#but i made a background to compensate

[hellcifrogs]

Frog vibes, wet and green.

[sskk-manifesto]

\

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Updated! A few days ago the contract Crowley signs in S1 came up on discord. Being the crazy person that I am, I set on the quest of finding out what it actually says. I couldn't make out everything, especially at the end where Crowley's hand and the sparks obscure the lines but I made out most of it (transcript below the break).

One of the things I like the most is that the contract specifically says "Anthony Crowley of Mayfair, London." In the book, Hastur tells Crowley not to use that name: "No. Not A. J. Crowley. Your real name.” Crowley nodded mournfully, and drew a complex, wiggly sigil on the paper. It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded."

Interesting things:

The contract is referred to as "the Agreement" - HA!

The contract is between Hastur and Ligur ("the Customer") and Crowley ("the Service Provider"). Not with Hell itself or with Satan.

The contract never actually says what "the Service" is nor does it say how much Crowley is supposed to be paid (so is it just delivering the baby to the convent, or all the upbringing too?)

There is a part that says Hastur and Ligur will pay the costs when the operation is done. But later on it also says that Crowley will not be reimbursed for his own expenses. Talk about being shortchanged!

Hastur and Ligur will NOT provide any help

Crowley must contribute to a retirement plan (Superannuation) for himself and his employees if he has any (how thoughtful)

And lastly, I learned the UK has Superannuations and it is not just an Australian thing! (go figure! the things GO teaches me)

So here you have it. A contract from Hell! literally If anyone can make out the words I couldn't or finds an error, please let me know and I'll update this one.

Full transcript:

[Line covered by clip and Ligur’s fingers] (the "Agreement")

BETWEEN

HASTUR AND LIGUR of HELL (the "Customer")

AND

ANTHONY J CROWLEY of MAYFAIR LONDON (the "Service Provider")

BACKGROUND a. The Costumer is of the opinion that the Service Provider has the necessary qualifications experience and abilities to provide services for the Customer. The Costumer will pay the Service Provider per project agreed. Each project has its own costs and the Service Provider agrees to inform the Customer what are the costs involved when setting the operation and the Costumer agrees to pay the total amount when the project is delivered. b. The Compensation will be payable upon completion of the Services. The Service Provider is responsible for paying any Superannuation Guarantee contributions that may be required in relation to the work performed by the Service Provider or by the employees of the Service Provider under this Agreement c. The above Compensation includes all applicable sales tax, and dues as required by law

Provision of Extras a. The Customer will not provide any resources, assistance or extra for use by the Service Provider in providing the Services Reimbursement of Expenses b. The Service Provider will not be reimbursed for expenses incurred by the Service Provider in connection with providing the Services of this Agreement. Independence of Services c. In providing the Sevices under the Agreement it is expressly agreed that the Service Provider is acting as an independent contractor and not as an employee. The Service Provider and the Customer acknowledge that the Agreement does not create a partnership or joint venture between them, and is exclusively a contract for service

Notes a. All suits, requests, demands or other communication required or permitted by the terms of this Agreement by will be given in writing and delivered to the Parties of the Agreement as follows

ANTHONY J CROWLEY of MAYFAIR LONDON

HASTUR AND LIGUR of HELL

and each [Illegible words due to Crowley’s hand] notify the other.

[ILLEGIBLE WORD]

ANTHONY J CROWLEY

[gay-dorito-dust]

Damian is the type to casually invite you to the batfamily annual movie night.

A night that was strictly for family only but that rule was bended a couple of times when the likes of Roy Harper and Jon Kent were invited to the supposed ‘batfamily only’ movie night; So no one really batted an eye when you walked into the cinema room and made yourself comfortable in the space next to Damian as Titus joined you both.

And Damian knew that his family didn’t mind you joining them for family night.

In fact it was something that was heavily encouraged and Damian took advantage of that.

Damian couldn’t give less of a fuck about socialising with others unless it was necessary or just unavoidable.

He only comes down for family movie night as long as he didn’t have to within close proximity of everyone else. He even once reserved the space next to him for Titus but when you came into the frame, the space once reserved for the Great Dane was now reserved for you whenever you come over for the weekend; He even once dropkicked Dick and Jason on two separate occasions for almost taking your spot.

Whenever you asked anyone why this was, everyone would share a look and feign ignorance and move on, leaving you more confused then you were before.

Jason reserves a section of his book collection just for you called ‘y/n’s recommendations to read later.’

Jason’s main books were works from Jane Austen but with you introducing him to books such as ‘before the coffee gets cold’ by Toshikazu Kawaguchi and A little life by Hanya Yanagihara, Jason had steadily began to grow a small collection of books that you recommended or reminded Jason of you whenever he reads the blurb.

He loves literature and he loves to talk about it with you but loves it even more when it’s regarding a book you’re both reading at the same time. It’s honestly his favourite thing to do in his pass time as not only does it grant his wish to spend more time with you, it also grants him a moment of calm, a moment of peace and quiet.

Something that Gotham sorely lacked.

He acts personally offended when he hears that you were one and a half chapter ahead of him because hey, you’re meant to read it with him! Not read ahead of him! He’ll pout and say you’ve betrayed his trust but he could never truly be angry at you throughly enjoying a book, he finds it unbearably cute and attractive at the same time.

He loves your little book club that you’ve formed and wouldn’t change it for anything as it was something only the two of you shared.

Dick would love rooftop dates.

They’re his favourite type of dates to take you on mainly because so he could pretended to fall off when you playfully shove him for saying some stupid shit, only to come back up per his athletic background.

‘Dick you…Dick!’ You exclaim, smacking his bicep. ‘You scared me!’

‘Sorry sweetie.’ He’d apologise but the smile on his face would remain as he drew you into his arms, making sure to keep you close to his chest as he pressed kisses into your head.

‘Fucking asshole.’ You murmur against his chest, fists clenching at the back of his shirt, reassuring yourself that he was here with you.

‘Yes I am an asshole for making my baby worry about me.’ Dick would say as he rubs your back comfortingly as a way to remind you that he was really here. He did feel like a…well a dick for scaring you but he loves the opportunity where he gets to hold you, yeah he could’ve asked you like a normal person, but Dick wasn’t exactly a normal person but that didn’t stop you from loving him with everything that you had.

‘You’re making it up to me by making my favourite as compensation.’ You said and Dick could only chuckle at your demand and press his lips to your temple. ‘As you wish cutie.’

[nouearth]

my favorite scent is you.

bruce wayne x male reader.

summary: bruce needs to be taken care of too (in which reader believes it's through the form of sex).

wc: 3.5k. genre: smut, angst (kinda?). warnings: top!bruce, consensual!somnophilia, blowjobs, slow mouth-fucking, fondling, reader is asleep, bruce and reader are the same age, reader also grew up with bruce, mentions of parental death, trauma-bonding.

notes: it's been a while since i've done a brucey smut (and also fulfilled a request), so here ya go! actually my first time writing about somnophilia, so be easy on me, lmao. it was harder than i thought! also i'm trying a new layout,,, kinda, don't mind me.

“Do you remember that night? When my parents… you know.”

It had been a little less than a decade, but the uneasiness you felt when mentioning your parents’ death was akin to hovering your palm above an open flame. The flicker of the heat frightened you. Though, you couldn’t help but feel magnetic towards it—closer and closer—until you felt a strike to your calloused hand.

Just a little more, and you’ll break free.

It was striking how your wounds maintained their novelty. Years of skin hardening, scabbing and layering over the memory of Bruce breaking the news to you on that night, and the slightest mention of your parents tore it open with little defiance.

“Yeah…” Bruce whispered, and a sudden impulse to hold you prevailed over him. He turned over on his side, slipping his arms over and under your frame, and pulled your back flushed to his chest. You eased with a melting squirm, a physical gratitude, and then another when you pressed a kiss to his forearm. “It was supposed to be Alfred telling you, but I insisted.”

“Really?” Your curiosity was piqued and you felt Bruce nod into the crown of your head, breathing you in deep like his favourite cologne. A scent he’d never wear himself because it matched you perfectly. “How come?”

“Well, I had no one other than Alfred when my parents died. He tried his best, but we barely had time to grieve. A bunch of responsibilities were bestowed upon him overnight; my parents’ estate, numerous paperworks, the press and media, not to mention the funeral service. It was… a lot for him.”

Bruce sighed, squeezing you tighter for support as he continued. “I remember reading—signing off things that I knew nothing about the very next day.” He then laughed, a bitterness surfing for air in the bass of his voice. “I didn’t even have a signature yet.”

“I’m sorry…” A heaviness sank you and Bruce deeper into the mattress. You latched onto Bruce’s arm for support, held him gently, and found levity through the brush of his lips, as if he was saying—consoling you through the black void: I’m here, I’m here. 

“Is that why you guys hired my parents?”

“Mm-hm, we needed help around the manor while Alfred had bigger duties to tend to. And I’m glad he suggested the idea as much as I was apprehensive about it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met such an incredible family. A year became two, then another two, then another, and…” Bruce recalled the sounds, the visions of red and blue flashing—blaring into the sky.  “Which was why I thought it would be best if it came from me. So I could be that someone that I desperately needed during my grieving.”

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about that though… I mean, what—we were only fifteen? Coming from your background, you should’ve been… cocky, annoying, emo, selfish, like every other teenager.

“I guess your personality kind of compensated for that—” He amused himself with some levity.

“Hey!” You choked out a laugh, then lightly elbowed his stomach behind you. “Ass.”

“Ow,” Bruce pressed a smile to the back of your head, inhaling your scent again. “I did have that emo phase though.”

“Oh yeah—” Within his hold, you turned your body to meet Bruce face-to-face as a flood of memories came rushing in. You greeted him with a smile that he was able to single out from within the dark. Then, he made sure your presence was acknowledged with a chaste kiss. 

“Your hair came down to your nose and stuff—oh! And you kept wearing the same hoodie too.” 

“Yeah, okay—we get it. Not my best look.” He groaned, tearing himself away from you as your descriptions of Bruce suddenly developed into powerfully cringe-inducing memories. As embarrassing as the past was, he was glad it brought you some kind of merriment. He’d been scolded multiple times by numerous people, though namely Alfred, to treat you better.

You and Bruce weren’t always close. In all honesty, it took your parents’ death that empowered you two to stick together more than ever. Where darkness used to storm over the roof of the manor, you and Bruce managed to conjure a light that illuminated a path to find sanctuary within each other.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The moonlight reflecting through the bedroom window casted shadows across Bruce’s profile. Wrinkles you’ve never noticed before were accentuated; eye-bags that you’ve been nagging at him to take care of deepened; glimpses of a boy who was forced to grow up. 

He turned when you reached over to trace over the spotlighted features. A single digit caressed the bumpy bridge of his nose; the stubble that tickled you whenever you kissed; the cut over his broad chin that was your favorite spot to kiss,; the scar over his left cheek that had been healing for months, only to restart the process again after Bruce’s late night endeavors.

“Let me take care of you now.”

You weren’t sure how Bruce took your proposal. Recalling the moment had you adding unnecessary details that all-the-more exploded the situation into a narrative you couldn’t exactly trust.

Wait… he made a weird face when I told him. I remember a face! No, idiot—he just had an itch on his cheek. Oh.

I don’t remember his phone ringing… You think he was trying to get out of the conversation? Maybe? He usually has his phone set on the loudest volume possible…

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed addict. Well, aren’t you— No?! I just—wanted to take care of him… We rarely see each other these days and I doubt the lunches I’d make for him add much to that narrative. I needed something more. Wow, I’ve been talking to myself for this long?

You probably look crazed, especially if someone were to walk in the bedroom at this moment, but you’d be too deep into your thoughts to hardly notice. If you did notice, you’d probably go on a tangent about how Bruce was probably disgusted by how you could even suggest a thing like that.

Your toes and fingers curled at the recollection you were certain happened.

“So… I know you’ve been out late at night—” “(M/N), it’s not what you—” “Shh, I’m too good of a catch for you to cheat on me.” “I mean, keep that cockiness up and maybe—” “Excuse me?!” “I’m joking.” “Uh-huh, well, keep joking and I might have to rescind my offer.” “Your offer?” “Look, I haven’t seen you much lately. It’s not your fault. You’re busy.” “I know—I just need to deal with this…” “Bruce, you look—you are tired. You’re overworked and whenever we do spend time together, you’re asleep!” “I’m trying my b—” “You’re trying your best, I know! And I don’t know what you do at night, not sure if I do want to know, but… two-three hours of sleep is not enough. You’re killing your body.” “Hm…” “And one day, you’re going to crack and I just…” “Just..?” “I’m not sure how to… put it.” “What is it?” “If you want to… and it’s entirely up to you, but…” “Jesus, spit it out—” “I— if I’m still asleep, and you want to somehow… relieve your stress..?” “Oh—” “I’m all yours.”

The second hand on the clock cycled slower, almost as if it was mocking you for being so desperate, impatient, and doubting. Yet, at the same time—if clocks could have a personality—there was a dormant kindness in the rhythm of the minute hand striking every corner of the wheel. Gentle and soothing, the lids of your eyes grew heavier with every passing second as the sound of the clock counted sheeps for you.

Forty, forty-one… fourty-two… Forty… three…

The floor creaked despite Bruce’s best efforts to remain light on his feet. You’ve always been a light sleeper, even at the sound of wind whistling you’d jolt up to, but surprisingly—nothing. 

As he approached his side of the bed, his eyes settled on you like always. To Bruce, it was a sweet sigh of relief to come back home to you again. Sometimes, a miracle depending on the crimes of that night. Nightly patrols have taken a toll on him; on his body, on his mentality; but being in your presence always—no matter what—brought him back to the solitude his life was at before being laboured by vengeance.

Coldly, he sat on the edge, careful to not wake you, as he dried off the damp strands of his washed hair with a towel. Then, he chased after the tremors off his bare body with several rubs of the coarse towel, gathering water molecules into the material until he was somewhat dry. It was the typical nightly routine of Bruce Wayne, in which he was guilty of vacating you of.

Bruce witnessed—took part in—how you ended your night. A late night snack, a book, a tv show—and he’d stroke your hair to the sound of his heartbeat until you were out like a light. He’d never forget to kiss your forehead as if it was an enchantment that would guard him for the rest of the night. Naively, Bruce was apprehensive of the subtle chance of reducing his survival rate if he were to miss a night of seeing you—touching you. Even if you had the biggest argument with him, even if you were in the wrong, he’d make sure to see you one last time before escaping into the shadows, saving the city—saving you.

After dressing himself in a fresh set of briefs, the soft cushions of his bed and pillows enticed him back into sanctuary. He crawled back into bed and instinctively found his arms around your body, warm and full against the recovering bruises against his own flesh. Skipping dinner was a norm, but he felt satiated when he could hear you breathe, feel your pulse, and watch you writhe within his doting affection.

“Goodnight.” Bruce muttered as he nestled his nose into your hair, another deep inhale of your scent to ground him that you were still present in his life. And then another as his head turned towards your neck, a familiar smell that taunted him to lean closer until his nose pressed softly into the crook of your skin.

White musk.

The top note of his favourite cologne on you. It lingered delightfully in Bruce’s nostrils, and there was a reason why he always urged you to spray it on date nights. It was intoxicating.

Come to think of it, Bruce’s night routine hadn’t completely checked off all of his tasks for the night. After he would come home, it was a no-brainer to shower off the sweat, dirt, and sometimes blood, from his patrols. He would scrape his hair clean with the shampoo suds, mint and cooling on his scalp. Then he’d move onto his body. The suds would trickle down his torso, gather in his muscles, and he’d add onto the bubbles with his body wash, lathering himself from head to toe. And almost always, the slightest brush of his length would break the restraints the night had locked his sanity behind. It was always you that managed to free him. As he would squeeze himself, fondle his sack while the suds dribbled down his leg and feet, he’d think of you—miss you in ways he wouldn’t dare to ignore, ways in which he was ashamed to desert you of.

“I’m all yours.” Your proclamation echoed, ran marathons in Bruce’s mind as the white musk led him astray. The simple thought of him taking advantage of you guilted him, churned his stomach until it was bundled into thick knots, but it made his heart race.

“(M/N)?” He whispered. The bed creaked when Bruce peered over you, and he was met by silence. A few soft snores joined the ticking of the clock, but for the most part, silence.

I shouldn’t… Bruce convinced himself. It was… shameful to even think of taking advantage of you like that—in your unconscious state, in your vulnerability. You looked peaceful in your slumber and knowing how hard you worked, he wouldn’t dare to ruin it because of his own selfish desires.

He sighed, rolling flat onto his back again, hoping the uncomfortable ache in his briefs would settle down in a minute or so. When it didn’t, Bruce tended to it with a brief re-adjustment of the way his length stood. Then again as he twitched in defiance.

Again, as he throbbed.

And again, when his briefs couldn’t support his throbbing erection anymore. 

Bruce turned his head to the side, scanning your unconscious state. His eyes traced the languid form of your body as it sank deep into the mattress, hugging the air to your body while he slowly pulled the blanket off of you.

The bed creaked as inch by inch, Bruce scooted closer to you, turning back to lie on his side and nearly spooning you again. His movements were sluggish, apprehensive to wake you, but at the same time, there was an adrenaline rush surging through him knowing he could be caught any second (despite your permission).

His hand felt it as it caressed your arm in singular, docile strokes. Then his breath, as he leaned closer, pressing himself against you again, and slipped a hand under your shirt. Your bare stomach rested warmly against his calloused palm, and he felt your breath hitch, your stomach tensed, every evidence of your presence, as Bruce ran a palm upwards to touch your chest once, then back down to bravely slither under the waistband of your boxers.

“Fuck…” Bruce’s breath unevened, struggling to keep a steady rhythm, when his palm gently groped a handful of your flaccid cock, a complete opposite of the shameful erection he was prodding near your bottom. You writhed once, and he quickly paused with a shudder as you suddenly turned to lie on your back, smacking the dryness in your throat away as you drove yourself into deeper slumber.

He found it unusual how you haven’t awakened by now, but the cynical part of him pleaded for you to remain asleep—until he had his way with you.

Gently, Bruce lifted your hips to pull down the remainder of your boxers off until you were bare in all of your glory before him. Your balls lay briefly in between your legs before they were back to being fondled in his warm palms. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this…”

Droplets of sweat formed over Bruce’s hairline as he sluggishly maneuvered himself to kneel over your unconscious state. His thighs hardened, flexed as he maintained his balance over you. He stroked his cock with his free-hand; to the gentle snores you poured out, to your slightly parted lips that he could easily spread open with his girth, and to his surprise, to the stiffness of your cock as it stirred awake from his constant fondling.

What are you dreaming about? Are you dreaming of me? Are you dreaming of being fucked by me? Bruce groaned as he witnessed the once softened features of your face stiffened into diffident lust. Your breath unknowingly quickened when Bruce began stroking your cock together with his in one grasp. Your body writhed with uncomfortable pleasure as if you wanted whatever was happening to you to stop, yet the throbbing veins of your cock begged Bruce for more—to hold you for longer, to keep doing as he pleased.

Bruce forgot what it was like to have you like this; to have you squirming beautifully beneath him, dripping in heavy pre-cum while simultaneously having your cock lathered in his own fluid. He was enticed by your every movement, squirming and writhing confined by the state of slumber as you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop the uncomfortable pleasure that was happening to you because you were dreaming a dream that refrained you from resisting your boyfriend.

I know you want it. Fuck… I know you want my cum, (M/N). He paused briefly to press his forehead into yours, sweat dripping off his face and onto your body in his maneuver, and breathed languidly against your lips to find the parting in order to breathe his lewd thoughts into you. Bruce was careless, dangerously brave as he slipped a tongue inside of you to spread your mouth open further. You made a sound, but he muted it with a swallow as he ravished you like honey on a spoon. Remnants of mint lingered on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to continue tasting you, he needed to relieve himself.

He was close.

Carefully, he dragged himself over your chest and kneeled over your chest. Bruce’s cock hung heavy above your slumber, dripping in thick strings of pre-cum from the plump tip—a shameful exhibit of how much this had turned him on, how much he had been deprived of this act for so long.

Open wide. It was morbid. Bruce never thought himself of ever once doing this obscene act, but the guilt that had been the cause of his apprehension was only fleeting the moment he pushed his cock into your sleeping mouth. 

“Oh, fuck…” He was careful with you. Careful enough to not stir you awake, but courageous enough to fulfill his sense of greed. Bruce pushed deeper, and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. His thick cock steadied your breathing and in favor, your saliva warmed him with complete gratitude.

