and saving his cash until he could fully move out and buy a full place of his own. 

Returning back to the question posed, Brock shook his head and delivered the same response. “I don’t think you’re ready yet bud, maybe when you’re a bit bigger!” he said, cushioning the blow with a slight pat on the 18-year-old’s shoulder and a flash of his pearly white smile. As he turned off the blender and transferred the drink into one of his workout bottles, Brock quickly grabbed his bag and began to head towards the front door. 

Upon seeing his father though, Brock stopped dead in his tracks and turned towards him. “Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m heading to the gym to film another video. Gotta make sure to document all of these gains!” he said, chuckling to himself as Brad stared at him with intense fury in his eyes. But just as he began to move back towards the door, Brock stopped himself to give one final jab towards his father. “Hey pop, are you looking smaller than usual? I know it’s hard to stay buff at your age, but if you ever want any tips, I’m more than liking to help train you!” he smugly said, lifting up a bicep and flexing before finally making his exit from the house. 

While Brooke hadn’t intended for her wish to turn her into a shift into a buff stud even cockier than her dad and brothers, it was most definitely a necessary transformation. No more would she ever feel ignored or disrespected, especially when it came to her dad and brothers. The brothers adored Brock and essentially worshiped the ground he walked on while Brad was filled to the brim with jealousy and anger. He had always wanted a son to be athletic and hunky like him, but he never could have imagined that he could have ever created someone that was even more attractive and bigger than him!

Like what you read? Please consider signing up for my Patreon to read more stories and support my work.  

[uispeccoll]

Voices from the Stacks - The Morris Family

For the Morris family, achievement at Iowa is a family tradition. And luckily for all of us, it’s preserved with care in the Libraries Special Collections and Archives and the Iowa Women’s Archives. In today’s blog, we trace three generations of trailblazers in this impressive family tree.

James B. Morris Sr. - Image courtesy of Joan Liffring-Zug Bourget Collection, State Historical Society of Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa

James B. Morris Sr. launches a legacy

James Morris Sr., left his descendants with large shoes to fill. James Sr. served as the owner and editor of the Bystander, the oldest Black newspaper west of the Mississippi. He also founded the Negro Bar Association, now known as the National Bar Association, along with the Iowa State Conference of the NAACP in 1939 with his wife Georgine. Today, James Sr.’s legacy lives on through the James B. Morris Scholarship Fund, which “provides financial assistance, motivation and internship opportunities for Iowa’s minority students pursuing post-secondary degrees,” and through the accomplishments of the Morris family members who came after him.

Image: James B. Morris Jr. found on Iowa Digital Library

Journeying on with James B. Morris Jr.

James Sr. and Georgine’s son, James B. Morris Jr., graduated from the University of Iowa in 1949. During his undergraduate years, he documented much of his time in Iowa City in a scrapbook filled with photos and charming captions for the various characters in his life. In this scrapbook we can see early photos of James and his then girlfriend, Arlene, who would later become his wife. Though the scrapbook is mostly centered on staged photos of James, Arlene, and their friends, it also contains a few photos of James throughout his service as a captain in the US Army from 1941–1945.

Images: Cover of James B. Morris Scrapbook and photos of friends

After graduation, James returned to Des Moines, joining his father’s law practice and becoming an active civil rights leader. He worked as legal counsel and served as president for the Des Moines branch of the NAACP as well as an officer in the National Conference of Christians and Jews. Heavily engaged with local concerns, James served as a frequent mediator between the Black Panther Party and the Des Moines Police Department—alongside his role helping his father with the Iowa Bystander newspaper. It was with the Bystander that James wrote a column, “Looking Over the Hawkeyes,” which details the experiences of 65 Black men and 10 Black women who attended the University of Iowa but were not allowed to live in the dorms or eat in the university dining rooms. One of those 10 women was James’ wife, Arlene.  

Images: Left, Arlene and James. Right, Arlene for the cover of Eyes magazine found at Iowa Women's Archives

Arlene was very accomplished herself. While in college, Arlene appeared on the cover of the first issue of Eyes magazine, a publication focused on African American life and culture, as well as serving on the magazine’s staff. After graduating from the University of Iowa, Arlene moved on to Drake University in Des Moines to earn a master's degree in psychology. With this qualification, Arlene established herself as the first African American female psychologist to be licensed by the Iowa State Board of Psychology. Heavily engaged with local organizations, Arlene participated in the Know Your Neighborhood Panel, a group consisting of a diverse group of women who traveled around Iowa and to several other states to speak about tolerance among races and religions. Arlene Morris also served on the Iowa Advisory Committee of the United States Civil Rights Commission for more than three years in the 1980s.  

