#been doing some thinking on ghost appearance

[skobeloffico]

You eye each other as you pass, He looks back You look back.

Creepy neighbour geto x fem!reader

Tags: yandare/creep behavior,pussydrunk geto, watching you sleep/change, pantie sniffing & stealing, slightly ooc, reader isn't as oblivious as geto thinks, bros obsessed with scent & reader smelling like him, possessive behavior, porn WITH plot, not proofread, cunnilingus, creampie & creampie eating, english isn't my first language!!

A/n: I got a little... carried away ☺️

Your apartment must be haunted, there's no other explanation. Like there's no way that hot new neighbor is making holes into your walls to watch you sleep, moving objects ever so slightly that he thinks you won't notice — but you do. There's no way suguru geto is a creep.

He's too polite, nice — polished. He's an open book but you yet still have to finish reading through him to find out his real, true self.

The first time he introduced himself was with a basket of baked goods he claimed he baked himself, you doubt it at first but took one brioche as an acknowledging gesture. Your fate has been sealed then and there.

When you exchanged information like what apartment he's staying in (surprisingly to no one he was your next door neighbor), when the moving trucks will arrive and the weekly trash bin day. But he still wanted to know your name — you just told him your first name thinking nothing of it, it was strange when he friend requested you on Instagram (where you don't have your name listed), it's weird when your mail is suspiciously missing.

But it might be ghosts right?

There's no way sugurus geto is a creep when the power cuts during a bad thunderstorm and you faintly recall that Geto can fix the breaker. There's no way he's a creep when he helps you fix the breaker, holes in your walls and broken tiles in your bathroom without wanting to get paid and telling you "the payment is having to spend time with you."

There's no way he's a creep when a pair of your silk panties goes missing right after the incident of the power outage.

But it's weird when the incidents keep happening, the holes don't stop appearing — you once saw an eye looking through when you were changing! So you decided to cover the holes with paper, for now.

Knocking on getos door that you don't feel safe in your apartment and need a place to crash for few days. You didn't expect geto to be so eager to lend you a roof over your head, making you warm meals and a bed.. oh but what's this? His couch is full of boxes that still didn't get repacked and he doesent have another bed.. poor you.

"Don't worry, you can sleep in my bed." He offers with a warm smile and you accept thinking he meant he'll sacrifice himself to sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag, like the cliché stories you read online — you're mistaken when you find geto, shirtless sitting on his bed as he yawns with closed eyes.

"Ah, already getting ready for bed? I still have my own routine to finish so.." geto says as he brushed against your shoulder with his bare arm while walking towards his dresser, removing some of his clothes from the hangers "you can hang your clothes here, you don't want to bend over everyday for new fresh clothes right? And it's far hygienic than leaving them in your suitcase." He lies, of course he does. He can't lose an opportunity like this.

So you nod and while you bend over for the last time to pick up your clothes and walk back to geto as he hangs them on the wooden rack — suguru has to hold himself back when he realizes this is the closest you've been together. So the next breath he took in was a slow one, trying to make this moment last a bit longer than it needed to be — looking at you through his long eyelashes.

"Alright all done." He Said with a low chuckle when you thanked him, you rambled about some show when you started to unpack your toothbrush, the only thing suguru could think about was your ass. The way your hips swayed when you walked to his bathroom.

Click

Suguru perked up at the sound of the bathroom door locking, taking in a shuddering breath when he turned to your freshly hanged clothes — running his fingers along the lace of your shirt, the collar of your dress shirt, most importantly gripping the freshly washed panties like they would disappear if he held them just a bit softly.

Suguru looked to his side, confirming you were still in the bathroom only to hear the water turning on — this was his chance to do the things he always wanted to.

You were so oblivious to his advances it was sickening, the first time he met you at your front door you had freshly washed hair, you smelled fresh and sweet — it made him obsessed. The first hole he drilled into your room was supposed to be the only one, just a peep hole to get a look at your life. Suguru was so sad when you covered it with some cheap plaster.. so he had to drill more holes, some in your room and some in your bathroom. Just incase you fell in the shower of course.

"Ah geto can I use your shower gel and shampoo? I forgot mine." You called out, to be honest at first you didn't want to ask — but the scent of male shampoo makes you vomit (why is it scented so harshly?? No sane person wants so smell like cheap cologne..)

"Of course, anything of mine is free for you to use" He didn't even realize he was talking into your panties as he said it, so lost in the scent of detergent and the memories of you changing infront of him cloud his mind that the thought of you smelling like him makes him short circuit. "Ah I remember, in the upper cabinet is some hair oil. You can use that too." Suguru was standing right beside the door without realizing he moved. The panties still in his palm as he itched to lockpick the door and watch you shower as you obviously rubbed the male's shampoo into your scalp.

"Don't do it... you are so close.." suguru mumbled under his breath as he had to physically stop his hand from resting on the door knob, holding his wrist and looking at it as if it had made a grave error.

At some point suguru stepped away from the door to hide the panties back into the designated drawer — panties that smell like you are better than some detergent that smells like flowers, No? You way you sighed when you exited the bathroom made him shiver, he craved deep down that he will sometimes make you make those sounds for him, with his name clawing at your throat when he kisses the bite marks around your collarbones and under your ear. He wishes, dreams even for an instance where you call him suguru and not geto.

"Geto in so happy you let me shower, I felt so.. uncomfortable when I found out someone was watching me. Now I feel far better — cleaner even." You smiled as you fixed the towel around your hair, looking at your reflection but you didn't see the way suguru looked at the water droplets on your back.

"Yes Uhm," suguru coughed into his fist trying to get his mind out of the gutter, but that was impossible around you "well its quite late I suppose.. I'm ready for bed so goodnight." Suguru was still shirtless when you emerged from the bathroom, but suguru eas the oblivious one with how you watched his muscles stretch when he layed down on the soft mattress. Quite delicious.

"Geto, I wanted to ask for a while now.." you said as you slipped beside his form, fingers bursting against his back as his face contorted into a stone expression. Restless. He can't sleep. Not now.

You pouted when you got no response "did you know that when someone enters the front of our apartment building the reception gets a notification from the camera?" His breathing hitched as he looked down at the wooden floor with wide eyes. No.

No, this.. it can't happen like this.

You leaned in close to his ear and brush away a stray lock if black hair "I know you stole my mail."

Suguru was so frozen in place you could feel your fingers get cold as you touched his bicep, whimpering all the instances when he slipped up and was so careless about stalking you. "When you came in during the power outage I knew something was wrong when you knew right away where the holes were. Without me telling you.." you drummed your fingers along his bicep in rythm as he breathed heavily, he felt lile the poster across his bed was laughing at him with the words 'that's life!'

Yet somehow, even though you were acknowledging all the times he blushed a little too hard at your touches, the times he slipped up and knocked on your door rather than the guy below you with white hair.

"Suguru"

You said softly, his name sounded so sweet on your tongue he could feel himself rot inside and out.

"Do you like me?" You questioned like it wasn't obvious, you wanted to hear him say it. Something about a degenerate getting caught made you smile. Made you feel like you won something.

At your words he finally faced you, eyes wide like he can't comprehend what just happened. "I.." He breathed out, almost choking on his words like he was forcefully pulling them out.

"I do, I do like you. Love you even." All he could hear was all the time he was told that he's 'so handsome he could have anyone' yet when he wanted you it was harder to comprehend why you didn't fall to your knees the first time you met. "I want you to be mine, only mine. No one else deserves you." He said with a possessive grip on the pillow case, creating creases on the soft satin.

"Only I deserve you."

You shook your head as you removed the towel from your head, drying your hair from left over water and looking down at him "then show me."

With that the challenge was set, he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself longer when the tight tanktop around your chest was moving with every breath you took. Albeit his breath was more ragged than yours — even tho you just revealed you knew he was watching you for 3 months.

"I'll show you how much I want, how much I love you." Suguru said with lidded eyes when his palm wrapped around your hip and pulling you into his bare chest. "You smell divine.. smelling like Me." He almost growled which made you wince with cringiness "woah there.." you chuckled as he his nose was buried in your wet hair.

"I don't want you know any other scent, wear only mine." You pushed at his chest to look at his purple irises that were filled with hunger "easy there.." maybe riling him up wasn't the best idea.

Or maybe it was because now you were bent In various positions, over your bed, on your back, one position had your head in a headlock around his beefy bicep.

"I only deserve you.." suguru chanted these words everytime his cock thrusted into you with vigor, you don't know if this was the 3rd round or the 4th. All you know is the way his cock was making your cunt mold into the perfect shape for him — claiming you before anyone else did.

"You were made for me.." the way his hips grinded against yours was delicious, it was obvious he was having the time of his life with the way he was grunting in your ears and licking st your neck. Panting out your name as if it was a mantra.

"Please.." pleading like it was your right to decide if he could pull out or not, you gripped at the sheets when his big palms rubbed along your back and grabbing at your hips when you fucked yourself back on his thick cock.

"Let us be one.. for eternity.." his hips didn't stop thrusting when they hit your g-spot, when you moaned out his first name he knew he had to breed you over and over again, fill you with his seed so you knew you were his. That's what's more important to him. "Let me worships you.." suguru grunted in your ear as his fingers trailed down to your clit and rubbed st the sensitive bud, rolling it between his fingers and pinching it when you called out his last name "get–oh..suguru.. please it's, too much."

"You forget yourself — dont worry ill let it slide since i love you so much." He smiled with closed eyes and and a harsh thrusts, you could feel the air getting fucked out of your lungs at this point "your moans make me feral love.." suguru admits as you feel his tip bully against the spongy spot you knew too well, with the way his fingers bullied your clit and repeating thrusts you knew you were a goner.

