#and I love the main character she's just so sweet and a good mom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

macfrog · 1 year ago

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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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madlori · 25 days ago

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Ah, 90s TV

Y'all, I don't know how or why, but I've somehow fallen into a complete rewatch of "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman" (although I never watched this show start to finish when it aired, just now and then). It's surprisingly seductive and it sucked me right in. I'm slightly disturbed how VINTAGE it feels - it looks and feels like it was a contemporary of like, Little House on the Prairie, but was in fact made in the mid-90s (LHOP aired in the mid-70s to early-80s, btw).

The show holds up surprisingly well. It's got the typical tone and structure of "heartwarming prime time drama" from the 80s-90s (what I sometimes think of as the Schlock Era of TV). Almost entirely episodic, the succession of guest stars having an Incident of the Week that's totally self-contained (like seriously, one episode her little son had to have brain surgery and they made kind of a big thing of shaving his head and the next episode, full head of hair like it never happened). People are constantly getting kidnapped and experiencing grievous bodily injury so the other characters can lose their minds over it.

They do not shy away from The Issues. We've done "The Army Is Kind of Evil, Actually", "The Indians Are Being Treated Like Shit And That's Not Okay," "Racism is Bad, Actually", "Domestic Violence is Rampant and Also Bad", "Vaccines are Good", "Immigrants Are Also Being Treated Like Shit and That's Also Not Okay" and "Capitalism Poisons the Environment" and that's just the first season. Plus the usual personal storylines, like "the Civil War gave people PTSD," and "my teenage son wants to grow up too fast and I'm not actually his mom but it's too much" and "the mountain man I'm in a situationship with is a bit out there for my stuffy Boston relatives" and "I'm determined to be a pioneering woman doctor but sometimes I'm scared and uncertain and this shit is hard ok" and "hey I could marry this Boston doctor who actually thinks I'm awesome and should be taken seriously too bad this mountain man has my whole-ass heart."

You can almost HEAR the voices of the producers, too. "Okay we want this beautiful woman to be a DOCTOR and fighting against stereotypes, but we also want her to be MOTHERLY but also be free to have a SEXY ROMANCE with the mountain man so howwwwww wait I know she'll inherit three kids from a woman she just met who dies in the pilot. BRILLIANT."

The tightrope they're walking with most of the townspeople is tricky, too. Like they need them to be folksy and for you to like them, but also to exhibit period-typical attitudes (racism, sexism, etc) so that Dr. Mike can push back against it, so they often whipsaw wildly between likable and unlikeable depending on the needs of the plot.

I'm kind of impressed that they usually avoid making Dr. Mike a Super Doctor. She loses patients, she doesn't know how to treat some things - and they have to keep her to period-appropriate medical knowledge, so no antibiotics, brand-new smallpox vaccines, germ theory is barely a thing (it was very very new in the post-civil-war era). They don't have her independently recreating modern medicine (which is sometimes a thing Outlander does, although Claire has the benefit of being a time traveler whereas Dr. Mike is not).

Man you can also see the footprints of "Last of the Mohicans" all over this show, too. She couldn't have one of the stuffy townspeople as a love interest - she has to have the Wish version of Hawkeye (no shade on Sully, love Sully, but they obviously downloaded him right from that film). The film came out in 1992, this show started in 93.

It's shockingly balming to the soul. It's from an era when TV didn't take itself very seriously, there were no subreddits to pick everything apart, and the earnestness is just on full display.

I saw a post from someone else watching this who said "I just found out that the main couple on this show is a REALLY SLOW BURN" and like...oh you sweet summer child. Mike and Sully are not that slow. They were wildly obviously telegraphed as the OTP of this show from the first episode, had kissed by the end of the first season, declared their love in the first third of the second season and were married by the end of the third season.