Image: Robert V. Morris, 1976 from Iowa Digital Library

Robert V. Morris carries the torch

Robert V. Morris, James and Arlene’s son, continued the legacy of his family with a long list of accomplishments in his communities. Following in his grandfather’s footsteps, Robert would take over the Iowa Bystander from 1979 to 1983, a heavy role for someone who was still enrolled as an undergraduate. But Robert was no stranger to taking on challenges from a young age; in 1979, when he was just three years out of high school, he founded the Iowa City branch of the NAACP, leading it while pursuing his education and his position at the newspaper. After graduating, Robert became president of the Iowa-Nebraska chapter of the NAACP and wrote Black Faces of War: A Legacy of Honor from the American Revolution to Today, a book stemming from his previous television documentary project.  

Image: Robert interviewing Atlanta mayor Maynard Jackson, 1979 at the Iowa Memorial Union

The legacy of the Morris family has incredible significance within Iowa City and across the Midwest. Many materials related to the Morris family are held in the University of Iowa Libraries Special Collections and Archives and have been digitized. They can be viewed online in the Morris Family Papers Digital Collection. Arlene Morris’ personal papers, IWA 276, can be found in the Iowa Women’s Archives. 

-Kaylee S., Olson Graduate Research Assistant

[findafight]

part 1

It's a bright May morning, and the commentators are discussing who the Indiana Pacers are going to select. It's a bit of a buzz, there's a rumour of a dark horse candidate. The Commissioner steps up and shakes out the paper, saying clearly into the mic "the Indiana Pacers select Steve Harrington, from Roane County Community College." His face makes it clear he has no goddamn clue who or what college this is. It's fine.

Steve stands, smiling. Robin kisses his cheek and Dustin throws his arms around him before he's shuttled off to get a Pacers ballcap and take a picture with the NBA commissioner, and then to the press room to answer questions.

The reporters have dozens for him, a buzz with the shock of a community college getting a player drafted. It's the first time they'll really be able to talk to him, and he's a bit nervous. He handles it all with as much grace as he can, until someone from the Chicago Sun-Times asks

"you're from Hawkins, a town that's seen its fair share of tragedy over the last number of years. Did that have any sway over your decision?"

Steve's smile turns softer as he answers "Oh, yes. I went to R-tripC because it was close. I've got friends and family in Hawkins still, and I wasn't planning on moving any farther than Chicago. It's...a hard place to leave, after everything." he can tell which reporters have no idea what Happened in Hawkins, the confused brows, scribbles in the margins of notebooks. The Chicago Sun-Times report simply nods. "My being here is just...the result of a few lucky circumstances. The Ospreys, we're a div-four team. Not even supposed to be in any competition for March Madness. But the NCAA decided to try letting non-div one teams on the bracket...not sure if they ever will again considering our loss." there are a few chuckles around the room. The RCCC Ospreys had lost pretty spectacularly in the first round. "But, that's the only reason a scout saw me play. And the fact that the scout was for the Pacers..." Here, he doesn't mention being approached by a representative of the Sacramento Kings as well. "That was something that worked. I've always loved playing ball, but if it hadn't been with the Pacers, I'd be content playing with small local leagues in Indy."

"Has this not been a dream of yours? Playing in the NBA?"

Steve chuckles. "I've played sports my whole life. Obviously when I daydreamed about winning the Championships, or swimming at the Olympics, who didn't? But. Ah, it really came out of left field, if you pardon the baseball analogy." he swallows some of the water in front of him. "I wasn't expecting to be approached by anyone about the NBA. I played on a college team that most people don't know exists, that barley qualified for march madness and got eliminated by the end of the third quarter. I was getting my teaching degree, with guys who were getting horticulture certificates or degrees in Art history or business to help their family Ma 'n Pop store or bio degrees to use to go to masters programs in Indy. We weren't playing for dreams or glory. We played because we love the game, and like each other enough to be a cohesive team." he shrugs. "I was going to move to Indianapolis or Chicago with my wife anyways. This is just...sprinkles. Y'know? I have what I need, my loved ones are happy and healthy and safe, this is just sprinkles on the sundae."

Steve leans back and sighs. He's being signalled to wrap it up. "I'm not taking this opportunity for granted, and I am looking forward to working with and getting to know my teammates. I'll be working hard to make my hometown proud. Thank you."

[blade-that-was-broken]

Soldier On AU Notes

For the person who asked for them... This is kinda what I got. Don't get me wrong, there is a ton of JD and Bruce stuff, I just... haven't written any of that down...

I told ya'll that Branch jumped out of the bushes and pushed his way in! What do you want me to do!?

