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macfrog · 3 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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penny00dreadful · 3 months

Text

And They Were Roommates!

Part 2 AO3

Steve didn’t hate him exactly.

He was just… vastly irritated by his very presence.

When they’d fallen into being roommates with Eddie, Steve and Robin were just happy to have anywhere to live.

They’d spent a few weeks living in the ageing BMW after they’d gotten booted by their previous landlord when the rent had spiked again and they couldn’t afford to pay it anymore.

Then Dustin had come to them saying he had a friend that had a spare bedroom that he needed to fill and they had jumped at the chance.

It wasn’t a terrible apartment, all things considered.

The bathroom needed a bimonthly mould clean out and the water pressure was nonexistent. It was almost always colder inside than it was outside, no matter how hot the weather got and the front door had clear signs of being broken down before, with a new lock haphazardly slapped over where the old one had been but it was shockingly quiet and secluded.

A small and unassuming building that people tended to glance over sitting close enough to the city centre so that everything was within walking distance. It was twice the size of the place Steve and Robin had lived before, an open plan kitchen and sitting room with enough room for a dining table creating a barrier between the two.

A nice dining table too.

One that could fit more than two people.

Two bedrooms, one bathroom.

Eddie had apparently wrinkled his nose at the idea of sharing with a couple but Steve and Robin weren’t about to correct him. He was a completely unknown person who seemed to make it his mission to look mean and scary, no matter what Dustin said about him.

So Steve refused to feel bad about making assumptions.

But the guy was less mean and scary and mostly just annoying.

He left his shit everywhere, like he’d never heard of fucking organisation before. And he was so loud and exuberant all the time. Like yeah, they guy could enjoy his passions or whatever but that didn’t mean Steve had to like being an unwilling participant in it.

When Robin moved out, Steve stayed even though it was clear Eddie would have preferred if he'd gone too.

He wasn’t going to give up a good place just because his roommate was a lot.

And he certainly wasn’t going to give up a good place just because his roommate kept dropping hints he wanted his special someone to move in and Steve to move out.

Steve would show Eddie the meaning of stubborn.

They bickered like an old married couple constantly and Steve couldn’t exactly say that he hadn’t risen to the bait or caused his own fair share of problems between the two of them either.

Things had only marginally shifted once Eddie had proudly stuck up a flyer advertising the set list for the Pride Parade After Party that his band had somehow been signed to perform at.

When he caught Steve looking at it one morning he’d levelled him with his smuggest smile, like he’d just won some kind of argument. Like he was just waiting for Steve to go on a homophobic rant and run out of the apartment, never to return.

“Got a problem there, Stevie boy?”

Eddie crossed his arms loosely over his chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter with a feral look in his eyes, itching for a fight.

Steve had just turned to him with his sharpest, most cutting grin and lifted open the zippered side of his bomber jacket, revealing his bi pride flag patch sewn to the inner pocket.

“No.”

Eddie had glared at the patch like it had personally offended him before storming off to his room with a scowl.

After that, the barbs thrown at each other had gotten a little more… queer.

After one particularly frustrating argument, Steve had snapped at Eddie “I know how to keep a fucking shower drain clean, Mary.” before snatching his keys up and slamming the door behind him.

When Steve had finally seen fit to talk to Eddie again, nearly two full days later, huffing at him to hurry up in the kitchen, he wanted some coffee, Eddie had turned with the most exaggerated face of surprise and his hands thrown up in shock as he proclaimed, “She speaks!”

Steve had rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Jesus, you’re such a queen.”

Eddie had levelled him with his own cutting smile and responded, “That I am, darling.”

After that their arguments were full of a lot more condescending and patronising ‘Mary’s and ‘sweetie’s and ‘oh, honey’s.

It gave Steve the strangest feeling of companionship. Not only with Eddie, loathe as he was to admit it, but also with the culture and with the queers of old who were still around, who’d had to kick and spit and fight just to be seen.

Eddie had been buzzing around the apartment all day.

It was A Big Date Night™ apparently.

He was gonna ask the boyfriend to take a road trip with him back to Indiana to meet Wayne, a big step that he’d never made with a partner before.

Steve liked Wayne. But he liked even more how irritated Eddie was that they spoke. Wayne had called the apartment one day looking for his nephew and when Steve answered he heard the sounds of a game in the background and asked about it.

It was over forty five minutes later Steve turned to find Eddie staring at him with a horrified expression on his face and Steve couldn’t help the evil glint in his eye as he continued to debate Wayne on their favourite players.

But Eddie had left hours ago now and it was getting… late.

Really, really late.

Like four in the morning late and he hadn’t come home yet.

He was supposed to, he needed to be up the next morning for his shift at the nerd shop he worked at and he loved that job. He wouldn't miss it for anything.

Steve wasn’t like, worried or anything.

Not that Eddie needed to be babied, he wasn’t one of his kids.

He was just… looking out for the safety of another human being.

The only light in the dark apartment was coming from the low glow of the tv and it was so quiet there was barely a sound coming from the speaker. Steve was curled up on the couch, swaddled in a throw and his mind kept drifting.

He couldn’t pay attention to whatever was playing, his brain just kept catastrophising about what the fuck could have happened to make Eddie so late.

He nearly jumped out of his skin and simultaneously felt his body unclench when he heard a key in the lock and recognised Eddie's wild head of hair coming into the apartment.

But that didn’t last long because Eddie caught the door before it could close with a loud snap like it usually did, shutting it slowly and softly behind him.

It was alarming because Eddie never remembered to close the door quietly, no matter how much Steve bitched at him. And it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, Steve knew that, it’s just that his mind was most often somewhere else, focused on some other thing so that he simply… forgot.

Eddie cursed low to himself as he slumped into the kitchen, pulling the freezer door open and rummaging around for a bit before pulling something out.

He kept his head low, hair spilling out around his face as he jumped up onto the counter and sat.

He still hadn’t noticed Steve sitting there, watching the whole exchange under the dim flickering light of the television.

It looked like Eddie had snatched up a bag of Steve’s frozen peas. And they were Steve’s. Because Eddie didn’t eat anything green unless it was artificially coloured and covered in sugar.

Eddie squeezed the peas in hand hands, considering, before he muttered to himself, “so fucking stupid” and brought them up to rest on the side of his face.

That kicked Steve into action, unfurling himself from the couch, keeping his throw around his shoulders because it was fucking cold and he padded over to the kitchen in his fluffy socks.

“Eddie?”

Frozen peas scattered, skittling across the tiled floor, landing in the sink, ricocheting off the cupboard doors and clattering off the walls as Eddie jumped violently at the sound of his name, softly spoken as it was.

He’d snapped his head up and Steve could see, in the dim light of the tv behind him, unusual darkness spreading over Eddie’s face, like a stain on his pale skin.

Eddie tightened his hands again around the now mostly empty bag, looking back down at it.

“‘M sorry about your peas.” He mumbled.

Steve could only blink in response.

Eddie wasn’t supposed to mumble.

He wasn’t supposed to be quiet and subdued and wilted.

He was supposed to be loud and brash and tawdry and bright.

“I’m gonna turn the light on, okay?” Steve tried to keep any rising panic and worry out of his voice, tried to keep himself calm and level. He could barely just make out the small nod Eddie gave after a beat of hesitation.

The light was harsh and painful after so long spent in mostly darkness and Steve had to squint through his glasses waiting for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he felt his stomach drop.

Eddie's face was scrunched up as he tried to blink through brightness but that wasn’t what caught Steve’s attention.

Because there was blood crusting on the side of Eddie’s face, settled around his eye and in his hair from a gash over his eyebrow. His lip was split and puffy and swollen and his cheek was slowly blooming from red to purple.

“You should see the other guy.” Eddie grinned with a wince, when he noticed Steve cataloguing, but his eyes stayed distant and sad.

“What…” Steve stepped closer, hovering his hand over the injuries, over his hair. “What happened?”

Eddie shrugged, dipping his eyes back down to the melting bag of peas in his hands. “We had a disagreement.”

Steve looked down too and gently took the peas out of his grip, placing the bag in the sink next to them.

It was only then that he noticed Eddie’s knuckles were bloodied as well, split and starting to swell.

He had to swallow against the sickening anger coiling in his throat as he closed a gentle hand around Eddie’s cold fingers and he tugged it over to the sink, turning the tap on.

“Your peas-”

“Fuck the fucking peas, Eddie!” Steve snapped before trying to reel himself back in when Eddie flinched, nearly pulling his hand away but stopping himself at the last moment.

With the softest movements he could manage, Steve got Eddie’s fingers as soapy as he could before slowly working his rings left and right, pulling them off his fingers.

“What are you doing?” It wasn’t quite a whisper but the question was low, almost like a hum.

“Your fingers are going to start to swell soon. I can leave them on if you’d rather have them cut off later?” Steve looked up to see Eddie watching their hands working together under the dribble of the tap.

He shook his head.

“Well okay then.” He tugged the last ring free and examined them, silver and wet and heavy in his palm.

There was still some dried blood in the grooves.

“Did you at least get him good with these?” He gestured to them before placing them carefully to the side and gently towling Eddie’s injured hand dry.

A smirk tugged at the uninjured side of Eddie’s mouth. “You’re damn right I did.”

Steve gave a short sharp nod, placing Eddie’s hand back in his lap. “Good.”

He moved over to the freezer, pulling out his own cold compress which Eddie hadn’t chosen for some reason and tugging the first aid kit from on top of the fridge.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” He said, trying to keep his voice even and his posture lighthearted as he laid the stuff out next to Eddie’s leg. He pulled their second drawer open and took a clean dish towel out, running it under the tap.

“Why, Stevie? You worried about me?” Eddie tried to grin but it quickly turned into a grimace as Steve pressed the damp cloth against the cut on his eyebrow, his lips turning down.

“Don’t be precious about it, honey. Just tell me. I’ll never stop pestering you until you do.” He pulled the cloth away and started gently brushing it across Eddie’s skin, trying to remove as much of the dried blood as he could.

“Alright, alright, keep your wig on.” Eddie huffed and pulled his mouth into a frown before shrugging again. ”Well I’m single now.”

Steve managed to keep his hands working, only halting for just a second as the words hit him. “Rick did this?”

“Yep.” Eddie said with a pop. “Everything was going good, you know. Standard date stuff, whatever. Then I asked him to come meet Wayne and he looked at me. Said, and I quote; ‘What exactly do you think this is?’”

Eddie snorted and shook his head.

Steve was forced to pull the cloth away to stop tugging on the broken skin. “Wait so-”

“So apparently I’ve been seeing this whole thing as more serious than it was. Apparently I’ve been putting feelings where there were none. And get this,” he grabbed Steve’s hand, stalling his movements again and forcing him to look into those giant deep brown eyes, “he’s married.”

Steve felt his mouth drop open in an indignant stare. “No.”

“Yeah. I know, right? I’ve been the other woman this whole time.” He brought his hands up to make air quotes. “Just a bit of fun.” He tongued at his split lip. "And it's my problem, my fault that I didn't figure it out, according to him." He shook his head, forcing Steve to retract his hand from around his eye. "The fucker took his wedding band off every time we met, so…"

Rather than grabbing Eddie gently by the chin, which he was really, quite horrifyingly tempted to do, he instead said, "Be a dear and stop moving."

Eddie levelled him with a glare but there wasn't much behind it, it was all performative even as he tutted and started twisting the chain on his jeans around in his fingers. But he stopped moving his head.

"So how did that lead to this?"

Eddie scoffed. "How do you think, Mary? I got mad."

"Well good. You should've been mad. Did you throw the first punch?"

"Technically?" Eddie hummed in consideration. "Yes. But he had his hands on me before that soo…"

Steve froze, he couldn’t help it.

What the fuck?

"In what way?" He kept his voice light but the bright white concern underneath was like a foghorn.

Eddie shrugged again and turned his head, giving Steve more access to the blood crusted above his ear and into his hairline.

Then he leaned forward just a little bit more until his forehead was resting against Steve's shoulder.

Steve reached back to pull Eddie's hair out of the way, over the back of his neck so he could clean up his hairline.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the silence wasn't tense but it wasn't calm either. It was anticipatory. Eddie was building himself up to answer.

"He didn't see a problem with the situation, I mean obviously he didn't see a problem with the situation so he just wanted to… continue, I suppose. We'd been… experimenting with switching before this and he tried to go full dom on me. Kept trying to get me to submit." Eddie's voice had started to shake even though he tried valiantly to keep it down and it made Steve wonder just how long he'd been keeping it down already.

Steve dropped the cloth off in the sink and brought a hand up, resting it on the back of Eddie's still bent head, making sure not to cage him in, making sure to keep his touches light and gentle but still there if he wanted them.

"I didn't- I didn't want to anymore but he just kept going and I told him he wasn't asking my consent, he was demanding it. He said I had to do what he wanted because he was in charge and that’s how it works-”

“Eddie, that is not how it works-”

“Yes, thank you, darling. I know that. I told him that wasn't what's done, no matter the dynamics and he was just getting more and more pissed off, like I was ruining his fun and he wouldn’t get off of me so I just… fucking decked him." Eddie laughed, a terrible broken thing. “I thought… I thought we had… it had been so good while… why can’t I have… why does it always have to end like this?”

His voice had become harsher, more defeated as he went on, cracking and pitching along the words until the end. Until a heart wrenching choked off sound was pulled from his throat.

Eddie was weeping softly into Steve’s shoulder and his hands were twitching in his lap, like he wanted to reach out, like he wanted some comfort but didn’t know if he was allowed.