Come on, I know you can take it… His eyes darkened at your inability to take his girth. As much as it sounded like a threat, it drove him delirious knowing you couldn’t. Even in your waking moments, it fueled a sense of pride when you gagged on his cock, covered him in bubbly thick spittle, and looked like an absolute mess while attempting to swallow him again.

Fuck, (M/N)... You’d pull him out when you had enough of gagging on his cock and jerk him off instead, catching your breath in the midst of it all. He never told you, but it was Bruce’s favourite part whenever you two did this together. The pure lust in your eyes, craving for a fill that you and him both know that he would deliver upon greatly. And somehow, as lewd as the act was, you both knew it was more than sex. You and Bruce were making love, fucking with a craving that you only have for each other because it was only you two that could bring this type of pleasure to one another. 

“Fuck—” Bruce paced himself, biting back an adamant moan, thrusting slow yet filling into your mouth as he held onto the headboard. The scrape of your teeth made him hiss, but the pleasure of your warm mouth was so fulfilling that it overwhelmed any painful feeling you’ve prescribed him to.

I’m close, (M/N)... Fuck, let me cum on you… On your body, on your face, I want it everywhere on you.

He released his cock from your mouth and took the heavy girth into his own palm, pumping the muscle with a sudden vigor that had been motivated to see you covered in his fluids. Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his lids, panting heavy and harder because he was so close—so fucking close. He could see you sticking your tongue out for him, on your knees, playing with your cum-covered cock as you would wait patiently for his reward. You would begin begging for it—his cum, his cock, him. You’d worship his body, mouthing at his toned thighs, then his abdominal muscles, licking the sweat off the gutters to briefly satiate your appetite for Bruce.

Until you were gifted with his indulgent desire for you and only you in the form of thick and creamy white ropes. “I’m comin—” Bruce’s stomach sucked in hard, his abs contracting while his thighs vibrated with tremors, then with a guttural push, he released himself with a strong grunt. His grasp directed his thick and heavy loads towards your chest and stomach, stroking his throbbing cock through the glorious sprays. He sucked in his teeth to control the sounds that were threatening to burst out of his throat and whimpered with a shudder when it was unmanageable, continuing to empty his balls until he could smell the heavy sex and musk off your body.

Scanning you from head to toe, Bruce was breathless. Despite his delirious stint, it was impressive to see you drifting off to sleep like nothing had happened. Or rather, it was impressive that he had a certain amount of control to not completely make love to you like a wild mammal, rousing you from sleep.

Nonetheless, he powered through the overwhelming need to sleep to clean you up, even if you hadn’t mind the mess. And like always, he never forgot to end his night with a kiss, pressing a chaste yet breathless pant to your lips.

“Think your way of ‘taking care of me’ needs more time in the workshop , but we’ll talk about it later.” 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[byyourside28]

Both

Matty x Reader x Zayn

WC: 5.1K

Warning: Pure filth (3some, male and female oral, double penetration)

Summary: You take both of your boys.

A/N: I had to post this because of the stairway to the sky tour<333 and this isn't edited because I can't find the edited version so ignore the mistakes<33

The further I move down the hall, I can hear a soft beat coming from my home studio where a light is filtered out from behind the slightly ajar door. I knock twice with my knuckles before pushing the door open, Zayn’s head snapping to me instantly.

Sending Zayn a smirk as I lean against the door frame as he watches me. His eyes roam up and down my body and it only takes a second of him staring before he looks away, pausing the beat before turning his chair and facing me fully.

“Well...Didn’t you say I could I can use the studio whenever?” He questions with an almost knowing smirk on his lips. “Why’re you up, petal?”

“Maybe because someone decided to break in and mess with my equipment?” I trail off, picking at a nonexistent fuzz on my cotton shorts while trying to hold back a smile.

Zayn raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider before spinning back around to the computer. “I did not break in; I simply took advantage of your negligence. Besides, I couldn't resist the temptation of this beautiful studio.”

I push off the door frame and walk further into the room. “Well, you better have made something amazing to compensate for your trespassing.”

“C’mere and you can hear for yourself.” Zayn turns in his chair, patting his lap invitingly. I raise an eyebrow at his gesture, a cheeky smile playing at the corners of my lips. Slowly, I saunter over to him, my steps deliberate and calculated. As I approach, Zayn's eyes never waver from mine, a silent challenge passing between us.

Zayn’s arms snake around my waist, pulling me down and onto his lap before turning back to the soundboard. His hand reaches out to press a few keys, and the beat that had been paused earlier begins to play through the speakers. The room is instantly filled with a pulsating rhythm, vibrating through my body but I can’t even focus on the beat.

My gaze is magnetically drawn to his hand, the canvas of his sun-kissed skin is a tapestry, cloaked in an interwoven narrative of ink. His veins rise like secret pathways—untamed rivers mapping their path up the landscape of his arms. Even from this distance, I could almost taste the bitter tinge of ink on his skin and it has me clenching my thighs, unintentionally squirming on Zayn’s lap.

“Everything okay, petal?” Zayn purrs against the shell of my ear and the vibrations of his voice have me gripping onto his thigh. “Like the song?”

“It’s perfect.” I reply tightly, swallowing harshly as I try to regain control of my racing pulse. Zayn's hand tightens around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer to him, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. “I might just have to forgive you for trespassing.” I tease, running my fingers lightly over the intricate tattoos adorning his skin.

Each stroke of my fingertips elicits a reaction from Zayn, a subtle twitch or a suppressed gasp. He tries to hide it, but I can feel his body betray him under me. His lips ghost along my upper jaw, sending shivers down my spine, as he whispers, "I knew you'd like it." The words melt into my skin, igniting a fire within me.

I tilt my head, pretending to ponder his words. "Well, I suppose you do have a knack for knowing what I like," I say playfully.

Before I could even take a single breath, he turns my body to face him, my thighs straddling his lap, his hands gripping my hips firmly. The beat continues to thump in the background, a soundtrack to the rising tension between us.

With each of my hands gently cradling the sides of his neck, my thumbs softly drifting over the crimson tattoo designs etched there. Engulfed by an enigmatic allure, their stark vibrancy popped against the backdrop of his skin.

Zayn's eyes darken with desire as he leans in closer, his warm breath caressing my cheek. “You know, I can't help but wonder what other things I know about you,” he murmurs huskily, his fingers lightly pushing up my shirt, grazing the skin on my lower back.

A playful smirk dances on my lips as I lean in, brushing my nose against his. “Oh really? And what other secrets have you uncovered, Mr. Malik?” I tease.

Zayn chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Well, let's just say I've discovered a few interesting pieces of information...”

I nibble on my bottom lip, arching an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what have you found out?”

His grip on my hips tightens ever so slightly, his eyes burning into mine. “Oh, petal,“ he whispers huskily, sending shivers down my spine. “Is your pussy so greedy that my cock isn’t enough for her?”

I take a sharp intake of breath, caught off guard by his words. Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I refuse to let him see me flustered. Instead, I lean back slightly, maintaining eye contact as I respond with a coy smile as I run my fingertips lightly along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble beneath my touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking abo—”

The words barely leave my lips before Zayn’s hand was gripping my neck pulling me to him, his fingers applying just enough pressure to send a jolt of electricity through my body.

His voice is low and seductive as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against mine. “Don't play games with me, petal,” he whispers, “You know exactly what I'm talking about.”

I bite my lip, unsure whether to resist or surrender to the intoxicating power he holds over me. “Z...”

“My cock s’not enough, huh?” Zayn's lip curls upward, a bitter twist to his mouth. He leans back, his grip never loosening. “You let Healy taste what’s mine, didn’t you?” he asked in a low growl, each word slicing through the air like a blade honed with possessiveness.

“W-w-what... I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered. “Matty and I are just friends,” I insist, my voice wavering slightly. Zayn's eyes narrow as he releases his grip on my neck, his gaze piercing into mine.

“Are we just friends, sweetheart?”

Matty's voice startles me, causing me to jump slightly. I glance over Zayn’s head to see him standing in the doorway. An unexpected urge to hide the fact that I was on Zayn's lap flares up inside me, and I quickly attempt to get off him. However, he keeps his grip on my hips tightly, not letting me go.

My face turns redder by the second as I try to come up with something to say, but Matty's smirk only grows wider. "What are you doing here?" I manage to squeak out.

“Zayn invited me, babe.” Matty laughs, shaking his head at me. His gaze flickers between Zayn and me before settling on me curiously. “You share us...So why can’t we do the same?”

“Such a fuckin’ slut,” Zayn muses, his fingertips ghosting over the expanse of my thighs, “isn’t she, Matty?”

Matty smirks, his face void of any emotion besides lust and approval. “Yeah? I’m not so sure, Malik.” His breaths are heavy as he moved around the side of the bed, stroking his finger against and up, my body. His movements are slow and intentional. I need more.

I try to move closer towards Matty’s fingers, but Zayn’s grip on my legs is relentless. He urges me to part them. “Why don’t you show him, petal.”

The two of them watch me intently as I part my legs, the breeze on my swollen clit causing me to bite back a moan. “Please,” I choke out, fisting my hands on the sheets in desperation.

“Please?” Matty mocks, his smirk growing as he stalks closer, his fingertip dancing alongside Zayn’s and up the curve of my body. “Please, what?” His fingers grip onto my jaw, pulling me eyes so they land on him.

“Please, sir.”

Matty laughs, “So fuckin’ pathetic.” He leans close, his nose brushing against mine as he looks into my eyes. His expression is soft—like melted chocolate. “You can beg better than that, sweetheart.”

I can’t help but whine, but that only entices Matty and Zayn further. Zayn chuckles, a dark and daring sound deep from his throat, as he snakes his hand between my thighs. “You want us to touch you, correct?” He earns another groan from me as his finger just barely misses my clit. “You have to be a good girl and do as we say. Understand?”

“Yes.” I answer meekly, and attempt to move my hips for any form of relief.

This doesn’t sit well with Matty. He used his hand to push down on my stomach, anchoring my hips down to the bed under me. “We didn’t fucking say you could move, did we?”

“Matty—please, I need you.”

He pouts his lower lip, and shakes his head. “You need me?” Turning to look over his shoulder, he gestures with a jerk of his neck, “Or you need him? Which one, sweetheart?”

My mind is reeling as the pressure on my stomach lightens, and Matty moves his hands up the center of my abdomen towards my chest. His fingertip brushes underneath my tit. “Words, sweetheart. Tell us which one you want.”

Which one do I want?

Zayn is fucking beautiful. His tanned skin is so golden, it feels like I’m staring at the sun itself. The sharp angles of his facial structure make him look like an angel. But when he smiles, he has this wicked little glint in his eye that makes my heart skip a beat.

Then there’s Matty. His face is gorgeous—his cheekbones are high and defined, accentuated by his pale skin, giving off a soft glow from within. His eyelashes are dark, and his lips, full and soft—so kissable. Just thinking about his lips makes my brain melt.

“Both. I want you both.” My voice cracks on the last word. It sounds needy even to my own ears. They laugh in unison, and then turn to each other.

“There’s my slutty little princess.” Zayn coos mockingly, his index finger dipping into my folds —up and down, up and down until I’m squirming beneath him, begging for more. His gaze flickers between my parted legs, and a smug smirk spreads across his face. With a seductive glint in his eyes, he holds up his soaked fingers to Matty, “Think she can take us both?”

A pitiful whine travels from my lips at the thought of both of them being inside me. How my pussy would be stretched wide open, how my body would scream in pleasure and pain as their cocks pounded into me. How my pussy would tremble, begging for relief.

With a nod from Matty, he takes one of Zayn’s fingers in his mouth, sucking and licking it, moaning at the taste before releasing the digit with a pop. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin that sweet little cunt.”

It’s all I can do to keep silent; not only am I too turned on to speak, the two men’s combined attention is enough to leave me breathless. But what I don’t expect is to watch their lips crash together, kissing feverishly and roughly, tongues meeting in sloppy, wet movements.

Sitting up on my elbows, I watch the scene before me, the room swirling in a hazy blur as my mind tries to catch up with the intensity of my two favorite men.

Matty's strong hand grips the back of Zayn's neck, while Zayn's arm slides around Matty's waist, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing against each other, molding to fit every curve and contour.

A low moan escapes from Zayn's lips, muffled by the fervent kiss, and I can’t help but let out a pathetic whine at the sight. The sound has them breaking away, eyes gliding to me. “What’s that? We couldn’t hear you.”

Zayn cocks his head slightly, waiting for an answer I refuse to give him. After a moment of silence, he’s reaching for Matty once more, his hand wrapping around his slender throat as their lips crash together. Matty melts into his touch, his hand lifting to hold onto Zayn’s jaw.

I can’t help but watch in awe, my own body reacting to theirs as soft moans fall from their lips. My thighs tighten together and my chest rises and falls rapidly.

Their lips move in tandem; both of them are somewhere between begging and pleading, between moaning and growling into each other's mouths with desperation. Matty was the first one to break away. He stands from the bed, stripping away the shirt from his torso and tossing it to the side of the room.

He motions for Zayn to do the same. He starts unzipping his trousers, keeping his eyes on me, and drops the trousers to the ground. My eyes are trained on Matty as he stands in front of me, clad in only a dark pair of boxers.

“Over here, darlin’.” Zayn speaks up, standing on the opposite side of me. My eyes flash towards him, nearly drooling at the sight. He also stood in only boxers, a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

“Can you please?” My voice trembles on the edge of desperation as I beseech them, my words hanging heavy in the charged atmosphere. They remain silent, their searing gazes never faltering from mine. Matty, his body radiating hunger, kneels on the mattress, his hand gripping my leg and pulling me towards him.

“Matty... please.” I whimper, my gaze locked with his, pleading for him to ignite the fire within me.

Fucking hell, I’ll take anything at this point.

Matty starts to answer, his lips parting slightly but Zayn intervenes swiftly, “Can we what?” His tone commanding, brushing Matty’s hand away from my ankle with an assertiveness that sends a shiver down my spine as I sit up on my elbows. Our brows furrow in unison at Zayn's interruption.

“Please, just touch me.” I whine as Zayn forcefully positions Matty on the ground before him on his knees.

“Please?” My plea is desperate now as I strive to provoke a response from them. “Please, Zayn. Please,” I become insistent, the threat of tears brimming in my eyes heightening the intensity of the situation. My hands ball into fists and twist into the sheets beside me as Zayn's fingers knot in Matty's curls—a move that prompts a closed-eyed hum of pleasure from Matty. “I’ll do anything.”

“No.” Zayn's words cut through the thick silence as he tugged back Matty’s head with an authoritative yank. “You’re gonna stay quiet and watch. Understand?”

This new position offers an enticing view of Matty's neck—its delicious landscape peppered with dark stubble just begging for my teeth to stake their claim on it. I run my tongue over my plumped bottom lip, picturing how godly it would feel to nip at his succulent, pale skin above his throbbing pulse.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Matty murmurs with a hint of promise, his words melting into a low moan when Zayn tightens his grip around his hair, “You’ll get your turn.”

Zayn's eyes dancing between Matty and I. “Who said she’d get a turn, hmm?” He teases, raising a brow at me before turning to Matty, “Who said you get to stop?”

Matty’s eyes glint at Zayn’s tone, “Drop the tone, yeah?” His hands playing with the elastic band of Zayn’s boxers, his index finger hooking under it. “I’ll give you what you want.” A quick yank of the material and Zayn’s boxers fall to his ankles, revealing his hard cock. The ruby red tip bubbled with precum at the slit, slowly dripping down before Matty catches it with the tip of his tongue.

Matty’s eyes never leave mine for a second as his mouth slowly descends to Zayn’s cock, his hand wrapping around the base for support. The way he takes him in slow and deep, my breath hitches imperceptibly. I can see the muscles tense in Zayn's neck and thighs as his eyes flutter shut. Matty repeats this teasing torture until Zayn can no longer hold back.

“Fuck—look at you, Healy. Who knew you were such a fuckin’ cock slut?” Zayn chuckles, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. But Matty doesn't falter, continuing to work his magic, his lips glistening with saliva and pre-cum.

As I watch the two of them, I feel a surge of desire coursing through my veins. I'm overwhelmed by the sight of Matty sucking Zayn's cock so expertly, their bodies pressed together, their breaths ragged and heavy. My hand travels down my stomach to my wet core, my index finger teasingly tracing circles on my clit.

The sounds of Matty’s wet mouth sliding up and down Zayn’s cock fill the room and I whimper, my arousal almost unbearable. I try to focus on their passionate display, willing them to notice my desperation clusters at the base of my throat, but they continue to ignore me, consumed by their own pleasure.

Matty's lips glide up Zayn's shaft, trailing along the underside, and then he engulfs him once again, sucking harder this time. My breath catches in my throat, and I thrust two fingers inside my weeping cunt, imagining it's both of their cocks inside me, pulsing, throbbing and stretching me out in a way I’ve never felt before.

Zayn yanks Matty by his curls, forcing his head to look in my direction. “Look at our fuckin’ little slut. So fuckin’ desperate, isn’t she? Fingering her slutty little cunt like it’s comparable to us, huh?”

“Please—please! S’need my boys.” The whimper that leaves my mouth makes me sound like a lost lamb, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. But I don't care, the need is too intense. I pull my fingers away and lick them clean, wanting to taste the wetness they caused.

Matty hums out, “Maybe we should give her what she wants...” He places his lips around Zayn’s leaking tip, giving it a quick and hard suck before releasing him with a pop, and standing up from his knees. Matty’s hands grip the back of Zayn’s neck, their lips colliding with a force that

sends shockwaves through my entire body. I watch in fascination as their tongues entwined, their lips locked in a passionate embrace.

“Give our girl what she wants, hmm?” Matty growls, breaking away from the kiss just long enough to address Zayn.

Zayn, with a smirk, turns his attention back to me. “You want that, petal?” He steps closer, his hard cock bobbing in front of me, and I can't help but lick my lips in anticipation.

“Yes...Yes, please. Need it.”

Both of the men laugh as Zayn positions himself next to me and Matty stands at the foot of the bed. Matty doesn't break his gaze from us as he slowly pulls down his boxers, revealing his toned and sculpted thighs. My eyes trace every contour and muscle, captivated by the sight. Zayn watches him lustfully as he does so, their connection palpable.

Matty smirks at me and climbs onto the bed at my feet, spreading my legs wide as he kneels between them. “Look how wet you are, Sweetheart.” He groans out before his tongue tracing the outline of my pussy lips before dipping inside, tasting the sweetness that's dripping from my hole.

Matty uses both of his thumbs to pull me apart as he mutters, “So pretty—so fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart.” He harshly spits directly on my engorged clit. My hips jerk upward as a shudder runs through me. He groans against my folds, his tongue dancing faster and delving deeper as he works me open, filling me with longing and need.

“You like the way his tongue feels, petal?” Zayn whispers in the shell of my ear. I almost forgot he was even in the room but I’m quickly reminded as his forefinger and thumb tweak at my left pebbled nipple.

“Shit!” I cry out as Matty’s thick fingers find their way inside my hole, stretching me wider until both are buried inside me with a single thrust.

Zayn grins wickedly, his cock twitching with anticipation. "You want it, don't you, petal?" he growls, leaning down to nibble on my earlobe. I nod vigorously, my eyes locked on Matty's skilled fingers working my pussy.

Meanwhile, Matty is still going to town on my clit, his skilled tongue flicking and dancing, while his fingers thrust in and out of my core. My entire body is trembling with pleasure, and I can feel the orgasm building up inside me like a tidal wave.

“Enough.” Zayn calls out, “She doesn’t get to cum unless she’s wrapped around both of us.”

Matty pulls his face from my cunt, his pink lips now a deep shade of red and soaked with my wetness along with his chin slick. He looks up at Zayn with an almost hungry expression, his brown eyes glistening under the dim light. “How you wanna do this, Z?” Matty questions.

Zayn effortlessly pulls me on top of him, our chests pressed together as our eyes lock. “Straddle me, petal.” he commands softly.

Matty's touch is gentle yet firm as his hands wrap around my hips, guiding me onto my knees. My hands tremble slightly as they press on either side of Zayn's head, supporting me in this position. Matty’s hand caresses the skin at my hip as Zayn’s hand reaches in between us, gripping his cock, teasingly tapping my pussy.

“You sure?” Zayn whispers, his voice velvety smooth. Matty chimes in, “You’re in control, Sweetheart.”

Looking over my shoulder at Matty, I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

I want this. I want both of them.