John does eventually get a service dog - Rhonda - that is mostly a mobility and reach aid and does pressure therapy for his PTSD. Idk all the details yet. 

Branch never met his dad. Their parents had been separated when he was born but the divorce was not finalized until he was almost a year old. That is when John was forced to leave. 

Branch has vague memories that are actually of John. Calloused hands (JD used to play guitar), maybe goggles and a faint lullaby no one can tell where it came from. In reality, JD sang it to him constantly to get him to sleep. He wrote it. 

Their mother cut off everything and was extremely bitter. The divorce was ugly and she didn’t like anyone talking about John or their father. So, after a few years, no one did. It just built up until he was a distant memory, and no one really thought of him. 

Their dad wasn't much better but he was left with very little in the divorce anyways.

John on the other hand, wasn’t left with a lot. He was lonely and clung to the memory of his brothers with everything he had. Being away from them broke his heart, as he was close with all of them and took care of them. He was their big brother and close with them.

Bruce left home the moment he could when he turned 18. He tried to keep in contact with them, although his mother didn’t really like it. Clay felt betrayed. Bruce currently lives in Hawaii and owns a small resort with his native Hawaiian wife, and they have a couple of kids. 

Clay did one semester at the local college to stay close to home but when their mother died and Floyd and Branch moved in with Grandma, he went to another school further away, one he wanted. Clay has been in and out of school for many years and is working on idk, some kind of doctorate or masters or whatever. 

Floyd went to the local college for a while but then his music career started to pick up and now he does a fair bit of traveling. He is musically inclined and seriously started making music after his mother died. He plays an old guitar that he found in their house and just can’t let it go. He doesn’t actually know it was JD’s. There is a symbol on it that is actually initials. 

Bruce does try to call Clay when John is with him but Clay absolutely does not want to talk to him. He barely answers the phone and hangs up before JD could get a word in. 

Eventually JD just gets a plane ticket and flies out to the college to try and find him. Like this entirely blindsides Clay; he has zero clue. At this point JD is still struggling to get around and doesn’t have a lot of things… including a phone. So he just kind of disappears and well… Bruce panics a little. They are gonna haveta work on their communication a bit.

Branch is about 16 and lives with his grandmother. She likes to garden and they have an old dog named Gary. He is extremely smart and has a wealth of knowledge but people avoidant. He wants to go somewhere but he doesn’t want to be alone and he doesn’t know where. He’d like to do more outdoorsy things but his grandmother cannot and he doesn’t actually know much. 

This is partially how he and JD bond. He spends a while with them, showing up one day and helps Branch with the outdoorsy stuff, actually teaching him things like how to start a fire, pitch a tent, a lot of stuff dudes like to do. He even helps start teaching him to drive. Just a little. 

Rosiepuff does suggest JD just stay with them since Branch seems to really like him and he has difficulty actually having fun/getting friends/talking with people but by this time, JD has a place and responsibilities and can’t stay. Besides, he doesn’t want to burden his grandmother. 

Branch ends up spending at least a summer in Hawaii with JD by suggestion of their grandmother. It goes well. 

JD jokes about where his leg ended up. He thinks he left it back in Sudan but he’s not sure. He’ll tell everyone different stories on where it is. It’s kind of dark humor sometimes that… don’t always bode well with people. 

Delta is probably one of JD's squad. I'm not sure who else. In their free time, they make a pretty awesome singing group though

There will probably be more but idk

[bbinkus11]

@hotcheetohatredwastaken yes, I will be tagging you every chapter. No, you are not getting out of it.

:)

Chapter two of my Hamilton x LU little writing thing I have going on! Featuring: Hyrule and Time talking about their pasts :)

This one is Hyrule centric :)👇

Hyrule strolled through the streets of downtown Castletown, scrolling on his phone with his right hand in his hoodie pocket. One of the best coffee cafes was down the road, and Hyrule had been dreaming of coffee for the last ten days. He’s been at rehearsal in and out, and he hadn’t had the chance to actually go somewhere and get a good coffee. Oh he loved coffee… the smell, the effect, the taste…

Soon he reached the cozy cafe, with a beaten wooden door and a handmade sign. The second he entered, the sweet smell of cinnamon and coffee grounds hit him. A young and accented voice came from behind the counter; “Welcome, dear! Take a good look at the menu and tell me when you're ready!”

Hyrule smiled and glanced up at the large menu above the counter filled with pastries. There were so many options. Yet, it was the blissful time of pumpkin spice, and nothing beats pumpkin spice. Soon after he decided, a bright head of red hair popped up from behind the wooden counters with a wide smile.

“What’ll it be, hun?”