That's not a slow burn by old-school TV standards. A slow burn is eight seasons of longing glances and slightly perturbed expressions when the other one is dating someone else. These two were all in from Minute One. Like, every episode has that obvious ticky box of "Mike and Sully have a sweet/tender/longing moment." They were constantly hugging, touching, and generally being all up in each other's business. This was never a "will they or won't they" although they tried to throw a few obstacles between them, there was never any doubt about it.

Man, this is real UST. This is how it's done. And these seasons are like 29 freaking episodes! WE USED TO HAVE A SOCIETY.

#dr. quinn #dr. quinn medicine woman

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absolutebl · 4 months ago

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This Week in BL - Lots of lovely kisses & an unwarranted upset in the standings

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Oct 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 2 of 16 - Yes yes J&J should be first but I am weak in the face of, well, frankly this man's face:

Pond = greatest piner in a dog’s age. The yearning in that boy’s eyes is obscene, it’s like the most explicit sex that only he can see and we’re just voyeurs.

Thus I continue to adore this stupid show and everything it stands for. No notes. May the fluff continue eternal.

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - Everyone is so skilled in this show, but War is truly glorious. Considering the pacing, I think we are probably in for some long periods of darkness, suffering, and pain soon. I’m not mad about that prospect, it’s earned and foreshadowed, I just thought I’d lay it out there.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 - More boys from GMMTV with good communication. Who knew? Min has SUCH a white knight complex. NO SINGING. Good demanding kiss, though. Well, Ohm can handle anything.

Meanwhile, this really is a bodyguard romance under another name. And I kinda wanna rewatch Never Let Me Go as a result.

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 4 of 15 - Earn remains best boy and my favorite character. Phun is v jelly, as he should be. AND I like Ohm & N'Mik better in this version. I still prefer the original leads, but I’m enjoying this enough.

I had no idea how much I missed Gunsmile! It’s so nice to see him on my screen again.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 12 fin - I hate Diew’s mom. Hate her. So much. She may be my least favorite mom ever in BL. That’s saying a lot. No I don’t think she was redeemed.

Conclusion

Adapted from the novel Godzilla Next Door by Jiwinil about an introvert who lives mostly in his room, until a loud annoying extrovert moves in next door. This was one of my top picks for 2024 and I’m delighted to say it satisfied expectations. A charmingly serene story of opposites attract, that featured good communication, patience, and genuine affection used to build a solid relationship.(I’m particularly delighted that our musician is a drummer and I don’t have to listen to him sing.) Yes it’s a tad slow but it’s very earnest and leans into the kind of sweetness that Thai BL does best. Doesn’t hurt that this starred an actor (Big) that many of us have been hoping would get a lead for years. I was pleased and comforted. This is not a kind of BL that suits everybody, but it suited me admirably. 8/10

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - Ozone and the Ice Prince (name still unknown) did their little dance. What an earnest and romantic confession from our Icy man. I literally said “no no no just kiss, no foreheads.” And it was a great crying kiss, my favorite. Honestly, that amount of emotion hadn’t been earned by this pair, but I don’t mind. I could watch a whole show just about them. Also woah! Major nekid on YT?

Thailand......

Risking demonetization for arse…...

I guess we’ve all been there.

Where was I?

I’m happy with this episode since it was mostly my side couple. But the distribution of main couple and side couple and the focus of each episode is wildly erratic with this show. It’s very odd. (And let's be clear we ordered errotic not erratic.)

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Jade and Chin have lived over a thousand lifetimes. In each one they somehow manage to fall in love with each other. (This pair, TopMick was piloted in a My Universe ep, that was one of the only ones I liked.) Soulmate premise is a mix of Color Rush and La Pluie. Frankly, this isn’t as good as either, but it’s enjoyable in a slow cheerful way. Especially if you like this particular set of tropes. It’s quietly lovely and I like the leads. Sunshine is very very sunshine and our tsundere is a grumpy mysterious nerd. Trigger for domestic abuse. It looks like each episode is gonna be a completely different meet cute with the same pairing. It’s more linked vignettes than any overarching story. So if you don’t like this pair, you won’t like this series.