“Same time, yeah?” Zayn mutters out as I lower my head into his neck, dropping to my forearms. The stretch is like nothing I’ve ever felt before, it’s almost painful as both of their thick tips push past the muscles of my opening in unison.

I scream out in sheer agony and ecstasy, tears streaming down my cheeks as they solidify their claim on me. "Oh fuck," I moan out. This is beyond anything I've ever felt before; it’s intense and primal. My body trembles beneath them both as they take over control, their movements perfectly in sync with each other.

“Fuck! Take it all.” Matty groans out as they both bottom out. Zayn grunts out at the feeling of Matty’s cock sliding against his and my walls clench around both of them. “Our girl feels fuckin’ phenomenal.”

As the room fills with their lust-filled moans and pants, I feel my mind going hazy from the intensity of it all. “S’full. Feel so f-full, God!” I don’t even recognize my own voice as I cry out, the sensations overwhelming me completely.

“You good, petal?” Zayn asks gently, his tone a perfect blend of concern and desire. I nod, still trying to catch my breath. “Yeah... Ju— just give me sec.” Pulling myself from Zayn’s neck.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” Matty assures me gently, his hand tracing soothing patterns on my lower back. I let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the intensity of being stretched this wide.

My eyes flutter closed, and I let out a soft moan as I focus on the feeling of their bodies surrounding mine. Every touch, and every movement seems ignite a fire within me, leaving me yearning for more.

“C-can I try something else?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, a devilish grin forming on his face. “Go ahead, petal. Whatever you want, we're here for you.”

I take a deep breath and gather my courage. Pushing myself from Zayn’s chest, both of them moan out at the feeling as I stand on my knees. My chest heaved at the feeling of the different position. Matty’s chest meets my back as I lean back into him, the warmth of his body something I can't get enough of.

Zayn’s hands cupped my breast, and the other gripping my hip. Matty follows suit, his muscular arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “Feel good?” Matty bites at my earlobe, his warm breath sending shivers down to my core.

“M’not gonna last long if you keep clenching, petal.” Zayn cries out gripping my tit and hip in a bruising manner.

"Please fuck me," I beg, my voice breathy with want as I arch my back to press my ass towards Matty's lap. "Fill me up.” I groan out in desperation.

Matty and Zayn nod in sync, their eyes locked on each other, as they watch me flex my hips to get them to move. Both of them pull out just to thrust back into my pussy at force, their cocks stretching me once again with ease.

"You're so tight," Zayn grunts out between his thrusts. "So damn tight." Matty growls in agreement, "Fuck yeah," before he kisses his way down my jawline to my collarbone and continues to pump into me relentlessly. Their pace quickens until they are slamming into me without mercy, hitting that perfect spot again and again.

My pussy is on fire; it feels like it's gonna split in two by these two men who own me completely. The smell of our arousal fills the air and makes me even more turned on than before; it's intoxicating. Their skin slaps against mine in perfect harmony with each thrust.

I moaned loudly as Matty’s teeth gently nipped my earlobe, his rough hands tugging on my hair. His cock was still sliding in and out of me, harder and faster now. Matty's hips began to pick up the pace too, his hot breath fanning over my neck.

The feeling of both of them inside me was incredible, my body trembling with pleasure. I could feel their sweat mixing with mine, both of them panting heavily. Both of them were entering me at the same speed, and after only a few minutes my vision was going blurry.

“God sweetheart, y’so fucking tight,” I heard Matty huff out from behind me. I can see Zayn smirk in front of me, his hands reaching down to play with my puffy little clit. “Holy fuck,” Matty growled out, “You're so wet,” he added between thrusts, licking his lips subconsciously.

“Z-zayn...” I whined out. After one last lift of my hips, I was out of energy to continue riding Zayn. He thrust up into me only moments later, and it felt even better now that they were doing the work.

"Oh fuck," Zayn huffs as driving his cock deeper with every thrust. The head of their cocks hits my g-spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Zayn’s hands grip my hips tighter, pulling me down onto him as he pumps faster. He growls out, "Feels so fucking good."

“Can feel y’squeezin’ us petal, y’gonna cum already?” All I could do was nod, my head too hazy to respond. “Go on petal, y’deserve it.”

“C’mon, sweet girl. Cum around our cocks,” Matty asks against my ear, nipping lightly. “Soak us, sweetheart. You can do it— you can take it.” I moan in reply, unable to form words as they take me over the edge together. They are in sync like a well-oiled machine, pushing me closer and closer to the brink of orgasm with each thrust and moan filling the air around us.

I fall to Zayn’s chest as my whole body shakes, my pussy squeezing their cocks so hard it pushes them out of me. My pussy clenches reflexively around the empty space left by their withdrawal. The sound of liquid splashing onto our bodies filled the room.

Matty grips both his and Zayn's throbbing cocks in one hand, roughly rubbing my sensitive clit with the slick heads. A loud moan escapes my lips as the wet slaps of their skin against mine become faster and more forceful, echoing throughout the room.

“That's it, baby,” Matty growls, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “Let go. Drench us with your cum."

They both plunge back inside me simultaneously, their cocks filling me up once again. The feeling of being stretched wide open is overwhelming, almost too much for me to handle, but I know that I am safe with them, my two protectors. They slide in and out of me, the rhythm getting harder, faster, more unforgiving.

My eyelids flutter, feeling as though I have drifted into a realm beyond reality. Even in my hazy state, I can sense Matty and Zayn's breath against the crook of my neck.

“S’good.”

“Gonna fill you to the brim, S’promise.”

“Our girl.”

I don’t know who’s saying what at this point. All I know is that as the waves of pleasure crash over me, I can feel Matty's and Zayn's cocks pulsating inside me, matching the rhythm of my own heartbeat. Their thrusts grow more and more erratic, their bodies becoming one with mine in this ecstatic embrace.

“I’m cummin’,” Matty growled deep in his throat, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending shivers down my spine. And not even a second later I could feel Matty’s hot ropes of cum filling my tight hole. But Zayn showed no signs of slowing down, thrusting deeper and harder until he too reached his climax, coating my sensitive walls in a thick layer of white.

I can feel my body being moved, hear voices and gasps, and see flashes of light, but I am lost in the overwhelming sensation of being filled to the brim with their cum.

But I never want this to end—the feeling of being loved and cared for by my boys.

As I lay there, half-conscious, surrounded by Matty and Zayn, I felt their hearts beating on either side of me. The warmth of their cum spills out of me and the smell of our sweaty, mingled bodies fills the air. Their hands gently stroke my skin, calming me.

“Are you okay, petal?” Zayn whispers, his voice rough and tender.

In response, I only need to let out a contented sigh, my eyes fluttering open to look into the smoky depths of Zayn's gaze. The corners of his mouth curve into a warm smile, and I can sense the relief washing over him. Matty leans down, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his breath warm and steady.

“Think I love the both of you.”

Matty chuckles softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles along my thigh. “Fucked ya that good, hmm?” he murmurs, pride evident in his tone. "We're here to give you everything you deserve."

Zayn's lips brush against my forehead as he whispers, "You're our girl. Always, petal.”

[tenjikufag]

HII!!! I’m new here and I was wondering if I could request a izana x male reader w izana fcking reader in front of Tenjiku

( sorry I’ve been having a izana brain rot lately)

-izanas husband

Eyes to the Front.

Izana Kurokawa x Male!Reader

-smut, nsfw, sub!top reader, dom!bott izana, public sex, cock-warming, mentions of other tenjiku members

-thank you for the request, miss this boy dearly. Unsure if you intended for this kind of public fucking but I hope you enjoy regardless!

You couldn’t even count the eyes that laid on you, all the division captains and the vice president watched on with unknowing eyes.

Izana sat on your lap, his waist hidden by the large table, your cock buried in his ass.

He spoke so normally, not even a quiver or stutter coming from him when he moved- making you bite your inner cheek when he clenched on you or rocked his hips or bounced.

“You sick, L/n?”

“No, he’s just a bit shy today..”

Izana grinned, pushing himself to the hilt on you and squeezing- his bright eyes looking back at you with a satisfied glaze.

“Ah, I see.”

No one questioned the white haired male, never questioning why he sat in your lap, why he spoke for you, why he did almost everything for you..

It was because you were his bitch.

His. Only his. Will only ever be his. And he will treat you accordingly, treat you how he thinks you deserve to be treated.

His body leaned forward, your cock just barely fully slipping out before he snapped himself back into your lap- you hissed out a moan, trying not to cause any more attention on yourself. Izana coughed lightly, clearing his throat to cover his own pleasure.

Your legs began to shake, every agonizing second felt longer than the last. His hands moved to your thighs, and he started thrumming against the plush skin; digging his manicured nails in rhythmically between the massaging motions. He began to bounce on you, only moving his waist up and down with his upper half leaned over the table to match the serious energy of the discussion being shared.

With every pull up, he clenched around you and loosened on his way down. You could barely contain the drool and tears pooling, resorting to leaning into your hand to act tired but underneath your whole face was set ablaze- your brows knitting in frustration and lip quivering in agony.

You were quickly becoming light-headed, the blood in your cock and all the blood rushing over your body to compensate for the overwhelming pleasure almost made you whine out of instinct- the primal urge to wheeze and wail out against him burning in your abdomen..

“Isn’t he such a good boy?”

Pulling away from your hand, it was quickly replaced by your boyfriends slender fingers as he showed off your flushed and fucked out face.

“Tell ‘em how good you’re being.. they wanna hear it from you.”

The members stared at you, vivid eyes covering every inch of you.

“..I’m a.. good boy..”

You’d managed to huff it out, Izana looked back at you with a frown.

“Moan it out for them. Moan it out like ya do for me dear~”

It was only then that you realized that they knew. They knew their beloved leader had you balls deep inside of him and they only watched on as if nothing was happening.

They could see how weak and pathetic you were when buried inside of him, how easily you were overwhelmed.

While you moaned, the captains only smirked at you. Now that everyone was in the know, Izana picked up the pace and was visibly fucking you infront of them.

“He’s so cute when he’s like this, too bad you guys aren’t into men~ not that I’d share though!”

He rode you, hips bucking up and slamming back down onto you with a slick slapping sound.

“Moan for the guys, will ya? Not just me that enjoys that pathetic whine of yours.”

You couldn’t disobey him, the moans started to fly out of your mouth almost as if you breathed in moans.

The meeting continued, your mewls of pleasure almost like a symphony playing in the background.

“He lasts awhile, impressive. You train him to do that?”

“He knows only I can say when he can cum. Y/n is such a good boy, he did take all my training well~”

Your tongue stuck out and dragged along your bottom lip, chest filling with pride as Izana bragged about you to the members..

“Check this out.”

Izana sped up, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off every wall along with his own breathy moans and curses

“Y/n. Cum for me.”

His stern command sent a shiver through your whole body, it felt pathetic how quickly you unloaded into him. You shrunk down into yourself as he laughed lightly, pulling off of you and reaching behind to show off a faint string of your white cum to the group.

The smirks and chuckles barely registered to you, far too tired and relieved to care..

“Meetings over, I have to clean up this mess.”

Izana pulled up his pants, fastening his belt as he saw off the members.

He looked back at you with a smile, licking the remaining dribble of cum off his finger.

[benispunk]

Who's that girl?

Chapter 3: Stuck With You

The trio hangs out for the first time outside the apartment.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, mentions of dark backgrounds.

A/N: third chapter!!! this one is really short, sorryyyy...but I'll post another fic as well as a new chapter this week to compensate, I pinky promise!! this explores the trio's dynamic again but do not worry, things are coming 🫡 alright I'll leave you to it!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part

The sun hung low over the city, casting golden light over the streets. Y/N had spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around her new neighborhood. It had been a week now, and between settling down and work she hadn’t had the time to walk around the streets. Wade had recommended a few places that he thought she would like. She strolled through narrow alleys and wide streets, passing cafes, small bookshops, and one bustling market. There was also this cute park a few blocks down where she stayed for lunch. It was all new, yet there was something comforting about this quiet exploration.

She hadn't quite figured out how to navigate the subtle rhythm of her new life— but she would managed. Everything’s going to be okay, she reminded herself.

When the evening chill began to creep in, she made her way back to the apartment. She was looking forward to spending time with Logan and Wade; the three of them had started to form an unexpected bond. As she climbed the steps to the apartment, she wondered if they were home yet. She could already imagine Wade cracking jokes, Logan rolling his eyes, and her somewhere in between, soaking up the dynamic. She already loved them so much.

The second she unlocked the door and stepped inside, Wade's voice boomed from the kitchen.

" And she returns!" He leaned against the counter, grinning. « So? How was your little solo adventure?".

Y/N smiled, closing the door behind her. "Amazing. I visited all the places you recommended and I’m definitely going back as soon as possible". Wade pumped his fists in victory with a little "Yes!", which made Y/n smile even more.

Logan appeared in the living room, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You got lost?"

"Only once or twice," she admitted, tossing her bag onto the couch. "But it's nice around here. I loved the park— I might check it out more later this week."

Wade clapped his hands together. "Perfect. Now that Dora the Explorer is back, we can finally head out to the bar. My set starts in an hour." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "And you're both coming, right? Because what's a gig without my loyal fan base?"

Y/N grinned. « I can’t wait! »

Logan just shrugged but nodded, clearly used to Wade’s antics. "Yeah, alright. Let’s go."

———

The bar had a laid-back atmosphere. Dim lights flickered over dark wooden tables, the low hum of conversation mixing with the occasional clink of glasses. They found a booth near the stage, a perfect spot to watch Wade’s performance later.

Y/N slid into the booth, Logan following after her while Wade grabbed drinks from the bar. She glanced around, taking in the crowd. People were laughing, chatting, and enjoying the night.

"This place is cool," she commented.

Logan nodded, leaning back in his seat. "Wade performs here a lot. Thinks he’s the star attraction."

She laughed. "Well, I guess we’ll find out tonight."

A moment later, Wade returned with drinks, setting them down on the table. He plopped down on the seat across from them, a wide grin on his face. "Alright, Y/N, prepare yourself for the best comedy set you’ve ever seen— or, well, at least the best one you’ll see tonight."

Y/N grinned. "No pressure."

They sipped their drinks, the conversation starting off light. Wade was in his element, cracking jokes about the people around them, the bartender, the state of the world. It was easy to laugh with him, the energy infectious, and even Logan cracked a few smiles in between his usual deadpan responses.

As the night wore on, Wade excused himself to get ready for his set, leaving Y/N and Logan alone at the booth.

"You think he’s nervous?" Y/N asked, watching Wade walk toward the stage.

Logan shrugged. "If he is, he hides it well."

They shifted their gazes to the stage as the lights dimmed, and Wade took the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Wade’s voice boomed through the speakers. "Give it up for me!" He winked at the crowd, earning a round of laughter.

"But seriously, thanks for coming out tonight. I hope you’re all ready to laugh, because I’m in desperate need of some validation!"

Y/N and Logan laughed along with the rest of the audience, Wade launched into his set, his energy filling the room. He was good—better than Y/N had expected. His jokes were sharp, his timing perfect, and he knew how to work the crowd. Y/N found herself laughing harder than she had in a while, and even Logan seemed to be enjoying himself.

———

After Wade’s set, the three of them were back at the booth, drinks in hand, a warm buzz from the alcohol and the laughter still lingering in the air.

Wade took a long drink from his glass and leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "Not bad, huh? I’d say I killed it."

Y/N grinned. "I have to admit, you were pretty great."

"Pretty great?" Wade put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "Come on, I was spectacular."

"Sure, bub" Logan deadpanned, taking a sip of his beer. "Spectacular."

Wade waved a hand. "I’ll take it."

"It was fantastic, Wade, really." Y/n declared and Wade grinned, before thanking her.

The conversation drifted into the easy banter that had become familiar between them. They teased each other, joked about the people in the bar, and laughed at some of Wade’s stories from previous gigs. It felt good— natural.

At some point, after a pause in the conversation, Y/N found herself staring down at her drink, feeling the weight of the day. She hadn’t meant to go there, but something about the night— the warmth, the comfort of being with them— made her want to share more.

"You know, I’m really glad I found you guys." she said quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I never thought I would ever get along so well with people. I mean, that fast. You really welcomed me into your family and I’m grateful. So, thank you for that."

Logan and Wade both smiled at her, their expressions softening.

"God, what did I say about making people want to cry?" Wade said, wiping a fake tear from his eyes. 

Y/n chuckled and joined his act, "I’m sorry, I need to break some rules too!"

"Too?! What are you insinuating ? You’re a teacher, you should be ashamed of yourself."

They all laughed before the tone became serious again, "I don’t want to talk in Logan’s name, but, I'm going to anyway— it’s a real pleasure to have you. Like, you’re a perfect roommate. And you survived a whole week with us? I know people who would die just thinking about it— "

"Okay, that’s enough," Logan intervened, "but he’s right. We’re glad to have you too. And if you ever feel like you’re tired of us, please, don’t keep it to yourself."

Y/n smiled softly, "Thank you."

They talked again for a while, about their day, their week, anything that would come to mind. Somehow, the conversation wouldn’t stop.

Y/N took a slow sip from her drink, her smile lingering but her eyes distant, as if a thought had crossed her mind during the conversation. Logan noticed first, tilting his head slightly.

"Something on your mind?" he asked gently.

Y/N glanced up, offering a small, almost sheepish smile. "It’s just... talking about being part of your ‘family’— it got me thinking about mine."

Wade, who had been busy throwing peanuts in his mouth while telling yet another story, paused and looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "Oh, are we diving into family history now? Because I’ve got stories that’ll make your childhood look like Disneyland."

Y/N chuckled but shook her head softly. "No, it’s just... my family’s complicated." She took another sip, as if to steady herself. "I had a great childhood, really it was perfect. I mean, I know nothing’s perfect and 'normal' doesn’t exist, but it was great. Until it wasn't, of course."

Logan leaned in slightly, his expression soft but attentive. "What happened?"

Y/N’s fingers absently traced the rim of her glass again. "My parents divorced when I was 12, I think? It was a mess. They were fighting over who would keep the children. My brother was already in college and his dream was to leave the country, so, it was only me and my parents. In the end, I would stay at my mom’s during the week and my dad’s on the weekend. You know the drill. Anyway…"

Y/N sighed softly. "Even after it was done, they would still fight. And I realized they weren’t even fighting to keep me anymore. When I was at my mom’s she would only talk bad things about my dad, and vice versa on the weekends, and I felt so lonely. So, it’s kind of like my deepest fear now, to be alone. I mean, I can be alone of course, but to feel like everybody abandoned you and you’re just by yourself? That feeling, well, you made me forget it."

There was a silence for a moment, a contemplative pause. Then Wade spoke, his tone unusually serious. "Yeah. I get that." He glanced at Y/N, then at Logan. "My childhood was... rough. I’m not going into details but, yeah, I was alone for other reasons. And I still had to go to school and because of what was happening at home I guess I developed my own medicine for that. Humor became my way of dealing with it. I learned that if I could make people laugh, I could hide what was really going on."

Y/N felt a pang of empathy for him. She hadn’t expected Wade to open up like that, but it made sense. The humor, the constant jokes—it was his armor, just like she had her own ways of coping.

Logan shifted in his seat, his gaze focused somewhere beyond the table. "I’ve got a brother," he said, his voice low. "Victor. We don’t really talk anymore. Haven’t in a long time."

Y/N and Wade waited, sensing there was more.

"Things went south with him a while back. We were close when we were kids because…some stuff happened, but... yeah." He trailed off, the unsaid heavy in the air.

Wade took a sip of his drink, his usual bravado softened by the seriousness of the moment. "Family, huh? It’s a mess. But," he added, flashing a grin, « You two? You’re both stuck with me now."

Y/N laughed, and even Logan’s lips quirked into a small smile. The heaviness of the conversation lifted slightly, but the bond between them felt a little stronger after that. They didn’t need to dive deeper right now— they all knew the weight of their stories, and that was enough for the moment.

The night carried on, the trio falling back into their rhythm of jokes and teasing, but something had shifted. The laughter was still there, the lighthearted banter, but now it was layered with a deeper understanding.