But he must have decided he didn’t care if he was allowed or not because the next second he’d thrown his arms around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him in tight, sniffling openly and freely into his neck.

Steve took the tiniest of steps closer and wound his arms around Eddie’s middle, bypassing his leather jacket and battle vest, snaking his arms underneath until there was just the threadbare band t-shirt between them.

He ran a hand up and down Eddie’s back as he shook, while Eddie just clutched on tighter.

“Why does it always have to be… why can’t I… why…” a terrible little sob broke out of Eddie’s throat. “Why does no one ever want me the way I want them?”

Steve had to pinch his eyes shut against the pure heartbreak in his voice, coming out halting and thick and so small.

He just held him tighter, whispering little placating words and small shushes that he felt more in his chest than he did his throat.

He hesitated for just a moment before placing a light little kiss to the side of Eddie’s head, into his hair. The same kind of kiss he’d give to Robin or one of the kids if they were in the same situation.

That was all.

“God.” Eddie muttered, pulling back and scrubbing his hands roughly over his eyes and nose, apparently uncaring of his injuries. “Your shirt is fucking disgusting.” He eyed the stains and wet patches and no doubt little traces of blood he’d accidentally left there. “What makes you think that’s an appropriate state to appear in?”

Steve just rolled his eyes, taking the lighthearted jab for what it was, a want to move on, to start snarking again and cracked open the first aid kit.

“Your face is disgusting.”

“Yeah, well. You’re the one who’s been cleaning me up, sweetheart. So, who’s fault is that?”

He glanced up at the cut over Eddie’s eyebrow.

“That might need stitches.”

“No stitches, can’t be bothered with stitches.”

“Stitches not punk enough for you?”

Eddie did glare at him for that.

“Don’t even. You know I’m not a punk.”

Steve grinned at him. “No?”

“Steven.”

Even through the heavy talk, Steve relished the sight of the slight smile that had appeared on Eddie’s face and his return to bitchy banter.

“Edward, is there a difference?” Steve shrugged as he fished for supplies in the kit. “Doesn’t seem to be.”

“To you, maybe.” Eddie flicked at a piece of his hair. “God you’re such a… you’re such a jock.”

“Wow,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “let’s add observant to your list of positives.”

“Assho-ow!” Eddie shrieked as Steve pressed a butterfly bandage over the wound.

“You’re a giant pain in my ass.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Eddie growled at him, irritated and snappy, “you perpetual bottom.”

“Excuse you,” Steve snapped back, “I switch it up. I have versatility."

“Uh-huh.”

“But you gotta admit,” Steve flashed his most charming grin, “it’s a lovely bottom.”

Eddie scoffed but there was a red flush starting to creep up his neck. “S’not like I pay much attention to your bottom.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Steve gave a disappointed sigh, “everyone pays attention to my bottom.”

He didn’t get a response, just a bitchy roll of the eyes.

“You gonna call out of work tomorrow?” He dropped the cloth into the sink and crossed his arms as Eddie leaned back on his hands.

“Why? So you can mother hen me all day? No, thank you.”

“Oh sweetie.” Steve regarded him with mock sympathy. “You think you’d be lucky enough to get my mothering?”

“What if I die in my sleep tonight? You’d be inconsolable.”

“Yeah. Simply devastated.” He said as he all but pushed Eddie off the counter and herded him back to his room.

Part 2 AO3

@augustjustice @geekymagicalpotato @wormdebut (I remember you showing interest for this one but I won't tag you again unless you ask! 😘)

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

Divider by firefly-graphics

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #pennys anniversary event #robin buckley #enemies to lovers #roommates au #roommates

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ramonathinks · 6 months

Text

Picture Perfect — MDNI !!! 18+ only

yes this is a repost from my old account :)

Choso doesn’t consider himself a pervert. Not a prude either. Just the normal amount of horny. But for some reason, whenever it came to you. He couldn’t control himself.

He was an amateur photographer. Just doing something to pass the time but he grew to love it. It was a secret, but you were his muse. No matter what, he made sure to capture photos of you or with you in it, even if it was just a blur or a speck.

It helped that he took pictures for the university and you were apart of a lot of clubs, not that he was keeping track but: cheerleading, book club, track, even spending time in soup kitchens, volunteering for almost anything. You were almost too sweet.

But he was a deviant. Not that you knew. You talked to him plenty of times especially since you were always in the school newspaper. It was hard to ignore you but you were the reason he took the job. He didn’t know how to talk to you like he wanted to.

He hated himself for doing this yet here he was, using one of your photos for himself. Slowly jerking his wet cock in his hand, thinking about how you posed for him. You were taking your cheerleaders to nationals and it was the first time in 10 years. Your plump ass in a little tight skirt and your breast snug in your top, but especially the amount of stomach showing had him in a frenzy.

“Oh fuck,” His toes curled and his hand quickened the pace. “I just—” It was quick, quicker than normal. Ropes of cum on his stomach and he couldn’t help but feel guilty, you were too nice for his disgusting behavior. He hated himself.

His cock twitched a bit when he heard your voice knocking on the door, “Choso? Are you there?” Delicate and flowery sounding, he felt like scum.

“Y-yeah! In a minute.”

It took him 3 minutes to fix himself. 3 minutes of you waiting on him, felt like hell on earth. “Hi!” Your smile had his heart beating rapidly.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No…No, I came unannounced. Sorry. I just wanted to see the pictures you took. Is that okay?”

Who was he to tell you no? He would kiss your feet if you told him too.

“Sure… sure, I mean, it’s you—your pictures.” He swallowed and suddenly his shirt felt tighter. “Come in.”

You stepped inside and his scent washed all over you. A gentle musk that reminded you of fresh air. You grinned and sat in his desk chair, he already had the pictures pulled up. “You do work on the weekends too?”

He froze, “Uh, yeah. Why not? Finished all my assignments so.”

You nodded in understanding. You scrolled and he grew nervous hearing the “hmm’s” and “oh’s” leaving your mouth. “You really take some great pictures.” You turned to look at him. “Especially of me. You a lover boy? You in love with me or something?” You joked, your cheeks flushed.

He swallowed harshly and ran a hand through his hair before he chuckled. You stared at him, “I know you were masturbating to my pictures, Choso.”

He froze. Completely froze. Your eyes razor sharp as you looked at him. He didn’t try to defend himself or even to deny it. He just looked down. “I—”

“If it was anyone else, I would be offended or even disgusted honestly.” With his eyes still to the floor, they lit up but he still couldn’t bare himself to look at you.

He heard an unzipping sound and he shook his head. “I think about you too, you know… your hands, so strong and big… I see how you grip your camera.” He was too scared to look up but when he did, he almost fainted.

Under your jacket, were just your bare breasts and he was scared to wonder what was under your leggings.

“It’s hard being perfect… it makes me untouchable. Nobody wants to ruin that,” You suck on your index finger as he watches. “I never thought about someone as much as you. Do’ya know how happy I was that you were the photographer?”

He bit his lips.

“I knew you liked me.” You told him, watching him.

He moved closer. He was on his knees.

He kissed you. He never made the first move but he had to kiss you. Your soft lips against his, he melted.

Moaning into the kiss. His hands grabbing at all your flesh, his mouth moving all over until he put a nipple into his mouth. Your back arched, wanting him closer as he sucked deeply. His fingers playing your other nipple, twirling and squeezing at it.

But he couldn’t stop there. He had to have you in his mouth. You were quiet, a lusty haze over your eyes as he pulled your leggings down. Revealing what he already knew: a wet mess between your thighs.

Your legs over his head as he licked between your folds. Twisting and turning his head as he inhaled in your scent and sucked on your lips, swirling his tongue over your swollen clit.

His drool and your wetness mixing in and dripping on to his chair. His whimpering soft, covered by your moans. “Choso, slow-slow,” His mouth was moving too fast, his tongue was everywhere and even his nose was making you flinch. You couldn’t keep up.

The flash didn’t register to you. But Choso kept all memories of you and this one was too perfect to forget.

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hero-hoe · 26 days

Text

Owner!Ghost with dogboy!Soap who gets puppygirl!Reader as a gift.

MDNI. 18+ ONLY

Hybrid au. Kidnapping tw, naive!reader, Fem!reader, handjobs (m/m). Ghost and Soap are a little off. Sadomasochism tw

Ghost who's had Soap ever since retiring being discharged due to injury and thought "fuck it, I need something to keep me busy", so he gets himself a retired dogboy. Nothing wrong with 'im, they just tend to cycle hybrids out after a few years of use. Any longer and they go a little wrong in the head. Something about their genetics and how they could get too into their tasks and needed human handlers on the outside.

Ghost is pretty sure the one he got is a little messed up anyway. Fine by him, the man had done his fair share of awful things, too far beyond being considered a good man anymore. At least having the mutt gave him purpose again, he was losing his mind trying to fit back in with polite society on his own. Johnny was Price's idea to get Simon out of his house, to take care of himself instead of wasting away in a bare bones cabin in the countryside. Take the dog on walks and all that, get a membership at one of those expensive city gyms that let hybrids in so they could both keep up on their training.

Johnny would bark his ear off about his time in the military, causing messes he never had to clean up and getting paid for it. And he didn't push when Simon said nothing about his own experience. And then they settled into a decent enough routine, too intimate to just be hybrid and handler, but Ghost wasn't a man who liked labels. They were just Johnny and Simon, that's all that mattered.

He got a good dog. Sure, he was a bit off, but nothing that couldn't be handled. He barked a lot, hated strangers, refused to sleep anywhere but Simon's room after the first few nights. And he was energetic, always bouncing off the walls or chasing down random animals in the woods. If he brought back something to snack on, Simon never minded, so long as he clean his own mess. Ghost wasn't above rubbing the dog's nose in the blood and mud puddle left on the kitchen floor. Good thing Johnny learned the first time.

It'd been a few years, Ghost hadn't bothered to keep track, but his silly pup was getting restless. Only after the third time coming home to Johnny humping himself stupid in the toy he'd gotten, teeth sunk into the pillows, did Simon finally take him to the vet. Trying to handle the situation himself hadn't helped, and he didn't like seeing his boy so miserable, even if he looked beautiful because of it. Simon swore Johnny never looked better than when he was desperate and on their sheets, fucking into a silicone pussy like his life depended on it and whimpering into a slobber covered pillowcase.

Everything was normal, the vet said, a waste of £150. It's actually a good thing, they told him, means he's healthy and happy enough to breed and is having ruts. Gave him three options: have Johnny fixed, let the mutt handle it himself every time, or get him someone to play with. Simon was offended at the idea of getting his pup snipped, immediately shutting the thought down. But he couldn't keep watching Soap sob and beg, pleading for something Simon didn't have. He held Johnny in his arms each but after that, making sure to stroke his needy pup through every orgasm needed with a hand around his neck for stability.

Johnny was a good dog, Simon relented. Never once bit without being told and made sure to moan nice and loud whenever he was hit. He deserved a treat.

So Simon did his research, went to all the shelters and breeders and even searched the parks for a new treat for his boy. Nobody was good enough, he thought, until he found you. Soft, sweet, and so, so innocent. You didn't hesitate to take his hand when he offered you a treat and some ear scratches, wandering away from your old owner and right into his truck.

You ate the special biscuits he gave you and fell asleep with a dopey smile on your face, so happy when he told you he was gonna take you home and introduce you to his puppy.

Johnny was at the door like always, waiting on his knees at the time Simon said he'd be home. He was anxious and confused today, able to smell you from outside as soon as Ghost pulled up. You smelled so good, but he hated the idea of Simon bringing another dog home. Was he not enough? He'd been so good, why would his master need another pup?

"Settle, mutt." Simon huffed as soon as he heard Johnny's whine, the hybrid kneeling obediently at the door with his ears tucked back. "Stop the damn whining. Got you somethin'." He huffed, shifting you in his arms.

Johnny scooted closer, staying on the ground and sniffing at you cautiously. One of Ghost's massive hands laced into a well maintained mohawk, tugging tight until he calmed down. The pain grounded him, a reminder that Simon was there, that he wasn't being replaced. "Fer me?" Johnny asked, taking another deep inhale along the skin of your thigh where is dangled over Simon's arm.

Ghost hummed, the sound pulling another whine from Johnny's throat. "Smells s'good." He whispered, eyes dilating as he crawled closer. "She's pure bonnie, Sir."

Straddling Simon's boot, rutting mindlessly against his shin while taking in deep huffs of your skin, Johnny couldn't wait to play with you.

#cod x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #hybrid au #owner!ghost #cod drabble #soap drabble #ghost drabble

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anghraine · 3 months

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It's 11 PM, but one of my favorite little Darcy/Elizabeth moments happens while she still hates him and thinks he's a depraved monster, and I find it really entertaining.

It's during the Kent section, when Darcy calls at the parsonage and finds Elizabeth alone. During a longer, awkward conversation in which they both deeply misunderstand each other, they have this tiny interchange:

[Darcy:] “This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr Collins first came to Hunsford.” “I believe she did—and I am sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.” “Mr Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.” “Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding—though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr Collins as the wisest thing she ever did."

So: they are in Mr Collins's house. Darcy tries to re-start the conversation with a polite nothing about the house. Elizabeth agrees about Lady Catherine's micro-managing, but can't resist the chance to make a sly jab at Mr Collins (who is not present) to Darcy (a genuine villain, as far as she believes).