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 9 of 10 - More sports day. (Everybody’s doing sports days right now.) Random sides kissing. Where did the glasses person come from? Was he introduced and I forgot about it? Oh that’s the evil cousin! Okay… anygay. Sides randomly flip-flop who they like and I don’t know what the fuck is going on. This show. I swear. Ooo caught kissing. And… killed? What a mind fuck of a soap opera. Honestly, I’m fine if he’s dead, I don’t care at this point I just feel jerked around.

For some reason no eng sub for me for the first half. So I watched with Spanish subs (which is about as good as my Thai, only for different words). What a wild experience.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Oh dear. I just can’t imagine ever rooting for this couple. Which means… Why am I watching this?

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 1-2 of 7 - Oh I love it. Casual flirty westernized-style boss. Reserved reluctant cutie (yes we’ve seen the actor before). Is it disgusting workplace harassment? Oh most certainly. Do I enjoy it anyway? Yep, I’m warped. No defense, but at least it’s something from Korea.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 3 of ? - I like the lead being bullied and pushed to his limit thus turning into a psychopath. It’s gonna be a fun ride if it really goes Devil Judge just teens and actually gay. I wonder if it has the strength of its convictions?

Our Golden Times (Hong Kong YT) 5 fin? - I guess that is the reunion? What an odd little piece. I’m not entirely sure what I feel about it except that this feels more BL than anything Hong Kong has given us so far (which isn't much). The subs are truly terrible. Since I speak absolutely zero Cantonese I can’t really fix them in my brain. I thought this was the final ep but then a teaser for ep 6 dropped so I we have at least one more.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - It was a nice, if entirely unearned reunion. And the leads do kiss beautifully. Trust Taiwan. I am so glad that Orca is back! There was even a little language play flip-flopping just for me. Very cute. Also GREAT kissing. How long have we been waiting for Thailand and Taiwan to kiss?

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 1-2 of 12 - Silkwood’s 2nd Thai/Korean colab. This has been in production since 2022 which is a LONG time in the BL world (worrying). But I like the concept: friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER. Stars Yoon Jun Won (The Man BLK) and Thai actor Save Saisawat (Ai Long Nhai). I begin to think every The Man BLK member will eventually lead out a BL at this point.

It’s enjoyable in a weird way. Grumpy (hottie with a crush) + sunshine (captain oblivious). I gotta say, since this is the second relationship dual lingo style in our BL rn that it’s ALWAYS weird if the other half doesn't occasionally code switch languages, especially for specific words. In other words, the Korean dude is supposed to at least understand Thai, occasionally he’s should use a Thai world to get a point across. And the Thai dude is there to STUDY KOREAN, he should be slipping in and out of Korean regularly. Bah.

It's airing but...

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 5 of 10 eps - I never managed to get hold of ep 5. Frankly, it’s going to Netflix (I don’t subscribe) so I might not finish this out of sheer laziness.

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

Gangster and His Boyfriend (Korea ????) 8 eps? - was supposed to air 10/10 Kim Dong Bin (famous trainee & idol reality competitor, yeah that happens) stars as a fallen idol who unexpectedly becomes entangled in a gangster family. Discovers that his friend’s father is responsible for the murder of his entire family years ago. I don't know much about this one, neither does anyone else and I'm not sure where I got that release date so……

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming Oct 2024:

10/17 Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) 8 eps - High school student Do Hoe lives with his violent and brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym in a rural area. One day, cheerful Ju Young arrives, he dreams of going to college for Taekwondo. Joy begins to fill Do Hoe's dark life. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite ten years later.

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea ????) 8 eps - Okay, this is both a movie (already out) and a series. Neither one is likely BL and I can't imagine it will end happily. I'm giving both a pass but here's your synopsis.

Cynical fun loving student Young pinballs from home, to class, to on night stands. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju and hookups.