XXX

[melverie]

Last post on the entire date ticket thing and then I will forever shut up about it, but I feel like most people arguing in favor of the price tag are just….missing the point on why people are so angry about the date ticket being $30

I think the one thing we can all agree on right from the get go is that everyone in the staff deserve to and should be compensated fairly for their work. And that obviously includes certain features and items having to cost actual money considering the game itself is free

But the thing is, that $30 price tag doesn't just exist in a vacuum

First off, we can all agree that charging something like $3 would have made the ticket sell far better, right? Several people have already pointed out that they can buy a week's worth of groceries with $30 and depending on how much you earn, the date ticket isn't exactly something anyone can just buy on a whim. Again, $3 would have been far more affordable for most people, and I'm sure many more people (myself included) would have been far more willing to spend $3 just to see what the date ticket is like, and maybe also buy the tickets of multiple other characters. But $30 for a single date ticket is a luxury a lot of people just cannot afford, or would rather put into something else. Even if they lowered the price, they'd surely break even and make profit with how many players there are

And judging by its contents, I think it's fair to say that the date itself is not worth $30. And I feel like Solmare themselves know this because why else would they have bundled it with 300 DP? The only reason is to justify this price tag because "look at how much DP we're getting with it tho!!" when that's not the point. It doesn't matter whether the DP are included, because there is a lack of choice here. We have other options to earn and buy DP, but we don't have a choice when it comes to the date ticket itself. Either you pay $30, or you miss out on a feature that many of us have wanted for a while now. And since it's the DP raising the price tag,what you are essentially paying for is 300 DP with a date ticket as your purchase bonus, even though it should be the other way round

And honestly? Considering the price, the only two times it would make sense to buy this bundle is if you were already considering buying DP anyway, or if you are financially well enough off that the current price doesn't matter to you. You won't convince most casual spenders, and you most definitely will not convince a f2p player to pay for this feature

The other thing is that we had no idea what the date ticket actually entailed because we weren't given any information on it. Thanks to people in the community buying and reviewing this feature for others we now know that the date consists of one phone call, a ~10 minute long, partially voiced date story-line and a Majolish background. Except, those are things that Solmare themselves should have told us right as they announced this feature, ESPECIALLY considering the price point. If you don't, you can't complain if people are accusing your company of trying to rip its player base off and of being greedier than the Avatar of Greed himself. But also, that's the thing!

We shouldn't have people in the fandom be the ones to go out of their way to give us basic info on new features, or to even explain certain business decisions in the first place. That's the company's job. Yes, certain explanations should be a given (such as microtransactions existing so that the staff can be paid the money they obviously deserve), but there are other things that should have been explained by Solmare themselves

Open communication with the player base is the key phrase here, and imo Solmare has been doing worse and worse on that front as of late, resulting in several unexplained choices that just seem questionable at best and scummy at worst, as well as a player base that grows more and more disgruntled by the day. And that frustration within the player base shows in the amount of people dropping the game, as well as in the amount of money it's making

People are willing to put their time and money into something they deem a good, quality product with a justified price considering the content. If your player base isn't putting in the money you are expecting, then maybe you should listen to their feedback and re-examine your product instead of overcharging a feature because "look at this thing you're getting extra that no one asked to be included in the bundle in the first place"

Literally part of the reason LaDS has grown to be so successful in such a short amount of time is because they keep making adjustments based on player feedback, even on some minor things. I mean they literally pushed out an update to correct the color of one of the character's tongue in the newest card because people were complaining, like hello!! Imagine Solmare listening to complains as minor as this

Anyway, whether intentional or not, this entire thing just feels scummy, and that's the problem. The choice we have is either "pay 30 bucks per character or miss out on this feature entirely", the price is artificially inflated with the inclusion of DP that we have other ways of getting, romance is slowly fazed out of the story only to now be put behind a heft paywall, we weren't told what we are even paying for exactly in the first place, and there has been a severe lack of proper communication from Solmare that have soured the relationship to the game's fanbase and, most importantly in this context, their customers

No, companies aren't our friends. Yes, they need to make money. Yes, they should pay their employees fairly. And no, we as consumers shouldn't expect nor are we entitled to everything about the game being free because again, the people working on this game deserve to get paid fairly for all the work they put into it

However, people are still allowed to be critical of a company and its decisions, especially when they feel like they are getting ripped off. The 300 DP might soften the blow, but that doesn't stop everything that has happened before from being a slap in the face. That's why people are pissed right now, and honestly it's been a long time coming

[appendingfic]

“This should be a story about white privilege why is the Usher family multiethnic?”

It’s a changeling fantasy. Roderick, his sister, his wife, his two children from that marriage, are white. His other children are of a barista. A nurse. I didn’t get the background of the other two. A white man fathering children by service workers is nothing new. He, too, had the power to decide whether those children were his or not (if he’d decided not, Pym would have seen to it)

Annabel said it best, though - he snatched them away with promises of wealth and excess and emptied them out and made them into something else. He’s the faerie court of old, replacing your child with Something Else, who wears their face but their eyes are different, they don’t understand the world you live in any longer, based on whim.

He probably remembered, vaguely, the deal, and thought giving them access to his world was a kindness - twenty, ten, five years in his world to compensate for the early death. A deal made without understanding the terms (a signature on a deal he had no right to make, pretending they understood the risks).

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

May I request some full HCs of the M6 with an ex coliseum fighter MC?

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an ex-Coliseum fighter MC

Julian

His first thought when he laid eyes on you after he broke into your shop was "wow, they must have some stories to tell!"

Oddly enough, the physical (and mental/emotional) scars you carry from your time in the Coliseum are big reasons for why he chooses to trust you - and, eventually to cherish you. You've been through it

As someone who's had quite the wild life himself, he can trust you to understand how difficult experiences do and don't define who you are. He knows if he talks about life with pirates, you'll get it

If it's his turn to have a nightmare, he doesn't have to worry that talking about his bad dreams will expose you to new horrors. If it's your turn, he's a light sleeper for good reasons

Tends to pry for stories about your time there, but in a good way that pushes you to process what it was like

Checked over all the scars you accumulated there and regularly asks after any lingering chronic pain from the injuries

Once he's gotten past the initial flirtatious comments and the awkwardness of opening up, he'd be lying if he doesn't find the scars and background very attractive. Rough him up anytime ~

Asra

They're in two minds about the whole situation and they're not totally sure how to proceed with it when discomfort isn't their thing

He's glad you're not there anymore. He often wonders if you coming back without memories was actually a merciful thing, if it meant not remembering the details of your trauma

They hate seeing all the marks of pain and violence on your body, because it's like a reminder to them of one of the many ways they somehow let you down or left you alone when you needed help

Deep down, however, it's beyond comforting to him to know what you're capable of surviving without help, because he knows he can't always be there for you no matter how hard he tries

They know that if you're ever in a situation again where your life is threatened, you'll fight viciously to preserve it. They hate that you experienced it and hope you never will again, but they're relieved

All that to say, he doesn't know how to talk about it and he's not going to broach the subject unless you do

Still committed to loving you and being open with you. They know you, they know you're good, and they want you to know them too

Nadia

When she first met you, she assumed the scars must have come from fighting in a war. The Coliseum didn't occur to her

She doesn't even have the clearest memories of it, since she only really saw it after being married to the man who instated it. That doesn't stop her from feeling immensely guilty about it

This happened to you while she had the power to push back against it, and she didn't. There was so much going wrong that she never addressed because she was holed up in her tower, hiding

That only spurs her to try to make things right. You do receive a halting but heartfelt apology from her early on, and a respectful invitation to share your experience with her at your comfort

Just as you've helped her to move on and recover, she wants to do the same for you. You have a powerful skill set. To the extent that you're willing to, she'd love to see you put it to noble use

How do you feel about teaching martial arts? She'll put you in touch with Nahara, and will help you fund a teaching studio for anyone who could use the coaching

Or you could be her personal bodyguard ...

Muriel

More than anything, he's just relieved he never had to kill you. He already has so much regret to live with, and the thought of ending the person who would've made life good again is horrific

That doesn't make you easy to be around at first. Everything about you brings back the memories he wants to leave behind

The scars that match his, the way you react to movement, even the way you walk to compensate for the drag of chains you don't wear anymore. You're the un-hateable mirror of everything that hurts

And that's just after the first few days. Truthfully, you scare him, and even after building a new life with you there are still moments when being perceived by you terrifies him, because you get him

You don't need words or confessions to understand the hell that's shaped him so profoundly. And even when he can't stand to carry someone else's pain on top of his own, he still understands yours

It's precisely that forced vulnerability that makes loving you so profoundly healing. He loves you for you, he loves you for the pain you've experienced, and since it's the same as his own, he's learning to love himself begrudgingly in the process

Portia

Not put off by you at all, which is extremely rare for you

She finds it attractive if anything. You look like someone who's really lived. You look like someone who gives as good as they get

It makes her a little uncomfortable to be around at first. She's so quickly caught up in the coolness and excitement of your violent past that she can get borderline insensitive with her questions

What's it like to be in a fight? Who's the biggest person you fought? Did you really have to kill all of your opponents? How many did you kill? Was there a lot of blood? What weapons did you use?

Does a complete 180 the first time she sees the emotional and mental toll it's taken on you. She's so empathetic, it takes all of five seconds for her to understand this is trauma before she's weeping

So very happy to be your anchor and grounding presence. She will hold you and grieve with you and never, ever, ever look at you differently for what you were a part of. You're not scary to her

Almost overprotective when it comes to how other people perceive you. Someone's acting like you're the scariest person in the room and making you uncomfortable? She's about to prove them wrong

Lucio

After spending three years as a goat ghost, he doesn't care who you are, just talk to him - oh, his survival depends on your good graces? And he had you stuck as a Coliseum fighter? Hmmm

Tried to hide it, but he was scared at first. He was smart enough to know that you had good reason to dislike him, and therefore plenty of reason to further mess him up in such a vulnerable state

But you didn't. Which made him confused. And curious

Tell him about your time there, then! What was it like being in the ring? Being a participant in his favorite fight of yours?

Oh. Oh, it was that bad? ..... oh.

He carries guilt for every painful repercussion you experience. It was shame, and now it looks more like remorseful responsibility, but he doesn't need it rubbed in his face to know it was wrong

What he also knows is a valuable lesson you taught him, which is both the importance and possibility of making things right

You will never have a nightmare he won't be ready to comfort you for. You will never have an injury he won't be getting his clothes dirty for treating it. You will always, always have him by your side

[macfrog]

illicit affairs

cowboy like me chapter eleven

howdy everyone it's me again 🤠 latest chapter of cowboy like me is now yours. do with it as you wish. love u all so much. see ya soon x

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: your relationship with joel is getting harder and harder to hide, especially when a surprise visit from your dad threatens to spoil your romantic weekend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is a lil hungover, gluten bagels, lots of LIES, reader and joel being horny devils, gene kelly, unprotected piv sex, sex tape, praise kink, fluff, cockwarming, angst!!! and pain!!!!, reader and joel fight, cheating....??, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 8.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist

You wake in the same position you fell asleep in just hours ago: curled up in Joel’s bed, the curve of his body safely encasing yours. His lips are still by your ear, breath gentle against your lobe. You lean over to lift your phone from the nightstand.

8:14. You’ve had less than four hours’ sleep.

Below the time there’s a text message, sent a couple hours ago.

Dad: Remember to take the trash out before you pass out kiddo. Hope you had a good night 👍

Well, that was never happening, was it? As far as your dad knows, his best friend had picked you up from Frank’s and given you a ride home. Probably walked you to the house on his steady arm, made sure you downed a glass of water before seeing you off upstairs to bed. Polite. Respectful.

Of course, your dad is blissfully unaware that, in actual fact, at 6AM you were in said best friend’s bed, pressed up against him, no clothes between you, fast asleep. Definitely not making sure the trash was out.

The bright screen burns into your eyes as you squint at the notification below his text, decorated with alarm emojis – your way of ensuring you remembered to get back before him. DAD HOME stares back at you ominously, eventually persuading you to push yourself up off the mattress, loosen Joel’s lazy hold on your waist, and slip out of bed.

Joel, still asleep, rolls across your side of the bed onto his stomach when you sit up, sighing into your pillow as you prop yourself on the edge of the bed. You sit for a minute, dumb smile wide across your lips with no one to conceal it from, staring at him. Studying every part of him in his content, sleepy state.

The sharp curve of his jawline, the flecks of gray through his beard. The soft brush of hair falling on his forehead, deep brown curling just above his eyebrows. His toned shoulder, round and strong, flexing some with the grip his arm has around your pillow. His face buried in the cotton, breathing you in.

You jump when your phone starts vibrating in your hand, pad across to the door and slip out, closing it gently behind you.

“Hello?” you whisper.

Your dad’s voice is like a foghorn in your hungover ear. “Mornin’, kiddo! Wake ya?”

You wince, clutching your forehead as the quick movement from Joel’s bed to his hallway catches up with your aching brain. “Mighta done, yeah.”

He chuckles. The car hums in the background while he talks, meaning he yells even louder to compensate. “I’m about an hour out, thought I’d bring in some breakfast. You want anythin’?”

“I’m good with whatever. You’ll be back soon?”

“Nine-thirty or so, looks like. Why?”

“Nothin’, just wondered. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“Hey, d’you take the trash out?”

“Uh, I can’t– You’re breakin’ up, there, Dad, I’ll see you when you get home. Alright, cool, see ya then, bye.”

You cut his babbling voice and hang up, clutching the phone to your chest, close your eyes and exhale. When you swing back into the room quietly, Joel’s still sleeping.

You slip back into your dress and pull your boots on, scanning the room for your panties. No sign of them, though, and it’s not like you got all the time in the world to search. They’re probably underneath Joel’s deadweight body, anyway.

You tiptoe over to the side of the bed and crouch, kissing his neck softly.

He stirs, hand lets go of the pillowcase and finds yours, intertwining your fingers sleepily.

“I gotta go, baby,” you whisper, running your fingers through his unkempt hair.

His voice mumbles into the cotton, deep and groggy. You catch the tail end of his sentence: “…give you a ride.”

“No,” you reply, laughing a little as you sweep hair from his forehead. “I’m good, I’ll walk. You sleep. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Text me when you’re…home…”

The words barely pass through his lips as he begins to drop off again, and you kiss his head before straightening up, grabbing your bag, and heading downstairs.

You dip into the kitchen before you go, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. You’re fucking parched. Hungover, exhausted, you roll the freezing cold bottle across your forehead. It does little to soothe the throbbing pain, but it takes the edge off of it for a few seconds before you’re slinging the bottle under your arm and searching through Joel’s cupboard.

You steal a bagel. Feels kinda hard, probably a day past its best, but it’ll do. You set off, picking at the dry bread as you walk, holding it between two fingers as you gulp at the water.

It’s the blandest walk of shame that ever happened.

Twenty minutes later and you’re pushing through your front door, fucking drenched in sweat. Your jacket’s tied around your waist, leather hot and stiff. You toss your keys on the kitchen counter and collapse into the couch, letting your heartrate settle and waiting for the room to stop pulling in and out of focus.

Your head is pounding now, your throat feels like sandpaper. Your body aches, though if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure that’s just from the hangover.

Once you’re in a fitter state, pulse no longer beating through your eyeballs, you head upstairs and tears your clothes off to jump in the shower. You keep it on a low heat, only warm, and it soothes your skin and flushes the smell of alcohol, sweat, and Joel down the drain.

You’re back in the kitchen, hunched over the counter nursing a coffee, when your dad waltzes through the front door. You lift your towel-wrapped head from your hand and look up.

“Well, hello,” he calls. “I notice ours is the only house in the street with no tra–”

“How was your trip?” you cut in, eyes screwing shut.

“Ha. Good. Nice drive, up that way. I got us bagels. Want one?”

Sometimes it’s like some twisted fucker is sat writing this comedy into your life. He brought home bagels? After you just choked one down walking home in the blistering heat? Whatever, dude.

“Thanks,” you mutter flatly against your mug, reaching out for the paper bag he’s offering.

Your dad lifts his own bagel, takes a huge bite, then looks up at you and gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. When you bite into yours, you’re…less enthusiastic. It does taste better than the dry one you just had, though. The cream cheese helps.

“I, uh…I’ll be headin’ out again soon,” you tell him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Staying at Anna’s tonight,” you lie, setting your coffee down. “Said we’d have a pool day.”

He nods, mouth full of food. “Sounds nice, kiddo. Nice day for a tan. Hey, uh, how was Joel?”

You almost choke on your bagel. “Wh-what?”

“Joel. He alright?”

You shrug, picking at the bread. Unable to meet your dad’s eye. “I dunno. Why don’t you ask ‘im? I don’t know how he is.”

He stares at you. Brows knit, a line between them pointing upward. “I was just wonderin’…since he…He did pick you up last night, right?”

Oh, fuck.

“Oh,” you bat a hand, tucking it back under the counter when you notice it trembling. “Oh, right. I thought you meant this morning. Yeah, he was fine. He…Yeah. Fine.”

“Uhuh,” your dad nods, eyes narrow.

You don’t have the energy or the brainpower to be convincing. Not right now. There’s alcohol still drying up in your blood, muscles still tight from that fucking hike home, and your mind isn’t even in the room with your dad right now. It’s elsewhere – wrapped up in Joel’s bedsheets with him.

“I hope you didn’t keep him up too late.”

“It was, like, 2AM or somethin’. Wasn’t so bad. He said he was up watching TV anyways. So.”

He seems to believe this – swallows it down with the last few bites of his breakfast. You continue chatting, covering over your blunder like packing dirt back into a hole in the earth, conversation drifting from how your girls night went, to how his trip was, to an awkward apology for ‘forgetting’ the trash. He won’t let that go, will he?

But it’s short-lived. Soon, you both fall into silence, and the air between you feels muggy. Thick with lies and secrecy. Things you can’t say – I wanted a McDonald’s, but Joel wouldn’t budge, then I caught him watching Grey’s Anatomy, did you know he’s only slept with ten – I mean nine people?

Your dad glances up a few times, studies your face. You hide behind your bagel, guilt and shame across your cheeks like a wine stain. But he only smiles pleasantly, until he’s throwing the last bite into his mouth and rubbing his hands together, announcing he’s going for a shower.

“I’ll take your bag to your room,” you crumble the paper wrapped inside your fist, toss it across to him, “I gotta pack anyways.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says, patting your back as you pass him.

You don’t look back when you lift the leather straps of his bag and lug it upstairs.

It drops from your clutches with a thud at the foot of his bed. And then you’re quite literally skipping through to your own room, grabbing a black tote from your closet and blindly tossing clothes into it. A spare t-shirt, underwear, socks. Who gives a fuck what you pack? You’re going to Joel’s – the clothes will probably last five minutes on your body before you’re peeling them off again.

One thing you do take time picking is your bikini, opting for a red strappy one. Your old roommate once told you it made you look like you were in an episode of Baywatch. Which, y’know, seems like Joel’s kinda thing.

Your dad’s stood by his bed, hair damp from his shower, unpacking his bag when you emerge from your room.

“That you leaving your old man?” he asks with a tut, folding a t-shirt onto the mattress in front of him.

You wander through, sweet smile on your face, and kiss his cheek. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Have fun, honey.”

And then you’re gone. Straight back to Joel’s.

You’ve been away a couple hours, if that, but when you wander up his driveway, he’s not home. He keeps a spare key under a plant by his door, so you let yourself in. Sink back into his couch, throw on an old episode of Love Island while you wait. Twenty minutes later, his truck pulls up and he shoulders the door open, grocery bags in his arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your head as he passes.

You switch the TV off and follow him through to the kitchen to help him unpack, rocking into his side as you empty the bags with a giggle.

“He ask?”

You shake your head, chewing on a Twizzler.

“Nothin’? Really?”

“Didn’t really give him time to,” you reply. “Had breakfast, grabbed my stuff, left. And I parked a couple streets away, just on the off-chance.”

Joel looks down at you with a hesitant smile on his lips. He steals the Twizzler from between your teeth and puts it in his own mouth.

“Dick,” you mumble, and he chuckles quietly.

“You know, darlin’…all this lyin’, covering our tracks, I…”

“Joel,” you lean into him, standing on your tiptoes to peck his lips. “I don’t care. There’s nowhere else in the world I wanna be. Just with you. He’ll find somethin’ to do, you know he will.”

He gazes at you for a few seconds, eyes flitting back and forth between yours. You lean your head back and his arm snakes around your waist, squeezing you into his side.

“Trouble,” he mutters, taking a six-pack of beer over to the fridge.

----------

The summer sun blazes down over Joel’s backyard, and the pair of you spend the afternoon by his pool, keeping cool by having a dip every now and then. The red bikini is, as it turns out, a hit: Joel can’t keep his eyes – or his hands – off you, anytime you push up off your lounge chair and slink over to the pool edge, slipping in beside him.

You lock your arms around his neck, legs lazily draped over his hips as he floats you both through the water, and turn your head to the sky; eyes shut, the inside of your lids bright red with the sun screaming down through them. Joel idly kisses your chest, lips curving around your collarbones.