With a small smile, Hyrule told her that he wanted a large pumpkin spice coffee. With an excited grin, the woman wrote down the order quicker than he could process.

“Hyrule? Is that you?”

Startled by hearing his name from the back, Hyrule poked up his head to peek behind the doors separating the front counter to the small room in the back. He saw a glimpse of spiky blonde hair, but didn’t get to see the rest.

“Time, hun, I told you to stop harassing the customers!” The woman scolded.

“Oh! Is Time back there? I didn’t know he worked here. I’ve always seen him at rehearsal.” Hyrule asked curiously.

“Oh my! Are you a part of that musi-“

“Yep! He’s Burr, hun.” Time came again, coming out with coffees on a platter, “Sorry. Malon always drags me along to the cafe. Nice seeing you, Hyrule.”

“And you too, Time. Is this your wife?”

“Yep, don’t tell Legend. He still thinks I’m not married.” Time handed Hyrule his coffee, chuckled, and sat down with him at a nearby table.

“Really? And I thought he was over with those dumb bets he always makes.” Hyrule frowned.

“Bah, who cares. It’s all for fun anyways.” Time waved him off, taking a sip of his own coffee. The place was relatively empty, most tables abandoned. There were wooden planks on the walls, painted with flowers and coffee beans. The counters were filled with all different types of pastries, from vegan strawberry toaster strudels to giant double chocolate muffins topped with chocolate chips. There were warmly lit lamps in every corner. And well, the only word that could describe this place was cozy.

“Do you and Mrs. Malon own this place? I love it.” Hyrule says in awe, smelling his warm coffee.

“Yeah, we bought it a couple years back. When we moved in here, we had nothing better to do, so we opened a little cafe.” Time smiles. “Then, I started doing Broadway again, and now we’re here. This is the first time I’ve been in the shop in ten days. I missed it.”

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask what got you into broadway. I’ve just graduated, so I needed something to do. I looked for something local, and I found it. What about you?”

“Well, I did theater in junior high and high school, back when. When I graduated, I took classes at a local community college. That’s where I met Malon. From there, I had been doing music lessons for kids. I was a genius, you could throw any instrument at me and I’d know everything about it.” Time laughed, “But now, I stopped doing lessons and got back into broadway. I think the music got me into it. I’ve always loved music, since I was younger than you.”

Hyrule stares at the table. “Yeah, since me and Legend basically grew up together, we bonded over music. That’s how we became so close, just bonding over the things we know best.”

“And I’m glad you did. I’m glad you didn’t bond over something stupid, like, like, cars or something.”

Both of them laughed that time, and Hyrule had the coffee he’d been dreaming of for the last ten days. They had been given break for this weekend, the cold of the winter starting to creep in as autumn started to fall behind. Rehearsals had been taking up most of their time. Some days, Hyrule wished he didn’t have to go due to the slow weather and traffic. But when he got there, he didn’t regret it. The friendship between him and the a actors and actresses accompanying him would grow more and more, No doubt.

He was going to love this musical.

[fleckcmscott]

Help Wanted

Summary: Shaw & Associates needs a new girl. Patricia doesn't get it.

Words: 1,485

Warnings: None

A/N: Does this fit the category of fanfic? It takes place in Gotham City - in the universe of Joker - but it deals with original characters we've gotten to know in the Watch What Happens series. 🤔 Ah, well. Whatever it is, here you are. 😂 Please enjoy! Much appreciation to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

Also, I've left Sarah's name in rather than replace it with Y/N. Anyone who cares enough to read the adventures of Pat & Matt already knows her true identity. 🤣

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Reviewing the latest replies to the Help Wanted enticed Patricia about as much as the lint covered LifeSaver at the bottom of her purse.

Even with just herself and attorney Matt Stone, half the calendar was hard to fill. More twig than branch, this was the smallest satellite office under the Shaw & Associates umbrella. Most of the Wayne empire's legal matters were handled by colleagues in name only, men in suits glimpsed at annual galas or awards ceremonies honoring Thomas and Martha, Gotham's first couple.

No bankruptcy claims lurked in their files, no accusations of money laundering or tax evasion. No public scandals of affairs with maids to provoke cease and desist letters.

What would be the point of hiring someone when business was as slow as the zoo in the dead of winter?

Patricia browsed carefully typed pages, their perfect margins, streaks of dried whiteout. Nearly all were from local women. About half had attended community college, a handful had gotten certification from the city's Continuing Education program, while the rest had high school diplomas. The applicants ages ranged from nineteen to forty-four, with the vast majority in the under thirty crowd.