Suguru lays his head on your shoulder as he felt the knot in his stomach unwind, grunting out "Fuck!" With that filling you to the brim with his seed — but that wasn't the end of it when he pulled out and rolled you over on your back, pushing at your clit and licking at the white creampie leaking out of you.

The way his lips attached themselves against your dewie pussy lips to suck harshly at them — his tongue bullying itself deeper into your filled cunt and with every breath you tried to take in he pushed in more. He gripped at your thighs like you would dissappear at any moment and leave him aching for more "sugu.. please.." pleading didn't seem to work it just spurred him on to eat you out until the sun came out. And ate you out he did.

The whole night suguru was licking at your pussy lips, clit and eating out his white release mixed with yours — you passed out a couple of times from exhaustion but always waking up to sugurus head between your thighs still going at it.

"Suguru its.. 6am you've been eah-eating me out for the last 4 hours.." you tried to reason with him, you really did! But his only response was a grunt, his palm tightening around your thighs and a sharp look that said 'don't care' so you just tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled. Sugurus body is so big and well build that it will take you all day trying to pull him away from your sweet pussy.

© Scobeloffico : Don't repost my work, don't plagiarize it on different sites (ao3, wattpad)

[bullet-prooflove]

My Turn: Charlie Reid x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging:@kmc1989 @littleesilvia @wrestlequeen @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @beebeechaos

Summary: It's Charlie's turn with the riding crop.

Companion piece to:

Charlie - Charlie meets someone unexpected one night at his pool hall.

The Whole Damn Night (NSFW) - You aren't anything like Charlie expected.

Like God Needs The Devil (NSFW) - Charlie takes you to heaven in the hallway of his house.

The Riding Crop (NSFW) - Charlie and you roleplay for the first time.

Prequel to:

Risk Management - Charlie realises the two of you have been keeping secrets from one another.

Deals With The Devil - Charlie's fall from grace starts with an act of love.

The Ghost That Lingers In The Nighttime - Charlie's becoming accustomed to the late night visits.

Who The Fuck Is Charlie? - You wake up calling for Charlie but noone knows who the fuck Charlie is.

Blood For Blood - Charlie's wrath leads to his worst nightmare...

It’s Charlie’s turn with the riding crop.

He’s wanted to play with the damn thing ever since it made its first appearance in the bedroom and tonight’s the perfect night because you need to get out of your own head and  Charlie, he has you right where he wants you.

Wrists bound to his headboard with those delicate silk ties that won’t leave a mark, his knee hooked over one of your thighs, keeping your legs spread as he allows the crop to tease over your folds, wetting it before he rubs it lightly over your clit.

Your hips arch at the sensation, the delicate strokes of the leather on your most sensitive area like the gentle sweeps of Charlie’s tongue. You keen against the slow build, trying to generate some friction but Charlie, he’s relentless. He maintains the same, steady pace, stoking the fire inside you until you start to whine, tugging at your bonds.

“You’re being a bad girl Em.” He tells you, his whiskey eyes fixed on yours as he swats your clit with the riding crop. “Impatient.”

Ecstasy sears through your nerve endings, erupting underneath your skin like a thousand tiny sparks shooting throughout your nervous system. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, stifling the sound of your pleasure as he brings it down again, this time harder, your body pulling taut against the silk.

“I think my baby likes that.” He murmurs rubbing the keeper, down along your slit and back up again. “Let’s see how far we can go.”

This time you can’t bite back your cry when the leather hits your clit, that brief impact has heat rushing through your pussy like a wildfire. The flames licking through your body, keeping you right there on the edge, ready to combust and Charlie adds the perfect gasoline with that next strike.

The sudden slap against your clit is just enough to send you hurting over the edge. Charlie’s mouth covers yours as you unravel, drinking down the rapture as he continues to stroke your slit with the worn leather, drawing out your orgasm.

He pulls the crop away from your pussy, tapping it against your lips instead, signalling for them to open. You comply and the taste of leather and cum blossoms on your tongue as you moan around the keeper.

“Good girl.” He praises and you flutter those pretty lashes at him, sticking your tongue out so he can see the leather glisten. “Now are you going to behave yourself?”

You shake your head and he sighs, the crop leaving your mouth and trailing back down to your pussy.

“I can keep this up all night Em.” He promises you, nuzzling his face into the curve of your throat. “I can do this for as long as you need.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[flowersfromnaboo]

— ⠀ ִ ࣪ ׅ 𐔌ㅤ  BUT SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHO I AM !

ft. ellie williams

— ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ellie is once again following you around like a lost puppy. ellie—the girl who’s been trying to win your heart since… forever? and you can’t help but notice how sweet she actually is (and you absolutely hate yourself for it).

warnings / tags : emotional cheating? ‘cause reader has a boyfriend. and that’s pretty much it. plus she’s kinda mean and if you’re not into that.. don’t read i guess.

!! notes : this is the first fanfic i’ve written after a year of not writing… 😣😣 i’m NERVOUS and this probably will turn into a series..

lime milkshake for your friend. strawberry milkshake for yourself. one am in the morning.

“i think you’re being too harsh on that williams girl..” your friend, cindy, says as she takes another sip of her drink.

yes. one in the morning. and here you were—out with your best friend, sipping milkshakes. a big ritual, actually. something you both did at least twice a month. milkshakes and gossip. well, mostly gossip.

“who even is that williams girl?” you ask, mimicking her and taking a slow sip of your own.

“girl.. don’t even,” answers cindy, rolling her eyes. “you know damn well who.”

and you just twirl the straw in your milkshake, acting like you’re transfixed by the pattern of melted ice cream and strawberry. but the truth is, you were just trying to avoid looking into cindy’s eyes.

because she was right. of course she was. she always had to be the “reasonable one” and for what?

you weren’t that mean, were you? you were just letting her know you weren’t interested, yeah, definitely.

but you’d said that a week ago.

a week ago. that’s when things changed, at least for you.

you started getting that weird feeling in your stomach whenever she did something stupid. sometimes you even started smiling at her. you didn’t know what was going on, you thought you were probably… possessed or something, because this could not be happening.

“yeah.. okay.. ellie williams,” you mutter, finally saying the name out loud like it was a very secret spell. “she’s nothing even that cool.”

cindy raises an eyebrow. “was i dreaming or didn’t she literally walk you to class in the rain last week? no umbrella. just her hoodie.”

rolling your eyes, you scuff the toe of your shoe on the floor. “i know right? she’s just so dramatic.”

“and, she gave you the last blueberry muffin at lunch.”

“i literally hate blueberries.”

“… she also remembered your cat’s birthday.”

"... okay that was kinda cute."

cindy throws her hands up. “yes, exactly!”

you groan, leaning back into the booth. “why is she always just… i don’t know… around? like, she just appears. in the library. outside chem. by the vending machine. i turn around and boom—ellie. like some fucking lovesick ghost.”

“okay she’s not—“

you cut her off and just continue rambling. “and she’s so hard to ignore! she’s literally everywhere, cindy. gosh.. she’s literally your boyfriend’s cousin. and your boyfriend? he’s always around! and that means ellie is too. every movie night, every group hang, every. single. time.”

cindy just blinks at you. “okay..”

“and she’s so nice! too nice, actually. see, last week she got me a coffee. my favourite coffee. she remembers how i like my coffee, cindy. literally my coffee order.”

“okay but like… why don’t you just give her a shot? wouldn’t hurt, trust me.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“i mean.. come on. she’s been into you since, like what…? forever?” cindy shrugs. “and it’s not like you actually like your boyfriend.”

you freeze like she just slapped you across the face. oh, how you hate hearing the truth. “don’t be ridiculous, i love my boyfriend.”

the single raised eyebrow from cindy shows her lack of enthusiasm. “do you, though?”

“i do,” you say, too fast, in a tone that sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. “you sound absolutely crazy right now.”

she crosses her arms. “sureeee.”

you wave your hands up high. “i do! i love him. he’s... he’s good. he always picks me up after class. his mom thinks i’m nice. we—we watch movies together.”

cindy stares at you as if she expects more to the story.

but you go on all the same.

“and we've been a couple for, like, seven months! that’s a long time. that means we stick together. that’s commitment. you don’t just drop all that because someone’s cousin looks at you like you hung the fucking stars.”

cindy laughs, all sure and annoying. “girl, you’re so in denial and it’s funny. you talk about loving your boyfriend, but you keep talking about the girl who gives you more napkins without you asking.”

you try to talk back, you really do. but the words stick in your throat.

because you know: your boyfriend is nice. easy to guess. safe.

but ellie?

ellie makes your heart act up in ways it shouldn’t when you’re “in love” with someone else. she makes you feel… edgy? but in a good way—like you’re more alive. like your blood is loud when she’s near. it’s just weird, honestly.

you shake your head hard, as if that’ll clear your mind.

"yeah, i’m not doing this," you say.

[dodger432101]

Your First Day - Mr Ring-A-Ding x Reader Part 1

[Here we goooo! Hope you guys don't mind a little spooky start. Hehe. Just want to say, this will also be posted (like my other fic and all the stuff I've been writing from your requests) on ao3 under the user Unassuming_Mouse, so if you want to check it out there and read through the other stuff I've written on a more compact space then feel free to do so! Anyway, hope you enjoy!]

Your ever-annoying alarm wakes you up. With a tired groan, you whack the top of it, unintentionally knocking it off the nightstand and onto the floor. At least it's stopped beeping.

After a small breakfast, a quick shower, brushing your teeth and getting dressed, you leave your house and set off to work. It's your first day and you want to get there at least on time. The morning Miami air is cool against your face, helping you wake up completely as you walk to the cinema. Palazzo is currently closed to the public, with work still being done on the building, but the interior and everything within needs maintenance, which is what you've been hired for. A caretaker of a quaint little picture house, look at you go.