10/23 See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga & Viki) 10 eps? - Zi Xiong, a third-generation heir, attempting to flee from taking over their family business, meets and falls in love with Shao Peng, who works as a hearing-impaired nurse. From the same production house as Kiseki Dear To Me in partnership with Shinehouse Theatre, funded by Taiwan’s BIGART + Japan's Rakuten (Viki). Show includes Lin Chia Yo (Be Loved in House: I Do). Director Chiang Ping Chen’s childhood experiences with his deaf uncle have inspired the drama.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Addicted Heroin

Incidentally he didn’t ask to “be with Ter” he asked if he could flirt/court him. jeeb doesn’t really have a direct translation, but it isn’t “be with.”

Fourever You

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

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kimingyuslover · 8 months ago

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Breath in your love

Synopsis : What if Jeonghan wishes of turn back time come true?

Word count : 3,231

Pairing : yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre : time traveler!au, angst, fluff, lovers to exes to lovers, second chance romance

Warnings & note : TEARS, she has a daughter named Seok kyung, single mom!reader, slight of dad!Jeonghan at the end, time traveler!Jeonghan, mentions of food, lots of mentions of Seok kyung, kinda simp!Jeonghan, mentions of pregnancy, this fic does not represent his character in real life!

★ back with another angst story.... literally tearing up rn lolololol

☆ check out my other works > main masterlist

Life hasn't been easy for you, not even now, exhaustion evident on your face, you just want to go home and have a good rest on weekends like you always do.

Working under one of the big 3 companies was not easy, and you know it, yet you still work there and even achieve being their head of finance.

After you reach home, all your exhaustion goes through the window when you see your daughter waiting patiently with her nanny at your doorstep.

She's greeting you with a sweet smile plastered on her face with a piece of paper that she held proudly on her chest.

“Seok kyung!” You open your arms towards her. She reciprocates by running to you and wraps her tiny hands on your back.

“Did you be a good girl today? you're not causing a problem, are you?” she giggles between your questions and shakes her head no.

“I'm not mommy! Miss Jiwoo also said I'm good today and she gives me 5 stars!” She gave you her paper full of stars, you gasped at her answer, then smiled widely.

“really? My baby is so smart!” You take her inside while Seok kyung's nanny helps you by taking your bag and you mouth a ‘thank you’ to her as she smiles at you.

Having Seok kyung was not on your plan, at least until you found out that you're pregnant 5 years ago with her, and your pregnancy is seven weeks old.

When you first tell your boyfriend– now ex, Jeonghan, that you’re pregnant and you want to keep it, arguments start to happen.

He’s arguing that he's not yet ready to be a father and he doesn't want you to keep it, whereas you argue back that even though you're both not as ready as anyone else to be a parents, you still wants to keep it, you can learn together how to be a good parents, they done nothing wrong, so if you aborted them, wouldn't it be cruel?

Arguments keep happening since then, and it took you 3 days to finally break up with him, if he doesn't want the baby so be it, you're willing to give up on your 6 years relationship for your baby.

And now here you are, a single mother on the peak of your 30s with a daughter and a stable job that can give you more than enough money to live with your daughter.

There's so much purchase that you buy for your future, like a car, a house, maids, and even a nanny to take care of your daughter while you're working.

When you're on a business trip, though, you bring her with you because it makes you not worry too much about her.

“Sweetheart, mommy's having a business trip tomorrow. Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay here with Uncle Joshua?” You asked Seok kyung after bathing with her and putting on clothes for both of you.

She makes the ‘think’ gesture first and answers you with excitement in her voice, “I want to go with mommy! Will we go with a plane again?” You lightly chuckles and stroke her hair softly.

“Yes, we will, baby. Let's pack up first, yeah?” She nods her head and runs towards your walk-in closet to take a big suitcase.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

Now you're in the first class lounge, waiting for your airplane to open the gate for boarding.

Seok kyung playing games on her Ipad while you were reviewing the proposal your team has been working on for over a month.