Her placid expression was at odds with the tightness of her stomach. At fifty-one, she could be referred to as a classic. When her husband Robert had been drafted to Korea and home had become too empty, she'd joined the firm as a typist. The seventy-five cents an hour had barely covered her train ticket to Old Gotham. But the long rides and scenery had been a welcome distraction from war worries.

Being a natural at shorthand, she'd advanced to legal secretary in a mere seven months, and with that came a recognition she hadn't realized she'd lacked. Between her mother's second-shift cleaning jobs and the day-to-day of keeping a home, praise had been a rare prize as kid. Now it evoked a drive to better herself even when life was pretty good.

By the time Robert had come home, she'd grown to love the legal profession and the part she played in it. After the start of his HVAC repair business and the birth of their daughter, Patricia enrolled in night school for legal assistant certification. She'd spent classes tucked in the corner of the classroom, textbook and notepad on her lap, a bag of coloring books and toys for Ruby strewn across the animal phonics rug.

The promotion to paralegal and transfer to this twig was one of her proudest moments. She'd worked hard to get where she was, enjoyed the routine of her job, overarching calm peppered by deadlines that kept her blood pumping.

Patricia flipped the pile of resumes over, tried to flip her reservations out of sight, out of mind. While Matt could be an oaf, he was an excellent lawyer and fair boss. She'd offered him a handkerchief when his wife had left him, and he'd sent flowers when her grandson was born. They worked well together, to the point where she'd finish his sentences before he'd had a chance to dictate the stop.

And yet the truth nagged. If she was about to lose all this to a younger model, it'd be impossible to land another job.

Mug in hand, she aimed for the breakroom to the right, which doubled as a conference room for three, four if one was standing.

But Matt called from his office. "You got a minute?"

Once she was seated in the high-back reserved for clients, he perched across from her, on his desk. He twisted to reach behind him. "Take a look at this and tell me what you think," he said, and held out a sheet of paper.

It was blinding white, 24 lb, watermarked with the word Eaton. The presentation came off as pretentious, but when she glimpsed the address of Boonville, Missouri, it became clear it was a small town's way to impress.

Sarah Thompson. Thirty-seven. Divorced. "She didn't list her height or weight," Patricia remarked. That put her in the upper third of candidates.

"I called her while you were at lunch. Sharp woman, good education."

A four-year graduate of Missouri State East. Patricia straightened. "Her work history's a little light. Two firms, one with her last name?"

"That's more than half the applicants," he said with a dismissive wave. "And I asked her about that. Ex-husband's firm. But if she's still there ten years after they split, she must be all right."

"Her background is probate and family court. That's outside of our scope."

"That experience'll be good for our upcoming pro bono work."

Pro bono work? They barely had enough paying work as it was. A skeptical shake of her head. "Matt, I've got to be honest. With things as slow as they are, I don't see the rationale of bringing anyone else on."

He glanced over her shoulder, stepped to close the door behind her, as if they were guests at the Watergate and the furniture could spy. Circling to his tufted executive chair, he folded his hands together, pointer fingers steepled. "Thomas Wayne is looking into a mayoral run."

"He's a cardiologist. Why on earth would he want that job?"

"Something about his family's legacy, the Waynes fixing Gotham, yada yada. Anthony Mancuso - remember him? He's from the Wayne Foundation, we met him at the New Year's party. Anyway, he's taking charge of the foundation's charity arm. The public works project they funded to rebuild the viaduct will be done in June, and the Wayne Boys Home has secured enough funding for the next five years.

"The foundation has an idea for a free medical clinic in Otisburg. And not just a rinky-dink place for VD testing and condoms. It'd be a substantial investment in the city-"

"That coincides with the campaign," Patricia said.

The observation hung in the air before Matt gave a loose shrug. "That coincides with the campaign. No one's sent in any details yet, but business is expected to pick up. It'll require a lot of filings. Our pro bono hours were already on the low end during out last audit." He gestured at the resume. "We'll see how the new hire does with that and go from there."

"I'll be working on the Wayne case?"

"Primarily, but I reserve the right to drag her into it when it gets hairy."

She eyed Miss Thompson's address again. "I wonder why she wants to move all the way up here."

"That's the beauty of it. She's only seen Gotham on the news. She doesn't know the politics, she has no opinions on the Waynes. And the best part? No kids. And at her age, they're unlikely. She can pick up any extra hours we need - unless you want the overtime."

Matt's loyalty buoyed Patricia's heart and mind. But how far would that loyalty stretch if the chips were down with a 2-9 offsuit? She crossed her legs at the knee. The hem of her wool skirt shifted at her shins. "What if all this doesn't go as planned?"