Darcy's reply looks a bit like an attempt to redirect the conversation into safer waters (they can agree that Charlotte is cool!). But although his remark is only somewhat related to what Elizabeth said, I think it's a natural follow-up in his mind because he is also insulting Mr Collins, if more subtly.

He could have praised Mr Collins's judgment in choosing Charlotte or just said something nice about Charlotte; he doesn't. Instead, he suggests that Mr Collins's choice of Charlotte was a matter of good fortune—or chance, as Charlotte herself would say!—on Collins's part. Darcy and Elizabeth both know Collins is a fool and that his choice of a woman like Charlotte says nothing about his judgment, only about his good fortune. (Elizabeth has even better reason than Darcy to know how much Collins ending up with Charlotte was lucky for him, but Darcy can see it anyway.)

Darcy's phrasing gives him some plausible deniability, but I think he's generally quite careful with his wording and the implicit insult to Mr Collins is not accidental.

Elizabeth, I think, takes this exactly as intended. She's not at all confused about where this tangent came from or offended by it or anything. She readily seizes on the new line of conversation as encouragement to keep insulting Mr Collins and his appeal to women with functioning brainpower.

Elizabeth is pretty scrupulously polite in general, so I kind of love that she just starts venting about her absolute contempt for Mr Collins and the Collins/Charlotte marriage to Darcy in the middle of a tense and weird conversation in Mr Collins's house. And I love that Darcy, who is otherwise more or less dog-paddling his way through this conversation, is like "yeah, your friend seems really cool, that dumbass is lucky he accidentally chose someone with a brain."

Elizabeth: "Right? And, let me add-"

(Is it a bit of an asshole move on both their parts in the context of that scene? Yeah, I think a little. I also love it! Please trash-talk obnoxious hosts in their own parlours for the rest of your lives.)

#anghraine babbles #deep blogging #i'm feeling a bit 'don't explain the joke' about ... well. explaining the joke. but it's still funny to me!#darcy and elizabeth are genuinely good people but sometimes they can't help statler and waldorfing it up #austen blogging #pride and prejudice #jane austen #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #otp of otps #sidenote: i don't think darcy and charlotte really interact 'onstage'#but i find it interesting that charlotte (who does not like men) sticks up for him multiple times #and is the one to deduce months before the pemberley scenes that darcy is generally different than she's known him #meanwhile darcy is oblivious to charlotte trying to further his romance with elizabeth but is like ... good vibes tbh #charlotte lucas

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autistichalsin · 2 months

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Halsin's autism coding really jumps out in his camp confession scene

Both the romantic and platonic one. Starting with the romantic one:

He thinks asking about his past lovers is a sign of interest (I notice a lot of autistic folks like us tend to never get it "right"- when we guess that someone might be interested because of cues we were told were romantic, we get it wrong, whereas when someone is showing certain cues, we think it's just friendly!)

The way he feels the need to explain why he thinks you're interested in him before you accept or reject. This one isn't explicitly explained, of course, but it is very easy to read it as an autistic person afraid of being harshly rejected/told they're insane to think there was a connection, so he puts out an explanation first in the hopes of softening the blow if he turned out to be wrong.

Halsin completely, and adorably, misinterprets the player if they tell him "maybe your heart stirs easier than you think"; he doesn't understand that the player is partially slut-shaming him (which is rude af on the player's end, but he misses this because he's honestly un-slutshamable, so he would never be offended here) and partially asking for clarification- how can you have had many lovers yet your heart doesn't stir easily? Not understanding this, Halsin goes on to tell stories of his past exploits, which are hot and very welcome, but also very much not what the player as getting at.

If the player is an absolute asshole and mocks him by comparing him to a deep rothe, he is crushed, but stays calm, simply telling them that they could have just said no- he doesn't call the player a jerk like they deserved. Just feels very true to the 'tism experience.

This line alone could stand as proof, I think: "Nature gifted us our desires, and the means to act on them. But we muddied its beautiful simplicity with rules, social strictures... clothes." He hates social structures for their complexity, and prefers something simpler. The dislike of social structures, of their nebulous nature, is a core autistic experience.

If the player says they only helped because he's a useful ally, he once again misreads; he misses that the statement was a rejection, and responds earnestly that he sees them as much more than an ally.

For the new platonic path:

If the player tells him they just want him to carry heavy things for them, he responds differently based on his approval levels to them (I.E. based on how close they are and how kind he feels the player is); at low approval, he is deeply hurt by this, and sadly muses that "perhaps not all friendships are destined to be balanced and reciprocal." Yet... he still considers it a friendship, even though that is in practice no friendship at all. A lot of autistic folks have this experience of being friends with people who don't share the same level of affection, or even outright mistreat, us.

In fact, the same thing happens in another variation: if the player snarks about Halsin inviting himself along (a way of saying "get lost"), he laughs and warmly says that he guesses he did invite himself along, and that he will be "more tactful when trying to make friends in future." Declaring oneself friends with others is such a classic autistic experience, but even MORE so is declaring yourself friends with someone who only tolerates, or even actively dislikes, you. It's quite sad- but also very endearing, because I feel so SEEN in that moment.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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queenimmadolla · 6 months

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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You surprise Eddie with your baby's first trick-or-treat costume. Spoiler alert: she's adorable.

a/n: for maisie 🩷

more penny and Eddie here

“I’m waitiiiiiiiiing.” Eddie sang out from the couch, tugging at the neck of the cream colored turtleneck you’d guilted him into wearing. It wasn’t as bad as the sweater he had to wear with it. Truly the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

It was so ugly, it offended him and he was a little grumpy about it, which you teased was appropriate considering he was supposed to be dressed as Bert from Sesame Street.

Yeah. Sesame Street.

The (totally) gay puppets.

“You’ll have to get close.” Eddie had threatened when you pulled out eyeliner, not to line his eyes like you did before one of his shows or a date night, but to link his brows together in the most unrealistic looking unibrow ever.

Once upon a time, up until like two Halloweens ago, Eddie had used this day to be completely and thoroughly chaotic. Messy. Well, as messy as the social pariah could be on Halloween. So just really drunk, maybe high—sometimes both—making out with someone who wouldn’t acknowledge his existence the following day (and he was very grateful for you for breaking the curse on that last carefree Halloween). But that was the old Eddie Munson.

Gone was the Eddie Munson that either went all out–in leather, eyeliner and fake blood–or barely tried with some devil horns and a bad sense of humor for halloween to deal weed and drugs, smoke weed and drink til he threw up, or get fucked. Granted, he wasn’t going through this change alone.

Your opportunities to party on Halloween night with your friends–having all gotten ready together for the big, slutty night out–drinking ‘til you were stupid only to wake up on your bedroom floor (sometimes not even yours and on one year, the top of your neighbor’s car) with no real repercussions were no more.

Your days as primarily careless teenagers and now young adult were over, replaced with enjoying the night in a way you were both surprised to find that you didn’t hate, even as early twentysomethings.

Hell, the both of you were eager–even if Eddie had to wear a lame costume. He’d wanted to be Ernie, at least.

“Shut up!” You called back from the bedroom. Eddie snickered at the amusement hidden under your voice and shifted until he was lounging on his side, arm propped up with his hand.

“Still waitiiiiiiiing!”

You’d been hiding a certain costume from him for the past three weeks, and the anticipation was killing him.

“You are the most impatient man I have ever met.”

“I just gotta have you, baby.” Came his immediate response and his grin widened when he realized he didn’t even have to think up replies for your quips, it just came natural now. He knew you that well. Still made him giddy and want to kick his feet in the air.

He loved being married to you. Sue him.

“Okay, here we come!” You announced and Eddie scrambled to sit up straight, eagerly leaning forward to get an early peak.

You walked down the short hall, dressed in a striped sweatshirt, jeans with the bottoms rolled into cuffs and a pair of red converse. Ernie. But Eddie already knew what your costume was, it was a couple’s costume and you were indeed a couple.

It was who you were glancing back at, just out of his line of sight, that held his curiosity.

“C’mon, baby. Go show daddy!”

At your prompting, your baby–just a couple of months over a year old–came waddling out, footsteps awkward as she got used to the orange duck feet covering her own and the padding and stuffing of her yellow duck costume, clutching a bottle you’d given her to keep her from fussing while you got her dressed. Her curly little head and chunky cheeks were framed in the hood of the costume, with the duck’s head resting on hers.

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie asked, mouth dropping open as his eyes darted from his cute little spawn in her adorable costume to your smug expression and back, “Are you joking? OH MY GOD!”

Eddie reached his arms out to Penny, fingers curling into his fists as he made grabby hands, “You are so precious, my little baby, come to daddy!”

Penny was delighted with his praise, drooly mouth dropping open and big brown eyes sparkling as she rushed forward. Her lack of coordinated motor skills paired with the duck feet and the padding of her duck bottom throwing her equilibrium off meant she immediately lost her balance and you and Eddie both inhaled sharply, quickly rising to attention as she wobbled forward briefly, then fell back on her cushioned tail feathers.

It was far from a dangerous fall, so you and Eddie stood frozen, waiting for her response so as to not sway her to have a certain response, having taken her to the doctor’s after a fall once only to learn she was perfectly fine and had only started crying because you had.

You both learned real quick to wait for her response after falling, sometimes she cried and had a boo boo that Daddy and Mommy could fix with some first aid and a kiss, and other times she'd run right into the wall, get up, and walk away (albeit while muttering in angry baby gibberish).

Penny blinked once, eyes flying from your face to her dad’s before she wiggled her bum against the floor, set her bottle down next to her and tried to stand up.

You both let out matching sighs of relief before Eddie darted forward to scoop her up.

“Are you rubber ducky?” Eddie asked once he had her situated in his arms. All she did was give him that big, beautiful smile of hers (no longer gummy with the teeth she had coming in but thinking about that made Eddie teary eyed) before her attention strayed to his long curls and her chunky little fist flew out to grab some of it, staring it down before she put it in her mouth.

“Say, yes, baby.” You encouraged her after picking up her bottle, hand tucking in one of her curls peaking out.

“Yesh.” She parroted, mouthing aggressively at the hair in her fist. While she was distracted, Eddie took the opportunity to press kisses into her cheek, smothering her in them until she grew annoyed and snapped her head in his direction, mouth wide in protest.

“Sor-ry!” He huffed, still grinning as he pressed another one into her soft cheek. She was all talk and no bite. Mostly.

“What does the duck say, baby?” You asked, trying to prompt her. She could do some of the animal sounds and she’d gotten the duck right a few times.

“Moooo.” And sometimes she moo’d.

“That is one interesting duck.” Eddie commented and you shushed him.

“No, baby. Quack.”

“Cack.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Okay, that’s a little too close to–we’ll stick with moo.”

You grabbed her trick-or-treat bag, a disposable camera and a couple of other things you thought you might need to take her trick-or-treating for the first time, while Eddie continued to coddle her, only putting her down when you were all ready to go.

Penny was little miss independent until she caught sight of the steps outside of the trailer. Then she whimpered, dropped her bottle and turned to Eddie, shoving herself at his legs as she reached her little arms up to him.

“Up! UP! Up!”

It was mean of him, really it was, because Penny was genuinely afraid of the steps but that also meant she demanded her daddy hold her in his arms, and that wasn’t really a loss for him so he hoped she’d hang onto that fear for a while before she got inventive and found another way to climb down them without him.

Eddie picked her up and she curled into his chest, chin on his shoulder as she clung to him with the duck head on her hood hitting the side of his face. He was trying to hide his smile but it was much too large to conceal and you glared at him with no malice, more amused with Eddie than anything.

“It’s okay, sweetpea. Daddy will protect you from those big, mean steps.”

He cackled as you shook your head with a smile.

“You are so messed up, capitalizing off of her fear.”

“Hey–it’s easy for you, she still demands and needs your boob. Did you see her refuse my kisses in there? I’m fighting for her affection here. And I’m gonna keep doing it, as soon as she gets over her fear of steps, I’m telling her a monster lives underneath them. Now, let's go get some candy I’ll also eat on her behalf.”

He bounded cheerfully out the door, Penny bouncing in his arms while you locked up behind him and called out in your laughter.

“And using your baby for candy–oh, you’ve got to choke tonight. I’ll save you, but you’ve got to choke.”

Eddie paused, waiting for you to catch up as his lips curled into smirk in a very Grinch like manner and you groaned, eyes squeezing shut as you realized what he was implying without having to verbalize it.

“I mean, I’d be happy to arrange that–”

“Keep walking, Bert. We only have an hour and a half so we’d better get a move on if you want a decent amount of candy to steal from your own baby.”

“I’m not above taking candy from any baby.” He confirmed leaning down just as you leaned up to meet in a kiss, the both of you smiling into it. It was brief, ending when Penny accidentally pecked the both of you with the head of her costume.

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corruptcobra · 1 year

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Can we have a yandere neighbor who isn't friendly to anyone in the neighborhood.. but when reader moves in that neighborhood he started to find the reader interesting..