“I like this,” you say, looking down at him. Droplets run down the ends of his dark hair, beads of water rolling down his temples. “I could get used to it.”

“Wish we could,” he replies, bucking you up under his forearms. “I like it, too.”

It feels nice, if a little bit of an ache. Hearing him talk like that. Everything you two ever say, no matter how thick with sincerity, is laced with threat. Wish we could. Because you never will be able to get used to it, right? Something will always be swimming underneath you, a black shadow that disappears whenever you attempt one good glance at it.

Something always threatening to spill your secrets. Something threatening to blow everything apart.

Joel lifts a hand to cup the back of your head and pulls your lips down to meet his, moving backward until his back hits the wall of the pool. Your teeth pick up his bottom lip, tongue slips past into his mouth, and he groans, smiling into the kiss.

You begin to feel him harden under his trunks, and you grind your core against him.

“Inside?” he breathes between kisses.

“Mhm,” you whine, and he drags you out of the pool back into the house.

You spend the entire day following a pattern: eat, chill, tease, fuck. Eat, chill, tease, fuck. As the sun begins to melt behind the trees lining Joel’s backyard, you’ve spend more time on your knees, underneath, or on top of Joel than you have actually tanning.

Can you blame yourselves? Whenever you get alone time with no risk of being caught, it’s hard to keep your hands off one another. With no reason to keep quiet or hidden, you can fuck around all you want without a care in the world, right?

Right.

You order pizza, laze in the slow-dying sun to eat it, talking about nothing and everything before one of you steers the conversation and, before you know it…your bikini bottoms are pushed to the side, or otherwise torn from your body.

Eat, chill, tease, fuck. It’s too easy.

When the yard is finally drowned by dusk, Joel grabs some blankets and you spend the evening on his couch, talking some more and then deciding which movie to watch. You’ve never seen Singin’ in the Rain. Joel takes obscene offense to this fact.

“What kind of film student ain’t seen Singin’ in the Rain?”

“We actually did study it for one of my classes,” you mutter, tossing popcorn into your mouth. “Flicked through the important parts. Wasn’t my thing.”

“Well, you gotta watch the whole film. It’s a classic. Won at the Oscars ‘n everythin’.”

His enthusiasm almost makes you hold back – the way he’s sat on the edge of his seat, twisted around to chastise you properly for your ignorance of musical film. This could be the most animated you’ve ever seen him – over Gene Kelly. So, you almost bite your tongue.

Almost.

“Didn’t it…famously get nothing?”

His face sours in a heartbeat. Expression drops like a sack of bricks. He turns away from you and throws himself back into the couch, grumbling. “Alright, smartass. Watch it, and we’ll talk after.”

“I’m just sayin’, it–”

“We’ll talk. After.”

It’s still not your thing. For a multitude of reasons, but the newest one, the most difficult of all to let go: you can’t get the way Joel spoke out of your mind.

Just shut you right up, didn’t he? With three flat words, and a look in his eye that warned you not to push him. But fuck, you want to. You want to make him talk. Now.

Fifteen minutes into the film, you sit forward and swipe his phone from the coffee table.

“What are you doin’?” he asks in that monotone voice, the one he always uses whenever you’re pissing him off. Whenever you’re…getting to him.

“Bored,” you state, thumbs tapping in his passcode. You’ve been around him enough by now, studying every little move he makes, to just absorb dumb little things about him like the fact that his passcode is 0908, because those are the three numbers his thumb can reach easiest.

The phone clicks open and your eyes dance over the screen, deciding which app to load first.

Joel says your name. Just once. But it’s enough.

You angle your head in his direction. Bat your eyelashes.

“Enough. Watch the damn movie, would ya?”

Your head rolls back around to his phone. You click the photos app.

Joel curses under his breath, shaking his head and turning back to the screen. His eyes are boring into the pixels, mumbling things you’re too busy scrolling through his camera roll to listen to.

It’s mostly screenshots. Contracts, invoices, receipts. Boring Joel stuff. There’s the odd photo of his backyard, a few where the sunset rips across the tops of the trees in a fiery glow. They’re a little tilted, a little off balance. You smile at his attempt at photography.

“You gotta learn how to straighten your pictures, dude.”

“Took that for you,” he utters through a mouthful of popcorn. “Thought you’d like the sky with the trees in front, ‘n all.”

“Coulda text me it,” you say, letting him swipe through the photos to show you, each one from a slightly different angle to get more of the trees in, crop the pool out, hide the horrendous rosebush his neighbor has creeping over his fence.

He shrugs, pulling his hand away. “Musta been distracted by all the dumb stuff you send me.”

“Fine, no more funny videos. You’ve done it now, Miller.”

He chuckles and his attention turns back to the film. You’re slowly creeping further back through his pictures – measurements for something he’s building, different thicknesses of lumber propped against each other under the fluorescent light of Home Depot. And then –

You recognize the huge arching window first. Sunlight casting across a white tablecloth, polished cutlery shimmering. The velvet curtains in the background, and the made-up diners dotted around behind you and Sarah, both grinning into her phone camera.

“When did you…?”

Joel’s lips press the crown of your head. “Saw her gettin’ her phone out ‘n thought it’d be a nice picture from that angle, too.”

“Joel…” you breathe, eyes stuck on the image of your swollen cheeks, more centered in the frame than Sarah’s brown curls.

Your thumb swipes once and there’s a second photo: Sarah’s arm is lowered, she’s typing out her caption. You’re still smiling, looking over her shoulder as she selects the perfect cocktail of emojis.

She’s barely in the frame. It’s all you. Only you.

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, limp hands dropping the phone to your stomach.

“’s just a photo, baby.”

And he’s right. Or – he’d be right, if it weren’t the only two photos of a human being in his entire camera roll. The only person he deems worth taking a picture of. The only one, in amongst trees, and emails, and wooden planks. The things that make up Joel, in your mind. His work, his home, and…you.

As quick as the thought delights you, it’s already terrifying you. Thrill barging through your veins, competing with fear to shock through your system the hardest.

“Alright,” you mutter, switching to his camera app and turning the phone to aim at him, “just a photo.”

You watch on the screen as he gives you a telling glance, holds his hand up to block the lens, and says, “Baby. Will you put that–? Hey. Watch the damn movie, now.”

“No,” you reply, avoiding his palm to snap a picture of his face. You twist in your seat until you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him, your feet in his lap, pulling a cushion to swipe at his attempts to grab the phone. “No, c’mon. We gotta fill your camera roll with more ‘n just contracting stuff.”

“Oh, do we?”

“Yeah.”

Your thumb swipes to video mode, hitting the bright red button and giggling when Joel’s deadpan face turns to watch you behind his phone.

“Quit – it,” he chuckles, swatting the phone from his face.

“You wanna watch a movie, maybe I wanna make one.”

His stare darkens. A smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. You hear it how he heard it seconds after, and you mirror his expression.

“Enough,” he tells you again, voice low, but it’s less of a telling as it is…a warning.

You put the phone down. Lock it, slide it across the couch to Joel. Silent. Giving him the choice.

His fingers lock around it, clicking the button to light the screen back up. He studies it for a second, deliberating, and then leans forward, setting it on the coffee table.

When you turn to look, the phone is sat on its side, screen reflecting back the image of the two of you; Joel, sat upright in the couch, and you, strewn out beside him. The oversized shirt you’re wearing has ridden up past your underwear, pooling on your stomach.

He’s staring at you. You can see it in his phone. You turn to look back, and he lifts his palm. Ball’s back in your court.

“Turn the TV off,” you mutter. You’re not fucking him with Singin’ in the Rain in the background.

He keeps his eyes on you, reaching for the remote. The screen cuts to black.

“Sure you wanna–?”

“C’mere,” you cut in, tossing the cushion and pulling him into you when he moves.

Somewhere between Joel leaning down on top of you and taking a grip of your hair in his hands, he presses the record button. The tiny ding sound shines a spotlight on you that lights your skin with nerves, a little bit of embarrassment, but…thrill. Excitement. Arousal.

Joel grinds his hips into yours and you both moan, your head falling back to allow him room to bruise your neck with his lips. His fingers knead roughly into the soft skin around your hips, pressing divots into your waist, sneaking their way up to cup your tits.

And then you’re turning, craning your neck to watch yourselves on his phone screen. Joel’s lips on your neck, his hands beneath your shirt.

He lifts his jaw for two seconds, coming up for breath and noticing your gaze.

“You wanna watch it, baby?”

You laugh in response, nodding when he turns your jaw to look at him.

In two seconds, you’re on your front, flipped by Joel’s hands. He takes your hips and lifts them, lining them with his own. You cross your arms and rest your chin atop them, watching in the reflected image as he slips his tee over his head and pulls your ass back to meet his stiff crotch.

Both of your heads are just cut out of shot. Yours at the left-hand side of the screen, and Joel’s at the top. The only recognizable traits are your hair and his beard. Those – and the sounds escaping your lips.

He wastes no time undressing you. Just lets your tee fall down your spine to your shoulders, pushes your panties to the side, and tugs his sweatpants low enough that he can comfortably slip inside you.

It’s sloppy. And quick. It barely lasts five minutes. As far as sex tapes go, it’s a pitiful attempt. But it’s hot – pretending that someone might fucking see it one day, see you and Joel, arguably doing what you do best.

And it’s even hotter seeing it from a different angle; feeling the stretch of him inside you, and watching it happen in real-time on his phone. Thinking of him rewatching it once the weekend’s over, his cock in his fist, shooting cum all over his belly.

Joel thrusts into you, pulling your ass back until you’re swallowing every inch of his cock. Your fists ball and you bite down on your arm to counter the shallow pain of him deep inside you, groaning with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers from behind, slipping back only halfway and pushing in again.

You breathe a laugh, whispering, “Harder,” and he listens.

His hips crack against yours, a whimper calling from your lips, knees slipping further apart on the leather beneath you to accommodate the fucking size of him.

“Yeah? You want it harder, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you whine, bottom lip between your teeth.

He picks up the pace, pushing deeper every time your ass comes into contact with his hips. His skin slaps against yours, squeals of delight and pleasure cutting from your throat with each movement he makes.

Your hand slips between your legs, fingers run quick circles over your clit.

“Good girl,” he grits, “make yourself feel good, baby.”

You whine his name, forehead flat against the couch cushion as he fucks you, pleasure building between your legs like a tornado, tightening, tightening, tightening.

And then you’re being hauled up from the couch, flat against Joel’s body, cock still buried deep inside you. His hand replaces yours, his fingers on your clit, rubbing faster and harder than you think you can take.

He’s whispering in your ear like he always does. Saying everything he knows you like to hear. You’re a good girl, you’re his girl, you’re taking him so well. It’s desperate, and messy, and you know you’re both just racing to the finish line, aching for the relief that only you two know how to bring to one another.

And you cum, hard, fighting against his hold in a desperate attempt to fall flat against the couch. Joel keeps you upright, fingers slowing on your aching cunt as you clench and squeeze his cock, your orgasm ripping through your body.

He lets go of you, settling you on all fours in front of him before he pulls out, spilling all over your back.

You sink lower, ass still in the air, tits pressed against the cool leather of the couch as his warm cum slowly trickles down your spine.

Joel groans, a deep, guttural groan, still holding his cock between your ass cheeks as he stills, watching every rope of cum coating your back.

You catch your breath, panting mixed with laughing, and turn, rolling over and staring up at him. He leans back over, grabs the phone, and stops recording.

“Fuck…” you breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel agrees.

You laugh again, the last of your energy going into taking his shoulder and pulling him down against your body as he examines the footage. Tender kisses along his neck, dipping between his collarbones, listening to the grunts and groans from the speaker by your ear.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Joel breathes, eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re a fuckin’ mess.”

Your head tilts back with laughter, and Joel’s lips ghost across your throat. “We are not,” you finally reply, taking hold of the phone and scrolling quickly through the video. “I liked that part,” you turn it to show him your bodies held to one another by Joel’s strong arms.

“Yeah?” he asks behind a chuckle. Then he takes the phone from your hands, locks it, and tosses it to the other side of the couch, pulling you up into his arms until you’re sat on his lap, noses brushing against one another. “I liked all of it.”

“I like all of you,” you say, and he presses his lips to yours.

Joel kisses you gently, running his hands under your shirt and across your back, still covered in his release. He presses you closer to his body, almost painfully, as if the cotton of your shirt, the skin of your bodies, the cages of ribs inside are all keeping you too far apart from him.

You pull your jaw from his, run two delicate fingers across his lips.

“Don’t go fallin’ in love, cowboy,” you whisper.

----------

Joel carries you to his room just after midnight – sun-kissed, chlorine-coated, fucked-out, exhausted. He slips into bed behind you, curling his body around your frame, and, when his leg lifts to slot between yours, your hand stops it.

“No?” he asks, head lifting.

“Don’t want your thigh,” you mumble.

“How come?”

“Want you to…want somethin’ else.”

Joel understands without another word. He kisses your shoulder once, then takes your hips in both hands and pulls your ass to his front. You feel him pull the elastic of his underwear, stroke himself a couple times, and then push his tip in.

You gasp when he enters you – half-hard, slow, but even still. You’ll never get used to the feeling of him filling you, of his body connecting with yours, of him knowing and feeling you this intimately. Knowing and feeling you more intimately than anyone in your life ever has. Ever will, maybe.

When you’re full of him, he steadies. You scoot your hips back a little, and he growls in your ear.

“Careful, pretty girl.”

“Just gettin’ comfy,” you sleepily sing, almost teasingly.

He snakes one arm under your neck, cradling your head in the crook of his elbow. The other lies lazily over your waist. A satisfied sigh runs from his lips past your ear. He sounds and feels the most relaxed you’ve ever known him to be.

And you wish you could say the same.

Your eyes close over, heavy and tired, but you don’t fall asleep as quick as Joel. Something’s tugging at your heart. Something solid, that drags it down to the bottom of your stomach, and pools like ice water there. Something that nips at your lungs, stealing breath from you whenever you think too hard about it.

Something you’ve been patting down, stamping out with your foot every time the flame relights. And suddenly it feels as though the entire room just caught fire from under you.

Sheer exhaustion sends you off to sleep, with dreams of conversations and confessions you’re sure would never happen. Could never happen.

Should. Never. Happen.

----------

Warm water pours down over you, soaking your hair and chasing down your shoulders, your arms, past your breasts and over your stomach. You grab some more of the shampoo you’d stolen from Sarah’s bathroom and lather it up, covering your hair in it and drowning yourself under the water again.

Joel’s bathroom is one of three in his house; Sarah’s is slightly roomier, and the guest bathroom has the best water pressure, but you don’t care. Something inside you goes wild knowing you’re naked and washing in Joel Miller’s shower, even though you two have been fooling around for almost a month now.

You’re busy relishing over how perfect the last couple of days have been, wondering what breakfast Joel’s cooking up downstairs when the bathroom door bursts open.

“Hey,” he says, pulling on the shower door. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, eyes screwed shut, hair covered in soapy bubbles.

“I said get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

Joel reaches around you and hands you a towel as he pulls you out of the cubicle and quickly wrings your hair for you. In a daze, you throw his tee over your shoulders and take his hand, following him out of the shower room and across his bedroom to the closet.

He turns you, hands tight on your shoulders, and ushers you inside.

“What’s he doin–?”

“I got a leaking pipe. He was passin’ by, dropped in to take a look. You stay here, do not make a sound, you hear?”

He closes over the slatted door gently, and you peer through the wood with narrow eyes. You hear footsteps approaching, your dad’s unmistakable chortle as the bedroom door is pushed open again and Joel shows him to the leaking pipe.

“Somewhere under there,” he mutters, hands resting on his knees to point to the space underneath his sink. “Had a look myself, tried some stuff, but it ain’t for fixin’.”

“Let’s have a look,” your dad bends down, groaning when his bad knees reach the tile. He’s almost shoulder deep under Joel’s cabinet, flashlight on, when Joel steals a glance in your direction.

He shakes his head, holding a hand up. Stay quiet.

He gives the room a quick scan, frantic eyes searching for any evidence of your being there. He swivels on the spot, twisting behind himself, noticing your cell on the nightstand at the same time you do.

Joel leans back, feet still rooted to the carpet, and fishes the phone between two fingers, slipping it into his back pocket. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Ah!” your dad exclaims, and Joel shoots straight back around. “It’s your trap.”

“Is that right? I had a look at it.”

“Mhm. Is your eyesight failin’? Look at this, son.” Your dad’s hand reaches blindly behind him into his toolbox and grabs a wrench. “Just the joint’s loose.”

Joel grumbles in response.

You hear the squeak of metal as your dad tightens the pipe and then the clank of his wrench being thrown back into his toolbox. With maximum effort – thanks to his bad joints – he straightens back up alongside Joel, who thanks him.

“Better be the last of my issues.”

“Ha! So little faith in me, ol’ boy. Anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. That’s a mighty good smell comin’ from your kitchen, don’t wanna hold you back from enjoying it.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” Joel says, and you can see him trying to usher your dad out.

But your dad, though you love him, is kinda fuckin’ annoying.

“Anyone special?”

“Huh?”

“You, cookin’? Naw. ‘s gotta be for someone good. Anyone comin’ over for a breakfast date? A…receptionist from a plant hire, perhaps?”

Joel’s eyes squint as he looks your dad up and down, taking his bottom lip under his teeth. “Nope,” he grumbles after a beat, with one shake of his head.

Your dad laughs a little, and then looks to something behind Joel’s back.

“Nice hat,” he scoffs, pointing a finger.

Joel doesn’t reply for a few seconds. You know he’s having the same realization you’re having: your cowgirl hat is hooked over the corner of his headboard.

He laughs. Nervously. Though maybe only you can hear that.

“Yeah, uh…yeah.”

“Looks a hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks, sensing the same accusatory tone you do. Your forehead falls into your palm, hearing the almost pissed-off tone in which he asks, “And what would your daughter’s hat be doin’ in my bedroom?”

For fuck’s sake, Joel. Subtle, much?

“No, no,” your dad’s almost protesting, “I ain’t meanin’…” He sighs. “You know what I meant. Alright, I’m gone. I’m outta your hair.”

His boots recede down the hallway, then downstairs. Your breath doesn’t come back until you hear his car door slam shut, and the tires drive off.

When Joel pulls the closet door back, you’re still stood, towel in your hair, head in your hands. You can’t even look at him.

He doesn’t say anything like you expect him to. No, Sorry, baby, I didn’t know he was comin’. No, Come get breakfast, I’ll make it up to you.

He just wanders off back downstairs, leaving you to get dressed by yourself.

When you enter the kitchen, he’s plating up pancakes and drizzling them in syrup just the way you like. You pass him and run a hand over his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.

When you sit at the table, he puts the plate down in front of you. Silently. Then sits across from you.

You watch his every move. He picks up his knife and fork, and begins cutting into his own breakfast. Staring down at the plate. Then out of the kitchen window to the backyard. Then back to the plate.

You give his calf a light kick under the table, and his eyes lift, but only to your plate.

“You gonna eat?” he asks. Toneless. Less emotion than he talked to your dad with.

Without a word, you pick up your cutlery and start on your own pancakes, though your appetite suddenly disappears.

He made them with banana – your favorite – but the way he’s being with you right now, they taste sour and dry. You chew your way through as much as you can until you’re staring him down, desperate for him to –

“Would you just say somethin’?”

He looks up. Finally looks you in the eye. “What?”

“Say something. Get mad. Yell at me or something, I dunno.”

“Why would I yell at you?” He plants his fork into a scrap of pancake and drags his knife alongside it.

“I mean, you seem pretty mad right now.”

“I ain’t gonna yell at you.”

“But you are mad?”

Joel doesn’t reply. He leans to one side, fishes in his back pocket for something, then slides your cell across the wooden table toward you. He nods down at it, and you click to unlock it.

Dad: Hey, I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

Dad: If your slumber party’s over, that is

He sent them an hour ago. If you’d fucking looked, you’d have known.

“Fuck…” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, jaw chewing, “fuck.”

“He didn’t– I mean, he didn’t see me, though. Right?”

“He saw your hat.”

You lean back in your chair, cutlery clattering against your plate. “He didn’t know it was mine.” A smile forms on your lips, you can’t help it, but it quickly vanishes when Joel’s tone doesn’t shift. Not even a note.

“And how do I know he ain’t drive by your car on his way?”

“Aw, c’mon, man, I’m parked, like, four streets away.”

Joel shakes his head, eyebrows arched. “You’re unbelievable,” he whispers.