Forearms braced on his desk, he leaned forward. "You're not going anywhere. You've been here longer than I have, and you know how to work the coffee percolator."

Relief loosened the corners of her mouth.

"Missouri's an hour behind, right?" He checked his watch. "I'll call her and give her the good news." After punching in the number, he grabbed a key from his pen stand and tossed it to Patricia. "Head to the basement and see what we've got down there. Desk, chair, typewriter, you know the rest." Akin to a bird, his head darted down and towards the receiver. "Hi, Miss Thompson? This is Matthew Stone from Shaw & Associates. Fine and yourself? Good, good. Are you sitting down?"

Patricia sidled out of his office and closed the door. She surveyed the room, the acanthus leaves carved into mahogany cornices. Bronze fluorescent light fixtures. The eight-by-ten space that'd been all her own for the better part of two decades.

Legal pad in hand, she took a breathed a cleansing breath and went out into the hallway.

Her nerves were nearly gone. She pushed the elevator call button, and the predictable hums and whirs of pulleys and gears calmed the rest. She tapped her pen to her notepad and considered. If she was worried, this Sarah Thompson must be just as nervous. Likely more so, what with having to relocate to the city where Patricia was born and bred. She had to adjust to sharing with a colleague; this woman had to adjust to a whole new life.

A sudden sympathy tipped the scales, a reflection of the heavy heart that'd led her to this path so long ago.

Sarah must have a story. Patricia made a note to learn it.

Ding! beckoned the elevator door. Stepping inside, she started her list. "Order name plate and business cards."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl

[the-badger-mole]

Jukebox fics: "In Love with Your Soul", The Collection -- A:TLA preferably

In Love with Your Soul The Collection

This is going to be a pretty long synopsis, but I think this would end up being a pretty good sized story. After 25 years of marriage, Katara and Zuko find themselves adrift after their youngest leaves home for good. Two decades of parenting and building careers, they feel as if they are living with a stranger. Katara, only 49, still feels like there's more of life to experience. Zuko, on the other hand, is looking forward to his settled 50s. As they navigate their new normal, their drifting begins pulling them away from each other. Zuko is intimidated by the new friends his wife is making, while Katara is terrified that her once quietly passionate husband is becoming an old man before his time.

It all comes to a head when Katara is offered the chance of a lifetime to work in another country for a year. She's afraid to even bring it up to Zuko, but despite that, she starts making plans. It's mostly daydreaming at first. She looks up apartments, looks up the social life, and the local hotspots. She even contacts an old college friend who lives in the area, and makes plans to visit. The only problem is, this old friend is someone she used to date. Zuko sees Jet's name pop up in Katara's phone, and that coupled with how secretive she's been with her phone and computer leads him to the worst conclusion.

Without a word, he takes off, visiting places he and Katara used to love going to before work and family life consumed their couple life. He bounces between heartbroken rage and complete understanding as to why his vivacious wife might not find the prospect of being alone with him for another few decades tolerable. After a few days of being off the grid, he goes to a divorce lawyer, and at long last comes home with a separation agreement in hand. Katara, scared out of her mind and furious after not being able to reach her husband for days is shocked by the papers. That was not what she wanted, but then Zuko confronts her with his suspicions that she's having an affair, and declares he'd rather not have her than share her. That's when Katara comes clean about the job offer. She wasn't planning to take it, but she thought maybe she could at least convince Zuko to go travel with her to that country and explore a bit. She shows him the text messages, and her emails with her boss. She had asked for time to think, and time was winding down, but she assures Zuko that she knew how little he liked change, and moving to another country- even for a limited time- would be a massive change.

They have a long talk about their marriage and how disconnected from each other they feel, but in the end, they decided they're still in love enough to figure things out together. Then Zuko encourages her to take the position. As long as he's with her, he tells his wife, he'll feel at home.

And we will call this fic Our Rope is Braided

This song gave me very bittersweet, we've been together a long time, and our relationship has survived a lot (which is why I was a little confused when I saw someone say they wanted this song played at their wedding, but different interpretations for different folks). I wanted to come up with a concept that spoke to that. The thing is, I don't see Katara and Zuko having a ton of internal conflict in their relationship. I definitely don't think infidelity would be an issue. But what might be an issue is learning how to communicate after a massive change to their status quo. Katara's self-sacrificial nature would lead her to not talk about her goals and aspirations to her set-in-his-ways husband. Zuko might not know how to address his feelings of being left behind as Katara finds new social outlets, now that she's not a full time mother anymore, and this is what I came up with.