After a couple minutes of waiting, your gate has finally opened for boarding, and you usher Seok kyung to get up from the couch and walk to the boarding gate.

On the other hand, Jeonghan thinks he might be dreaming when he sees you with a little girl on his plane boarding gate, smiles attached to your and her face while walking hand-in-hand.

It's been years since he last saw you, the last time was when he fucked up your relationship, feeding only his ego then at the end all of his mistake was the cause of your break up.

His first serious relationship that he cherished the most comes to an end, and it was not in a good way.

Jeonghan knew he was the wrong one, and the only one who can be blamed for your ruined relationship, you've done nothing wrong, but in his eyes that time, you've done more than the wrong things he imagined.

There’s a hard pang he feels in his heart when he sees you. He spent almost every hour in a day stalking your social media, and he always wanted to be the one who you'll always mention in your post.

He felt the hurt in his heart more when he saw your posting almost 5 years ago. It's a picture of one pair of tiny feet on your hand, but for him, it's not only a picture of a baby feets, it's a photo of his daughter, the one he left when you're only seven weeks pregnant.

When he got your notification, he almost immediately checked on his phone when he saw you updating your life with Seok kyung (he learned that was her name when one of your friends mentioned it in the comment section).

All of your updates have always been successful to bring a smile to his face.

Jeonghan always wondered what his life would be if he shortly apologised after the first argument, would Seok kyung love him? Will he be a good dad? Will you get married and live a happy life for the rest of your life just like you both had planned when your relationship entered 3 years?

The questions are always running on his mind 24/7, wanting no more than to run to you, holding both your hand and Seok kyung on his, kneeling in front of you and muttering apologise after apologise until you forgive him.

But that seems to be an impossible act. Before he knew it, he had already gotten on the plane and sat on his seat.

When he turns around, his body freezes upon seeing you and Seok kyung on your seats, playing like there's nobody else in the world.

After what feels like an eternity, the plane finally takes off, Jeonghan’s hoping that he won't be fast asleep because he wants to see you and your daughter– or rather, the daughter of his and yours.

A few hours have passed, and you are both fast asleep on your seat. Jeonghan called the air hostess to allow him to switch seats, luckily for him, it's not a full flight so there's a few seats left, he chooses the one who he can get closer to you, wanting to observe your little family a little bit more.

He can see the little detail on her face, he can see the manifestation of your and his love, she got your lips and eyes, meanwhile her nose and hair seems to be more likely to his.

Suddenly, tears started to brimming in his eyes. Why can't he accept his fate? Why can’t he do what a good fiancé will do when their fiancée says that she's pregnant? Why can't he seem to never be good enough to enroll in your life again?

Tears fell down from his eyes down his chin, then dropped to his lap.

oh, how he wished he could turn back time.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

“baby? baby, you need to get up. Today is still thursday, and you have to get ready to work” Jeonghan can't believe what he's hearing, your sweet voice filling both of his ears.

Realising that it was, indeed, your voice, he immediately sat up from his sleep figure and started to look at you with disbelief prominent on his face.

He still didn't believe his eyes, and he went as far as holding your cheeks with his hands, and you gave him a puzzled look.

“Uh, baby? what's wrong?” You asked him while raising one of your eyebrows, puzzled by his unusual behavior.

Jeonghan said nothing and just pulled you on his chest. If this is a dream, he’s hoping he will never wake up and have to live his life with the same nightmare everyday.

“Just for your information, ten minutes has passed and it's now seven past five and you can always hug me again when you get home” You said with muffled voice, and there Jeonghan let go of you, to have a better look of your face, and then smiles which you reciprocated with the same.

“Okay then, I have to go shower even though I still want to cuddle with you, am i?” You nod at his words and get off the bed.

Jeonghan finally comes to his senses and gets off from the bed, heading towards the bathroom, a wide smile still attached to his face.

After he got out of the shower, his ironed work attire already sat on his bed. It's the daily activity you would do, preparing his work attire when he showers.