(Also im OBSESSED with your writings)

-Anon

yandere neighbour headcanons

author’s note: anon this is an amazing idea and you are too cute <3

so let’s consider house number 206: the home of a yandere neighbour who has a reputation of being a hard-ass

they don’t interact with any residents on the street

they barely acknowledge anyone, and if they do, it’s with nothing more than a judging glance and a scowl

nobody dares knock on their door, in fear of the scornful gaze that would meet them on the other side

god forbid a package arrives for them when they’re not in - everyone refuses to take it for them

if any other residents passed them on the street, you could cut the tension with a knife

and when you move in, the residents immediately warn you about house 206, home of the nightmare neighbour

but, when they approach you a few days after you move in, they’re a completely different person

they introduce themselves with a friendly gaze, a welcoming smile, and a helping hand

nothing like the horrid picture the others’ painted

but unbeknownst to you, they’ve been eyeing you up since you stepped foot in the neighbourhood…

you caught their attention the moment you first parked up into your driveway

they usually hate new faces in the neighbourhood (and any face for that matter), but not yours

it helps that they find you very attractive

they couldn’t take their eyes off you, studying you from their living room window as you unpacked your things

they’d lose track of time, losing hours of their day just to watching you

before they knew it, you ensnared their every thought

what were you doing? where do you work? what does the inside of your house look like? are you single?

it was a sign. they had to meet you.

and they would’ve done it earlier if it weren’t for the other goddamn neighbours getting there first…

they freshened up, put on their best smile, and walked over, welcoming you to your new home

you seemed cautious at first, they weren’t sure why…

they loved listening to you talk, they could listen to your voice forever

during your conversation, they saw another neighbour about to walk up to you both

they were downright offended! how dare someone try and interrupt their precious time with you! haven’t the other neighbours had enough already?

when you weren’t looking, they flashed a glare at them, and enjoyed seeing their eyes widen before they sheepishly walked away

then you mentioned how the other neighbours warned you about them.

they saw red.

it was clear to them now - the other neighbours were trying to keep you away from them, tear you two apart before they even had a chance to say hello!

like hell they were gonna let that happen

they knew they had to work extra hard to keep you close and the rest of neighbourhood away

they won’t let you be influenced by those liars again

you two belong together, and they won’t let anyone stop them from being with you

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere neighbour #yandere neighbor #yandere headcanon #yandere scenario #yandere hcs #yandere drabble #yandere au #yandere oc #yandere x you

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thejakeslayla · 7 months

Text

╰─▸ ❝ three am ❞ - ,, jake sim

pairing bf!jake x gn! reader ୨୧ genre fluff ୨୧ warnings kissing, making out ୨୧ wc 1,4k ୨୧ just a little bit of beta, writer is sleep deprived req; prompt 19; (both waking up in the middle of the night and going on an adventure to find the perfect snack) prompt 9 (taking a photo of them smiling or in their element); prompt 14 (brushing strands of hair away)

as the clock struck 3 a.m., you made the decision to change into more comfortable clothes and head to bed, or at least attempt to do so. it was weekend, nothing to for the following day, yet you couldn't shake the guilt of staying up late. it’s like ruining your sleep schedule on purpose. you had already swapped your jeans for sweatpants, considering that you still needed to eat, and you didn't want to accidentally stain your pjamas.

you had been texting jake an hour ago, but he had stopped responding, leading you to assume he had gone to sleep. as you left your bedroom, a knock on your front door startled you. your eyes widened in fear; it was so late, and you wondered who could be knocking on your door at this hour.

your instinctive reaction was to message jake. you were already holding your phone, so you unlocked it and opened the chat with him.

your messages filled with panic; "oh my god," "someone is knocking at my door," "what do i do," "jake, oh my god, i'm about to lose it. help."

to your surprise, you received a response, making you think that perhaps jake hadn't gone to bed yet. "just open the door," you gasped at his message.

‘ARE YOU INSANE THIS PERSON WILL PROBABLY KIDNAP ME OR KILL ME I WONT,’ you replied anxiously.

‘y/n.’ ‘open. the. door.’

you didn't understand, but a glimmer of hope made you consider that maybe, just maybe, it was jake. you cautiously approached the door, still fearing the person on the other side, and slowly opened it slightly, allowing you to peek at the intruder.

the weight on your heart lifted, and the fear disappeared when you saw jake’s silly smile. you loudly groaned and finally opened the door.

"i'm also happy to see you!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you as soon as he could enter your apartment. "i missed you," he added as you hugged him.

"you're insane, and i hate you. you scared me half to death," you said, pretending to be offended.

“you loooooove me,” he teased, swaying your bodies left and right. “anyways, i’m taking you on a date.”

“a date? it’s late, jake.”

“don’t care, didn’t ask. put your shoes on, please.”

you sighed, unable to say no to your adorable, puppy-like boyfriend. he was your soft spot, and he knew it, often abusing it, albeit in a loving way. jake was a pure soul, never even considering hurting you in any way. you quickly put on your shoes, and minutes later, you were outside on the quiet streets of seoul. as the world grew quieter, the streets came alive in a different way. the distant traffic hum became a soothing melody, and the cool breeze on your face, jake’s hand holding yours being the only source of warmth.

feeling the chilly air, jake pulled you closer, his body warming yours. soon, you entered a busier street, with neon signs flickering like distant stars, hurting your eyes if you stared too long. some music from nearby clubs revealed cities nightlife.

you walked in silence until jake pulled a pair of airpods out of his pocket and handed one to you. the music was already playing when you comfortably placed it in your ear. it took just one song for jake to start moving in rhythm with the music. taking advantage of the nearly empty street, he turned to you.

"y/n, let's dance," he said, making you chuckle, almost causing your airpod to fall out, which you had to readjust.

“dance?” you answered too late, as he had already moved away and spun you around. you couldn't help but laugh even more. you couldn't refuse; the melody forced you to dance on its own. for the entire song, you danced around, still moving forward. you didn't know where jake was leading you, but you didn't complain.

another song played, and jake began singing and even rapping loudly. you laughed heartily, enjoying the moment as much as you could. when the chorus rolled in, you both sang along, still somehow dancing. jake enthusiastically gestured while singing the lyrics, which only made you laugh even more.

at some point he even let go out of your hand to focus more on the song, soon after you were recording him and taking pictures, you were basically his hypeman, somehow shouting the adlibs.

at some point, he let go of your hand to focus more on the song. soon, you were recording him and taking pictures, essentially becoming his hype person, enthusiastically shouting the adlibs. his moves were smooth and pleasant to watch, and you weren't laughing at his dancing skills; you were genuinely impressed. but when he suddenly twerked, you couldn't hold back your laughter and had to stop, nearly collapsing from laughter.

he laughed alongside you. "please, don't tell me you got that on video," jake said after a minute or two of both of you laughing.

“i got it perfectly, don’t worry.”

from an outside perspective, you probably looked like two idiots, dancing and singing to songs no one else could hear, laughing as if it were the funniest thing on earth. however, you couldn't be bothered to think about other people; it felt like it was just you, jake, and the music, creating cherished memories together.

you both gradually calmed down, still swaying to the beats as you walked. then, jake pulled you into a 7-eleven, mentioning that he was hungry.

“what are we feeling like eating?” he asked as you strolled through the instant noodles aisle. you quickly grabbed a pack for yourself, and jake followed suit. the argument at the self-checkout couldn't be avoided, but your boyfriend eventually won, claiming that he was the one treating you on this date and that he was the best boyfriend who needed to pay.

soon, you were sitting outside, near the microwaves and the self-cook ramen station. jake had you fill your cup with water first, and you didn't argue against his "best boyfriend" claims because, after all, they were true. as you waited for your cups to be filled, you swayed your hips to the music still playing in your airpods. jake quickly noticed and flashed you a bright smile.

the lyrics expressed a mutual desire in a singer's relationship, willing to do anything for their significant other. it was slow and perfect for the moment. you looked into jake's eyes, focusing more on the song's meaning. in the meantime, he placed his hands on your hips, swaying with you. you felt incredibly safe and loved in this precious moment between the two of you. a romantic song played, and you both gazed at each other with overwhelming love surrounding you.

you couldn't resist leaning in and asking for a kiss. the tenderness in it felt different, and as his lips met yours, you were instantly flooded with butterflies in your stomach. it felt intimate and more passionate than your previous kisses. unconsciously, you wrapped your hands around his neck as you continued to sway gently, the loud beep from the machine preventing you from having a full-on make-out session in front of the store and the unfortunate cashier who could witness it all.

as you pulled away, you smiled at jake, feeling an abundance of happiness and love that seemed boundless and uncontrollable. both of you turned your attention to your cups, mixing the noodles. soon, you were seated, both slurping on the ramen.

“‘so good,” jake said, with his mouth full. “it hits different during nights like this.” he added after swallowing.

you nodded, your cheeks full of noodles. he laughed at your adorable appearance, and you responded with a puzzled head tilt. "nothing, you're just cute," he said, perfectly understanding you without the need for words.

you swallowed your noodles, not responding verbally. instead, you reached out and brushed strands of his hair away as you saw him struggling to keep them out of his eyes, his hands occupied.

you both continued to eat as if nothing had happened, but jake's heart was undoubtedly racing from your swift action, his cheeks reddened, and his eyes widen. both of you were certain that this wasn't a fleeting relationship. this late-night date had made you both realise that this was something more, that you both loved each other unconditionally, and that you were both serious about your relationship, wanting to be together until the end.

#thejakeslayla #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen x you #jake x reader #enhypen #jake x you #jake x y/n #jake drabble #jake drabbles #jake imagines #jake fluff

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rafecameronsslxt · 1 year

Text

Forbidden Touch

Stepbrother! Rafe Cameron x Reader

Synopsis: After so many months of teasing you find your stepbrother Rafe masturbating with your panties.

Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, Taboo themes, nicknames like stepbrother, p in v, light fingering, masturbating with panties, dirty talk.

A/N: This story is forbidden.

Masterlist

You’re officially a Cameron, a family you didn’t want to be a part of.

Ward Cameron is the devil himself, and his son couldn’t have been any worse. “Do you always dress like a slut?” He mumbled, watching your fork drop too loudly on the white plate, and you turned your head, looking at him with your mouth open and offended. “Didn’t know wearing shorts and a tank top was so slutty, Rafe.” You announced to the table, a cheap smile, making way while everyone tenses up. Rafe could only think of the many ways to use your mouth, how good your full red lips would look around his cock or the way your breast bounced when you walked around the house in a little tank top, leaving little to his imagination of what it would look like thrown onto his bedroom floor.

It wasn’t that you hated Rafe because you didn’t. Rafe was everything he shouldn’t have been in your eyes. First was his cold blue gaze, like you were under a microscope and the only person he could focus on most days, leaving your body warm and lustful, wishing for nothing but his lips on you. There are too many moments when he’d lay his veiny hand on your thigh, rubbing up and down painfully slow or accidentally grazing his thumb against your nipple, and he’d constantly whisper dirty things in your ear. Every word and touch was electricity.

“Mom, Ward? Sarah?” You called out, tossing your keys onto the marble counter. When you didn’t get a response, you guessed no one was home, considering the large house was so quiet you could faintly hear a buzzing noise. You began, walking upstairs to your room before ceasing any motion because such sounds as moans were coming from your room. You twisted the silver door handle, opening the door quietly. Your forest green eyes widened at the sight of your stepbrother Rafe. Even if you made a noise, you doubted he would’ve heard.

Rafe’s eyes were closed, his head was thrown back, his face sweaty, his shorts dropped to your bedroom floor, and his boxers pushed down his firm thighs. He had your white lace panties wrapped around his cock, leaking with pre-cum, but his tip was still red as ever, waiting to be touched by someone that wasn’t himself. Eventually, you made your way to the bed; despite the mattress falling into your weight, he still didn’t notice until your smooth hands rubbed his thighs and removed his hands with yours. “I knew you were good for something.” As always, Rafe had to be arrogant. You gripped his erection tighter, realizing you’d been missing these panties for a month, stained with his cum. He hisses. “I didn’t realize you were going through my drawers and coming in my underwear.” You say while kissing his neck and your hand, speeding up, your panties already wet by Rafe.

This was wrong. You shouldn’t want to fuck your insanely hot stepbrother. It was forbidden and heavily looked down upon. “You like this, getting your stepbrother off and letting me cum in your panties.” He turned his head to look back at you, voice condescending, but his mouth was parted, and his lips curved upwards, waiting for yours to do the same like he knew you would. Instead, you grabbed onto his shoulders, pushing him back onto the mattress and then getting, swinging your leg to the other side of his thigh, so now you’re straddling him. You let him unbutton your denim shorts and take off your underwear.

“I’ve thought about this for so long.” Then, you kiss Rafe; all that was there was lust and desire to be filled by one another. He runs his calloused hands under your top. His fingers pinching your perky nipples, and his hands curving and kneading your soft breasts. Rafe agrees, pulling your top off rather violently. You grind your bare pussy onto his painfully-looking erection that doesn’t seem to be, calming down anytime soon. He pulls off his shirt, showing his defined abs that make you feel like you’d burst.

Rafe trails his fingers from over the curve of your breast to your pussy and glides his middle fingers along your slit. Rafe’s face is amused by your neediness and the fact you’re already wet, and he didn’t touch you nonetheless; Rafe pushes his middle finger into you, and your eyes roll back, unwarranted by the needed touch after so many months of teasing. “No one's home, right?” He asks, sliding his ring finger inside you as you shake your head quickly. His free hand grabs your face, forcing you to look into his piercing blue eyes. He pulls you in for a quick and hard kiss. “Such a slut for your stepbrother. Do you like getting fingered, hmm? I can’t explain how fucked out you look already, and we haven’t even started.” He says cunningly, his voice breathy and low, pushing you over the edge of release. Uncontrollable moans pour out from your lips as Rafe gently lets go of your face. Unfortunately, you don’t get enough time to recover when Rafe flips you onto your back, pressing into the velvety fabric of your bed.