“Uh, okay. Thanks. Jeez.” You fold your arms and glare out to the backyard, face beginning to heat. Eyes beginning to sting. Joel’s never like this with you. Never mad, never disappointed. Never makes you feel like a kid being told off.

“I mean, your bikini’s hangin’ up out there,” he points his fork toward the backyard, “and ain’t your bag sat in my hallway? How in the hell he didn’t see that, I have no idea.”

“But he obviously didn’t, so what’s the big deal? It’s only a black tote, it could’ve been anyone’s.”

“The big deal is that he could’ve seen it, baby! And it’s not just anyone’s, is it? It’s his daughter’s.”

And the thing is – he’s not even wrong. You can’t argue back much, ‘cause you know as well as he does that everything he’s saying is true. It’s valid. Your dad would’ve walked right by that bag – twice. The same bag he saw you hook over your shoulder right before you kissed his cheek and skipped out of his room.

This whole time, you’ve been dancing on a knife edge. Waiting to be caught. You came too close this time, and Joel tells you as much.

“Alright, well, what do you want me to do? I can’t go back in time and move the damn bag. I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t fucking mean to let him see–”

“That’s not the point,” he interjects, which is another thing Joel rarely does.

This whole argument is something Joel – something you rarely do. The two of you. The last time you saw him this animated, this angry over something, it was Arthur Kennedy eyeing you up at the barbecue. And even that – that wasn’t directed at you. He wasn’t mad at you.

“Then what’s your point?” you ask, hands slapping down on the table.

“My point is – how many times are we gonna come within touching distance of someone finding out about this? If it wasn’t Hank almost finding us upstairs, it was your dad waltzing right in while I had you fuckin’– while I was…” He sighs, and then throws his cutlery down onto his plate.

Your head drops, thinking back to the seconds of panic between your dad opening your front door and him seeing you two, an awkward, guilty distance apart. Your shorts under the couch. Your wet on Joel’s fingers.

Joel’s kitchen table blurs in and out of focus, tears swimming across your eyes. You rapidly blink them away, but they’re forming quicker than you can rid yourself of them. When he speaks again, you can’t look at him.

“Look,” he runs an almost trembling hand through his hair, rising from the table, “I gotta go. I got some things I need to do today.”

You stand to height opposite him. “You…gotta go? Right now?”

“Yes, darlin’. I got work stuff to see to.”

“Right. Sure.” You lift your plate, turning away, and hear him sigh.

“I’ll only be a couple hours. We’ll talk more when I’m back.”

You spin then, pursing your lips. “So, I’m to wait here for you? That what you’re sayin’?”

Joel’s already picking up his keys. “No…If you wanna go, you can go. Just…if you wanna talk, then stay. We’ll talk.”

You look up at him, no more words coming to the surface to say. He moves a lock of hair from your face, and heads for the door.

Wait here for him. What a fuckin’ joke.

Still, that’s exactly what you do.

You throw yourself down on his couch, flick on his TV. Put on another episode of Love Island. Think over which boy you’d pick, then decide it’d be none of them, and wonder why the hell you’re watching it in the first place.

You wander upstairs to his room. Sift through the shirts hanging in his closet – all different variations and prints of flannel because it’s Joel fucking Miller. Pull the sleeves to your nose, breathe in the smell of him. The sweet, sandalwood smell that wraps over you like a warm blanket; comforting, calming. Fix the pillows on his bed, punch out the lumps where you lay huddled against him last night, his body against – and inside – yours.

You feel hot with anger. Frustration. A little bit of guilt. It sits heavy on your head, drips down to your stomach, swirls around and mixes with the anxiety already in there. If he’d just come home, you could argue it out. Force whatever he really wants to say out of his mouth. Say a few things of your own back to him.

You never fight. It’s the one thing – you never fight. You bicker, you toss back and forth. You piss him off and he shuts you up with his words, or his lips, or with more. But you never really fight.

It’s like something’s different. As if something’s changed, right from under your feet.

Joel comes home two hours later. Lets the door shudder closed behind him, sighs as he kicks his boots off. You’re still upstairs in his room, perched on his side of the bed reading some stupid book on Alcatraz you found in a drawer.

“Baby?” he calls, and you don’t reply. You’ve little right to be as mad as you are, but he can search for you for a minute as reparation for walking out earlier.

“Hey…” he whispers when he pushes the door open, spotting you with the book resting on your thighs. “Alcatraz, huh?”

“It ain’t that good,” you huff, slamming it shut and sliding it across the nightstand.

He breathes a Hmph, then sweeps around the bed. Like he’s scared to make a sound. Like he’s trying not to be noticed. When he reaches you, he sinks into the mattress at your feet, elbow resting on your knees.

“We gotta talk.”

Do I want to hear this? you ask him with your eyes.

He sucks a deep, unsteady breath in, and his brows furrow. He sighs again.

And you know what he’s about to say.

“This…We’ve pushed this too far, now. We’re way beyond reining this in.”

You stare at his lips. Waiting for them to offer something more. When they fall silent, your gaze trails up the shape of his nose, curving around his brows and then finally falling onto his eyes. They reveal all you need to know.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You’re not serious, right? Joel.”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a bag?”

“Not because of a bag.” He looks you in the eye and shakes his head, whispers your name., then, “…because of the lying.”

“It’s never been a problem up until now.”

“It’s never been as bad as now. You ain’t been home in almost two days. Your dad has no idea where you are.”

“I’m not in danger, Joel.”

“You think he’d be happy? If he knew where you were really at right now? Knew you’d lied to his face this entire weekend?”

You sink back against the headboard, defeated. Desperately trying to find another way through what he’s saying. “What, then? What do we do? Come clean?”

He almost fucking laughs. Plays it off by pushing the air from his cheeks. “No. I don’t think we should…No.”

You shrug. “Then, tell me. Just fucking say it.”

Joel shakes his head, holds his hands out. “You’re lookin’ at me like I’m breakin’ this off outta the blue, baby. Like it’s comin’ outta left field.”

“So you’re breaking it off?”

“No, I’m– It’s not– I don’t…” He sighs, fingers pressing into his eyes.

You stand up, towering over him, silhouetted by the window behind you. “Just – fucking – say it. End it. I’ll go.”

“That’s not what I’m tryna do, kid.”

“What are you tryna do, then? There are two of us in this, Joel. You’ve been lying just as much as I have.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he hisses, standing up until you’re chest to chest, inches apart from one another. “Jesus, kid. I’m checking myself every fuckin’ conversation I have with your dad. Makin’ sure nothin’ I say will clue him in. Makin’ sure I don’t accidentally let slip what the hell’s been goin’ on!”

“I’ve been doin’ the same!” you yell back. “It ain’t just you, Joel, but that doesn’t seem to mean nothin’ to you!”

“Mean nothin’,” he repeats with a laugh, turning away and running his hands through his hair. “You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?”

“What else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

He falls silent. His lips pull into a frown. He backs off.

Downstairs, his phone starts ringing. He glances to the doorway, shifts between his feet.

“You don’t get to do this, you know,” your voice trembles, “you don’t get to pull me in and then just drop me when it becomes inconvenient. Once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.” Joel’s voice cuts like glass. “Don’t.”

You step back. Stare him down, try to make him say something. Try to make him do something. Your hands are on his biceps, eyes boring into his, swelling with tears you’re trying desperately to hold back.

Nothing. Not a word.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper.

Joel takes a deep breath, his eyes flicker across your lips just for a second. He looks sad, eyes glassy, lines around his eyes where his eyebrows meet. But they tell you nothing.

His phone’s still ringing out, echoing through the silent house like an alarm bell.

You look at him blankly now. “Phone’s ringin’, Joel.”

He says nothing back, just looks at you from under his low brows.

You back out of his bedroom, shaking your head and stumbling a little over thin air. You’re staring at each other; you, trying to work out who the man is standing in front of you, and Joel, trying to plead with you to hear him out.

When you reach the threshold, you turn as if to run.

“Darlin’, come back. Hey.”

He follows you into the hallway and you feel his hand around your wrist. You whip it to your chest and turn to face him.

“Darlin’? Not your darlin’ anymore, am I? ’m just some girl you were fucking for a month.”

“C’mon, now, you know that’s not true.”

You lead downstairs, shoes thudding as you go. Joel’s right behind you, trying any combination of words to slow you down, make you look at him, stop for five seconds.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your arm swoops down to grab your bag, and as you straighten up, Joel’s ringtone cuts and his machine beeps.

“Hey, Joel,” a woman’s voice fills the space between you both. Your head whips around to stare at the machine.

“It’s Lois. I was just callin’ to…to check in. It was really nice seein’ you today. Give me a call when you can, okay?”

The voicemail cuts and the two of you are plunged back into silence. Silence, save for the heaving of your breath. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your heart ready to burst through it. You haven’t taken your eyes off of the machine, red light blinking menacingly.

Joel lifts his hands. “That is not…It’s not what it sounds like…” he says, slowly, calmly. Quiet. Like you’ve never heard him speak before. Not We’re about to be caught quiet. Not even Quit arguin’ back quiet.

This is desperate quiet. And desperate’s not something you’ve ever heard pass Joel’s lips.

Your whole body is shaking, and you’re not sure whether it’s from adrenaline, or fear, or hurt, or pain. It takes most of the life inside you just for your lungs to open and close. You can’t fucking look at him. You can’t – fuck, you can’t even look in his direction.

You turn slowly toward the front door. You unlock it in a daze, and pull on the handle. The heat from outside hits you like you’ve opened an oven door.

“Baby…” Joel whispers.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

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[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 1- I D.A.R.E. You

Summary: After starting your new job as a 3rd grade teacher at Alma Pierce Elementary School, you meet a handsome Javier Peña who has been forced to come give a presentation to your grade. Although you've never met him, you're shocked to find out you may have more in common than you'd think.

Warnings: Mentions of Javi's past work for the DEA, mentions of death and grief, language, financial compensation if you were subjected to the D.A.R.E program as a child, Javi's family friends giving him sass

Word count: 6.2K

A/N: Post Season 3 Javi lives forever in my brain, as the first chapter of this story takes place in Laredo, May of 1997. This man deserves love, and boy is he going to get it.

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“It’s your lucky day, Peña!” 

Javier glanced up from the pile of paperwork scattered across his desk to acknowledge the voice coming from the doorway to his office. 

“What do you want, Carter?” 

Javier's voice half grunted in response, his eyes shifting back down to the pile of papers on his desk. In his doorway stood his office mate, Detective Eric Carter. When Javier began his new position with the Laredo County Sheriff's Department 4 months ago, it took everything in him to keep from calling his new co-worker Steve. At a glance, he looked just like his old DEA partner. Tall, lanky, with a wiry head of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. 30 seconds into meeting Carter, it didn’t take long to realize looks were about the only thing he and Steve Murphy had in common. Eric Carter was a human ray of fucking sunshine, and his chipper demeanor was blinding Javier this early in the morning. 

“It’s your turn!” Carter replied in a sing-songy voice, slapping a red file folder onto Javier’s desk, covering the papers he had been sorting through. Javier picked up the folder and crinkled his brows in confusion. He turned the cover towards him, holding it just far enough away so that his squint trying to read its contents wasn’t too obvious. God, he just needed to give up and buy reading glasses already. 

As he got the folder just the right distance away from his face, he gave Carter a look that said absolutely fucking not. The folder read D.A.R.E school assembly lessons, with a picture of the Lion mascot giving a big thumbs up in his black D.A.R.E shirt. The office had recently been recruited by Laredo Public School District to start giving presentations to the Elementary schools, using the program aptly abbreviated for Drug Abuse Resistance Education. 

“Just take away the “R” and rearrange some letters and it spells DEA!” Carter laughed to himself. “It’s like it was made for you!” 

“No.” 

“Sorry Peña, you’re bottom of the totem pole this week. We’ve all done our time, and you’re the last one left in the office who has yet to go present. It’s not even that bad, you just basically go talk to these kids for an hour and tell them drugs are bad, don’t do them, yadda, yadda, yadda, you get the gist, and then it’s done. Piece of cake!” 

“I’m not fucking going.” Javier scoffed. “I have shit I have to get done.” Gesturing in annoyance to the piles of papers on his desk, now in disarray from the folder being thrown on his desk. 

“Not a choice, Mr. Peña.” 

A new voice passed by the doorway, and a much broader frame stood behind Carter’s. Chief Deputy Dean Morris, had joined the conversation, knowing that it wouldn’t end easily for Detective Carter if he kept harassing Javier about it. Morris was head of the department, and what he said, went. Coming from a background in the Air Force, Morris knew how “civilian” a position at a sheriff’s department must have felt for Javier after his time in the DEA. 5 years ago, it seemed fair to think that neither of them would have assumed paperwork, mundane training programs, and now, arguing over talking to 10 year olds about the dangers of doing drugs would have played any importance in their jobs. 

 “Right of passage. Ever since the school board dropped this on us last year, we’ve all done our time. Believe me, no one wants to do it, but like Carter said, today is your lucky day!” Morris’s voice oozed with sarcasm, knowing that Javier would absolutely hate every second of what he was about to have to do. 

“You lucked out on your day to go too, Peña. It looks like you get to go to the school with the hot teach-OW! Hey! What was that for?!” Morris had slapped Carter’s shoulder before he could get out the rest of his sentence. 

“Keep it in your pants, okay Carter?” 

Carter let out a huff of defeat. “I’m just saying, he could have gotten worse days to go…” 

“Just read from the notes, let the kids ask a couple of questions at the end and then you’re on your way. Easy peasy. When you get to the school office they’ll let you know where to go.” 

Javier opened his mouth to rebuttal, but before he could even get out a word, Morris held up his hand to stop him. 

“Not a choice. I’ll have Carter help you finish sorting paperwork, so don’t try to bullshit me and tell me that you have too much work to get done.” 

Javier let out a sigh of frustration that was a little louder than he intended it to be. His hands rested on his forehead as he rubbed the bridge of his nose before replying. 

“Fine. But this is one and done.” 

“Good man.” Morris reached over Javier’s desk and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He and Carter started to make their way out of Javier’s office when Morris turned his head over the back of his shoulder. 

“Carter’s right about the teacher, too. She’s a catch.” He winked and shut the door behind him. 

Javier gathered his things and made his way through the office, passing by Detective Carter’s desk. 

“Have funnnnnnn! Say ‘hi’ to the hot teacher for me!” Carter mocked, twinkling his fingers, waving at Javier. 

Without saying a word, Javier flipped him off, and kept walking. 

Settling into his truck, Javier set down his belongings in his passenger seat, and opened up the red file folder to see where his unexpected journey was taking him. 

This is fucking ridiculous He mouthed to himself as he cranked up the AC in the truck with one hand, and rummaged the other through the items on the seat. Reaching next to him, he grabbed and opened the folder, and grazed his index finger down the inside cover, where a schedule of schools, dates, and times were printed. At the bottom, he found 

5/27/97- Alma Pierce Elementary School, 12:00-12:30 pm, school cafeteria

 Javier’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He read the line several times, re-checking the location and date to make sure what he read was true. 

Fuck. 

To any of his other co-workers who had been tasked with giving one of these D.A.R.E. presentations, the elementary school they were assigned to that day most likely held little to no significance. Of course, out of the 16 elementary schools in the Laredo Public School District, Javier was assigned to the one that held the most significance to him. 

The school that his mother taught at for her entire teaching career before she passed away. 

Since returning home from Colombia, Javier had been avoiding human contact like the plague. He had returned as somewhat of a “hometown hero” after his accomplishments with the DEA but couldn’t have felt further from it. He had become Laredo’s hottest topic. 

“What was it like to help catch Escobar?! The Cali Cartel?!” 

“We’re so proud of you, the DEA couldn’t have done it without you!”

“When are you going to come over and tell us all about Colombia? We want to know everything!” 

Each question, compliment and conversation about his time in South America was like a knife to his heart, slowly twisting with each word that came out of someone’s mouth. He could feel the guilt and burden of his time away growing heavier and heavier as he politely smiled through these conversations. 

But worse than the strangers who felt entitled to berate Javier about his time in Colombia, were his friends and family who he had been actively avoiding since returning home. Besides his father, Javier hadn’t seen anyone close to him since his mother’s funeral 8 years ago. It hurt Javier knowing that he had returned to Laredo a changed man, haunted by the things he had seen and done. His mother’s closest friends, those that she worked with at Alma Pierce Elementary School, had promised to fulfill Lucia Peña’s dying wish that they would look out for Javi and made sure that he came home okay. 

Well, Javier was home. He wasn’t quite sure how to break it to them that he wasn’t really okay. 

As he drove and parked in front of the school building, Javier’s heart began to beat heavier in his chest. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he started at the entrance to the school. He couldn’t decide if the feeling swirling around in his stomach was comfort or terror, knowing that Alma Pierce Elementary looked exactly the same as it did the last time he was here 9 years ago with his mother. 

He did know that part of that feeling definitely had to be terror, as he began to think about the fact he was about to be interrogated relentlessly by his late mother’s closest friends. Might as well sign these women up to work for the DEA- they were probably more terrifying than anyone Javier had encountered in his time working there. 

After a few more deep breaths, Javier gathered his things out of his truck and headed towards the main doors. Each footstep felt like he was walking through wet cement, questioning if it was too late to turn around.

Practically tip toeing in to the office, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible, Javier let out a soft “Hi, I’m from the sheriff's department, I’m here for-“ 

Before he could even finish his sentence, the office secretary, a tiny and graying Señora Gutierez was thrusting her arms across the threshold of the office desk to wrap Javier in an impressively strong hug. 

“JAVIER PEÑA. I cannot believe it’s you! oh my sweet mijo, look at you! The older you get, the more like Chucho you look, dios mio! Why haven’t you stopped by?! We have all missed you so much, what have you been doing? It is so good to see you!” 

Here we go.

“Hola, Señora.” Javier half grunted from how tight he was being squeezed. “It’s nice to see you too.” 

“I have lots to ask but I know you need to go, or they will know that this old woman has been running her mouth, making you late.” Señora Gutiérrez began shooing her hand, as to send Javier on his way. 

Javier chuckled. He felt his body begin to ease slightly, letting the familiarity of friendly faces bring him a small sense of comfort. 

“I would hope after this VERY LONG time that you have not been to see your mamà’s dearest friends, you still remember where the cafeteria is?” She gave Javier a playful grin.

“Sí, Señora.” 

“Everyone will be so happy to see you, mi amor. Now go, or everyone will be after me for keeping you!” 

Grabbing his things, Javier made his way down the bustling hallway. Tiny faces stared up at his, as he shuffled his way towards the cafeteria doors. There, he was greeted by a sea of children chatting amongst themselves and 3 smiling faces, patiently waiting for his arrival. 

“JAVI!” 

Out of any of the faces he was bound to see today, these were the 3 he would recognize anywhere. The ladies who stood before him were the fellow 3rd grade teachers who had taught alongside his mother for almost 20 years. 

The ladies surrounded him in a bear hug, Javier quietly noting to himself that he had definitely reached his hug quota for the next several weeks. 

“It’s so good to see you, Javi.” The first of the 3 women spoke, her words sweet like honey. Linda Garcia was short and stout, her gray bangs brushing over the brim of her glasses as she looked up at Javier. Linda had always had a soft spot for Javi, and reminded him the most of his mother. 

“It’s good to see you t-“ 

“PENDEJO. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WHY HAVE YOU NOT CALLED?! WE SWORE TO YOUR LATE MOTHER THAT WE WOULD TAKE CARE OF YOU, AND IF IT WASN’T FOR CHUCHO KEEPING US UPDATED TH-” 

“Maria, let the boy breathe, this is the first time you’re seeing him in years, and this is the route you’re going to take? Dios Mio.” 

Standing next to Linda were her 2 partners in crime, Maria Rogers and Estelle Lopez. 

If you didn’t know Maria Rogers, you would be shocked to see the ferocity that came out of such a tiny woman. Javier’s mother used to refer to her “el vòlcan”- a matching nickname for her fiery personality. 

Estelle, on the other hand, was one of the most soft spoken people that Javier had ever meant. If she had something to say, he knew it was time to listen. 

“Hi everyone, it’s really great to see all of you.” Javier meant it. As overwhelmed and flustered as he was, it brought him peace to know after the hell that these last 8 years had been, some things never change. 

“MRS. ROGERSSSSSSS. WHEN IS THIS GONNA START?! I’M HUNGRY AND I KNOW LUNCH IS AFTER THIS.” 