Jeonghan still remembers how you two would act like a married couple, like a husband and wife, even long before your engagement.

When he goes downstairs, he searches for you, and when he does get to see you, you're in your kitchen, cooking breakfast and preparing lunch for him.

He never eats in the office canteen because the lunch you made has already made his stomach full, and he makes sure to tell you everytime he gets home from work.

Jeonghan checks the dates and months on his phone, and when he opens it.

January 16th, 2021

30 days before you announce that you're pregnant, he hopes that he can be here forever so he can fix everything for both of you.

“Love? Eat your breakfast first, and here's your lunch” back in the day, Jeonghan never appreciated your dish like he should, he only said ‘thanks’ before eating it half and then got up and went to the basement of your Maisonette apartment.

Jeonghan eagerly sat on the dining table and started to dig into the breakfast that you made, which is kimchi fried rice with seaweed on the side.

You look at him confused because Jeonghan is usually not this enthusiastic with your dish, but of course, you're happy to see Jeonghan eating your dish like this.

When he's done, Jeonghan goes to the sink and washes his plate and eateries.

“The food is so good sweetheart, can't wait to eat my lunch that you packed for me. Thank you, angel” He said, then kissed the top of your head with love, and that made you let out giggles.

“You're welcome. You better get go on though, there's a little traffic on the way to your office when i opened the maps earlier”

And does he already mention that you're always checking the maps before him?

After bidding you a goodbye, Jeonghan closed the front door and went straight to the basement, ready for probably a long day at work.

In the modern day, Jeonghan is already the vice president of the marketing department, so it shouldn't be that hard now.

He knows you're working remotely, so he doesn't need to worry about you getting late to your office.

In a matter of hours, lunch and working hours have passed, it is now five past six, and Jeonghan hurriedly tidying his office desk to go home.

Unluckily for him, the traffic is worse than the previous one in the morning where he got one, which makes him get home 15 minutes late.

Now it's 5:45, and he made it home before it got dark, wanting no more than to throw himself on your hugs.

“I'm home!” he announces as he kicks his shoes and places them on the shoe racks.

His ears perked up when he heard your hurried footsteps, coming down from the second floor.

“Long traffic? I've seen the route from your office to here. You should probably go shower. What do you want for dinner? I’ll make it” you said as you practically ran after you got off the stairs to him.

Jeonghan smiled. He really missed your attention for the past years he’s not with you.

So he answers you with the meals you and him like, Kimchi stew and after that he brings your lips to his for a chaste kiss that makes you blush and slap his chest lightly and whine his name.

Jeonghan just chuckles lightly, and he runs towards your shared bedroom to have a shower.

Once he gets out of the shower, he rushes out to your dining rooms, excited for the Kimchi stew you make.

Until now, Jeonghan only likes the Kimchi stew made by his mom and yours because he found comfort in them. He already tried to like Kimchi stew from the restaurants, but it never beat yours nor his mother's.

He misses these moments, where you and he will eat together in your shared maisonette, eating with happy giggles always left on both your lips, and the satisfied feelings when he's eating your dishes again with you sitting on the opposite of his seat.

“I love the meal, angel. you're such a good cook, i know you're going to be a good mom someday” He knows you're a good mom, Seok kyung always looks so happy when she's with you.

His words make you blush, and you try to hide it by burying your face on your hands, Jeonghan laugh and get up from his seat to hug you from your back, “I mean it, you're good at cooking and will be a good mom to our kids” then he kisses the top of your head before getting your and his bowl to wash it.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

February 15th, 2021

1 day before your announcement, everything goes more than well. He just has to stick with his plan, and he hopes he can change his future with you.

Jeonghan sometimes sees you when you're throwing up in your bathroom and always asks if you want him to go to the pharmacy nearby, but you always shake your heads no.

He tried to build a happy relationship with you. He wants to treat you with the treatments you deserve. He wants to love you like he should before the downfall.

He wants Seok kyung to have a life like the other kids, having a mother and father figure.