Unprompted, Rafe thrusts into you. “Fuck- Rafe.” You cover your mouth quickly to stop the overflowing cries that cannot discontinue. Rafe intertwines your hands, pushing them to the sides of your head, and his thrust doesn’t get any slower instead, they become more rapid and rough. Each one hits new angles and derives a new noise you didn’t even know you could make. Every thrust is deep and propels your mind to the stars. Rafe shoves two of his fingers into your mouth, and you suck on them, swirling your tongue over every inch, tasting yourself, but his actions only drive you further into the way his dick curves you perfectly with each bottomless movement.

He grunts, takes his fingers out of your mouth and leans his head into the crook of your neck; hearing your moans so clearly has his head spinning. “You feel so fucking good. You know that?” More curses follow. You clench around him, head pushing into your bed, eyes closing quickly, and finally in a haze of pleasure as your legs shake uncontrollably.

Rafe thrusts once more into you, spilling his warm cum. He doesn’t pull out but instead kisses your swollen lips. “I like this already.” He says tiredly, giving you light kisses each second that you take greedily.

Your bodies are sweaty and slick against each other, leading you both into the shower. Rafe was more than soft with you since being tired, but that didn’t stop him from not touching you.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #obx smut #step bro rafe cameron

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reputationmunson · 1 year

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hi mads! how r you? i was wondering if i may request a enemies to lovers with fake dating between reader and steve? where she's shy and kinda nice with everyone but somehow doesn't get along with him... and suddenly they have a situation and have to pretend to be dating... btw, love your writing!

i’m doing well and i hope you are too :) thank you for the request and i’m so happy you enjoy my writing that means so much to me! i hope you like this and i hope it's okay i'm making it multiple parts!

Crossing Lines | S.H x fem!reader

Part One | part two | part three | part 4

summary: Steve isn’t your biggest fan (understatement of the year), so why does he ask you to be his fake girlfriend for a wedding?

content: enemies to (eventual) lovers, fake dating, mentions of drinking, swearing, a guy at the bar is kind of creepy, mentions of reader and eddie having a past fling, use of y/n (not too often)

word count: 3.7K

a/n: this is a little shorter than I anticipated, but I’m going to try and make future parts longer.

There’s something strange about having an “enemy”. Especially when that enemy is Steve Harrington. You don’t exactly consider him an arch nemesis, but there’s really no other way you can describe your relationship with him. You aren’t friends with him by any means, not anymore, despite your several attempts at kindness.

Cupcakes you made him got thrown in the trash, smiles you’ve given him had been reciprocated with glares, and every time you spoke was the perfect time for him to roll his eyes.

No matter how many times you try to pinpoint a moment in your life where you might’ve offended him or done something to make him have such a great dislike for you, there’s nothing you can come up with.

You never had many interactions with Steve in high school, which isn’t very surprising. You always tried to stay in the background with your nose buried in a book and he was the complete opposite of that.

You admit you had a teeny tiny crush on him in high school, much like the other girls. How could you not? He was so charismatic and carried himself with confidence. You weren’t as immune to the Harrington charm as much as you liked to pretend you were.

It wasn’t until he became friends with Robin a few years ago that you had your first real conversation with him. She’s been your best friend since you were six and if she was convinced he changed, then you were willing to give him a chance.

He seemed like a completely different person than the boy you used to pass in the halls as he talked about how wasted he got the night before with his herd of wannabe Steves.

He was friendly and also a little bit of a clutz. Sort of awkward, as well. He was still handsome, though. A lot more handsome. His eyes were kinder and his hair as lovely as ever. You always wondered how it managed to still look so soft after that much product usage.

After the first two months of what seemed to be a friendship, he flipped the switch. His words to you became grumbles and he always kept a distance from you, like he’d go into anaphylactic shock if any part of him accidentally brushed yours.

It drove you mad. The one thing in life you always tried to do was treat everyone with kindness no matter what and he made it nearly impossible. You had more friends in your life now than you thought imaginable and it was nearly perfect, but all you seemed to be focused on is how much Steve hates you.

From Steve’s point of view, he would never outright say that he hates you. It’s more of an annoyance. Your shared friend group constantly raves about how great and delightful you are. The kids, who aren’t kids anymore but always will be to Steve, idolize you. Everyone thinks you walk around with rainbows and sprinkles shooting out of every single one of your orifices.

You and your delicious baked goods that you make in celebration every time someone so much finds a lucky penny on the ground. You and your stupid perfume that makes you smell like a damn bouquet of flowers. Your dumb dimples and eyes that some might claim light up a room every time you smile. Don’t even get him started on the short, nonsensical pleated skirts you wear.

You’ll probably be wearing one of those skirts tonight when you all go out for drinks later and he dreads it, terribly. Definitely not because he’s attracted to you, no, that’s insane, but because of all the guys that are going to swoon over you and he’ll have to be responsible for making sure none of those creeps try to touch you.

Robin made it very clear to him early on that you are off limits. She told him he wasn’t ready for a girl like you. You’re different from the girls he takes on dates and sleeps with. You aren’t a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of gal, as she put it. . She said you’re a hopeless romantic, spending the rest of your life with one person, the type of love they write songs about, kind of gal. Steve wants to settle down one day, but he also isn’t ready for that yet.

Apparently, Robin forgot to give Eddie the same speech because Steve caught the two of you in a hot and heavy makeout sesh at a party awhile ago. Steve put all of the puzzle pieces together that you and Eddie were secretly hooking up. It wasn’t hard to figure out with all the glances, giggles, and body language. Plus, the sexual tension was so obvious.

No one else knew, neither of you even know that Steve’s aware anything ever happened.

Yes, you and Eddie were hooking up. Past tense. It was nice at first, way more than nice. You’d never done the whole no strings attached thing and you felt comfortable with him, but then you both quickly realized that it would end in complete disaster and called off the agreement. Surprisingly, there was no awkwardness after, but you did miss him sometimes.

It was gratifying to be out of your comfort zone, but you needed more. You wanted a love that felt like an easy Sunday morning everyday, but as long as you were confined to Hawkins, you doubt that you’d ever find it.

The bar was absolutely packed tonight, crawling with regulars, college kids back for the summer, and high school students with fake ids. There was a bachelor party sitting in the corner shouting obscenities and catcalling any girl that walked by them.

It was overwhelming. Usually this place, even on its busiest night, is still manageable to walk to.

Your walk to the table where your friends are sat feels like you’re climbing mount everest.

“y/n! you’re here!” Robin hops out of her seat at the high top table and throws her arms around you, squeezing you a little too tight. You can smell the tequila on her breath and her cheeks are flushed. That, combined with her affection for you, alerts you she’s one drink away from being hammered.

Everyone else happily greets you, apart from Steve who gives you a tight lipped smile and takes a drink of his beer so he doesn’t have to say hi because god forbid he speaks one of the shortest words in the english language to you.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink. Does anyone need anything?” you ask. “I’ll go get your drink. It’s a madhouse in here, what do ya want?” Eddie offers and you lay your hand on his shoulder, making Steve subtly roll his eyes so no one notices. “That’s sweet, Eds, thank you. I’ll have a vodka cran please”

“He’s, like, so in love with you” Robin says and you laugh. Steve laughs too, but not out of being humored like you are. “He’s not in love with me. He’s just nice, unlike most of the guys in here” you say the last part a bit louder and look at Steve when you say it. His eyes roll again and you think that must be the only thing he’s good at because he does it all the time.

“Your beverage, madam” Eddie says as he hands you your drink and sets down a tray of tequila shots for the table. “Do we really need more shots, Eddie?” Steve groans. “Tapping out already, Harrington? I guess we shouldn’t be surprised” you tease and he scoffs. “Oh, that’s just rich coming from you”

“heyheyhey, can you two have your lovers quarrel another time? We’re all here to have a good time, okay?” Robin reminds you and you give her a sorry smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s not waste this tequila!” you exclaim

You all cheers your shot glasses and when you lick the salt of your hand, Steve’s eyes can’t leave you. He’s still staring when you put the lime in your mouth afterwards, you close your eyes in satisfaction and suck out all the juices. He hopes he never has to watch you take another shot again.

When your eyes open, you see Steve staring at you and he immediately looks away and pretends to be occupied by whatever the bachelor party to his left is doing. His mind drifts to the wedding he has to go to next weekend. One of his cousins on his fathers side of the family is getting married and he’s dreading it. Being surrounded by his snooty, rich family members who are all CEO’s of some business and they’re all married to or engaged to the ‘perfect woman’ that they undoubtedly cheat on while away on ‘business’ trips.

Speaking of business, they can’t keep their noses out of Steve’s life. When are you going to get a ‘real’ job?, when are you gonna settle down and have kids?, are you still living in that tiny apartment?. So no, he isn’t exactly looking forward to telling his family he’s a single loser who practically lives in a shoebox.

“Steve? Are you okay?” your voice brings him back from his thoughts. “Yep. perfectly fine”

“Ya sure? You seem distracted” he hates that you care. Eighty percent of the time, you’re still so nice to him, apart from a few jabs every now and then, despite his coldness towards you. “Just thinking, so you don’t have to pretend that you care.”

“Okay…I’m gonna go to the bathroom” you say before leaving the table.

“Why are you such a dick to her? She’s the nicest one out of all of us.” Eddie’s tone is sharp as he defends you. “I’m just stressed about this wedding I have to go to and my entire family is going to be there and I’m the only one without a date so that’s just another thing they’re going to criticize me for” Steve sighs and looks down at his drink.

“How about that girl you went out with last month? Trisha?” Nancy suggests and Steve scrunches his nose. “No can do. I realized I slept with her roommate after the first date” he cringes at the memory of walking into her apartment and seeing a familiar face sitting on the couch.

“You could borrow nance? She’d just have to take off the engagement ring” Jonathan jokes and the table laughs. Steve considers it for a half of a second, but realizes his parents already know about her engagement to jonathan. “Nice job, Steve. You let the only decent girl who liked you get away and now she’s with that byers boy” he recalls his dad saying in a snarky tone.

“I have the perfect idea!” Robin exclaims and everyone waits for her to continue “you should ask y/n to be your date!”

“That’s a terrible idea, Robin. Why would I do that?” It isn’t a terrible idea. His family would be over the mood to see him with a girl like you. You’re kind, funny, smart and gorgeous, but he’d never admit those things to anyone, least of all you. But the thought of spending a whole weekend with you seems like torture.

“Actually, that could work. You need to get over this weird hatred you have for her and this could be some good bonding! Maybe you’ll finally realize how great she is” Nancy states. “I know you all worship the ground she works on, but that isn’t good enough reason to ask her to pretend to be my girlfriend”

“Just think about it, okay?” Nancy says, kindly and he half-heartedly nods. The conversation ceases as you arrive back at the table and everyone stares at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. Nothing. We just missed you” You know Robin is acting weird about something, but you let it go. “um, okay. I missed you guys too for the whole five minutes I was gone. I'm gonna go get another drink.” you tell them before making your way to the bar.

“Hey, beautiful. Wanna take a shot with us?” One of the men from the bachelor party asks as you walk by their table. “No thanks. Have a good night, guys” you walk away and hope they leave you alone.

One of the guys gets up to follow you. Steve’s keeping an eye on you and moves to get up when he sees the guy following you. “I’ll be right back, guys”

“C’mon, baby, let me buy you a drink” Steve hears him say to you as you’re standing at the bar. You look uncomfortable and with the bar packed, you barely have a way to escape. “I already said no. Just go back to your friends”

When he moves closer, Steve steps in between the two of you. “She said no, man. Just leave her alone, alright?”

“you her boyfriend?” he slurs and Steve can’t believe the words that come out of his mouth “yeah, i am. so, fuck off, okay?” your eyes widen when Steve says he’s your boyfriend.

“Alright, alright.” the guy puts his hand up in defense “she’s all yours, buddy”

“are you okay? you’re not gonna cry or anything are you?” he asks when he turns around to face you. “No, I'm fine. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you” you smile at him sweetly.

“It’s whatever. Don’t let it get to your head” And just like that the Steve you know is back. “Can you tell everyone that I went outside for some air?” you ask and he nods then you go your separate ways. He watches the door to make sure you get outside alright.

“So, hypothetically” Steve starts once he returns to the table “How would I go about asking her to be my fake girlfriend?”

“Just be honest about it. Oh! and offer to pay for everything!” Robin says. Her advice could not be more vague. “I still think this is a terrible idea, but I literally have no other options, so when this goes to shit just remember it was all of your fault” he tells them before turning around and bearing the crowd to get outside.

When he walks out the door and into the fresh air, he sees you standing up against the brick exterior of the building. “Don’t tell me you came out here to check on me. Thought you said I shouldn’t let anything go to my head?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You are not making this any easier” He puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back, letting out a sigh. “Making what any easier?”

“I have a proposition for you”

“I don’t do prostitution, Steve”

“It’s not- would you just let me talk?” he groans and you make a zipping motion over your lips and throw away the invisible key. “Okay, you owe me a favor after what I did for you, right?- don’t make that face you totally do- anyways, I have a wedding to go next weekend and my family is always harping on me about having a girlfriend and I was thinking-”

“you want me to be your girlfriend?” you ask in a skeptical tone.

“What did I say about letting me talk? and no not girlfriend, fake girlfriend. Just for three days”

“You can barely stand to be around me and you want me to be your pretend girlfriend?”

“Look, I know it’s weird, but we don't have to worry about feelings or some shit like that being a problem because there’s no way that would happen” he explains. “What do I get out of it?”