Of course, you've heard all the talk about the place. 15 people going missing, only to suddenly appear after 3 months. The previous caretaker dying in the mysterious explosion that happened on the same day the missing people came back. Something resembling a cartoon character floating out of Palazzo. You don't let it get to you, it's probably just rumors made up to explain the work being done on the building.

It doesn't take you long to get there, your boss -The owner of the cinema- is standing outside on his phone. There's still scaffolding around the building, with people already up there. At your footsteps your boss looks up, smiling and putting his phone away when he sees it's you. “Ah, you're here early.” You give a bashful smile in return. Of course you got up earlier than necessary to get here. There's a part of you that's ecstatic about looking after the interior, making it look all fancy and new for when it reopens. Plus, there's all the machines and film reels to take a peek at. Who could blame you for wanting to get here first thing?

“Well, you said there's extra theatres being added. I wanted to, you know, get started right away with what's currently inside so I don't get a pile-up of maintenance that needs doing.” It's not a complete lie, you know there's already a lot that needs doing. Getting ahead never hurt anyone.

Your boss’s smile grows at your enthusiasm. “Yes, things are moving along quite quickly. It'd be good to clear up any urgent maintenance now before the new projectors and whatnot gets installed. Just hope you'll get more done than the last few before you run out screaming.” You stare at him as he chuckles.

“Why would I do that?”

His smile becomes sharper, like a kid that's about to tell some ghost story around a campfire. “I hired, well, three other caretakers before you took interest in the job. All of ‘em claimed that there's something in there. Moving stuff around, footsteps coming from empty rooms, lights and other things turning on by themselves. Seem to think that the guy who died in the explosion is haunting the place. None of ‘em lasted a month before they quit.”

Holy shit, there was some truth to those rumors. Now you're going to be playing caretaker in a haunted picture house. Fantastic. Forcing down the shivers that threatened to run up your spine at the thought of some ghost roaming the theatres, you give a hopeful smile to your boss. “Well, maybe he'll like me more!” You share a laugh as he pats you on the shoulder.

“Let's hope so. Oh, and avoid the first theatre -its projector room in particular-, if you could. They're still doing work on the roof, that's where the explosion blasted through. I don't know how stable the ceiling is, wouldn't want you getting hurt.” You nod, then he gives a wave before getting into his car and driving away. Well, haunted cinema, let's see what you have in store.

The inside is what you'd expect. Most of it looks untouched, still the same from when the place was first built. It's a little tacky, but nostalgic at the same time. Could definitely do with some cleaning. You walk down the hallway, checking your phone for the list of tasks you were sent. Huh.. it's taking a while for things to load. Surely the service can't be that bad in here. No matter, it's on the screen now-

-Hi there!-

That.. wasn't there, at the top of the list, when you checked earlier this morning. It stops you in your tracks, turns your blood cold. Your eyes dart around you, breaths picking up. No, no, don't let something like this get to you. It's probably just your boss trying to spook you. This and that story about the previous caretakers, it's just him teasing the new employee, it has to be! With a deep, calming breath, you carry on your way, ignoring the feeling of eyes drilling into the back of your head.

At the moment, the only “urgent” things were bust lightbulbs and other minor repairs. Things you could handle yourself without needing to get in an actual technician. God help you if any of the complicated machinery breaks. After a needed stretch, you remember that there’s food and refreshments in the diner connected to the building. It was a recent installment, something to keep customers in, but your boss said that you were free to grab a snack or drink if you needed it. No one but employees and construction workers would be using it up for a while. You've just gotten to the start of the hallway when the sound of a door slamming has you swiftly turning around. The fear from earlier surges back, you struggle but manage to force it down. It was probably just the workers banging about outside. There's no one but you in here.

The lights of the kitchen are already on when you get there. Ignoring that fact for your own sanity, you get a drink out of the fridge and take a generous sip before putting it on the counter while you check your list. As soon as that page opens you let out a yelp, your phone falling out of your hand. The text at the top of the list has been replaced.

-Good job!-

What the hell is going on?! No, wait, maybe it's just your boss sending a random message of encouragement. Yeah, it's weird that he's communicating on the list of tasks he sent you, but that has to be what this is. Right? Pick up your phone, butter fingers. Just out of curiosity, you check when the page had been edited. 1:24. The exact time you'd stopped to take a break. You know that because you'd checked the time before you came here. That's either a spooky coincidence.. or..

You look up from the list, just in time to watch a blur of something small and blue duck behind the door. What in the everliving fuck was that?! Nothing! It was nothing! Stop working yourself up. There's no ghost, the only thing in this building is you. And by the whistling getting closer, also a construction worker. Thankfully it is, the guy gives a polite wave before he grabs a couple drinks out of the fridge. He opens one and takes a sip. “You the new caretaker then?” You just nod, nursing your own drink, which he returns with one of his own. “The lights by the front door were flickering when I came in. Dunno if they just don' like me or if they're actually faulty.” You look to the side with furrowed eyebrows while he chuckles. They hadn't been flickering at all when you passed by them earlier, both times in fact.

“I'll have a look at them.” Maybe the bulbs were starting to go. Something he'd said catches your attention. “Do the lights usually pick and choose who they like?” Just saying that puts a smile on your face. What a ridiculous question.

Still, he just chuckles again before answering. “Seems like the whole building does. The last caretakers before you, well, one of them was a bit of a jackass to be honest. Don't know how he wasn't fired on his first day. Not even a week had passed, that guy came sprinting out the front door like the devil himself was chasing ‘im. And I can't lie, always feels like there's eyes on me in here. Something's just.. not right.” Well.. that's reassuring! “Just don't tell your boss I said that. We've been trying to act all stoic about it, but.. yeah, something's off about this place.”

“Have you or the other workers ever.. seen anything?”

“Oh, we don't hang around in here long enough for that!” With his drink empty, he crushes the can in one hand before chucking it into the nearby bin. “Speaking of, I should get these to the guys. Nice meetin’ you.” He gives you a wave before walking out with the other drinks in his hand. Now you're alone in here again. In a building that's chased multiple people out and unnerves even more. Great. Just great! After finishing your drink and scoffing a protein bar down to keep your hunger at bay, you walk to the entrance to take a look at these supposedly flickering lights.

They're perfectly fine. Nothing seems wrong with the bulbs, they're bright as can be, consistently bright too. Maybe this cinema does have favourites. But.. why don't they flicker for you? You stare up at them as you ponder the strange stories you've heard today, along with your own experiences. The more things that happen, the less your theory of all this being one elaborate prank makes sense. That construction worker seemed fairly genuine, and he hadn't wasted much time leaving after your conversation. And those messages on the list, surely they couldn't have been from your boss. But only you and him have access to it, who else could -or would- put stuff on there? And so directed at you? Whoever it was either has impeccable timing or they can see you too, evident by that second message. Was someone.. watching you?

The jingle of your phone ringing makes you jump. It's your boss. “Hey! Just wanted to check in, see how you're doing in there.” Huh.. so phone calls came through fine, but a shared doc takes a good minute to load?

“I'm doing good, got just about all of the urgent jobs done.”

“Well I know that, you sent me that message!”

A cold, sharp stake drives into your heart. “I.. never sent you a message.”

“What?” You can just hear him over the blood pumping in your ears. “But.. I got a message from you like, 10 minutes ago. It says all the stuff you've done.”

Fear has you backing up towards the door. “No, no that wasn't me. I've only been using my phone to check the list you sent me.”

There's silence on the other end for a few seconds. “I.. um, w-well that's.. odd.” Yeah no shit. “Uh, if you've done all of that then I don't see any reason for you to hang around in there. Sounds like it's spooked you plenty for one day.” You're instantly out the door, not daring to take a look behind you. “Tomorrow I’d like for you to test some of the projectors currently in the building. We have plenty of new film reels after the explosion destroyed basically all we had in stock, but since then no one's gotten around to taking a look at the actual machines. Anyway, good work today. See you tomorrow morning!” The call ends with a beep, but you're too busy speed walking away to move it from your ear.

Back in Palazzo, a little figure watches you leave from the window, his little antennae drooping as you walk out of his eyesight.

[formulafanfics13]

Be Quiet for Me - EO31 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: At a rooftop party, Esteban sees you flirting with Pierre and loses control. He corners you, confronts you, and then takes you back to his hotel room, where he fucks you hard and possessive to remind you who you belong to.

Warnings: Explicit smut, jealousy, possessive/controlling behavior, light choking, rough sex, name-calling, degradation, dirty talk, orgasm denial, fingering, creampie (implied external finish), emotionally intense dynamic, crying during sex.

It was meant to be a quiet night. Just one drink. Just a quick appearance. Just a few minutes of your time at some branded rooftop thing you weren't even meant to attend. But then you'd walked in, all legs and lip gloss and soft giggles, and Esteban had stopped breathing.

He was across the terrace. Talking to someone, probably. He couldn't remember. Because the second he saw you, skirt too short, cheeks flushed from wine, back of your heel kicking gently against the railing while you laughed at something Pierre said — the only thing he remembered was how you sound when you come.

And how he hadn't heard it in weeks.

You hadn't seen him yet. Which made it worse. You were just existing, like you didn't know what you did to him, like your mouth hadn't said his name three times in a row the last time he'd fucked you against a bathroom sink.

And now you were here. Smiling at Pierre. Esteban saw red.

He caught you in the hallway. Alone. Between the elevators. It was quiet. You were scrolling through something on your phone, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. He stepped out of the shadows like a ghost.

You gasped when you saw him. "Jesus- Esteban, you scared me-"

"Are you fucking him?"

Your heart dropped. "What-"

He moved closer. You backed up, spine hitting the wall. "I asked," he said, voice like ice, "are you fucking Pierre?"

You stared at him. Flushed. Stunned. "No," you said. "What the fuck, Esteban?"

His hand hit the wall beside your head. Not hard. Just enough to hold you there. "I saw the way he looked at you."