Jeonghan was living his old life, like usual, going to work 9 to 5, going out with you every weekend, and telling you how much he loves you everytime he could.

He just got off from work. When you suddenly started to put distance between you, he furrowed his eyebrows, creating creases on his forehead.

He vividly remembers that this was not in his memory.

Did he do something wrong? Why are you putting distance towards him? Does his plan not work? Do you want to get off of him? His thoughts are running hundreds of miles per hour, thinking of the worst scenario in his head.

The next day comes fast. Last night, Jeonghan had already emailed his boss that he’s taking 2 weeks off and requested to do work from home because his fiancée is pregnant. His boss doesn't waste another single time as she reads it. She accepts Jeonghan's request.

Jeonghan’s nervous. Could he really change the future?

“Jeonghan,” There is it, your voice calling his name, it means you will have a serious conversation with him.

You look so afraid that you couldn't see him in the eyes, your eyes attached to the ground beneath you, Jeonghan can see that you're trembling, so initiated to take you by your shoulders and told you to sit in front of him.

“What's wrong, honey?” Jeonghan asks, worried plastered on his face.

“I'm pregnant with your child. It's seven weeks old” you said hurriedly while giving him the test, the ultrasounds, and the doctor's examination letter.

In the past timeline, Jeonghan already cuts you off when you said you're pregnant with his child, never letting you finish your words.

“I want to keep the baby” you said again while fiddling with your hands on your lap.

Jeonghan couldn't be happier than he is now, Seok kyung will recognize him as her father, not a stranger.

“Okay, keep the baby. We both know that we have a minimal knowledge to be parents, but we will learn together” Jeonghan answered you, with his tear-filled eyes he held your chin up, so your eyes were at the same level as him.

You looked at him in disbelief. Jeonghan can see your tears already spilling from your eyes, so he wipes your tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

The distance between you both grows smaller, Jeonghan wastes no time to crush your lips together and give you a long, chaste kiss.

He pulled out first, giving you and him a room for air, “Thank you, baby, thank you” He connects your foreheads, smiling as he looks at you.

That night was spent with you on the held of Jeonghan's hand, sleeping after watching a few videos of how to be a good parent and early pregnancy care.

Jeonghan doesn't want anything other than this, having his life with you in it.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

Jeonghan eyes shoot open when he hears the sound of a film beside him. He remembers that he was sitting alone, wait–

when he turns his head to the right, there's a window, ‘no no no no no’ he thought to himself.

If he's in the present time, that means everything he sees, he feels, is it only his dream? but he dared to turn his head to the other side, wanting to see who was sat beside him.

He can't buy what he's seeing right now, Seok kyung is sat beside him while you're sat beside her.

Seok kyung looked at her side when she felt something was moving, “Mommy! daddy's already wake up!” her eyes light up when she speaks with you.

“Got a nice dream, huh? you passed out for like, 10 hours of our flight, we're landing in 30 minutes” you say with a teasing smile on your face, Jeonghan's confused, trying to regain his mind.

Then it clicks, he was not dreaming, he really changed his future, Seok kyung known him as her father, not a stranger.

When he sees his right hand, there's a wedding ring, so this is the ending he gets. He really gets his happy ending, with Seok kyung, and most importantly, you.

“Love, you're okay?” You ask with cautiousness, Jeonghan seems unusual after his 10 hours sleep.

He then answers you hurriedly, “yes, i'm fine, i'm just zoning out” Jeonghan answers, and in a split seconds, he pulls you both for a long hug.

You and Seok kyung chuckles when Jeonghan doesn't want to let both of you go, and when he did, he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

This is resulting in his daughter whines ‘i want to be kissed too!’ That, of course, Jeonghan accomplished, giving his beloved kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and lips.

Jeonghan can finally live his life with goods waiting for him. He starts to forget his life before this trip, how he wanted to pray every single day to thank god.

He lives a happy life with you and Seok kyung. He will never let you go again.