“A super fancy hotel and all expenses paid. You’ll even get to pretend that you’re dating someone as hot as I am” he smirks and you huff out a humorless laugh. “You’ll pay for everything?” he nods “you’ll drive, too? I hate driving” he nods again “and you’ll be nice to me?”

“Ugh, fine, okay. I will be so nice to you that you’ll puke. Is that a yes?”

“Sure, why not. Can I talk in a British accent and pretend to be part of the royal family? ya know, to fit in with the rich people?”

“Absolutely not”

“Why are you no fun, Stevie?” you whine. “Stevie?” his brows furrow. “yeah, i’m thinking that as your new girlfriend, my nickname for you is Stevie”

“Fake girlfriend” he reminds you “Stevie, you’re so uptight.” you pout at him and he hates himself for his eyes lingering on your lips.

“So, what time should I come over tomorrow?” you ask like you’ve already been invited to his apartment. “What?”

“We need to hang out so you can get used to not acting like I don’t have the plague. Plus, we need to get to know each other” you state. “Fine. Come over tomorrow night and we’ll go over everything”

“Looking forward to it, Stevie”

You knock on Steve’s door at 8 p.m. sharp with a bottle of wine in hand because let’s face it, you’re both going to need it. “Hi, Steviekins” you greet as he opens the door. “That’s worse than Stevie”

“You love Stevie and you know it”

“Just come inside” he grumbles. “I ordered a pizza if you want a slice. It’s in the kitchen”

Once the wine is poured and you sit on the couch to eat, you pull out your notebook and two pens from your bag. “Are we writing each other love notes or something?”

“No, doofus. We’re taking notes on each other. Our likes, dislikes, details about our relationship” you tear out a piece of paper and give him a pen. Even your pens and notebook were nauseatingly adorable. “If I knew this was going to be like school I would’ve asked Robin”

“ha!” you laugh loudly “she would punch you if you tried to hold her hand or do anything that was even remotely romantic” you point out “and you’re not going to punch me?”

“I’d like to say no, but I’d hate to be a liar”

You and Steve practically chug your wine and pour a second glass before playing your own version of twenty questions.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask to start. “My favorite color? you really think my family is going to question you on shit like that?” he responds and you glare at him. “Okay, fine. um, blue, I guess”

“That’s so basic”

“Then what’s yours?”

“all of them” you reply. “all of them? really?” he snidely remarks. “yes, moving on”

You learn an abundant amount of things about each other, much against Steve’s will. You know each other's favorite candies, movies, songs, all the way to childhood memories and discussing scars you have and how you got them.

Then you moved on to the details of your relationship. Friends first, fell in love, you know the deal. You’ve “been together” for five months. Long enough that it’s somewhat serious, short enough for it to make sense that you haven’t met his parents yet.

The bottle of wine is almost gone and Steve’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a bit glossy. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you might even think he looks pretty.

“Can I ask you a question? and not one about your favorite food or anything like that” you ask in a soft voice and you seem a little nervous. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why did you ask me to do this? i’m like the last person you should’ve asked”

“That’s actually why I asked. If I asked a girl that has any romantic interest in me at all, then it might get confusing, ya know? With you, once these three days are over we can go back to normal. There’s no risk of us falling for each other”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. I have an observation, by the way. You always speak of love like it’s a terrible thing. Why is that”

“Holy shit that’s a loaded question. Um, well the first time I was in love was in high school and we all know how that turned out. Haven’t been in a serious relationship since so I guess it’s hard for me to believe that it’s as great as everyone says it is” he sighs. He’s never drinking wine again. If it makes him this vulnerable with you he can’t imagine what it would be like if someone else was sitting here.

“Do you still love her? Nancy?” you wonder. “No, I don’t. I have love for her, but just as a friend. What about you?”

“No, I’m not in love with Nancy. She’s pretty and all, but can’t say i’m in love with her”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re always raving about some dumb romance novel, yet I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend.” he says and you sigh “There’s not much to tell. Hopeless romantic with standards that are too high”

There’s a hint of sadness in your voice and you clear your throat before speaking up again. “So, I think that’s enough for tonight. I know way more about you than I ever wanted to”

“Right back at ya. I’ll walk you to the door”

“It’s a short distance, I’ll manage”

“Hey, I gotta start working on being chivalrous as your fake boyfriend. Can you stop being stubborn for one second?”

He walks you ten steps to the door and even opens it for you. “Same time tomorrow night? unless you're busy” you say, halfway out the door. “What could we possibly have left to learn about each other?”

“We still have to work on acting like we’re in love. You might have to put your arm around me this weekend. Oh, the horrors!” you gasp dramatically and he suppresses a laugh because he refuses to let you think you have the ability to make him laugh.

“Tomorrow's fine. But if something comes up and you have to skip that would totally be okay”

“You’re such an ass” you whine. “Not as much as you are” he retorts.

You flip him off as you walk away and he does the same.

He can’t wait for next weekend to be over so he can go back to pretending like you barely even exist.

part two coming soon to a screen near you ;)

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things fic

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an-exasperated-hades-kid · 1 month

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So I've been seeing a lot of will solace hate, and I'm here to defend my son.

First of all, he's not a toxic person at all he's a human who can mess up at times and be unintentionally rude, like in that one scene boo where he says

‘Oh, please.’ Will sounded unusually angry. ‘Nobody at Camp Half-Blood ever pushed you away. You have friends – or at least people who would like to be your friend. You pushed yourself away. If you’d get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once –

^ that is rude but he didn't have bad intentions because according to him nico wasn't scary and the people that he hung out with - Lou Ellen and Cecil- didn't think that nico was scary either as they were both friendly towards him when they met him at the Roman camping area outside chb so while his delivery wasn't good he meant no harm and he also helped nico realize that not everyone hates him and then there are a few jokes that he made that people consider toxic or offensive but nico was never offended or sad about these jokes he only rolled his eyes and acted exasperated so he knew will meant no harm .

Will is canonically described as a laid-back and calm person, but he is also stubborn when it comes to certain things like medical related things which is understandable since he can feel everything physically wrong with a person by just touching them and is persistent that they don't die and Take care of themselves which is understandable since he saw majority of his siblings die and doesn't want more ppl to die .

Will is actually quite a complex character he's calm and laid back but he's stubborn and strict when he needs to be he's supportive and loving to nico but since he's a kid he struggles with being understanding sometimes hence why he asks persephone for advice on how to be there for nico properly showing that he's mature enough to ask for help . He's also someone represses his emotions because he thinks that as head counselor, he has to be a perfect example, and he told this apollo in the 1st toa book. He's also pretty insecure about his abilities, as shown in boo

Evidence:

You did,’ confirmed Nico. ‘But it was the way you did it. You made it clear that you wanted me around. You said you wanted me to come to the infirmary and help, because … because you could use a “friendly face”.’

‘It was true. And you did help.’

‘You brought me closer instead of rejecting me,’ Nico said, his voice cracking. ‘I’d never been called a friendly face. Ever. You made me rethink everything – my place in camp, my crush on Percy, my future. It took you scolding me like you were the camp director to make me realize that I was … wanted.

___

But with Nico … It’s hard, Persephone. I want the best for him, and he seems to disappear into his darkness, like he’s hiding in a place where he doesn’t want my light.’

‘Then why not offer him your darkness

_____

Nico sighed in exasperation. He hated working with other people. They were always cramping his style, making him uncomfortable. And Will Solace … Nico revised his impression of the son of Apollo. He’d always thought of Will as easygoing and laid back. Apparently, he could also be stubborn and aggravating

_______________________________________

In conclusion will isn't toxic and he isn't perfect and if I'm wrong about something please point it out cause I haven't read the books in a while and if I missed something please point it out and I'm sorry for the typos I wrote this without wearing my glasses as 3 am after studying for a test

#will solace #defending will solace #hes not a bad person but hes also not perfect hes a mixture of both #we need to stop the hate for will like hes done like one or two bad thing in the series and even those times didnt mean to be rude #solangelo #percy jackson and the Olympians #heroes of olympus #the sun and the star #nico di angelo #leave my boy will alone like if he comes off as a dick its a writing mistake on ricks part except that boo i will not exuse him there #anti will solace #im countering yalls argument #its stupid and immature to hate someone because they did like 1 thing #like bro is 16 and he was 14/15 during that scene in boo ofc he's going to make mistake #he's a fucking child and he's learning

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devonpink · 6 months

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Welcome to the Frat, Bro!

Felix closed his locker, ready to hit the showers. He couldn't wait to thoroughly scrub the sweat and stink of his brutal workout off his chiseled body, especially his ripe pits. Nothing disgusted Felix more than the stench of body odor. Turning around, he was surprised to find someone's worn-out black cap on the locker room bench, considering it wasn't there a minute ago. Upon closer inspection, he discovered it was embroidered with an obnoxious green weed symbol, offending his highbrow taste. His nose was then abruptly assaulted by an overpowering scent of weed, cheap deodorant, and masculine musk, clearly coming from the hat. It unquestionably belonged to one of the gym's many frat bros, who utterly annoyed him.

The smell was vile but strangely gave his cock a pleasant twitch. Even though it was entirely unlike him, he was compelled by the unexpected twinge of sexual pleasure to pick it up and sniff it. The scent was revolting, yet at the same time, it made him feel surprisingly turned on. He couldn't help but drop his towel and start playing with his hardening cock, taking deep sniffs. He didn't understand why he enjoyed doing something so out of character; it was as if he was suddenly possessed.

"Fuck. This smells so fuckin good, bro." Felix moaned, muffled by the hat. He was shocked at how casually that came from his mouth. It was as if he abruptly lost all sense of self. He wanted to stop but couldn't. He needed more. "Fuck, bro." His brain felt fuzzy, taking in such an overpowering scent up close, but he couldn't stop. He desperately needed more. "Fuck yeah, bro!" His cock was hard as a rock, dripping pre like crazy. He stroked faster, slinging pre all over the floor. "Fuck. My donger's so fuckin hard, bro!" He couldn't believe how dumb he sounded, but it felt so fucking good. It got harder to think straight with each deep sniff, but it didn't stop him. Nothing could stop him. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro." He felt so brainless, unable to not talk like a stoned frat bro. He always hated weed and those who partook, but he could go for a fatty right now.

Suddenly, Felix heard the sound of low-pitched humming. It took a second in his slow state, but he eventually realized the sound was coming from the embroidered weed symbol on the cap. He squinted at it, utterly confused. "What the fuck, bro?" The weed symbol then started to glow bright green, transfixing him. He stood there slack-jawed, mindlessly staring into the radiant green glow as the low-pitched humming got louder. The sound was hypnotic, making him feel like whatever was left of his brain was melting into his balls. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro." The weed symbol then abruptly flashed into his eyes, blinding him. "Fuck!!!" He looked around, squinting in pain. Everything looked green, like his eyes had a heavy green filter over them. "What the fuck, bro?!" Then, instantly, the pain was replaced with pure euphoria. His head felt magnificently empty, and his balls felt full. He simply stood there smiling like an idiot, forming drool. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro."

Utterly mindless, Felix placed the douchey frat bro cap on his head, sealing his fate. The hat then suctioned itself to him, making him laugh like a dumbass. "Fuuuuuuckkkk yeaaaahhh, bro." It started to vibrate, making his whole body shake. His eyes rolled back in pleasure like he could cum any moment. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro." The vibrating kicked up in speed, making his throbbing cock twitch. "Fuuuuuuckkkk, bro!!" Instantly, his quivering cock shot out ropes of hot sticky cum all over the locker room floor, hands-free. "Fuuuuuuckkkk yeaaaahhh, bro!! Holy fuck!!"

There was a brief moment of silent afterglow, broken by the opening of the locker room door. Felix, now dumb as a brick, didn't think to quickly cover his large cum splodge on the floor and instead just stood there like a proud dumbass. One of the gym's many idiotic frat bros came around the corner of lockers, smiling at the sight of Felix's cap. "So that's where my hat wandered off to! It seems to have taken a liking to ya, bro!" He then looked down at all the cum on the floor, amazed. "Fuck, bro! Looks like my frats just found its newest member!" He walked up to Felix and took his cap back. He placed it on his head and threw his sweaty arm around Felix's shoulder, getting his sweaty pit reek all over him. "So, ya gonna shower before we go, bro?"

"You know the stink makes the man, bro!" Felix cockily grinned. He then flexed his arm and gave his ripe pit a deep sniff. "Fuuuuuuckkkk yeaaaahhh, bro!" The two chuckled like dumbasses and walked off, leaving the sticky remains of Felix's old self on the locker room floor.

#transformation #male tf story #tf story #male transformation #personality change #personality change tf story

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holllandtrash · 1 year

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6 to 1 | lando norris (part 1)

paring: lando norris x leclerc!reader part 1 in the 6 to 1 series

being charles' little sister has its perks, such as traveling to the races, meeting a variety of people and becoming friends with the drivers. but when one driver is offended by your personal ranking, he makes it his mission to change your mind

word count: 5.7k tags: established friendships, minor social media au aspects, its just a soft start to a whirlwind series also poorly translated Italian and French, this whole series is a friends to lovers trope

Of course you had favourites.

Charles was number one, he was your brother.

Carlos next, obviously. You were a Ferrari fan through and through.

Daniel Ricciardo was still a favourite, reserve driver or not, you made your support for Daniel very clear and would post photos of yourself in his merch any chance you got.

