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#dottie only knows how to use tiktok and has a huge following lmao
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Unexpected 18
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Sequel to Unsolicited
Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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You sit on the couch with a few too many pillows and layers of blankets around you. There’s a bright smoothie and a tray of snacks courtesy of Dottie. As you flip to a reality show about single people on an island, Harlan appears, almost like a ghost, and sits in one of the cushioned chairs. You watch him lean an elbow on the armrest.
“I can change this,” you offer, embarrassed.
“No, darlin’, I’m just fine,” he waves you off, “just restin’ my old legs.”
You leave the show on and reach for a cracker. You haven’t seen Lloyd since the hospital and you’re happy for it. He wasn’t in a good mood, not since he found you outside, but his parents did little to help that. You hear Dottie’s distant singing, an Elvis song you vaguely recognise.
“She don’t look like it, but my wife is a ball of energy,” Harlan chuckles to himself, “she’s so excited for ya, kid. Me too, no doubt, me too.”
“Oh, well, uh… it’s a big deal. A baby and all that,” you say evasively. “I appreciate all your help and sorry for putting you two out.”
“Not at all,” he tilts his head at the TV, going quiet as he listens to the confessional, “you know, I don’t trust this one. He’s got skittery eyes. Like a bug.”
You almost laugh. You’re hardly paying attention but he seems to pick up every word, even as he talks to you. You chew the cracker, nearly choking on a crumb as Dottie sweeps in. She leans on the back of the couch.
“Dearie, I was just scoutin’ out a place to put the nursery and I noticed, you ain’t got no photos with Marion,” she reaches to touch your shoulder, “this ain’t no home, y’all need to warm it up. Never you worry, I’ll be talkin’ to my son.”
“Dot, really, it’s–” you begin to protest.
“Oh, if I don’t got some pictures of Marion as a boy,” she chirps, “Harlan, would you fetch my iPad thingie?”
“Yes, honey,” Harlan stands and obediently strides out of the room.
He returns as Dottie flits around the couch and you make space for her as you turn your legs over the edge of the couch. You can’t protest. You can’t bring yourself to be rude to either of them. Funny how their son drives you to the worst rage you’ve ever felt, meanwhile they can calm you with a single word.
Harlan hands over the tablet and bends to kiss his wife’s forehead, “there ya go, sweetness.”
“Thanks, handsome,” she smirks and taps her acrylic on the screen, “my hubby, genius that he is, put all my old photo albums on here. I couldn’t figure it out, ya know, I’m new and all that to this fancy interweb stuff.”
She brings down the menu and searches until she finds her files. She squints and holds the tablet closer to her eyes.
“Dot, you should get your glasses, like the doc said,” Harlan girds.
“My eyes are just fine, bubby,” she insists, “here we are.”
She brings up a picture of a young boy. A posed photo, likely from school. You barely recognise the blonde with the strawish shanks of blond hair in faded overalls. A goofy smile slants his lips as the camera flash gleams in his blue eyes.
“Oh, he was a cutie, huh?” Dottie swipes through the photos, “and look!” She stops on a photo of Lloyd in a pair of those plastic glasses with the nose and mustache attached, “seems he found his look early… now I never know why he went with the look, but he likes it, I s’pose. But he’s so handsome without.”
You hum indecisively as you watch her flip through the pictures. You peek over at her, her cheeks round as she smiles at her son’s likeness. You feel better to know she’ll be around. She’s got all the love you feel like you’re missing. She’ll make up for what you can’t give.
“I hated that suit,” Lloyd’s voice startles you as he bends over the back of the couch, peering down at the image of his in a too tight three-piece. Likely a borrowed outfit from Harlan that was too slender for his growing adolescent figure, “ma, why you gotta show her all this?”
“You were a good kid once, ya know, Mar?” She twists her head around and reaches you pinch his cheek.
He grumbles and his eyes nearly roll back. He stops himself and kisses his mother’s temple, “thanks for comin’, ma.”
“Yes, yes,” she turns and puts the tablet down, “you should be thankin’ me, boy,” she stands and puts her hands on her wide hips as she faces him, “we gotta find some paints for the nursery. And a crib, change table, a nice cozy rockin’ chair for mama, and let me tell you, you’ll be changin’ the little darlin’ too, so you start practicing–”
“Ma,” Lloyd crosses his arms, “are you done?”
“No, not even close. This is real, Marion, you can’t just throw money at a child,” she tuts as she marches around the couch, “or me.” She points her long nail under his chin, a comical vision as she’s at least a foot shorter, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere til you get it sorted. And start treatin’ your babe the way she deserves.” 
She pokes his chest harshly then grabs him by the front of his shirt. She pulls him down and whispers in his ear, a scratchy hiss you can’t decipher. Lloyd’s nostrils flare and she lets him go. He stands and lets out a long sigh that shows in his chest.
He slinks towards you, shoulders slumped, and chews his lip. He looks at his mother as she remains behind the couch, glaring at him. He juts his chin out and slowly lets himself down to his knees before you. His eyes meet yours, your forehead lined with confusion as he takes your hand in his.
“I’m sorry,” he says bluntly. Dottie growls, a warning. He nods and his cheek twitches, “Peaches, look, I’m… a jackass and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… chased you out and I should’ve stayed at the hospital. You don’t deserve that–” his words are stunted as he peeks over you at his mother, “and I… I’m very sorry.”
He leans forward, making you flinch, as he kisses your cheek, “please forgive me.”
“Nah, don’t,” Dottie steps forward and claps her hand on the back of the couch, “he ain’t earned it yet, but it’s a start.”
You stare at Lloyd, barely able to keep a triumphant smile from dimpling your cheeks. His blue eyes spark and you sense the threat in his grip. Don’t enjoy it too much. Still, it feels good to have some back up.
“I appreciate the apology,” you let the smile break through, “I’ll think about it.”
“Good girl,” Dottie praises, “son, you could work on that a bit longer.”
“Wha–” Lloyd lets you go and stands, “I said sorry–”
“You needa think,” she points to her own head, “I’m a bout to send ya to your room like the child you’re bein’.”
“Ma’s right, boy,” Harlan says without looking away from the television, “lady deserves better than you.”
“Huh, you–” Lloyd sputters, “this isn’t fair. It’s three against one.”
“It’s right against wrong,” Harlan retorts coolly, not missing a beat, “you know you done wrong and you gotta take the flak.”
Lloyd scowls and crosses his arms like a spoiled child. He pouts in his mother’s direction as she smirks at him. She nears him slowly and pats his chest gently, “now, I’m gonna need a budget for the nursery, and your card.”
Lloyd stares at her and drops his arms, easing his stature as he reaches back into his pants pocket. He slides out his wallet and pulls out the gold card. Dottie flicks her fingers at him and grabs the wallet herself, wiggling out the black one. He doesn’t stop her as she shoves the leather back into his hands.
“We’ll go tomorrow when mama is feelin’ better,” she declares as she tucks the card into her bra, “I’m sure she could use some time outside, and away from you.”
“Ma,” Lloyd whines.
“Don’t ma me,” she warns as she comes back to you and plucks a chip up from the tray, “you can do me a favour by clearin’ out the room next to the master. That’s the one.”
“My office?” He stammers.
“You got a dozen more rooms,” she chides, “now be a doll and go make yourself useful. You got strong arms, you can manage.”
He huffs as you try not to gloat. You watch the television as his silhouette slumps away, dragging his feet out of the room. Dottie chuckles through her mouthful, “He always was a drama queen.”
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