[torreshalstead]

On a crowded street in 1944 - Epilogue

Summary - The four walls of Upton’s General Store were all Hailey knew although she longed to see what else life had to offer. When a handsome soldier walks through the door, she thinks he might just be the answer to the life she wants to have. But it was 1944 and the country was at war. Would fate smile on her or would her heart be another casualty of the war?

Chapters - 15/16

Notes - I can’t believe we’ve reached the epilogue of this little story, the bonus chapter will be posted on Wednesday 🫶🏻 AO3 Link

Hailey Halstead was now a married woman.

She woke up every morning with Jay’s arm around her waist, his warm body pressed against her back in their double bed tucked into the corner of their small bedroom. Every morning Jay would get up and make her a cup of coffee exactly how she liked it and would bring it to her in bed with a gentle kiss to her lips in greeting.

He would head out to work with his brother and would be out all day until the sun had set. They were setting up a clinic in one of the poorer neighbourhoods of the city to provide some much needed healthcare to those in need. The aftermath of the war had left a lot of families struggling when the breadwinner hadn’t returned from the front so the Halstead brothers had decided they wanted to make a difference to their community.

They had a little money put aside that their mother had left for them when she’d passed and much to Hailey’s surprise, Oscar had gifted them some money for a down payment on a storefront as well. Her suspicions about him being a good man were true and he was trying to make a name for himself in the city out from under his fathers prying gaze.

It was slow going to get the inhabitants of the area to trust that Jay and Will had their best interests at heart, that they wouldn’t be reporting people to the authorities or charging extortionate fees for simple procedures. They couldn’t offer the same as a hospital but Will had taught Jay everything he knew from the Medic Corps and both had seen more than their fair share of injuries in the war to be able to help and patch up those who needed them to.

Hailey was incredibly proud of her husband and would stroll down to the storefront, still missing a sign as costs were being invested elsewhere, with lunch for the two men everyday. Will would welcome her with a warm smile and a loud call of her name and Jay would appear from the back and give her a kiss in greeting and introduce her proudly as his wife to anyone in the waiting room. She left everyday with a smile larger than when she walked in the door.

She herself had started on a typing course. The local college had seen a drop in their course subscriptions so had offered a discounted offer for their part time course and Hailey had been the first name on the list. Jay had held her hand as she went to sign up, his pride evident from the smile on his face.

She supported him and he was her biggest cheerleader. It was everything Hailey had ever dreamt about.

Her relationship with her father had evaporated, if he saw them on the street he wouldn’t even acknowledge her.

At first it had been painful . Hailey had cried herself to sleep in the arms of her husband on multiple nights until she realised that it was a waste of her tears. He was a waste of her tears. She had given her father years of her life and when she had asked him for support for her happiness, he had turned his back. It was his loss.

Jay was her family now.

She still saw her mother, she came round for tea twice a month, usually when her father was out at meetings but Hailey assumed he must know what his wife was doing. Hailey was grateful to still be in touch with her mother though and the smile she wore when she entered Hailey’s apartment was one of genuine joy and happiness.

Life wasn’t always easy and money could be tight on occasion but getting to share her life with Jay meant the worries didn’t concern her as much as they might. They were together and they could face whatever cards they were dealt. They had survived a war, separation and an engagement with another man. They could survive whatever else was thrown their way as well.

And if they ever needed to be reminded, tucked into a box in the back of the wardrobe were the letters they had written to each other during the early days of their relationship. They got them out on occasion, along with the photographs that were now starting to gain numbers in the box as well. The first one was the portrait that Mr Richards had taken of Hailey to send to Jay, its edges were frayed and torn but Jay still said it was his favourite picture of her - it was the one that had kept him safe. There was a photograph of them both alongside Will out the front of the clinic on opening day. There was one of the wedding photographs in the box, the one of just the two of them, the loving look they were giving each other radiating even from the still image. The one of them both alongside Will and her mother was framed on the mantelpiece. Mr Richards had given them to them as a wedding present.

They would fill the box with more pictures; of memories and moments they would share together. And one day when they were old and grey, they’d get them all out, perhaps surrounded by their children and grandchildren and tell them all about how they had fallen in love and about the life they lived.

Hailey had never imagined she could be this happy but everyday she still dropped to her knees and prayed alongside her husband that they would continue to be this happy together. God hadn’t let her down yet and she didn’t imagine he was going to now - he had brought her love home to her after all.

[5woon]

Anne-Marie & Martin Swoon

They fell in love in high school. It was young love, but it was true. After graduation they went to a local community college together, hand in hand.. side by side. Two years after graduating and while still working through their college classes, Anne-Marie wound up pregnant. It was no one's fault but their own... didn't make it any less scary. Martin hadn't taken long after that discovery to get down on a knee to which, of course, everyone said was due to her pregnancy... but it wasn't. He'd wanted to marry Anne-Marie since they went to junior prom together. He just didn't know when the right time to ask would ever be.. until the time was right there in front of him.