"And?"

"I know that look."

"So do I," you snapped. "And you've never looked at me like that."

He stared at you. Then stepped closer. "You don't know how I look at you." His mouth crashed into yours before you could reply.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. It was punishment. Hands gripping your hips, dragging you into him, his body all hard muscle and tension and want. He kissed you like he'd been starving. Like the weeks apart had drained him and you were the only fucking cure.

You moaned into it. He swallowed the sound with his tongue.

"Be quiet," he said against your lips. "I'm not done with you yet."

You barely made it to the hotel room. He unlocked the door, shoved you inside, and slammed it shut behind him. "On the bed. Now."

You moved without thinking. He was right behind you, fingers already pulling at your skirt, dragging it up, sliding his hand between your legs. "No panties?" he said, voice vicious.

You shivered. "Didn't think I'd need them."

"You didn't," he growled.

He pushed you onto your back and pulled your legs apart, staring down at you like a man unravelled. "You think I don't notice how you act when I'm not around?" he hissed. "The way you flirt? The way you look at other people like you're not already fucking mine?"

"I didn't do anything-"

"You wore this dress."

You gasped as his fingers slipped inside you. One. Then two. Deep. Hard. His thumb found your clit with brutal precision.

"You wore this dress knowing what it would do to me."

"I wore it for myself-"

"Liar."

His fingers moved faster. You bit your lip. Your hips bucked. "Don't come," he said.

"I I have to-"

He stopped. You screamed. He climbed over you slowly, eyes dark, breath ragged. "You don't come until I say so. You don't breathe without me."

You whimpered. Your thighs were shaking. He still hadn't unzipped his trousers. Then he kissed your throat. Your collarbone. Your chest. "You think Pierre could fuck you like I do?" he whispered. "You think he could make you beg the way I do?"

You said nothing. His hand wrapped around your throat. "Be. Quiet."

You nodded.

He finally pulled himself free. His cock was hard, flushed, already leaking. He lined up and pushed inside in one smooth, devastating stroke. You gasped. He stilled. "No noise."

You nodded again. You were so full. So stretched. Your nails clawed the sheets. Your eyes rolled back. Esteban started to move. Slow. Deep. Dragging every inch out of you before slamming it back in. His pace was punishing. His grip iron. He fucked you like he'd missed you. Like he was angry at himself for missing you.

"Stay quiet," he growled. "I want to see how long you can last."

You bit your hand. Tears pricked your eyes. You were shaking already. He leaned over you, kissing your cheekbone. "You want to come?"

You nodded frantically.

"Then you say it."

"Say what?"

He pulled out. You sobbed. "Say who you belong to."

You gasped. "You- I belong to you- fuck- please-"

He thrust back in. You screamed. He kissed you to shut you up. Deep. Filthy. Possessive. "Good girl."

He started moving again, faster now, harder, his hand gripping your hip so tightly it burned. You came with a broken sob, whole body convulsing. He fucked you through it, not slowing, chasing his own high until he finally pulled out and came across your stomach with a gasp, hand still tangled in your hair.

Silence. You were ruined. He collapsed beside you. Pulled you into his chest. You were still shaking. Still high.

His voice, soft now. Quiet. Real. "You do know how I look at you," he whispered.

You buried your face in his neck. "I do now."

[kleyasradio]

10 songs you associate with Kleya?

Oh there are so many. Idk that I can stick to 10 because Chelsea Wolfe alone has like 25 songs that scream Kleya. I'll just list a bunch of songs that make me think of Kleya and feel things.

1. Static Hum - Chelsea Wolfe

They gave you to war, gave you away Garden of stones marks the debt She wears her horrors like a welt Glitch of a woman self-destructing

Static hum Static hum Static hum Static

2. Iron - Woodkid

Deep in the ocean, dead and cast away Where innocence is burned, in flames A million miles from home, I'm walking ahead I'm frozen to the bones, I am

A soldier on my own, I don't know the way I'm riding up the heights, of shame I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest I'm ready for the fight, and fate

3. Abbey - Mitski

I am something I have been something I was born something What could I be?

There is a light that I can see But only, it seems, when there's darkness in me There is a dream that I sometimes see That only appears in the dark of sleep

4. Crimson Stone - Converge & Chelsea Wolfe

Stand in the way Stand in the way and fate will simply go around Forces at play Forces at play flipping worlds upside down Trembling souls Trembling souls shaken into piles of bone Blood running cold Blood running cold before it hardens into stone

5. We Must be Killers - Mikky Ekko

I woke up I was stuck in a dream You were there you were tearing up everything We all know how to fake it baby We all know what we've done We must be killers children of the wild ones Killers, where we've got left to run Killer, killer, killer, killer Killer, killer, killer, killer

6. Golden Green - Agnes Obel

All I have or should want to be but never could It's coming at, it's coming at, it's coming at It's coming at, it's coming at my heart Ooh, to spoil my soul with fire

All my eyes can see is born out of your imagery It's coming at, it's coming at, it's coming at It's coming at, it's coming at my heart To scorch the Earth with fire

7. Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

Holy water cannot help you now Thousand armies couldn't keep me out I don't want your money I don't want your crown See I've come to burn your kingdom down

8. Hardest of Hearts - Florence + The Machine

There is love in your body but you can't hold it in It pours from your eyes and spills from your skin Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

The hardest of hearts The hardest of hearts The hardest of hearts

There is love in your body but you can't get it out It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth Sticks to your tongue and shows on your face That the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste

9. Lovely - Billie Eilish, Khalid

Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here Even if it takes all night or a hundred years Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

Isn't it lovely? All alone Heart made of glass, my mind of stone Tear me to pieces, skin to bone Hello, welcome home

10. Burn Alive - The Last Dinner Party

I am not the girl I set out to be Let me make my grief a commodity Do what I can to survive There is candle wax melting in my veins So I keep myself standing in your flames Burn, burn me alive

(thank you @velkleyaenjoyer)

11. Whispers in the Echo Chamber - Chelsea Wolfe

This world was not designed for us And I've been punished, I've been blessed Surrounded by living ghosts, you see I thought I had to swallow them before they swallowed me But you only know the one I've been I've shed a thousand skins since then A curse upon the monster of more That shit does not define me anymore

12. Touch - Sleeping at Last

Rain or shine, I don’t feel a thing, Just some information upon my skin. I miss the subtle aches when the weather changed, The barometric pressure we always blamed.

All I want is to flip a switch Before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

Invisible machinery, These moving parts inside of me Well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, Leaving only rust behind.

13. Wasting My Young Years - London Grammar

You crossed this line Do you find it hard to sit with me tonight? I've walked these miles but I've walked 'em straight lined You'll never know what was like to be fine

I'm wasting my young years It doesn't matter if... I'm chasing old ideas It doesn't matter if...

Maybe... We are We are Maybe I'm wasting my young years

14. After the Zero Hour - Wolf Alice

Suddenly she lost control of the world A fire burnt and the chaos unfurled A transcendent sudden invitation to the zero hour She gave in to the temptation High on curiosity, high on power

But this girl refused to die So she drank the milk of life Was it the moon and the changing tide?

Yeah, this girl refused to die So she drank the milk of life Felt like the start of the ninth life

15. Starlight - Muse

Far away This ship has taken me far away Far away from the memories Of the people who care if I live or die

Starlight I will be chasing a starlight Until the end of my life I don't know if it's worth it anymore

16. Knights of Cydonia - Muse

Come ride with me Through the veins of history I'll show you a god who Falls asleep on the job

And how can we win When fools can be kings Don't waste your time Or time will waste you

No one's gonna take me alive The time has come to make things right You and I must fight for our rights You and I must fight to survive

17. Coil - Converge & Chelsea Wolfe

Venomously Winding and weaving Blood and ivory Obscure belief A hidden hunger (It's like) Writhing and seething (A serpent coiled inside) Basking in the warmth (And it's like this life) Of love unseen (This life)

It’s like a serpent coiled inside me Sign of the sacred song Slithering sweetly, odd with intention This coil furls on and on

18. Arsonist's Lullabye - Hozier

When I was a child, I heard voices Some would sing and some would scream You soon find you have few choices I learned the voices died with me When I was a child, I'd sit for hours Staring into open flame, something in it had a power Could barely tear my eyes away

All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep them on a leash

19. Bones - MS MR

Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone Let her find a way to a better place Broken dreams and silent screams Empty churches with soulless curses We found a way to escape the day

Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone Lost in the pages of self-made cages Life slips away and the ghosts come to play These are hard times These are hard times for dreamers And the love lost believers

20. Run Baby Run - The Rigs

Look Can you see behind these eyes Can you see what isn't there The truth dressed up in lies

Daylight's dying Run, baby run, baby run Full moon rising Run, baby run, baby run

21. A Real Hero - College (feat. Electric Youth)

Back against the wall and odds With the strength of a will and a cause Your pursuits are called outstanding You're emotionally complex Against the grain of dystopic claims Not the thoughts your actions entertain And you have proved to be

A real human being and a real hero Real human being and a real hero

[bitemefightme]

TEEHEE GOD YOU ARE SOO *chefs kiss * you indulge me too much, sigh.. Anyway, you know who I have been thinking about ? Terzo. Mhm the diva, love him. Like that man?? Delicious. Omega would agree MHMHM.

Do you think whenever Terzo does his slutty stage stuff, as soon as they get off stage Omega bends him over the nearest amp or table as soon as they are alone bc he had to watch his mate spiritually fuck like 1000s of people for the past 90 minutes? Bc I do. I think we should expand on this Mhmh.

- Dannie

Can you imagine though??? It's been a long day. Poor Omega hasn't gotten any attention from Terzo because the tour just keeps both of them so busy sometimes. And what does Terzo do? Practically tortures Omega by being so extra with the crowd that night.