“BE QUIET, MICHAEL. YOU KNOW WE’RE STILL WAITING FOR ONE MORE CLASS. YOU’RE SO ANNOYING.” 

“AM NOT!” 

“AM TOO!” 

Chatter and fidgeting amongst the 3rd graders instantaneously increased, the crowd of children now growing restless. 

“Oi, these niños will be the death of me, thank goodness this school is almost done.” Maria mumbled under her breath, the other 2 teachers rolling their eyes and laughing in agreement. “We’re just waiting on one more class, but they should be here any minute.” 

Overhearing the conversations shouted across the cafeteria, Agent Carter’s voice wandered through Javier’s thoughts. 

“You get the school with the hot teacher!” 

Obviously, Carter was not referring to the 3 women who stood before him. Although he wasn’t one for crude office banter, Javier couldn’t help but wonder if Carter’s statement really held true. With a genuine curiosity and a slight smirk on his face, he leaned back, arms crossed and asked, “Yeah wait, there’s still four 3rd grade teachers right?” 

The women all shot him a look that took him aback, their eyes burning a hole though Javier. 

“Jesus, you men really have a one track mind don’t you. Yes, I’m sure all of your friends from the department have been more than happy to tell you about our new teacher who just joined us. She is a sweet girl, and I am sure she is sick of getting harassed by all of you.” 

“Maria, I was just asking a quest-“ 

“Javier Jesus Peña, I have known you since before you were born. Wipe that smug look off your face, I know exactly why you asked the question”. 

Yup, things haven’t changed a bit. 

Before he could retort, the cafeteria doors began to swing open, followed by a long line of children, and you. 

“1, 2, 3, eyes on me!” 

“1, 2, eyes on you! 

God, the amount of times you’d had to repeat that phrase as the end of the school year approached, you might as well have gotten it tattooed on your forehead. 

“Okay 3rd graders, we’re already 5 minutes late for our assembly, and I’m sure the other classes are not going to be happy that we’re holding them up, and probably making us late for lunch after” 

The chatter stopped. With only a few days left in the school year, you were running out of ammunition to keep your class’s attention. At least the threat of being late to unch would work for now. 

A little hand shot up from the middle of the line you were about to trail down the hallway, like a mother duck with her babies following in line. “What’s your question, Jaun?” 

“Do you know if it’s gonna be the same guy as last time? He was kind of scary.” Mumbles of agreement came from the voices surrounding him. The Laredo Sheriff's Department had sent in a slew of their employees each week for these presentations, and you had been convinced none of them had ever even attempted to talk to a child. Last week’s presenter, Martin, Michales, something like that, had spent the large time of his presentation talking about getting murdered by the Cartel, leading to tears from many of your students, and a prompt request to not have him back. 

“I don’t know sweetie, it seems like there’s someone new who comes every week, but I sure hope it’s not him.” The class let out a small giggle. These were the moments you loved about your job as a teacher, especially now that you had moved to an older grade where your kids finally picked up on your subtle jokes with them. 

You had been with your class since after Christmas break, filling in as a long term sub for a 3rd grade teacher on maternity leave. The job followed an impromptu move from Chicago to Texas after breaking off your relationship with your boyfriend (regrettably, almost fiancé)  of 3 years, who had been cheating on you behind your back for 2 of them. You felt like an idiot that you hadn’t seen it coming, but it still hit you like a ton of bricks. Paul had plenty of red flags, but your optimistic demeanor and the mounting peer pressure of watching your friends get married and start their own families made you feel trapped. It still stung to think you would have settled for a miserable life with Paul out of the fear you wouldn’t find anyone else. 

 Desperate to get as far away from Illinois as possible, you packed your bags and made the nearly 4 day drive down to Laredo, Texas. Laredo,  a strange choice to many, but made nothing but complete sense to you. Your best friend since the 2nd grade, Sarah Alverez, had moved to Laredo your Freshman year of high school, her father accepting an agricultural engineering position in ranching country. You spent every summer until college visiting her and her family, having nothing but the fondest of memories for a sleepy town outside of San Antonio. It was a stark chance from the hustle and bustle of Chicago suburbia where you had spent your childhood. Long, carefree summer days made you promise yourself that if you ever did leave Chicago, you’d find yourself here. Well, you had made good on your promise, but for reasons that still made your stomach churn in gut-wrenching knots. 

You and your class journeyed down the hallway to the cafeteria. Thank god it was a short trip, because you were far too tired to put up with the bickering and shenanigans the back of your line often seemed to plague you with. Just as you were entering through the cafeteria doors, you promptly turned around, your body facing the line as you walked backwards further into the cafeteria. “Isabella and Jorge, keep your hands to yourself! You two know you’re not supposed to be in line togeth-” Before you could finish your sentence, the back of your body collided with one behind you that you hadn’t seen since turning around to stop a near WWE smackdown in the hallway. You had bumped into kids more than once who weren’t paying attention to their surroundings, but it became very clear, very quickly, that the body you had backed yourself into was not a child’s. 

The body you had backed yourself into was much taller and broader than yours. Two large hands firmly, but gently grasped around the middle of your upper arms to catch you without stumbling backwards any further. An overwhelming scent of cedarwood and sage cologne filled your senses. This obviously was not one of your coworkers, either. 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorr-“ you started to apologize as you came to face the body that had stopped you in your tracks. Your apology halted as you were met by incredibly broad shoulders covered by a navy blue suit jacket. As your gaze continued upwards, the shoulders were followed by a strong square jawline and plush lips, the upper covered with an impeccable mustache. Continuing up, you were met with the most beautiful, deep chocolate brown eyes, whose soft stare soon met yours. There was no denying that this man was devilishly handsome. Realizing that you had most definitely been starting too long, you restated your apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were behind me.” Your eyes shifted away from his and darted down to the floor. 

A small smirk formed on his face as he looked down at you. He didn’t realize it, but he couldn’t help it. You were wearing a yellow sun dress that hit just above your knees, covered by a light washed denim jacket. Your dress swayed beautifully as he watched you take your last few steps backwards, making him question himself if he let you run into him on purpose. You smelled like vanilla and something sweet that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Pink embarrassment flooded your cheeks as a soft smile on your face met his. He now too realized that he had been staring a little too long, and that he still had his grasp on your arms as you had turned around to look at him. 

“No it’s okay.” He let out a small laugh under his breath. “I just didn’t want you to go too much further and trip over anything else.” He gently let his hands leave her arms, and watched as she brushed a piece of hair out of her face and looked back up at him. 

“Should we go sit down now?!” A small voice shouted from your line, causing you to snap back to reality, realizing that you had a line of children still standing behind you. 

“Yes, sorry sweetie” you replied, brushing your dress down back into place. “You guys can go find a spot behind Mrs. Rogers’ class.” Your class passed by you, paying no mind to the interaction that just took place between you and the man you had just bumped into. 

As you watched your class pass by, you turned back around to find the man still staring at you, causing your heart to palpably beat in your chest. The same strong hands that had caught you were now extended in your direction, offering a handshake to introduce himself. “I’m Javier Peña, uh Javi, actually” as your hand met his, realizing how small they felt in his grip. “I’m from the Laredo Sheriff's department, I uh, I’m the one that’s supposed to be doing the whole presentation thing today.” Your hand stayed in his as you introduced yourself. God, his hands were something else.

His grip loosened as your co-workers began to move towards you. You began to realize how hot your face felt, knowing that you were flushed with embarrassment not only from almost falling into a crowd of 10 year olds, but from how awe struck you were by the man who had caught you.

The three women on your 3rd grade team had taken you in as one of their own when you started your job here. They had been more than happy to step in to help you with whatever you needed, including trying to set you up with every single man your age that they knew. With the exception of the parade of overly forward sheriff's department members who had been at your school every Wednesday. Those 3 had no problem telling those men to fuck right off and leave you alone (in the nicest way possible.) The ladies slowly crept closer towards you, sly grins stretched across their faces as they giggled like school girls. 

“OH, so it looks like you met our sweet Javier!” Linda said with over exaggerated enthusiasm. 

“Sweetie, you’re SO good with the technology around here, you know how us old ladies are. Maybe you could help him set up the video he needs for his presentation today?” You knew damn well these women knew how to press play on a VCR. You grimaced your face at Maria. While you couldn’t see your face, you were absolutely positive your expression was screaming “Oh my God, could you please make it any more obvious that this man is insanely attractive and you don’t need to add to the embarrassment after I already ran into him like an idiot?!” 

“Yeah, of course, I’d be more than happy to help!” You pointed towards the stage that sat in front of the cafeteria. “Just come this way and I’ll show you how to set it up.” 

Following behind you, Javier leaned his head down towards yours. “Must be the most complicated VCR set up I’ve seen in a while.” 

You let out a giggle. “Yeah, they're all very sweet, but not the most skilled with anything that has to do with technology. When our principal had mentioned the idea of us potentially getting a computer lab, they just about had a heart attack. Setting up the TV to play a video should be no problem.” You gestured towards the stage at the front of the cafeteria where the TV cart was kept for presentations. He followed behind you, keeping a respectful distance.  Not respectful enough to keep himself from staring at the curve of your ass in your dress as you walked up the stage stairs. 

“Do you have the tape you need to show?” Your words went in one ear and out the other. Carter and Morris weren’t kidding. He hated to admit that those idiots were right about anything, but God, you were beautiful. His gaze was locked on you as squatted down next to the VCR, ejecting its previous contents. It seemed in that moment that you very much both realized that when Javier stood in front of you, you eye level with his waist, staring up at him, dangerously close to his coc- 

“Uh, yeah, yeah sorry,” he shook his head slightly to snap himself out of the thought he was about to have. “Thanks.” he smiled sheepishly. 

“Well I’m no technology expert, but all you should have to do is press play wherever you need to, and you should be good to go! Let me just roll this cart out for you and we’re good for you whenever you’re ready!” You began pushing the cart out onto the stage, but before you could get anywhere, Javi had his hand over yours. 

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s probably heavy, I can push it.” He insisted. 

You raised your eyebrows and gave him a look that made him step away. 

“What, you think I can’t do it?” Defiantly, you pushed the cart out to the middle of the stage to prove a point, looking back at him and shrugging with an “I told you so” look on your face. Any other woman he had met would have thankfully given up the task, let alone offer to do it at all. At that moment, Javier Peña knew you were not just any other woman. And that- that terrified him in the best way possible.

 Just before you hopped off the edge of the stage to re-join your class, you looked up at him as he ran his fingers through his locks of thick, curly brown hair, trying to regain his composure. 

“Good luck up there, Mr. Peña.” 

Javier couldn’t even tell you what had happened in the 30 minutes that he was up on stage. There were many times throughout his career where he had stared out into a sea of blank faces as he gave a presentation about intel, informats, wire taps… but having the eyes of 80 9 and 10 year olds glued to his every word was an absolutely terrifying experience. Not because he was nervous about the judgment of a child who may or may not even be able to tie their shoes or wipe their nose, but because of what they may say about him to you. It took everything in his power not to stare at you the entire time he was up there, but every time he glanced in your direction, your face lit up with a reassuring smile. You had even given him a little thumbs up when he had successfully started the VCR, playing a clip of Daren the D.A.R.E Lion. 

As the presentation finished, the kids applauded and gave a unanimous “thank you!” prompted by the teachers. 

As your class gathered behind you to walk down to the cafeteria, Maria tapped your shoulder. 

“Take a picture, mija, it will last longer.” 

You were too busy staring at Javi to even notice that Maria was talking to you. Her words went in one ear and out the other. 

“Huh, what? Sorry, did you say something?” 

“I said, take a picture, it will last longer.” Maria laughed to herself. “I don’t think your eyes have left him once since you walked in here.” 

You hated to admit it, but it was true. You had known this man for less than an hour, and he already had butterflies dancing around in your stomach. God, what were you, 12?! Pull it together. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Maria.” Of course you did. If you were wearing pants, they would be up in flames. Liar, liar, pants on fire. 

“I’ll take your class to lunch today. I’ll be back to help stack all of the chairs in a few. I’m sure he could use some help cleaning up, and I’ve heard that VCR is really difficult to work.” Maria nudged you before she turned around to collect your class and parade them out of the gym. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

Trying to contain your excitement, you playfully rolled your eyes and shook your head. 

The other teachers and students left, leaving just you and Javi. He gathered his things that he had left on the stage and started to make his way back down the stairs. It took him a moment to realize you were standing at the edge of the steps, arms crossed over your chest, smiling up at him. 

“I’m sorry if the kids were rowdy. It’s been a zoo since there’s only a few days of school left.” You both let out a small chuckle. Now that you two were alone, you became very aware of how nervous you were.

“You did a really great job! Honestly, you’re the best person we’ve had since we’ve started doing these presentations. The guy we had last time, I can’t remember his name, something with an M?! Anyways, I don’t think he’s ever spoken to a child in his entire life, and there were definitely some tears.” 

Definitely Morris, Javi noted to himself. 

“Thanks, I uh- didn’t think I’d be so nervous to talk in front of a bunch of kids. I’m glad it wasn’t too bad. I should thank you for helping me with that video. Didn’t need to get my pride bruised in front of 10 year olds.  Also glad I didn’t make anyone cry.” 

You both let out small laughs, your cheeks revealing small smiles across your faces. While the silence between you grew, the distance between you began to shrink as you both subconsciously took a small step towards each other. 

He watched as a small wave of sadness flooded your expression. “Stinks that this is the last week of presentations before the school year ends. it would have been nice to have you back.” You looked at him with a half hopeful smile. You saw the same feeling reflected back in him as his brow scrunched and bottom lip entered a small pout. 

“Oh shit. Yeah, I uh, I guess I forgot it’s the end of the school year. That would make sense there wouldn’t be anymore presentations.” He rested one hand on his hip, as the other traveled through his thick, brown locks. You bit down on your bottom lip, stunned by his broadness and shoulders to waist ratio, which was made even more apparent as his fingers combed through his hair. His deep brown eyes met yours, melting you instantly.  “If I had known that you would have been here, I would have signed up to come a lot earlier.” 

Before you had a chance to recover yourself from the puddle you had just turned into, the cafeteria doors swung open once again. Maria was a woman on a mission. Her tiny, thin frame marched with purpose towards you both. 

“Oh good thing I caught you, amor! I was just thinking that I had something important to tell Javier before he left and I’m so glad you’re here to hear it too. Javi happens to be a dear familiar friend, and I was just telling him before the presentation how excited I am to see him and his father at my cookout this Saturday! I know you had mentioned you were thinking about going! You’ll be there, won’t you Javier? Aren't you so excited to come to the party this Saturday?”

Maria and Javier entered a silent stare down. Their expressions allowed them to have an entire conversation without speaking a word. 

There’s a party on Saturday? What are you talking about? What does this have to do with anything?

Dios Mio, Pendejo. Take the hint. I already invited her. She will be there on Saturday so you can see her again. Don’t mess this up. 

“Oh really?” You chimed in, perhaps a bit too over enthusiastic. “I wasn’t really going to know anyone besides the staff at school, so it would be nice to see another familiar face!” In all honesty, you were trying to find a way out of going before just now. Huge social gatherings of strangers weren’t really your thing, but if it meant it was a chance to see Javi again, you would brave it. 

“Oh yeah, the uh, the cookout! Yeah, uh, yeah, I’ll be there. It would be really nice to see you again, too.” Although Javier’s tone carried a tint of confusion, his smile was confirmed that his statement was genuine. 

“Bueno!” Maria clasped her hands together and shook her head in delight. “So you will BOTH be there on Saturday!” 

You could already feel your heart swelling at the prospect of seeing Javi again. 

“Oh and mija”, Maria turned towards you, your face lighting up, wondering if she had even more good news to deliver. “They need you in the office. Isabella and Jorge got into a wrestling match in the cafeteria and the secretaries needed to call their parents. Oi, these niños are like wild animals, summer cannot come fast enough!” 

“Of course they did. They might as well put WWE referee under our job description because it seems like that’s all I’m doing all day. It’s like herding feral cats.” you groaned. “Those two cannot be together next year…” 

Javi let out a snort. “Sorry”, he said, trying to contain his laughter. You joined in, realizing the ridiculousness of your statement. 

“Alright, well I guess that’s my cue to go. It was really nice to meet you, Javi. I’m really glad I get to see you again.” It took every ounce of strength in your body to move yourself out of the cafeteria doors. As you walked away, you turned once more to look back over your shoulder, to find that Javi’s eye’s hadn’t moved from your direction since you turned around. “See you on Saturday.” 

Even after you were out of sight, Javi still stood frozen, his eyes wide and jaw still half open. 

“Hola, earth to Javier, are you there?!” Maria interjected, waving her hand in front of Javi’s awe struck face. 

Snapping out of his trance, Javier began to speak, but was stopped before he could get out a single word. 

“Listen to me mijo. I want you to be happy. That was all Lucia asked for before she passed. So first and foremost, you are welcome.” Maria gestured, alluding to the fact that Javier owed her big time for what had just happened. “Secondly, she is a sweet girl. If you do anything to break her heart, so help me, I will come to the ranch and run you over with your father’s tractor. Understood?” 

“Understood.” Javier understood that this was not a threat, it was a promise. 

“Good. She’s a good one, Javier. She reminds me so much of your mother. Lucia would have loved her.” She reached up her hand to cup the side of Javi’s face, before bringing her other arm around him for a hug. 

Javier exhaled, trying his best to hold back the tears that were welling in his eyes. It was the first time since returning home that he felt a sense of relief and comfort fill his body. Maybe, he was more than the man he was returning home from Colombia. Maybe, the people who loved him before he left still loved him now, despite the person he’d become. Maybe, just maybe, someone else could love him for the new man he now hoped to become.  

[mxtxfanatic]

Reasons Why the 7seas MDZS is the Inferior Translation

I recently had the misfortune to get my hands on all the 7seas mdzs volumes, so I wanted to make a list of some reasons why I will not be using this translation for any meta unless it is in comparison:

Reason 1: whoever tf's idea it was to translate "rogue cultivator" as "knight-errant":

The founding father of the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng, Jiang Chi, came from a knight-errant background.

—Vol. 3, Chapt. 12: Sandu: The Three Poisons

Reason 2: the fact that I was made to read French with my own two eyeballs in an English translation when the word "title" was perfectly serviceable as a translation:

But recently, he’d gotten used to using his venerated sobriquet every day.

—Vol. 1, Chapt. 7: Morning Dew, 7seas

Reason 3: this reason has been paywalled due to my personal belief that the compensation for inflicting this kind of psyche damage onto myself should be monetary

[choerypetal]

Together. / Mike Schimdt

Authors Note : So I just happened to watch the FNAF movie and my god it was so good, with a hint of good Lore in it. Also the cast was perfect and ever since watching it, I had a thought of writing a quick one shot for Mike and Y/N. Where Y/N suffers from hallucination and has the same symptoms but a different kind of illness than Abby's. Suggesting that they see also the kids but also the man who's being everything, not only controlling them and their life styles, resulting in a lack of sleep pattern and tons of trauma.

Enjoy!

Ps : Pls don't repost or copy and paste my works. Everything is written by me, and also note that English isn't my first mother language, so I apologize in advance if there is any grammar errors. I tried my very best.

------------

From one call to another, Mike encountered an unending stream of repetitive "nos" and polite rejections for the position he sought. It dawned on him that he might be the source of the issue, especially after the peculiar "incident" that may have left a stranger somewhat shaken. A few days post-dismissal, someone finally directed him to visit the office of Steve Raglan, a man he had never met before. Today presented the perfect opportunity. Mr. Raglan fit the mold of a man from a bygone era, with his distinctive round glasses and traditional attire. Michael's growing apprehension made him wonder if venturing into this place had been a poor decision all along.

A hushed pause enveloped the room as Mr. Raglan perused Mike's professional background with casual interest. "Well, Mike..." He paused in the midst of his sentence, stealing a quick, appraising glance in his direction. Mike responded nonchalantly. "Yes?" His voice, however, lacked the self-assuredness he longed to convey.

"Care for some coffee?" Steve's inquiry was succinct yet brimming with anticipation as he strolled toward his coffee machine. Mike hesitated, then replied, "Um... No, thank you. I'd rather get this done quick." Deep down, Mike yearned for a stable job, one that would enable him to look after his sister, Abby, and perhaps even sway their aunt to grant them custody.

Steve sensed the growing impatience in his client, who was eager to learn what the future had in store. "You know," Steve remarked, returning to his chair, his voice now tinged with excitement – a side effect, Mike presumed, of his coffee intake. "I recognize this place. It's a place where someone like you would give anything for the job..." A spark of curiosity ignited within Mike as he leaned closer to Mr. Reglan, raising an intrigued brow. "And," Mike inquired. "what makes this place so special?" Steve paused briefly, carefully choosing his words. "Well, you see..."