And then Pierre. He was Charles' best friend, someone you had also known for years. He spent Christmases with you, countless birthdays, everything. You wanted to see him succeed.

“I’m fifth?” Lando couldn’t believe your ranking and how low he was. He hit his hand on the table, causing your glass of water to shake. “Fifth? You’re joking.”

You pondered it for a second before nodding your head. Lando took a sigh of relief, thinking he made it past number five in your standings.

“You’re right,” you said. “I am joking. You’re sixth. I’ve kind of been rooting for Lance recently. The Canadian’s wormed his way into my heart.”

Lando leaned back in his chair looking absolutely defeated. “Unbelievable,” he huffed out, crossing his arms across his chest. The pout that played on his lips made him look about four years younger and it only made you laugh as you reached across the table and ruffled his hair playfully.

“Relax, Norris, at least you’re in the top ten.”

“But six!” He exclaimed. “Danny’s not even driving.”

You shrugged and took another sip of your water, “Still love him.”

“Is that why you’re wearing DR3 merch instead of mine?”

You looked down. You were in fact wearing a t-shirt from Daniel’s newest collection that recently dropped. He even had the heart to sign the back for you before personally delivering it.

“I never wear your merch.”

“Because you hate me.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re dramatic.”

You jumped when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. You barely had time to glance up before your sunglasses were pulled from your head and the perpetrator, your brother's teammate, slid into the chair next to Lando.

“Give them back,” you reached for the glasses but Carlos only dodged your hand and put the dark shades on his own face.

He turned to Lando, a cheesy grin plastered on his face, “How do I look?”

Lando, still grumpy, said, “Like someone who doesn’t consider me one of her favourite drivers.”

Carlos had a good laugh at that, “Really, Y/N? He’s not in the top three?”

“Not even in the top five!” Lando shouted, gesturing towards you as you innocently spun your straw around your glass. “Lance bloody Stroll booted me to sixth.”

“He is higher than you in the driver standings.”

“That’s it,” Lando grumbled, standing up from the chair so harsh that it would have fallen backwards if Carlos hadn't caught it. Lando furiously pointed a finger at you and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “I will work my way up to being your favourite driver, mark my words.”

You shrugged again, “You can certainly try.”

Lando proceeded to muter a few choice words under his breath as he stalked off, leaving you and Carlos to burst out laughing.

“Why do you give him such a hard time?” Carlos asked.

“It’s entertaining for me.” You turned your head, just able to see a sliver of Lando before he disappeared into the Paddock crowd. The corner of your lips curled upwards, “And now I want to know what sort of plan he’s going to come up with.”

Your conversation with Lando had slipped from your mind by the end of the race weekend. In fact, you had been so caught up with Charles’ performance on Saturday and Sunday that you weren't thinking about the McLaren driver until he was right in front of you.

You walked behind Charles down the tarmac towards the private jet that would take you two and Arthur back to Monaco. Usually you claimed the seat on the right at the very back of the plane but when you walked in and saw it was taken by the British boy with curls atop his head, you were thrown for a loop.

“Morning,” Lando greeted. He wore a matching jumper and sweats set from his own Quadrant line. On the small table in front of him he pushed forward a small white box as you slowly approached. “For you.”

You shot a glance at Charles, one that basically asked what the hell was Lando doing here. Charles laughed as he searched for his headphones, “We’re all going to the same place.”

“He’s in my seat.”

“This is your seat?” Lando sounded apologetic. You looked back at him and watched as he rushed to collect his things, except for the white box, and he moved to the seat on the other side of the aisle.

You were confused, that’s for damn sure. Lando never just casually caught a ride with your family. But you were also tired and didn’t care too much about his presence as long as he left you alone for the duration of the flight.

You made yourself comfortable in the leather recliner, closing your eyes almost immediately. They would have stayed closed had you not heard Lando obnoxiously clear his throat.

“Lando, if you're trying to move up my driver ranking, this is not the way to do it.”

“Can you just look in the box, please,” Lando sighed. He was leaning over the armrest of his seat, practically falling into the aisle.

A defeated sigh escaped you and you reached for the box, flipping the lid open. If you were being honest with yourself, you had absolutely no idea what was going to be inside. Lando was an enigma. You would have been equally as shocked to see a live frog as you would to see a blade of grass.

But it was neither, thank god. It was a doughnut. And not just any doughnut. It was a filled pastry with a layer of chocolate and cookie crumbles on top, coated with a drizzle of white chocolate. Something that would undoubtedly give you a toothache, but it was mouthwatering nonetheless.

“Chocolate explosion cheesecake doughnut,” Lando explained.

You glanced up at him, eyebrows raised, wondering why he would have bought this for you before the flight this morning.

Lando sighed, as if he was offended you were confused, “You love cheesecake. And chocolate. And doughnuts.” He gestured to the treat, “This is the perfect combination of all three.”

He wasn’t wrong, you did love all three of those things. But how did he know that?

“Thanks,” you offered Lando a smile. “But you didn’t have to-”

“I know, I know, But I passed a bakery this morning after my jog,” Lando explained, waving his hand as if to brush off the gesture like it was nothing. “Just thought you’d like a treat during the flight is all.”

“You know, this isn’t going to make me like you more than Lance.”

Lando’s features fell. Just for a moment, but you caught it. He was hoping this one simple doughnut would push him up your standings and he was very wrong.

“Lance didn’t buy you a doughnut.”

“Lance also didn’t take my seat.”

“I gave it back!” He exclaimed loudly, causing Arthur and Charles to both turn their heads to see what was going on. Lando leaned further across the aisle, lowering his voice. “I gave it back.”

“He finished sixth this weekend.”

“I was struggling with tyre degradation.”

“Not my problem,” you shrugged. To be fair, Lando had a pretty decent weekend, but he still finished below Lance and you were going to hold onto that just because you knew it would get under Lando’s nerves.

“You talk to me more than you talk to Lance.”

“No, you talk to me.”

“I. Bought. You. A. Doughnut.” Lando went back to his strongest argument.

“It’ll take a little more than a pastry to move up the rankings.” You leaned into the aisle as well, catching Charle’s eyes. “Posso spingerlo giù dall'aereo?” Can I push him off the plane?

“No,” Charles chuckled, glancing at Lando who was trying to recall the very minimal Italian that he knew. “Sii gentile con lui” Be nice to him.

“Gentile?” Lando repeated, looking back and forth between you and your brother. It was the only word he could pick up on. “Nice? Did Charles just call me nice? Thank you Charles, I’m trying to do a polite thing for your sister and she’s not being respectful.”

You dropped your face to your hand, “Lo spingerò giù dall'aereo.” I’m going to push him off the plane.

“Y/N don’t do that. Lando, Mate I don’t think bribing Y/N with a doughnut is going to do you any favours,” Charles retorted, still laughing. At this point, the only person not laughing was Lando. “Now put your seatbelts on.”

You and Lando exchanged a similar look, a challenging one. Eyes slightly narrowed, a smirk playing on your lips. He was going to make it his mission to become your favourite driver and you were intent on not letting that happen.

Once you were in the air, Charles got up out of his seat to come and talk to you about plans for dinner this week with your mum. You brought one leg up to your chest as you spoke to your older brother, switching between French and Italian throughout the duration of the conversation. That was common for you two, but you noticed that Lando was watching intensely, probably trying to figure out if you two were talking about him.

Charles noticed too and dipped his head in an attempt to stifle his laughter, “Tu seras sa mort.” You’ll be the death of him.

“Possibly, but that’s what makes this fun,” You swiftly turned your head to face the British driver. “Right?”

Lando held his hands up defensively, “I’m not agreeing with anything you just said. I don’t even know what you said.”

“Then stop trying to eavesdrop,” You stretched your hand out to land a playful hit on his arm. One would have thought you just bruised his bone with the way he reacted, retracting his arm into his chest and inhaling a very dramatic breath. You rolled your eyes, “We weren’t talking about you, by the way. We were talking about plans for dinner.”

“For tonight?” Lando asked, face lighting up immediately. “Perfect. I’m in.”

Charles’ head fell back with laughter as he turned around, leaving you to deal with this conversation on your own.

“No, you idiot,” you stared at him in disbelief. “With our mother, later this week.”

“Oh,” he nodded, poking his tongue out to lick his lips before his eyebrows pinched together, “So what’s happening tonight?”

“Nothing’s happening tonight.”

“So you’re free for me to take you out on a date?”

Charles’ and Arthur’s laughter echoed through the plane and it took everything in you not to laugh as well, but you genuinely couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. You were also very taken aback by his abruptness of the question, like this was casual, like you guys had hung out outside the paddock before, you hadn’t.

“Lando if this is about my driver ranking-”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Lando shrugged, but his cheeky grin told you it was. He reached across the aisle and nudged your arm, “Come on, Y/N, let’s do something fun in Monaco.”

When it clicked for all of you that this wasn’t a joke, Charles stood up from his seat, eyes darting back and forth between you and Lando a few times before landing on him, “No, absolutely not. You’re not going on a date with my sister.”

“Don’t think that’s up for you to decide.” Lando looked at you expectantly. His hazel eyes bore into yours and with the way the early morning sunlight flooded through the small windows, he seemed to quite literally be glowing.

You almost said yes because of the way he was looking at you. A hopeful, boyish smile on his lips. Chin rested in his hand so innocently. Head tilted the slightest bit. How could you say no to that?

You had to.

“Lando, I’m not going on a date with you.”

To end the conversation, you found your airpods and pulled out your phone, making yourself look as busy as possible, even if you were just scrolling through different social media platforms. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Lando shift in his seat, trying to decide if he should interrupt you or not.

Eventually he decided not to. Probably figuring that asking you out on a date for a second time wouldn’t go over well with you, or with Charles for that matter.

But that didn’t mean he was done trying.

ynleclerc

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 17, 932 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

ynleclerc spanish grand prix but im the only one that looks good

view all 2,301 comments

charles_leclerc i don't like this

carlossainz55 why did you include that one of me

ynleclerc because it made me giggle ynleclerc ti amo❤️

dailyyferrari y/n is really out here giving us the ferrari boys content

hamileclerc okay but can we talk about her style

sunshinemick paddock queen

16paddocks idc what anyone else says i think her and carlos would make the cutest couple

helpmelando charles would never let her date a driver LMAO

------

When you stepped off the plane, Lando was quick to take your bags from you so you didn’t have to carry them to the car that was waiting for you. Charles lightly smacked him upside the head, muttering something under his breath about how Lando wasn’t allowed to hit on his sister.

Lando ignored it, like he ignored most signs and instructions. He waited until getting to the car, making sure to grab the door and hold it open for you.

“Being chivalrous isn’t going to do anything for my driver ranking.”

“I’m just being nice.”

“You have ulterior motives.”

“No,” Lando argued. Your eyebrows pinched together and he changed his answer. “Okay fine, yes I want you to like me more. Let me take you out, Y/N. It’ll be fun.”

It wasn’t like Charles controlled your life, but you did worry about what he would think if you and Lando did go out, even just for an innocent dinner. Lando could sense your hesitation as you glanced at your older brother a few feet away and he just nodded and drummed his fingers against the car window.

“I’ll see you around, then,” taking your silence as an answer. He gave you a gentle smile, one that matched the rest of his soft features before shutting the door.

You didn’t expect to hear from Lando until the next race and honestly, that would have been for the better. That plane ride with him was enough. And him asking you on a date? Where the hell did that come from? You understood that Lando just wanted to move up your personal driver rankings, but you were conflicted about that potentially leading to spending more time with him.

Lando was someone you’ve known for a few years now. You were always friendly in the paddock or any social events, you shared some entertaining banter, but never once did you spend time together in between races.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you did like Lando and his company, but similar to Carlos or Daniel, he was a friend. A friend you saw when you watched a grand prix and nothing more. It didn’t make sense to see him on a more regular basis.

Also Charles would kill you if you went on a date with a driver.

Luckily for you, the second you stepped into your flat, all thoughts of the McLaren driver left your mind. You had to unpack, you needed to do laundry, you needed to meal prep for the upcoming week. You’d been gone for four days so god did you need to clean. Basic chores kept you busy for the majority of the day until you found yourself needing to make dinner.

You had just placed a homemade pizza in the oven and licked some excess tomato sauce off your thumb when there was a knock on your door.

This didn’t alarm you. You ordered a lot of packages, you figured this was another one. Or maybe it was one of your friends because they knew you were back home. It wasn’t strange that someone was stopping by.

It was strange that the person on the other side of your door was Lando.

You had half a mind to shut the door in his face.

“I said no date.”

“This isn’t a date!” Lando defended himself, but the single daisy between his fingers told you otherwise. Lando noticed you eyeing it and he held it out towards you, “I passed a shrub of daisies, what was I supposed to do? Not grab you one?”

Reluctantly, you took the flower from him, spinning it between your forefinger and your thumb. Dozens of questions flooded through your mind, but instead of making him stand in your foyer as you pondered which one to ask, you nodded your head to invite him inside.

Lando smiled and shut the door behind him. He had changed out of his jumper from earlier, now in a pair of black joggers and, of course, a Quadrant t-shirt.

You had changed as well, now in a matching cotton pj set that was beige with little red hearts on it. You noticed that Lando’s eyes lingered on your bare legs for longer than he probably should have.

“How’d you know?” You asked.

Lando cleared his throat, “How’d I know what?”

“That I like daisies.”

He shifted onto the balls of his feet, “You have a daisy tattoo.”