Yes yes! Let's Expound upon this!

Warning: Gay sex, possessive Omega, cheeky Terzo, the ghost butt plug makes a guest appearance. Let me know if I miss anything.

The second Terzo's dressing room door closes Omega is pouncing, pulling at Terzo's clothes, trying to get him naked as quickly as possible without ripping the expensive suit.

"Oh, what wrong, tesoro." Terzo coos slipping Omega's mask off to reveal lust clouded eyes. "You look like you want to just eat me up. Should I be scared?"

Omega growls as he gives up on keeping the suit intact, grabbing the sides of the shirt and giving a hard tug that pops the shirt open and sends buttons flying.

"Maybe you should be." Omega purrs in Terzo's ear as his tongue (much longer then any normal tongue) dips down to lav over the humans chest.

"Brute" Terzo teases as he shrugs off his shirt and jacket.

"Perhaps I am, but you..." Omega backs Terzo into a table, caging him in. "You are a showy tease."

"Oh really?" Terzo busies his hands with the buttons on Omega's own suit, just as desperate as the ghoul to have some skin to touch. "And how's that?"

"You ignore me all day." Omega lets his claws sharpen to a point and gently drags them down Terzo's chest. Not hard enough to draw blood but enough that the feeling of danger is still there. "And then you practically make love to the audience while I can do nothing but watch."

Terzo shivers as the claws dip into the waist band of his pants and underwear and with one sharp tug tear them to shreds.

"Aw, is someone pent up?" Terzo breathes as he unbuckles Omega's belt. "Wanna take it all out your dear Papa?"

There's a deep rumble in Omega's chest as he abruptly flips Terzo onto is stomach and notices a metalic glint.

"Now, how long has this been here?" Omega taps a finger against the pretty little plug thats nestled snuggly in his lover's ass, causing Terzo to bite back a whine.

"Since before mic checks." Terzo bites his lip and moans as Omega grips the base and starts fucking the plug in and out of him.

"You've had this planned from the start didn't you?" Omega presses himself against Terzo's back, cupping his jaw with his free hand as he finally pulls the plug out, making Terzo gasp and shudder.

"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't." Terzo, ever cocky, teases despite the fact he could feel Omega's cock pressing against his fluttering hole. "How do you know I'm just testing out a new merch design?"

Omega rolls his eyes.

"If that's the case, why don't you take a break from testing and indulge me for a while" Omega doesn't give Terzo time to come up with a wity comeback and starts pressing himself into him, slowly, inch by inch, so Terzo could feel every centimeter filling him.

Terzo lets out a whorish moan as Omega bottoms out, he could feel his face paint smearing from the sweat and tears running down his face.

"Shhhh love." One of Omega's hands grips Terzo's hip while the other braces against the table. "The others might hear you."

"Nothing they haven't heard before." Terzo quips before letting out a gasp as Omega starts thrusting.

"True." Omega hums, angling his hips so he can properly hit Terzo's prostate, making the man moan out again.

Terzo claws at the table as he feels his legs start shaking like they're about to give out. Omega takes notice and moves him to lay on his back, chuckling at how limp and complaint Terzo was now.

Omega kisses Terzo, shoving his tongue down his throat just enough to make him feel like he was about to choke before retracting it and slowly fucking it down his throat again.

Terzo tangles a hand in Omega's hair while his other goes down to jerk himself off. Omega picks up the pace, feeling the same sense of urgency as Terzo to cum.

Omega removes his tongue from Terzo's mouth and growls in his ear.

"Gonna cum. Gonna fill you up and put this damned plug back in you so you can carry it around while you change and fix your makeup. So you can feel me while you meet and great fans or do an interview or whatever the fuck we have to do after this."

Terzo cums across his and Omega chests at the thought. The whole crew was going out to dinner after this and the idea of carrying Omega's seed in him for the rest of the evening made him clench around the ghoul in question.

"Fuck, squeezing me so tight!" Omega wants nothing more than to bite down on Terzo's shoulder as he cums but he knew the kind of trouble they'd both be in if Terzo got marked up too much.

Terzo keens at the feeling of being filled, scratching his nails down Omega's back and pulling at his hair.

They stay there for a moment, breathing hard and enjoying each other's warmth.

Terzo lays limply on the table as Omega pulls out, only jumping slightly at the cold feeling of the plug circling his rim before pushing in.

"Such a good little slut for me" Omega coos as he gently sits Terzo up, chuckling when he whimpers at the feeling of the plug getting pushed just a bit deeper.

Omega grabs some wipes from the nearby vanity and starts carefully removing Terzo's face paint praising him for doing such a good job and taking him so well. He also takes the time to wipe down both of their bodies before re-dressing the Papa in new clothes.

Still sitting on the table, Terzo was buttoning his shirt when Omega knelt down to tie his shoes for him. Terzo admired the view for a moment before lifting Omega's chin with the toe of his shoe.

"You know I don't mean to tease you, right, tesoro?" Terzo leans down to cup Omega's face, placing gentle kisses on him. "The tour just keeps me so busy and I miss you even though you're right here."

Omega purrs deep within his chest at the attention, nodding with understanding.

"But we're almost done. And then I'm all yours." Terzo gingerly gets off the table, mindful of his still shaky legs.

Omega smiles at the thought of having Terzo all to himself, even if it's just for a few months after the tour.

As the pair left the dressing room Omega cheekily swatted Terzo on the rear causing the man to bite back a moan as the plug was jostled.

"I'll stop by your hotel room to help you with that later." Omega hummed as he slipped away to join the other ghouls in getting ready to head out.

"Looking forward to it."

There I expounded it. It's been expanded. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Much like Terzo's ass has been expanded

[kizzer55555]

Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.

[muninnhuginn]

Keep thinking about how time in Frieren is measured in years since Himmel's death. The fact that at this point in the anime, he's been dead far longer than Frieren travelled with him, and yet, that's still how she relates time to this world.

[doctahchang]

would like to know the lore of my own oc that i have had for like ten years

edit: found an old sketch of her... i basically drew her for the first time eons ago and haven't changed her design ever since (sad that i won't be able to find those drawing again)

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…

[lymtw]

Sweetness

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

It's two in the morning when your eyes blink open from your very brief slumber. Your eyelids feel heavy as you hold them open, but it's nothing compared to the grip your strong craving for something sweet has on you. Toji's soft snores fill your ears, along with the rustling of the blanket as you flip over onto your other side to face him. You move slowly, careful not to make any disruptive movements.

Your vision is limited in the darkness of Toji's room, but the few minutes that you've been awake now has allowed your eyes to somewhat adjust. You can see how handsome he is, even while he sleeps. His lips form an involuntary pout, his dark eyelashes rest against the bags under his eyes. You don't feel as nervous to proceed with your plan of getting your early morning craving handled.

'He's not awake, he's not looking at you...' you think to yourself as you lean forward to press a light kiss on his cheek. Your heart stutters as you lean back to see if that did anything.

Nothing.

So, you go again, with less caution this time because he's in a deep sleep. You leave a few more kisses on his cheek, a couple on his chin, and then, one on the tip of his nose, before leaning back to see your progress. His quiet snoring has subsided, leaving only soft breaths to escape his nose.

You continue on with the soft butterfly kisses on his face. Your lips brush the point of his nose once more, and then you leave the ghost of a peck on his lips, before going to his cheek, again.

This time he hums, right before pulling you in and holding you like a bear protecting its cub.

"Toji," you whisper, tilting your head to try and look at him.

"Mm," he simply grunts, not opening his eyes.

"Can we go to the store?"

He sighs through his nose, a sound riddled with the sleep that held him just a couple minutes ago. "You sleep talking, baby?"

The thought makes a faint smile appear on his lips. You? Dreaming about going to the store with him? It's adorable.

"No, something sweet sounds really good right now. Like some fruit or... I don't know."

A soft hum is his initial response, before the fogginess of his sleep ridden brain clears a little more. "You can't wait a few more hours, doll? It's pretty early and you won't go back to sleep if we get you something sweet," he tries to reason.

He's right. The fact that you woke him up for this makes you feel a little guilty. "Oh... yeah. That's fine. I can wait," you mumble, ready to curl up and try to sleep off your want for something to snack on.

Now he feels guilty. You hardly ask him for anything, and though he feels strongly about you getting a consistent amount of sleep, he knows that it wouldn't kill him to let you have this.

A few seconds go by and you've settled in his arms, again. "Hey, baby," he calls, dragging his fingertips over your lower back. "Gimme a kiss." It's not a test or a way to persuade him. The delicacy of your sweet kisses is not to be taken for granted, but maybe it made him feel worse when you slowly scooted forward and met him halfway for a little peck. You didn't even hesitate to fulfill his request.

"Another one," he murmurs, allowing himself to be selfish with this seemingly endless fountain of your affection. Normally, you're hesitant or nervous, but with you being half asleep, you must not really be thinking about it. "One more," he hums, awaiting the feeling of your lips pressed on his, again. "Mm... that's good stuff, pretty baby. Always the sweetest thing for me, so I think..." he murmurs, his voice audible only between you and him, "...we should go get you something sweet, hm?"

"Are you sure? I really don't mind-"

He cuts you off with another chaste kiss. "I'm sure. You should wake me up like that all the time."

You laugh. "But I don't usually wake you up."

"Well, I like the way you did it just now. All kinds of soft. You wake me up like that and we can do whatever you want whenever you want."

"Okay, then," you agree.

"Put on the dress and we'll head out," he says, referring to his hoodie that you spent most of the night in before you climbed into bed with him. It looked like you were drowning in fabric and Toji was loving every minute of the view. The sleeves hid your hands, effortlessly, and the hem reached your thighs. It fit like a short dress on you.

Toji watches you after putting his shirt on, as you lift the almost heavy material over your head and pull it down, your arms not filling the sleeves once again and your shorts getting lost underneath the fabric. You pull the hood down and it sticks out behind you on its own.