Mike found himself utterly perplexed by the revelation before him. The location had not only been abandoned since the '80s but also, the job requirements were far from aligning with his original intentions. The compensation was dismal, and he couldn't help but suspect that perhaps none of the previous security guards had been paid properly either. Or not paid at all. It involved a shift he had no expertise in and had no intention of pursuing, particularly after having to bail on his babysitter to bring Abby with him. It was an unequivocal "No." He declared firmly, convinced that this man was even more cynical than he was.

"Are you absolutely certain? Your resume suggests you're more than capable for the position." Mr. Raglan made one final attempt to persuade, his features softening subtly from their earlier rigidity. However, Mike shook his head once more, resolute in his decision. He muttered briefly about the job being the primary source of his conflict, preventing him from seeing Abby or ensuring she had a decent meal, not to mention avoiding losing custody to his aunt. With determination, he rose from his chair, ready to leave the office. Just as Mike was about to exit, Steve handed him his business card, his demeanor marked by a slight pout, swiftly followed by a confident smile. "Just in case, take this," he suggested. Mike, though hesitating for a moment, accepted the card out of politeness and left the office without a word.

After his meeting with Mr. Raglan, Mike's quest for the ideal job seemed to come to an unfortunate conclusion. None of the places he had contacted before his appointment with the advisor, and none since, had offered him any promising prospects. He was beginning to contemplate that maybe accepting the night shift at this particular place was the most feasible option for now. If nothing else, it would provide him with a source of income, and the busy night hours might keep his mind occupied. What enticed him even more was the prospect of being his own boss, with no co-workers to influence his ever-present paranoia. This thought made him more determined than ever to give it a try.

On that very same day, as Abby engrossed herself in her beloved TV shows, Mike settled in to tackle his usual paperwork. It was a task he wasn't particularly fond of, especially considering how the bills seemed to climb higher with each passing month. Even though they were essentially the same, being currently unemployed gave him the impression that each payment had somehow inflated. Just as he was wrapping up his tax payments, a business card slipped through the paperwork, piquing his curiosity and triggering an unexpected flashback.

He hesitated for a moment, contemplating the significance of the card, and then made an impulsive decision. Michael picked up the card and dialed Mr. Reglan's number.

Silence greeted Mike on the other end of the line, as if Mr. Raglan had anticipated the need to give him some space before speaking. "Hello, Mr. Raglan, it's Mike." He began, slightly perplexed. Oddly enough, he could almost sense the man's smile from the other end of the call. It was a whimsical, knowing smile, as if the company had despaired of finding anyone willing to take on the position. Advising Mr. Raglan to take anyone who had agreed upon the offer. "The man who doesn’t do night shifts..." 

“How may I help you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep gulp. Ultimately, if he hoped to secure some much-needed income by the end of the month, Mike felt he had no choice but to go for it. With trepidation, he inquired about the availability of the job position. Mr. Raglan's response was swift and affirmative, exuding a sense of warmth toward the young man's inquiry. Encouraged by this, Mr. Raglan asked, "So, from the seemingly random question, can I assume you are accepting to be the Night Guard? Is that correct?"

“Yes.” Mike firmly agreed. 

“Well!” Mr. Raglan exclaimed with a beam smile written on his features. “Now let me explain you everything you need to know…” 

Mike's first night turned out to be anything but simple, despite his initial expectations. Although he had assumed it would be a straightforward affair, the reality hit him when he arrived at the Pizzeria. Mr. Raglan had painted an enticing picture, but the reality was far from appealing. The exterior of the place was drab, with a sign in disrepair, and an entrance that appeared older than Mike himself. The eerie atmosphere left him questioning the wisdom of his decision to accept the job. However, the need for money was a compelling motivator, so he soldiered on.

As he stepped into the building, he recalled being informed that the technology was outdated yet operational, suggesting that someone had been there before him to maintain it. Regardless, as long as their shifts didn't overlap, it was a situation he could live with. However, as he prepared to settle into his office, a profound sense of isolation crept over him. Or perhaps it was a feeling he had merely convinced himself of.

On that very night, Mr. Raglan had called for a check-in, a practice that you found rather unsettling. It only served to worsen your already fragile sleep schedule as the weeks passed. What made it even more distressing were the persistent, haunting visions of them replaying in your mind – flashbacks of their appearances at the restaurant and even inside your own home. But what set your anxiety spiraling was the presence of an eerie figure intertwined with these visions. This haunting scenario ultimately drove you to seek medical attention at the hospital due to severe sleep deprivation. After that harrowing incident, it's safe to say that your eyes would seldom close.

You had also received a rather cryptic warning to keep an eye on the new night security guard, as if your job wasn't demanding enough on its own. Strangely enough, you had never laid eyes on the big boss, nor had any idea what he even looked like. All you knew was that he had a penchant for privacy and seemed to have great faith in Mr. Raglan's knack for providing these kinds of employment opportunities.

As you cruised through the town, dressed in your security guard uniform, you made a pit stop at the convenience store. There, you grabbed some instant coffee and a few snacks to keep yourself alert during your night shift. It wasn't as if you desperately needed them, but considering the unpredictable behavior of the animatronics, especially on the new security guard’s very first day, you opted to stay on high alert. After all, it had been who knew how long since you'd managed to keep your sanity intact while enduring the trials of this dismal place.

You had casually mentioned to Vanessa that you had a few errands to run. She appeared as exhausted as you, both of you affected by the recent ordeal involving the security guard. You couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy, always caught in the middle of chaos and associated with the color purple. It seemed absurd that something so innocuous could be the root of all these problems, but you quickly dismissed such thoughts. After paying the cashier and expressing your gratitude, you left the store behind.

Mike's night was surprisingly going well, and he mused, "It's not as bad as I thought." Despite his seemingly confident tone, he remained alert and cautious. While you had explicitly advised Vanessa not to come and check on you, yet she did precisely the opposite. Mike suddenly became aware that he was not alone. Could it be a burglar? He had been sternly warned against letting any strangers in, and he was determined to follow that advice. However, Vanessa's impressive familiarity with the Pizzeria allowed her to slip in through an alternate entrance, demonstrating her knowledge of the place. Leading Mike into desperate urgent major. Finding the burglar. 

Meeting Vanessa had caught him off guard, and he was momentarily taken aback by her unexpected presence. Vanessa, however, took the initiative to speak on his behalf. "You must be the new security guard," she observed. Mike, still trying to process who this woman was, offered a hesitant nod, prompting a chuckle from Vanessa at his reaction. "I'm Vanessa," she introduced herself, her tone light. "Security guard by day, and assistant by night."

"Assistant?" Mike scrutinized her, contemplating whether he should call the big boss to confirm her role. However, Vanessa reassured him, saying. "No need to. The big boss called Y/N to fix Foxy's lair."

"Y/N?" Mike inquired, skepticism evident in his voice. "And why should I take your word for it without any proof?" He stayed close to the camera footage and swiftly switched to the next camera, which was focused on Foxy's area. Everything appeared to be in pristine condition, suggesting the entire place had been left deserted. "And who is this... Y/N?"

Vanessa pointed at the screen displaying the main entrance, where you were standing, clearly aware of the camera above. You cheekily flipped your finger at the camera, leaving Mike torn between the belief that Vanessa was indeed present or that the security guard was merely doing his job, and she wasn't there at all.

"I informed them that I wouldn't be around, but they are rather fragile. They are being advised to be checked on during their shift." Vanessa explained. "While I focus on the animatronics to avoid raising any suspicion, I suggest you go and check on them.”

The instructions were unmistakable, and Mike had little choice but to comply. "But... what if the boss finds out I'm not at my station?" He voiced his concern. Vanessa couldn't help but chuckle softly, feeling a pang of sympathy for him. "Don't fret. He's already aware." She reassured him, her expression tinged with a hint of guilt.

"Great," Mike muttered with an eye roll as he returned to monitoring the main entrance. He couldn't help but steal a glance at your figure, noticing how cold you seemed on this early fall night. He could practically see you shouting on the other line, "Hey, jerk! Let me in, it's freezing out here!" Even though he couldn't hear your words, he could tell from the expression on your face. In response, he finally granted you access, and you muttered with relief. "About time..." just before stepping inside.

As you stepped inside, the interior of the place made you acutely aware of your luck, albeit in an eerie way. It was undeniably creepy, yet you had an inexplicable sense of safety and even felt oddly welcomed. Foxy, known to be the most terrifying and historically the meanest of them all, somehow found solace in your presence. You could have sworn that at times, his eyes seemed to lower, watching as you tended to him. It was as though he had a hidden identity, not quite ready to reveal his true nature, you suspected.

As you wandered through the Pizzeria, Mike couldn't help but notice your diminutive figure amidst all the towering animatronics. He found it difficult to fathom how someone so petite could be employed in this establishment. He murmured his thoughts to Vanessa, nudging her gently. "Maybe we—" He began, but she quickly interrupted, saying, "Not now."

As you finished repairing Bonnie, the big boss tasked you with fixing Foxy, who had been acting strangely. It struck you as odd because Foxy typically only reacted to potential intruders. He preferred targeting moving objects over those playing hide and seek until they got too close. You made your way up to his lair, pulled back the curtains, and revealed his silhouette. "Seems like someone's been naughty lately..." Your voice usually provided comfort, but today it had an odd tone. "Have you...met the new guard?" You found it rather absurd to be talking to a robotic entity, particularly one as poorly and cheaply programmed as you had discovered. If there was one thing you wanted to tell the big boss, assuming you ever met them, it was to consider upgrading the gear if they ever thought of opening another Pizzeria. 

On the other end, Mike observed you with a watchful eye. It didn't take long before you began repairing Foxy's arm and his body started to glitch unexpectedly. "Weird... I thought—" Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud and startling BANG. Foxy's eyes were now fixed on you, but they were different from what you were used to. They were red and filled with anger, just like in your recurring nightmares. In that harrowing moment, you froze in place, uncertain of what to do next. "Y/N!" Vanessa's voice came through the walkie-talkie, but you couldn't hear it. Everything around you felt vacant, as if you were about to become Foxy's last meal of the night... or so you feared.

An arm swiftly reached out and pulled you close to its owner. Mike clutched you tightly, and a sense of terror and dread washed over both of you. It was Mike who managed to break free from the grip and make a dash for the monitor room, but just as he got there, Bonnie arrived, blocking his path. "Damn it," he cursed, frantically scanning for an alternate route. You, from your vantage point, weakly directed him, "The first aid room...to the right."

Without uttering a word of thanks, which, given the gravity of the situation, seemed secondary to getting you to safety, Mike finally brought you to the emergency room. It was a room that had seen far too much use, but oddly enough, everything seemed to return to normal once you arrived. The animatronics had moved elsewhere, and for some reason, they couldn't access the area. This brought a sense of relief to Mike. He carefully placed your body on a rather shabby bunk bed and softly murmured, "Here..." You remained in a state of shock, your eyes wide as if your body had been frozen in place. "Hey," He attempted to reassure you, "you're safe now. Vanessa should... Great job, Mike, real smooth." He berated himself inwardly for his awkward choice of words.

Upon hearing Vanessa's presence, you lifted your head abruptly, your eyes brimming with tears you were trying to hold back. Just when you thought of her, she appeared, precisely knowing where to find you. You felt a mixture of relief and concern as she leaned in to inspect you for any wounds or scratches, cupping your face and keeping her gaze locked on you. "Has they had any water?" Mike, who was present to assist, appeared increasingly nervous this time. Being new to this place, he didn't know everything either. "Where... Where is it?" He stammered, quickly searching the room. Vanessa pointed in the direction, her eyes never leaving you. "The first storage room to the left."

"Y/N, look at me." Vanessa implored, his voice filled with unease. "The man doesn't exist. He's not here... He's a fictional—"

Nervously, Mike handed the water bottle to Vanessa, who then offered it to you. This time, you shook your head vigorously, tears streaming down your face. "No! I saw him. Foxy spoke his name to me! It can't just be in my dreams!" You pleaded, desperate to convince them, despite your previous breakdowns being labeled as delusional by past doctors. As you shook your head, you realized that Mike was beside you. You clung to his arm, causing him to gulp nervously, just a little. "You have to believe me... Please..."

Mike found it hard to believe, even though you had clearly experienced a breakdown in that moment. While it was entirely understandable, he tried to do the same thing Vanessa did. "Perhaps you should just take a moment to breathe." He suggested. "Whenever I'm in a state of panic, my doctor advises me to take deep breaths." You observed him closely and countered. "And does your doctor say you're insane?"

Insane…

As undeniable as the truth was, it struck Mike that perhaps you were right. Everything seemed so peculiar when it came to Abby and Y/N's imaginary friends, especially with Vanessa working so hard to conceal her friend's breakdowns. "You know... now that you mention it..." Mike began, leaning in to discuss it further. Vanessa attempted to nudge him away, but you allowed him to continue. But he stopped. And by locking eyes with each other, you both knew something was wrong with this place. So in response, you leaned in and wrapped yourself in his arm. There was something about him that felt like home. You felt protected and, for once, someone truly understood you.

On the other hand, Mike comforted you with a few soothing rubs on your back. He glanced at Vanessa, who seemed to share the relief but carried a heavy load of guilt inside, which she wasn't ready to disclose to either Mike or you. “Shh… I got you.” He said, with a soothing voice that remembered it as your older brother. Not letting it go he continued. “We are going to get through all of this together… Y/N.” 

“Together…” 

In the distance, Abby observed the trio with Foxy's humanoid presence beside her. Foxy, who felt a deep sense of guilt for what he had done to them just hours ago, hesitated to intervene to bring Y/N back to him. However, as he watched Mike and you, he felt a strong urge to protect you, jealousy even you were a mother figure for everyone, but especially Foxy. Abby noticed his face changing into hatred until she halted him with a reassuring smile. "There's no need," Abby whispered. "They have found someone... Someone who truly cares for them. Someone who will love and protect them."

Foxy silently observed the scene unfolding before his eyes, and as he heard Abby's words, he felt a sense of relief welling up within him. Watching it all happen, Foxy came to realize that Abby was indeed right. Y/N had found someone they could genuinely rely on, someone with whom she could openly express their feelings..

Fin. 

[novlr]

How to write a harmonious and mentally healthy relationship between a couple in love who is in a long relationship?

This is a great question. Existing relationships have their own patterns and rhythms and are quite different from the flush of a new relationship. I’ll answer this within the context of a romantic partnership (or polyamorous relationship) though most of this will apply to platonic relationships such as close friends and family too. 

These guidelines can also be used to write less harmonious relationships by knowing how to best break them. I taught the Psychology of Human Development for many years as a lecturer, so I’ll be drawing my response from research on human development across the lifespan. 

What is a healthy relationship?

Let’s start with some definitions. The question is specifically asking about harmonious and mentally healthy relationships. Harmony is a state that people fall in and out of. It’s not something achieved and forever maintained. 

People will have disagreements and conflicts even when they are in love. Possibly because they are in love and value that relationship. What happens when couples (or polyamorous relationships) are pulled in different directions by careers, moral-value systems, or differences in problem-solving approaches? 

This is where having a healthy relationship comes in. Healthy relationships are sustainable and a foundation for everything else. Some hallmarks of healthy relationships include good communication, trust, and respect. 

Good communication includes active listening, empathy, and clearly stating needs, wants, and desires. There is a willingness to compromise and to recognize when that isn’t possible. If one partner can’t compromise, can the other work with that out of a place of respect? Is there some way to reshape the situation so that both parties can feel comfortable with the solution? These conversations may be heated at times. The important thing is that people return to the touchstones of respect and trust, and then move forward to a resolution of the conflict that all parties involved can accept. It’s hard work, and it means no one always gets everything they want. It also means doing relationship repair by acknowledging the sacrifices being made and finding ways to compensate for that. 

Relationship as a character

Think of the relationship as a character in the story in addition to each of the characters in that relationship. Develop the backstory and character arc for the relationship. How do the characteristics of the relationship and the story arc for it impact the characters in the relationship and the other characters in the story? Is it a minor background character, or is it the main character of the story? 

Give it the same degree of development you would for any other character in that position. How does the relationship impact all the other characters, and how is it impacted by the events of your story? How does it influence the direction of your story? 

Backstory

You still need to think about how the characters first met and the arc of their relationship up to the point they appear in your story. You won’t necessarily use most of this in your work, though it will give you a foundation from which to draw references and determine how they react to one another. Here are some excellent seeds for building their backstory: 

How did they meet? Was it love at first sight, an enemies-to-lovers story, or something in between? 

How long were they together before deciding to commit to a long-term relationship? Was it ever formalized or are they still together because it’s easier than breaking up? 

Are there children involved, either with each other or from previous relationships? If yes, how old? 

How often have they moved household? How do they decide when to move? Does one partner’s job take precedence over the others when it comes to deciding who stays home if there’s a sick child/pet/family member or if they need to relocate? 

How do they split the day-to-day chores of living – shopping, cooking, cleaning, paying bills? People in healthy relationships will balance workloads and decision-making with respect for one another’s contributions. They will play to one another’s strengths and step in to help when a partner can’t pull their usual load.

What are other major life events they have been through together? Which of these brought them closer together, and which pulled them apart? Healthy relationships will weather these events even if initially pulled apart. Conflict is a part of life. Conflict resolution and relationship repair are learned skills. How do your characters navigate these?  

Social Context

Relationships don’t exist in a vacuum. How does the world around them view their relationship? Do they have the support of family and friends? What are the societal rules about the type of relationship they have – is it the sort most people have, or are there any taboos being broken by them? 

Some examples to consider would be same-sex relationships, marrying outside the culture, sharing a household without being married, or deciding to remain childless. All of this will inform how your characters behave around others. 

Ebb and flow

One of the films I loved to show my classes was a documentary about couples who had been together for fifty years or more. I’ve put links to similar projects in the resources section. Here are some of the highlights: 

Being together for many years means you won’t always be happy. Working through those times is hard, but worth it. Are your characters happy with their relationship at the moment of the story? If not, are they working through that?

People change over time. One man said he felt like he’d been married to five different women over the years as his wife changed and grew as a person. How have your characters changed over time? How do they remember each other in the past? 

Most reported that their partner was their best friend. Do your characters feel that way about one another? 

The couples often helped each other remember things with prompts, corrections, and clarifications. What are some ways your characters aid each other’s memories or rely on one another to keep track of various sorts of information? 

Most couples had phrases or words or body language that they shared and could use to communicate in an abbreviated way that outsiders might not understand. What are some ways your characters do this? 

Companionate vs romantic love

Romantic love is most often written about in first-meets and blooming relationship stories. It is a fire that burns hot and bright in the initial stages. Over time, the fire settles into a more sustainable bed of coals. This is companionate love. 

Romantic love will flare up again intermittently and can be stoked with romantic dates. Companionate love is what allows people to get on with life and support one another over the long term. It is the process of becoming life companions. 

How do your characters express companionate love? Is it making a cup of coffee, helping with a project? Listening while the other brainstorms or rants? How do they express their deep and abiding affection? How do they stoke the flames of romantic love as a way of deepening their bonds? 

Fidelity

How do your characters feel about monogamy? Have either of them had an affair? If they are polyamorous, what are the rules for seeing others outside the primary relationship? Or is this relationship a secondary one for each of them? If it is an illicit affair, then does the primary partner(s) know about it? 

I know all (most) of your secrets

People in long-term relationships know a lot about each other. What secrets are they keeping for one another? Are there secrets they haven’t shared? 

People don’t always share everything, even in healthy relationships. The difference is in how they share when something is revealed and how they react to such revelations. 

The importance of people watching

Watch how couples interact in the real world, look for documentaries such as the ones linked below, and even draw on well done movies and books for inspiration. 

What moments of harmony have you observed? What telegraphed that to you? If you witness disharmony, how is it resolved? When you see a less functional relationship, what could have made it work better? Keep notes about your thoughts and observations so you can incorporate them into your writing and character development.

Summary

Long-term relationships can be a lot of fun to write. It provides a basis for supporting a character through difficult points in the plot and a touchstone when someone is uncertain of how to proceed. Don’t shy away from conflict between characters in a healthy relationship. The way they experience and resolve that conflict can move the story forward.

Resources

We spoke to couples who have been together more than 50 years — Los Angeles Times 

Couples Together 30+ years give us love advice — Great Big Story

Answered by Kimberley Long-Ewing.