Your eyebrows raised due to suspicion, “Not anywhere visible.”

The small flower was inked into your side on your ribcage, just below the curve of your breast. It wasn’t everyday you walked around topless, so you were certainly confused as to how Lando of all people had become aware of it.

Lando knew he had been caught out. He inhaled a sharp breath, quickly trying to figure out how to get out of this grave he had dug for himself.

“Word spreads,” he shrugged.

“Word spreads?” You repeated back to him. You knew exactly what that meant. You pushed on his chest and reached for the handle of the door, practically shoving him out. “Get out of my flat, Lando. And take your fucking daisy.”

You crumpled it between your fingers until the pedals turned to remnants of what it used to be before throwing it in his face. Lando didn’t let you shut the door though, he kept his palm against the surface and pushed it open. You were strong, but nowhere near as strong as a Formula 1 driver.

“Hey, come on,” Lando tried to reason with you. “I’m not the one who talks, Y/N. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear. It’s not my place.”

He leaned against the side of the door, refusing to break your stare until you believed he was telling the truth. You pressed your lips together tightly, telling yourself that Lando was only the middle man in this unfortunate turn of events. You were annoyed, definitely, but you didn’t need to take it out on him.

“I want to know what he said,” you decided, swinging the door open for the second time.

And that’s how you found yourself on the couch with Lando as he relayed to you everything that Pierre had told him.

It was a mistake, honestly. One that you didn’t think you regretted that much, but now you were thinking otherwise.

Last Christmas when Pierre came to visit the Leclerc family, the two of you ended up splitting a bottle of wine, or maybe two, and when the end of the night came, instead of going to his hotel, Pierre came with you back to your flat.

You had known Pierre for years through Charles, but that night there was a magnetic pull that had you craving him. It was probably the wine.

He kissed you, something that you shouldn't have let happen but you were giddy and drunk and it was the holidays so all logic slipped from mind. Pierre kissed you and for the rest of the night, nothing else seemed to matter.

But when you woke up in your bed the next morning, limbs tangled with his and the sheets, you both agreed that it could never happen again. You also agreed that you would never talk about it. The last thing you needed was Charles’ finding out about a one night stand between his best friend and his sister and neither of you wanted to start any gossip in the paddock.

That’s what you thought, at least. Because apparently Pierre had told Lando every stupid detail about that night, including the tattoo that he had noticed on your side.

“È uno stronzo," He’s an asshole. With your arm resting along the back of the couch, you dropped your face to rest in your hand. Lando knew just enough Italian that he didn't have to ask for a translation. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Who else knows?”

Lando shrugged and usually that was a cop out answer, but you believed that he truly didn’t know. “I don’t think he told Carlos. Danny might know. Yuki? I don’t know, Y/N, I’m sorry. Pierre loves to talk.”

“I just don’t want this to get back to Charles.”

He nodded, understanding where you were coming from, “If it helps, I haven’t told anyone.”

You couldn’t help but glare at him, “What do you want? An award for doing the bare fucking minimum? You could have told Pierre to not talk about me.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Lando cowered back into his corner of the couch. He felt bad about this situation, but you also sort of intimidated him. He didn’t know how to help. It just seemed like everything he said or did made it a little bit worse.

He was so tense that when the timer on your oven went off, he flinched in response.

You slid off the couch and headed towards the kitchen. When you put the pizza on a cooling rack, you glanced over your shoulder to catch a peak at Lando, only to find him watching you. You nodded your head towards the plate in your hand, “Did you want some?”

“Of what?”

He didn’t think sometimes. “Lando, what the hell does it smell like in here?”

“Piz- oh, yeah sure I’d love a slice,” his boyish grin returned and you grabbed a second plate out for him. You also grabbed a bottle of wine from the cart in the corner, but Lando’s voice stopped you from popping out the cork. “Oh I’m okay, I don’t actually drink wine.”

You had nothing against drinking alone, but for reasons you couldn’t really explain, it felt wrong to pour yourself a glass of wine and enjoy it in Lando’s presence.

So you opted for a few bottles of Perrier instead. You balanced the plates on one arm and carried the sparkling water in your hand. When you came back to the couch, Lando was quick to take the dishes from you so you could get comfortable in your spot.

He took a bite of the pizza and immediately sucked in a breath as if that would help cool it down. You wanted to roll your eyes at how daft he could be sometimes. It was a wonder how this man could memorise over twenty different track layouts and withstand up to 5G, but couldn’t remember to let his food cool down before eating.

Lando must have noticed you smiling to yourself and he took a sip of water before asking about it, “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” you were still smiling, “You’re just funny, is all.”

“I’m funny?” He repeated, mirroring your expression as he saw it as a compliment. The slightest bit of an ego boost did wonders for his mood. “Why thank you.”

You were starting to learn which battles to pick with Lando. Correcting him about your concerns regarding his mentality was not one of them.

“So you came over here for what reason?” You asked, eyeing the crumbled up flower near your front door.

“For a date,” Lando answered like it was the easiest question in the world. “I just assumed you had to say no earlier, for Charles’ sake.”

You scoffed, “I said no because I didn’t want to go on a date with you.”

“So what are we doing right now?”

He had you there.

You may not have gone out and done something ‘fun’ but you did invite him inside and now you were sharing a few slices of homemade pizza. You almost opened a bottle of wine.

“This isn’t a date,” it was a piss poor argument, but it was all you could come up with.

“Agree to disagree,” Lando looked pleased with himself. “And I don’t see Lance showing up at your door, with a flower, wanting to hang out with you.”

“Maybe because Lance lives in Montreal,” you retorted. “And he also has a girlfriend.”

“So why do you like him more than me?” Lando raised his voice but there was still a lingering playful understone.

“He’s a better driver,” you took another bite of pizza, ignoring the way Lando was staring at you like you offended the last five generations of his family. When you finally looked up, you rolled your eyes at his dumbstruck expression, covering your mouth with your hand as you finished chewing. “Lando, he’s literally sitting at ninth in the driver standings. Your tenth. Maybe get some points and I’ll like you more.”

“You’re harsh,” Lando shook his head at your words as he stood up from the couch. For a second you wondered where he was going but he just pointed at the kitchen, “Mind if I grab another slice?”

“Oh, you like my cooking?”

“I do, actually,” Lando chuckled. He put a few more slices on his plate. “You’ve got some good culinary skills. This crust?” He lifted his fingers to his lips, kissing the tip of them to express his appreciation for your homemade pizza. “You should open up a restaurant.”

Your head dipped backwards as you laughed, “You’ve tried one meal. I could be absolute shit at making everything else.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lando shook his head as he returned to the couch. This time when he sat down, you noticed he positioned himself more towards you than forwards.

“Why not?”

Lando hesitated, taking a breath before answering, “I don’t think it's possible for you to be shit at anything. If you have the same determination as Charles, which I think you do, it’s probably safe to say that when you put your mind to something, you excel.”

It was a nice compliment, but you didn’t let his words affect you the way he would have hoped.

“You’re still sixth in my ranking.”

“For now.”

“Forever.”

Lando opened his mouth only for his jaw to immediately close. You straightened up and nudged his foot with yours.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever you were about to say”

“I forgot,” Lando shrugged it off, but you knew he was lying. He had a horrible poker face. It also didn’t help that he quickly scarfed down the rest of his pizza and stood up, avoiding this conversation.

You watched as he walked to the kitchen and turned the tap on to start washing the single dish he used. You braced your arm over the back of the couch, “Just leave it, I can clean it later.”

His jaw dropped in fake astonishment, “Leave it? I was raised better than that. You fed me, I can clean. Equal trade.”

“Lando-

“Shut up Y/N, let me do the dishes.” He then moved to grab a few cutting boards and other utensils you used and left out.

You weren’t sure what was going through his mind as he cleaned up your mess. You just watched, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Lando.

This was his first time at your place, so it took a while for him to figure out where you kept your dish rags and soap, but it was entertaining watching as he navigated through your cupboards and drawers.

After a few minutes, he wiped his hands on his pants and made his way towards the back of the couch. You stared up at him, but instantly regretted that as he flicked his hand in front of your face. A few stray drops of water landed on your cheeks and you pushed on his abdomen.

“Oh you asshole,” you wiped your face as Lando only laughed and grabbed your now empty plate. You followed him to the kitchen this time though, nudging your hip against his so he would move out of the way for you to grab a towel.

“You could always hire me as a dishwasher if being a driver doesn’t work out for me,” Lando suggested.

"One, I'm not opening up a restaurant," you started, hearing a scoff from Lando. "Two, hiring you would mean I have to see you all the time."

"That's not so bad."

You didn't answer, relying on your judgmental eyeroll and pursed lips to get the message across. Lando snatched another towel from the drawer and rolled it up, snapping it against your bare forearm.

"Ouch," you hissed at him, grabbing the spot that had just been hit. Now it was Lando's turn to roll his eyes.

He pushed your hand out of the way and brushed his thumb against the faint red mark on your arm that would certainly disappear within the next ten minutes. You may have reacted dramatically.

Okay, you definitely did. You grew up with three older brothers. A little roughhousing was not going to be the end of you. Lando knew this.

"Oh you're fine," he assured you, his fingers lingering on your skin longer than they needed to before he turned back around.

You wiped down the counter and Lando grabbed a few dishes that had been sitting in the drying rack. As he turned around, he placed his hand on your waist to gently move you out of the way so he could put the plates in the cupboard. A much nicer gesture compared to you just pushing against his side earlier.

Even though this was the first time Lando was visiting your flat, you two managed to fall into a pretty good flow as you finished cleaning up your kitchen. What started as just picking up after dinner turned into tidying everything else up.

Conversation flowed as well. He didn’t bring up your driver ranking, he asked what your plans were this week. He asked about any upcoming modelling projects you had lined up. He wanted to know if you’d be at the next race and he seemed excited when your answer was yes.

Before you knew it, almost two hours had passed of the two of you just standing in your kitchen, talking. It was easy to talk to someone who made you laugh every five minutes and Lando just didn’t seem to have an excuse to leave, so he didn’t.

This was the most amount of time you had ever spent with the British driver.

And you didn’t hate it.

It wasn’t until a yawn slipped out as Lando was talking did you both realise what time it was. Lando pulled out his phone at the same time you did. Either you put it on silent and didn’t notice or you had just been too engrossed with Lando and your conversation to notice that Charles had texted you a number of times.

“Everything okay?” Lando asked, noticing your expression.

You briefly skimmed the messages, but then decided you didn’t want to deal with your brother right now, “Yeah just Charles. I’ll call him back in the morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to ignore-”

You raised a hand to stop him mid-apology, “Don’t apologise, really.” You glanced around your pristine kitchen before your eyes landed on his, momentarily asking yourself why you turned him down in the first place. “Tonight was…weirdly fun. Even though you showed up unannounced and I found out Pierre told half the grid that we hooked up.”

Lando clenched his jaw and inhaled a sharp breath, “Yeah, sorry about that. Not about showing up unannounced, I don’t regret that, but about the whole Pierre thing.”

Leave it to Lando to not feel any bit of remorse for crashing your do-nothing plans after you rejected a date with him.

You walked him to the front door and leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, watching to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. He then looked down at the flower right next to his feet.

“Sorry,” you muttered. You could admit you overreacted.

“Don’t be,” Lando shook his head. “I’ll just get you a bouquet next time, it’s probably harder to destroy.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, “Next time?”

Lando tilted his head, that same cheeky grin making a reappearance, “Oh. Yeah. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m still on a mission.” He gestured towards your kitchen. “I can’t believe I cleaned for you and you still like Lance better than me.”

“I mean,” you inhaled a heavy breath. Were you really about to say this? You could already see Lando’s expression turn hopeful and you had to avert your gaze, looking up at the ceiling instead. “It’s probably safe to say that Pierre isn’t on that top five list anymore.”

“He’s bumped down?” Lando asked. You nodded and you could tell how ecstatic he was over this news. “So by default, I’m number 5?”

“Sure, by default you’ve made it into the top five.”

Lando actually fist pumped the air. You rolled your eyes, dragging your hand over your face before reaching for the door. You pulled it open and for the second time tonight, you were pushing him out of your flat.

“Goodnight, Lando.” you went to shut the door, but just like earlier, he stopped it.

He stepped closer, his line of sight trailing upwards, taking his time to really look at all of the details on your face. Like how no matter how hard you were trying to look annoyed, a sliver of a smile still poked through. There was an indent above your right eyebrow, he hadn’t noticed it before and he made a mental note to ask you about it the next time he saw you. He then landed on your eyes and he cleared his throat, suddenly feeling his mouth becoming very dry.

“In all honesty, thanks for inviting me in,” Lando told you. His words sounded genuine. It almost made you forget about his ridiculous move-up-your-ranking operation.

“Yeah, just don’t make a habit of showing up uninvited,” you said.

“No promises.”

He shot you a wink before taking a few steps backwards and away from your flat. You watched for a few seconds, making sure he got into his car safely. Once he turned it on, you shut the door and released a breath you weren’t even aware you had been keeping in.

As you heard him drive away, you ignored an unfamiliar twisting feeling in the pit of your stomach. You also paid no attention to the fact that your flat just seemed so empty without him and almost eerily quiet after his laughter filled up the space for the last few hours. And of course, you refused to let yourself think about what would have happened if you did agree to the date.

But you did ask yourself one question.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

a fun new little lando series (will be about 5-6 parts) can't wait to hear your thoughts

masterlist here part 2 here

#lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash

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