"What?" You ask, in response to the smirk curled on his lips.

"You're not real," he says, stepping towards you. "You just get devoured by my hoodie." He tugs at the front a couple times, observing your face as it slowly deflates and presses against you again. "That's fucking precious."

You're speechless. Your cheeks feel like they've been scorched. You can still vividly feel the way he pulled on the front of the hoodie, gently grazing your stomach.

"I won't forget my sweater next time," you say, deflecting his affectionate words.

He sighs, heavy, pretending to be conflicted. "It'd be a shame if it just... I don't know, got lost when you thought you left it on my couch. Don't you think that would be so unfortunate, doll?"

You hum affirmatively, unable to suppress your grin at his mischievous plan.

"So, I think it's safer to leave your pretty sweaters at home and i'll keep you warm here. I'm doing a pretty good job so far, huh?" He says, letting his eyes roam over you from head to toe.

"Okay, fine," you agree, leaving the room with Toji to retrieve your shoes.

"Fine?" Toji says, entertained as he watches you float along in his enormous hoodie, towards the mat where your shoes and his shoes are. A low, amused chuckle leaves him as he slides into his slippers right beside you. "Sassy baby."

"What? I'm not sassy," you defend.

Toji loves how you look in this moment. Your tired eyes, the smallest, practically nonexistent tinge of hurt in your expression, like you can't stand the idea of being anything other than sweet to him. It's like he bopped you on the nose with a rolled up newspaper and called you a bad girl.

"Not often, but i've witnessed you in sassy mode a few times. You mimic people under your breath when they're being annoying, make a little face and everything."

You thought you were being sly, turned away from him each time you did it, too, but clearly you've underestimated how much of his attention goes to you.

"Oh," you utter, mildly embarrassed.

"It's funny," he says, reaching behind you to grab his keys from the hook they hang on. "You're still my sweet girl... even when you wake me up for snack runs." He mutters the last part, and grins when your expression goes guilty.

"We don't have to," you say, again, smiling softly to show that you really would be okay with him changing his mind and crawling back into bed.

"I'm just messing with you," he says, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "It's gonna cost you a kiss to get that door open, though."

You're tentative about the price. It's a trap. You know it, he knows it, even the walls know it.

"One kiss?" You ask, even when you see the deceit in his eyes and his sly smirk.

He nods. "Just one."

"Okay," you agree, voluntarily walking into that trap you had acknowledged.

The second you feel his arms around your waist, you know you were right. It starts out as promised, a single quick peck, but it quickly turns just as you thought it would. It's as if that single kiss activated his addiction, because one kiss turned to two, then three, until the fourth when you couldn't hold back your giddy giggles. You lean back, never really leaving the cage that is Toji, because he just leans forward and chases after more of your sweet kisses until you can't reciprocate them anymore, completely overtaken by his affectionate attack.

With a final elongated kiss, planted smack on your lips, he lets up and allows you to recompose yourself. It's one of his favorite things to do for a reason—you glow like the sun right in front of him, your unabashed laughter is fueled by something so pure and genuine. You know he's greedy with your affection, and yet you still take that chance every time he says "one kiss."

"W-Was that enough?" You tease, struggling to hold back your laugh.

"To open the door? Yeah. For me? Mm..." He smirks. "Not even close, doll."

So you do him one better, and stand on your tippy toes, a signal Toji picks up and acts on. He leans down again, doesn't cage you in this time, and waits. You close the distance between your lips and his, once more, holding it for a few seconds to ensure that your affection is properly sealed and felt by him. When those few seconds are up and your feet are flat on the ground again, you smile through the nerves. Your cheeks grow warmer as you wait for Toji to unfreeze and say something—anything.

"We're leaving, but when we come back, I want at least twenty more of those. Got it?" He says so seriously that anybody else would think he was scolding you for what you did.

"Got it," you respond, lips twitching amusedly.

"Alright, let's go," he says, nodding towards the door, feeling more motivated to get you that sweetness you craved than before.

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[bluelockmaniac]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞... 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭?!"

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, seishiro nagi, isagi yoichi, barou shoei x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ synopsis. surprising your bllk husbands with creative pregnancy reveals!

content warning. fem, wife!reader. suggestive (pull-out game, baby fever, etc). pet names. teeny tiny bit of angst in kaiser's part. twins. nagi feigning ignorance. lots of kisses because yeah. 4.5k wc!

notes. heavily inspired by peachy pregnancy reveal videos on yt!

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

you had never fought so hard to contain laughter in your life. 

it was a quiet afternoon, and you were resting on your bed when sae suddenly barged into your shared bedroom, looking slightly confused.

his brows were furrowed, and his lips were slightly parted. he had just finished taking a shower, water droplets dripping down his skin, and a towel hung loosely around his waist. 

but what really caught your attention was the pile of clothes draped over the bend of his elbow. clothes that you had instantly recognized.

“tsk,” he clicked his tongue in irritation, tossing the garments onto the mattress one by one. “the dumbass dryer shrunk my clothes.”

now laying on the bed were three tiny white shirts, a pair of tiny running shorts, and most importantly an identical replica of his football uniform, complete with sae’s name printed on the back. each piece looked unmistakably his, just tiny.

but little did he know that you had swapped his freshly dried clothes with their baby-sized counterparts while he was in the shower.

the uniform had taken the most effort as you had to customize and order it online rather than simply purchasing it in store, but the results were definitely worth it.

you pressed a hand to your mouth, a soft laugh escaping despite your best efforts to appear innocent. though it was a completely natural reaction for this situation, you doubt he’d find it suspicious. 

“that’s the first time that’s ever happened, right?” you crawled closer to inspect the small jersey. you held it up for sae to see, beaming at him. “but it’s so cute! don’t you think so too?”

sae glanced at your sparkling eyes, and rolled his eyes. he turned toward his dresser, shaking his head slightly. “it’s cute. give it to some fan at my next game.”

like hell you would. you hugged your knees as you eagerly watched him reach for his calvin klein boxers. he could feel your stare burning a hole through his head and turned to you with a raised brow.

“what? you that excited to watch me strip, mi cariño?”

you grinned and gave him a thumbs up. “yeah, i am. keep going, you’re doing great so far.”

sae sighed but you could see the tiny smile that was ghosting his lips. he pulled on his boxers, until he suddenly froze, his fingers stilling on the waistband of the undergarment. your smile widened.

his gaze darted between the tiny clothes on the bed and the neatly folded ones– his clothes– you had placed on his dresser.

“love.” he said quietly. he walked over to the bed, eyes locked onto yours as he climbed over you. he gently pushed you until your back met the mattress, his frame hovering over you.

“are you pregnant?”

you giggled. “maybe.”

his teal eyes narrowed slightly. he reached up and pinched your cheek. “answer properly. i asked, are you pregnant?”

a breathy laugh slipped past your lips as you nodded. “i am.”

for a split second, he just stared at you, dead silent. then, he let out a soft grunt, muttering under his breath.

“knew something was off. you’ve been acting weird.”

you snorted, “excuse me?”

he tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking at the corners. “didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

he leaned down. he kissed your forehead first, then the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. when he pulled away, there was a subtle smirk on his lips.

“my pull-out game was shit.”

you laughed softly as you ran your fingers through his damp, reddish hair, your voice smug. “i don’t blame you. i just feel way too good.”

his smirk twitched as he flicked your forehead lightly. “don’t get too cocky or i might just have to plant baby number two.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

“sir,” the police officer began professionally as he approached rin’s car parked in the public lot, tapping on the driver’s window. 

rin paused his conversation with you, casting a side-glance at the cop. he raised a brow before rolling down the window. “what?” he asked bluntly.

the officer leaned a little against the window frame, nodding his head respectfully. “i’m going to have you stop here. you have a child in the vehicle with no child seat.”

rin stared at the man like he was an idiot, then slowly turned to look at you, scoffing in disbelief. “get a load of this guy.” he muttered. you bit your bottom lip hard to suppress your laughter, fingers tightening around the purse in your lap.

turning his head back to the officer, rin narrowed his eyes. “are you a dunce? does it look like there’s a child in the backseat?” rin asked him with annoyance. “seems like they purposely hire lukewarm idiots who lack proper qualifications. you’re not fit for this job.”

“sir, i need you to calm down. it’s simply protocol. i’ll have to fine you.”

as your husband continued arguing with the poor officer who was actually only carrying out his part of your arrangement, you quietly retrieved the positive pregnancy test out of your purse. a warm smile graced your lips.

the officer, who was busy distracting rin, caught your movement and tried to mask the smirk that was threatening to appear. he played along, “ma’am, are you positive about this?”

that seemed to set rin completely off. “do you need to enter the car to see for yourself, you dumbass cop? i told you, there is no fucking child in this ca–”

“actually,” you interrupted sweetly, “we do have a child in the car with no child seat.”

as soon as he heard your voice, he stopped mid-sentence. rin turned to face you, only to find a pregnancy test held up in your hand, two pink lines etched clearly. his teal eyes flitted back and forth between your smiling face and the test, blinking slowly in realization.

“... you’re not joking, are you?”

you laughed softly as you shook your head. “no, rinnie. i’m pregnant.”

he stared at the pink lines for a while longer, then muttered something under his breath and reached to roll the windows up, shutting out the content cop with a glare. you shot him a quick nod of thanks through the glass before rin turned fully to face you. 

he already knew you’d be a perfect mother with the way you naturally loved and cared for him. as for him? it’ll take him some time to figure out this whole parenting thing.

“didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.” he muttered, threading his hand through his dark green hair as he leaned back against the headrest.