They got married while Anne-Marie was six months pregnant. A small, little thing in hill country with close friends and family. It was a brilliant day and a beautiful night. One they'd always remember, but nothing would compare to the day their little boy came into the world. Maxwell Alexander Swoon. It'd be a couple years later that Betty (after Anne-Marie's grandma) Karen (after Martin's mother) Swoon came into the world early July 12th months after the wedding. She was welcomed with warm embrace and love that she would know for so many years to come.

And she did. Betty's life was good. It was content, happy, filled to the brim with joy. Sure there were ups and downs, but her parents were in love and they worked together to raise her. Anne-Marie staying at home to raise her, letting go of her dreams of becoming a nurse, while Martin worked as a science teacher at a high school. Betty got to see love happen in real time as she grew up, watching two people so in love with each other and caring for her. She was lucky.

But luck runs out, right?

Anne-Marie passed when Betty was fourteen. The woman having fallen gravely ill. It took a few months for it to catch up to her, but... eventually they were laying her mother to rest. It had been an incredibly hard period of time for her and her father, but they remained close and helpful to each other. Betty picked up some of the housework to help ease her father's worries after a long day, both of them now operating out of the same school-- him teaching, her attending. And as the years passed the grieving and mourning got easier, but there isn't a day that goes by where she doesn't think about her mother. So much of her wishes her mom could see her on a stage... following her dreams. Her mother wanted nothing more than Betty to do just that.. follow her dreams and be every bit of the girl they were proud of.

Martin continues to attend whatever concert he can for his daughter when they're within the state of California. At times he'll travel out of state for her, but he lets her live her life. Lets her explore and be her own person, but he couldn't be prouder of his little girl. All five feet of her, amazing how someone his height could have someone that tiny. But hey. She made an impact and he knew Anne-Marie's personality had a lot to do with it. He sees a lot of his wife in his daughter, himself too, but he's so grateful his little girl got all of Anne-Marie's qualities. She had been their better half after all...

[barxlupin]

Modern / No Powers AU

Verse for generic interactions or crossover with series with no powers or special abilities.

Everyone still works at Bar Lupin, but might have slightly different backstories.

Maurice - 24, the owner and main bartender. He and his younger sister Georgette were orphaned as children and ended up in an orphanage, but escaped to avoid being separated. He has a juvenile criminal record for theft and robbery (which he committed to feed himself and his sister), but has long since cleaned up his act, although he still likes to put the skills he's learned on the streets to use to impress and entertain costumers.

Georgette - 21, Maurice's younger sister and full-time waitress. Devoted to her brother for raising and protecting her after they were orphaned. She also volunteers for the local community theater as a makeup artist, costume designer and substitute actress (her ability to play both female and male roles is highly coveted).

Murasaki - 23, a college student who works part-time as a waitress. Estranged from her mother, whose domineering behavior caused her daughter to have a mental breakdown and seek emancipation at 17. Loves literature (both reading and writing) and is a skilled baker.

James - 40s, the bar manager (often mistaken for being the owner as well). Looks younger than his actual age (no one's ever given him more than 30 years). Has experience working in bars, having ran his family's pub for almost ten years. Sole survivor of a tragic accident where he lost his entire family (parents, wife and unborn child). Never gets drunk.

Henry - 32, supplier and occasional bouncer. Having worked as a sailor for half his life, he has several contacts and connections with many businesses. The oldest of three siblings, he's naturally protective and nurturing (albeit often oblivious to many costumers crushing on him). His arms are covered in tattoos. Has a love for poetry.

Ted - 20, a really quiet young man (whether he's unable to speak or simply chooses not to is a mystery to many), works as a busboy and barkeep-in-training. A skilled artist, illustrator and cartoonist. Adopted and raised by two loving mothers since he was a baby, had a bit of a sheltered upbringing but is curious and adventurous. Often feeds the local stray cats.

Patrick - 25, barback. Born with an extraordinary sense of smell (hyperosmia), he dreams of becoming a perfumer and is saving up money to open his own perfume shop. Has a troubled past (the result of his mother's affair with a married man, grew up in foster care until the age of 16, etc.).

Arthur - 26, cook. Formerly a pharmacist, he was disgraced after an experimental drug of his creation almost killed a patient (in truth it was his boss' fault, who pushed for using the medicine despite his subordinate's protests and put all the blame on him to save his own skin). Tests the drugs he creates on himself at times (under strict supervision) and is a coffee addict.