“i think you’ll be just fine,” you murmured softly as you leaned in and gently pried his hands away from his face, your eyes locking onto his teal ones. “but you better be nice to me, baby. i’m going to be extra sensitive from now on, you hear me?”

his brows furrowed slightly before he took your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. “after you set this whole thing up with a cop– a male, no less? yeah, i don’t think so.”

“oh?” you teased, giving him a lopsided grin as you leaned closer. “is the great itoshi rin actually jealous? hm. it looks good on you.”

rin scoffed, but his grip on your chin loosened. “you’re my wife. mine. not his.”

you laughed gently as you took his hand and slipped it under your shirt, guiding it to your stomach. “you don’t have to remind me. i never forgot.”

his gaze softened as he felt the slight swell of your stomach, where the child he (unintentionally) created with you was beginning to grow. he looked at you calmly before resting his hand on the small of your back, drawing you in. rin’s lips ghosted over yours teasingly, but never actually meeting.

you huffed. “you’re a cruel man.”

a rare smile tugged at his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, then leaned away. silently, he reached across and buckled your seatbelt for you, probably his attempt at being a gentleman. he didn’t meet your eyes, but you could practically hear the smile in his words.

“let’s go home quickly,” rin said as he started the car. “we need to take advantage of the time we have left before you’re too far along.”

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

it was christmas. coincidentally, kaiser's birthday as well. 

the two of you had just finished eating together, and now you were lounging on the couch, sitting comfortably on his thigh with his arm lazily draped around your waist. there were many gift bags of different sizes scattered on the fuzzy carpet– a couple big ones, a few medium-sized, and a particularly small one.

kaiser scanned the pile, his crystal blue eyes glinting as he turned to you with a smirk on his face. “hmm, you like me that much, meine liebe?”

you met his teasing stare with silence, then gently cupped his face and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. you’ve come to learn that this method always catches him off guard, and as you expected, it did just that this time as well. his eyes widened slightly just slightly before his lashes fluttered shut. 

“ah.”

“i do,” you murmured against his lips, your voice airy. you pulled away with a content smile. “now hurry up and open them. i'm excited to see your reaction.” you leaned your head against his shoulder, fingers toying with the sleeve of his warm sweater.

kaiser reached for the first bag, tearing through the wrapping carelessly. “a pair of cleats, huh?” he raised a brow, looking at you with an unimpressed, mocking expression. “didn't need them. my cleats are brand new.”

your brows knitted together. “i didn’t get them because you needed them. got them because you suck at choosing anything that isn’t boring.”

“oh, you wound me,” he pinched your waist playfully before rubbing the spot soothingly. “i was just joking, liebe. promise.”

for the next half-hour, he continued opening the gift bags. brand new sunglasses, a watch, new cologne, a mirror since he loves admiring himself, and things of the sort. each gift was met with some sarcastic remark, but there was always a gentle touch here and an appreciative touch there.

then– 

“micha.” you tapped his shoulder, pointing at the relatively tiny bag sitting on the carpet near his feet. “you missed that one.”

his brow arched. he picked it up and placed it on your lap since your legs were swung over his. “didn’t see it. it’s so tiny.” he inspected it for a second before slipping his hand inside. he side-eyed you, chuckling. “why does such a tiny bag have so much wrapping anyway?”

you hummed, pressing a kiss to his neck before nestling your head back against his shoulder. “mm. dunno. maybe this one’s important.”

he pulled something out. and froze. 

you could almost hear his heart thumping in his chest as he slowly flipped the pregnancy test over in his hand. and there it was. two vertical pink lines.

positive.

an awkward silence stretched between you two. you let out a soft huff, gazing at him lovingly as you watched his reaction.

he didn’t say a single word for what felt like eternity. then, he turned to look at you. “are you serious?” his voice lacked his usual teasing.

“yes.”

“are you actually serious?” he repeated.

you laughed. “i’m positive. literally.”

“holy fuck.”

kaiser inhaled sharply, exhaling through his nose as he put a hand on his forehead and slumped back against the couch. he tugged you with him until you were sprawled against his chest. still, he didn’t speak. 

again, there was silence as you pulled a warm blanket over both of you and snuggled closer. you sighed blissfully against him, until something wet landed on your cheek. 

you blinked.

tilting your head, you tried to get a better look at him. but your eyes just widened.

“micha? … baby? … michael?” your voice softened, “my love, are you crying?”

you had never seen him like this before. the usual cocky arrogance completely gone, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to compose himself. then, without a word, he cupped the back of your neck and pulled you back into him to cover his face. his arms wrapped around you tightly, his lips pressed firmly against the top of your head in a long kiss.

“tch, stupid. of course not.” he murmured against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. “our kid’s gonna have your smile. i already know it. and i’m screwed because that’s going to kill me everytime.”

and as he felt your arms tighten around his waist, he’d already decided he was going to be a better father for his child than his dad ever was for him.

𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈

“sei, come onnn!” you whined, tugging insistently at your husband’s arm in an attempt to pry him away from his gaming chair. it proved to be ineffective as his eyes remained glued to the sniper game on his screen.

but the second you tugged just a tiny bit harsher, you threw off his aim, causing him to get shot by the enemy. 

“ah, shit,” he muttered as the ‘game over’ screen flashed before him, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. you felt bad, but only for a split second, so you quickly shook those feelings away— you had something important to reveal after all.

seishiro took off his headset with a dramatic huff, then swiveled his gaming chair to face you. his massive arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close until his face was buried against your stomach. “what is it, pretty?” he sighed into your shirt.

you grinned. “i need to show you something real quick.”

you didn’t give him a chance to protest, practically dragging his lazy frame out of the chair and toward the kitchen, with him following sluggishly behind you.

when you finally stopped, he glanced around, confused. “there’s nothing new…?”

you laughed and pointed at the oven. “open it.”

his brow arched with slight suspicion, but he did as you asked, crouching down and pulling the oven door open. he reached and grabbed the singular item sitting alone on the rack—

“a bun?” he questioned, his white brows knitting together as he stood back up. he seemed almost disappointed and you could only guess he assumed you had prepared him some lavish meal. but hey, you had already figured he’d be a bit slow and would need some extra help.

you bit back a giggle and leaned against the kitchen counter, a smile gracing your lips. “think about it, baby.” you encouraged, “could you tell me what you just found?”

it was almost cute how he was eyeing the bread roll that seemed almost miniscule between his fingers. “i found a bun… in the oven.” he repeated slowly. you watched as his droopy, half-lidded eyes went wide in what you thought was realization, until his lips parted again. 

“did we run out of food?”

you smacked your forehead. “are you dense?” you placed your hands on your hips and let out a semi-annoyed sigh. “it’s an expression people say when—”

you were suddenly cut off when he bent down, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and lifted it just enough to place a tender kiss on your bare stomach. “i know,” he murmured against the soft skin, and you could feel his lips curling into a slight smile. 

your breath hitched, warmth rushing to your cheeks as he straightened himself up and tangled his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

“sei…” you whispered, raking your fingers through his snowy-white hair, still a bit caught off guard. perhaps he wasn’t as dense as he seemed. then, you shivered when his cold palm slid under your shirt and rested against your stomach. he quietly chuckled at your reaction, leaning down until his lips grazed your ear.

“i was actually suffering terribly from baby fever, so i’m glad i didn’t pull out.”

your mind short-circuited as you gawked up at him with widened eyes, but he only gently patted your head with a lazy smile. 

geez. what had gotten into him?!

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎

reo had just pulled into the driveway of his mansion after treating you to an extravagant dinner at a five-star restaurant, your first date with him in quite a while. he patted your thigh affectionately as he turned off his rolls royce, but to his surprise, you simply unbuckled your seatbelt and stayed seated, your hands moving to dig through your purse.

his eyes flicked to you and his lips curved into his signature smile. he figured you were just waiting for him to open the car door for you, the usual princess treatment he was all too familiar with. “right. being away in england for so long made me forget how much my wife loves getting spoiled.”

but before he could make a move to exit the car, your fingers gripped onto his suit, pulling him gently back to his seat. he looked slightly startled, and glanced back at your giddy face with a raised brow. his gaze dropped to the small, silver card in your hand.

“what’s this, baby?” he asked, turning his body towards you.

“a custom-made scratch-off card,” you replied, handing it over to him. “just scratch it.”

your heart was pounding against your ribcage as you watched him flipping the card over, examining it, before fishing out a coin from the cup holder.

“if that’s what you want, princess,” he teased, “though if it’s a lottery ticket, you should know i’m not exactly lacking in that department.” 

reo hummed as he started scraping at the surface. you bit your lip excitedly as the first bit of silvery dust flaked off, the image underneath beginning to reveal itself. his movements slowed, and his amethyst eyes widened as the layer was completely removed.

the sonogram appeared. 

reo’s fingers tightened around the card, a breathless laugh escaping him as he shook his head in disbelief. a grin stretched across his lips, looking at you in awe.

you were unable to hold in your breath any longer. you let out a laugh, tilting your head to look at him from a better angle. “well, reo?”

“i’m going to be a father?”

“what does the sonogram say?”

he chuckled lightly, running a hand through his purple hair as he let the card fall into his lap. “how long have you known?”

“since you left for england,” you said as you shifted happily in your seat.

he reached over, cupping your nape as he pulled you into a slow kiss. relief washed over you so quickly it made your head spin.

he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as his hand trailed down to your stomach. “i wonder if it’ll be a girl or boy,” he murmured.

“could be both, actually.” you cut in, and he looked at you strangely.

“what do you mean?”

you grinned, gently brushing his jaw as you leaned back against your seat. “check the sonogram again.”

reo raised a brow, his curiosity piqued as he took the card back into his hand to inspect it. before long, his eyes widened comically as he saw a second fetus in the ultrasound.

“are you serious? we’re having twins?”

you laughed softly as you laced your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “that’s riiight. prepare to spoil me tenfold, reo. you’re going to be feeding three people in one body now.”

his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist as he pressed his lips against yours once again in a sweet kiss, still dazed by the realization that he’s going to be a father to not one, but two children. “... there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“good,” you whispered, smiling as you kissed the tip of his nose before leaning back into your seat. “start by opening the car door for your pregnant wife.”

“yeah, yeah. anything for my spoiled princess.” he replied with an excited grin, finally exiting the royce. needless to say, you were not going to lift a single finger during this pregnancy.

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈

“b-baby, slow down!” isagi gasped as you shoved him towards the bedroom, kicking the door open and dragging him inside.

“on the bed, yoichi!” you ordered him with a grin on your face, watching with satisfaction as he reluctantly sat down on the edge of the mattress. he sighed with fondness, watching as you clumsily rummaged through the closet, before finally pulling out a blue shirt.

you walked over, placing the shirt face down on the bed to keep the words hidden. then, with no warning, you pushed his thighs apart, placing yourself between his legs as you reached for the hem of his shirt.

isagi raised an eyebrow, already amused. there’s nothing that should surprise him anymore with you, but somehow you prove him wrong every single time.

“are you trying to seduce me?” he smiled, lifting his arms with no resistance, allowing you to pull his shirt over his head.

you playfully smacked his chest. “trying? i already did, yo. you made it too easy.”

he rolled his eyes as his cheeks tinted a light pink. “whatever… you’re too cute.”

“close your eyes. no peeking while i’m putting this on you,” you said, grabbing the shirt off the bed. isagi’s eyes closed obediently, and he felt the fabric tighten around his torso as you slipped the shirt over his head.

“woww, you didn’t even get my size right,” he joked, opening his eyes but not looking down.

you whistled softly, letting your hand wander over your husband’s chest. “i know your size, but you just look hotter with a tight shirt.”

your fingers encircled isagi’s wrist as you dragged him across the room, excitedly positioning him in front of the tall mirror in the corner. “okay! read the shirt!”

he blinked, confused at first, then turned his gaze to the mirror, squinting his eyes as if that would help him decipher the reversed letters.

“be… nice to me… I’m going… to be a… fa…ther…?” 

he froze, the last word catching in his throat. his blue eyes snapped to you, wide and stunned. “i’m gonna be a father?? you’re pregnant? actually?”

you smiled and buried yourself in his arms, your fingers mindlessly tracing the letters on his shirt. “i’ve taken three tests. all positive.”

before you could say anything else, he hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you into the air, his forearm supporting your ass and his other hand on your waist.

“god, i love you so much,” he laughed breathlessly, “give me a kiss.”

still laughing, you cupped his face and gave him a sweet peck on his lips.

“another one,”

you leaned in, pecking his lips a second time.

“that’s not enough,”

“you lovesick idiot,” you sighed, smiling helplessly. you leaned in again, but this time, he met you halfway. his hand on the back of your head, holding you in place as he kissed you deeply. the gasp you let out was quickly swallowed by his lips.

he set you down as if he had not just stolen your breath away, patting your head affectionately.

“thank you, my love.”

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐈

it should have been a normal day. barou should have followed his usual routine– wake up before sunrise, gel his hair, take a shower, and leave for his daily hardcore strength training.

but today was different. at exactly 5:12 a.m, barou opened his eyes with a low grunt and propped himself up with one elbow. instinctively, he leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead like he always did, only to stop once he was met with your wide eyes staring directly at him.

he scowled. “the hell are you lookin’ at me like that for?” 

he tried to blink his morning irritation away, then dragged a hand down his face before reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “why are you awake?” his low voice was even more hoarse from sleep.

you groaned softly before scooting closer and snuggling against his bare, muscular chest. he let out a soft grunt, though his arm automatically wrapped around your waist.

“shoei… i’m hungry,” you mumbled into his skin.

“tch,” he clicked his tongue, pulling back slightly to look at you. “what, you want pudding? eggs? i’ll make something. i was getting up anyway.”

he rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp with a sigh, squinting to see you better.

but you shook your head and leaned forward, resting your chin on his shoulder with that sweet look he hated to admit always worked on him. “no… i really want pickle-flavoured ice cream. or a lotus biscuit with mayo on top…”

barou made a face. blinking at you judgmentally once, twice, and a third time before he placed a big palm on your abdomen and gently pushed you back onto the mattress.

“you’ve lost your mind,” he shrugged, tugging the blanket over you. he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “go to sleep. you’re talkin’ nonsense.”

but you whined, tugging at his sturdy arm. sparkly eyes looking up at him. “i’m serious, shoei… i really, really want them…”

barou narrowed his eyes. “why would you want to eat that garbage?”

“please?” you batted your lashes, “for your beautiful wife?”

he sighed, standing up begrudgingly as he scratched the back of his neck. “god, you’re annoying…”

your eyes lit up, and before he could turn away, you got up and wrapped your arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. “thank you!”

barou rolled his eyes and grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squeezing them gently. “you’re a weird woman. suddenly craving crap combinations.”

you buried your face in his chest, nodding with a sheepish laugh.

he snorted, “what are you, pregnant or somethin’?”

as soon as he said what was intended to be a joke, you both froze. right… questionable cravings were a symptom of pregnancy.

“aha… y-you think?” you asked, laughing awkwardly. your eyes widen suddenly. “shit, my period is a few days late…”

his large hand silently found yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. “stay here. i’ll deal with the food,” he muttered. “and you’re takin’ a damn test after.”

you blinked. “what about practice?”

he didn’t look at you as he walked to the door.

“skipping. you always come first.”

—

“oi,” you heard barou’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. followed by a light knock. “you okay? you’ve been in there for thirteen minutes.”

you opened the door slowly. he was standing there with his arms crossed, shirtless, with a towel around his neck. he looked at you with his usual stoic face. “well?”

you held out the positive pregnancy test with a meek smile playing on your lips. barou glanced at the stick, staring at the pink lines.

“...huh. guess this thing’s my fault.”

you let out a soft laugh, sniffling slightly. he pulled you in until your forehead bumped against his bare chest. his grip was gentle despite how rough his hands were. “we’re having a kid,” he muttered into your hair.

you smiled up at him, twinkly eyes, and his hand shot up to wipe away at the tears you didn’t know were falling. “don’t cry. i’ve dealt with two younger sisters.”

“i can take care of you.”

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana. 

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible. 

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him. 

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore. 

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.” 

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you. 

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways. 

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Thursday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?” 

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Thursday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him. 

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.” 

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest. 

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.” 

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple. 

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much. 

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp. 

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond. 

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion. 

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you. 

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.” 

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.” 

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away. 

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack. 

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.” 

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm. 

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him. 

 “I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder. 

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack. 

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler. 

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED. 

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby. 

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him. 

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse. 

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim. 

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you. 

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do. 

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole. 

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye? 

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?  

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby. 

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby. 

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled. 

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street. 

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening. 

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.  

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel. 

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object. 

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling,  but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious. 

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee. 

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way. 

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page. 

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily. 

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own. 

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in. 

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.  

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable. 

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself. 

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands. 

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you. 

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once. 

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you. 

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be. 

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did. 

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise. 

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood. 

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

[theglamorousferal]

Teenaged Danny and Bruce meet somehow and become friends. (Summer camp? Boarding school? Training? Gala with Vlad? Can't be a TUE au because the clones need to exist for this particular fic.)

They lose contact when Bruce drops off the map to train to be Batman.

In the meantime, Danny has ascended to the Throne of the Infinite Realms and established himself as some sort of paranormal archeologist in the living world. (It's easiest way to declare treasure from the King's Coffers to the IRS.)

After Vlad got redeemed ( l like to think after he got over himself and realized he was in love with BOTH Maddie and Jack), he turned over all his research to Danny. This includes the fragmented cores of all the Danny clones.

After an issue where Danielle was destabilizing again, they found that if they introduced another person's DNA, that she would stabilize. Sam volunteers. So Danielle is stabilized with Sam's DNA, however it ages her down so now she's her actual age, 11 at this time. Danny is 26, and ends up adopting her, she chooses the name Ellie. Ellie ends up with some of Sam's attributes, like her eyes turning more purple and her hair being easier to tame.

After some researching, it's found that the clone's cores could reform themselves if they can absorb enough healthy ectoplasm and a stable human DNA donor.

When Dan breaks out and is shoved into a clone body, he asks Valerie to be his donor, as she was the last person he had respected. He ends up at three years younger than Danielle. He prefers the name Dante. His skin is darker than it was, and his hair gains a wave to it when in human form, it's still flames when in ghost form.

The first of the failed clones to reform about 5 years later got some of Tucker's DNA. A pair of twins that have heterochromia with one piercing blue and one ocean teal eye, on opposite sides of course. They go by Kelly and Sprite. (they were the bedsheet and pixie ghosts) Somehow the genetics introduced while they were still dormant resulted in them both being girls. They appeared as 9 year-olds.

The last one took the longest to reform and when he did, he reformed as 6 years old. Obsidian used some of Wes's DNA. He got Wes's green eyes and freckles.

Danny is able to work with each of his adopted but also genetic children to harness their powers and helps them re-form their ghost halves so they can choose how they present themselves to the world instead of being locked into their original forms.

Fast forward about 9 years and the Fenton family is attending a gala at a museum that Danny is lending pieces to in Gotham. He ends up running into Bruce who is there with his gaggle of children. They end up getting lost in their conversation and are going over the different things they've been doing since they last saw each other. They end up dancing together at least once, Danny beaming and a quiet smile on Bruce's face not normally seen when he's in his Brucie persona.

Somehow the children of both of them have all found each other and are observing their respective parents closely, noting that they haven't seen their father look so besotted in a long time.

Numbers are exchanged and group chats are made. They plan to Parent Trap their fathers together.