His little family consisted of Yoon Jeonghan, Yoon Seok kyung, and Yoon Y/n.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #kml.writes☆

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calmcoldevening · 1 year ago

Note

I’m begging you for a part 2 of the knowing the slashers when they were younger fic where they meet when they’re older if you’re up for it ofc🙏

You knew slashers when you were a child and now you grow up and met them

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

TW: mention of blood, violence, stockholm syndrome.

Ps: english is not my native language, so sorry for misspells. And also i really didn't know what I needed to write about Sinclair, because i need to rewatch the movie to remember their characters, so i didn't write about them. I hope you'll enjoy our sweet Tommy and baby boy Brahms

Part one ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Thomas Hewitt

You just recently graduated from college and decided to celebrate it with a trip with your friends to one of the US states. The choice fell on Texas. You still had pleasant memories of your school life in this place in your heart, and your heart ached at the thought of how soon you left your hometown. Not that you would call these people friends, but you were good acquaintances and helped each other with tasks. And so you packed your bags and within half an hour you were all driving together in a small SUV. The boyfriend of one of your 'friends' (Jessica) was driving. He was a good man, although he joked about unpleasant topics from time to time. But you turned a blind eye to it. In the end, you will finally find yourself back in the good old Texas.

The road was long, so you had a lot of time to think. You were sitting in the farthest seat, staring into space and slowly stroking an old, slightly battered fox toy with your hand. Your thoughts revolved around one person. That shy little boy you had such a happy conversation with years ago. It was your first memorable friend. You no longer had friends who could surpass sweet Tommy.

Finally, the car turned at a sign with the inscription of a city you know. Your heart started beating faster and you couldn't suppress a smile in anticipation. Soon you will see him again, a sweet shy boy. Although now it will probably be a guy, after all, it's been almost twelve years. This figure was almost painful.

The Texas landscape flowed like a soft canvas on the other side of the window, the sun mercilessly burned his eyes, refracting through the glass. It was hot and stuffy. You're lucky to get into one of the hottest periods in Texas. This place has changed somewhat, although it remains the same as you remembered it. The once small plantings have now turned into real tall trees, although they did not save much from the sultry sun. The wheels of the car turned quickly on turns with an unpleasant sound, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Jessica's boyfriend, Tim, apparently loved playing racer very much, even on the main state road.

By all the laws of luck, Tim abruptly informed you that you were running out of gas. There was a gas station nearby. You entered a small diner next to the gas station, and your heart instantly warmed up. It was that sweet woman, Thomas's mom. Luda-May, isn't that right?

"Hello, Luda," you say with a slight smile, approaching the cash register. The woman looks up at you with a frown, peering at your appearance for a few seconds. Finally, recognition seemed to flash across her face.

"Y/N?" She asks dryly, her voice a little rougher than what you remember from childhood. You nod in response. A warm smile appears on Mrs. Hewitt's face and she hurries out from behind the counter, wrapping you in a gentle, almost maternal embrace. "God, girl.. I never thought I'd see you again. You've grown up so much."

"I'm so sorry that I left so quickly. It was my parents' idea, not mine."

"I understand, honey, don't worry. We've all missed you. Especially Tommy."

The mere mention of his name makes your heart ache. Tommy... You haven't seen him for so long. Your heart yearned for those beloved cornflower blue eyes. You reluctantly pull away from the cozy embrace of Luda, your hand reflexively reaches for your hair, removing a stray strand from your face when you understand the look at a woman.

"You still live there, don't you? Can I see him?"

"Of course, my girl. I've just finished. Hoyt should be arriving soon."

Hoyt? Your brain was carefully trying to find at least one mention of that name in your memory, but nothing came to mind. Strange. Although it may be one of their relatives or friends, after all, you haven't been here for too long, it couldn't have stayed the same, could it?

What was your surprise when that Hoyt turned out to be old Charlie. Although his appearance was now quite pretentious: sheriff's clothes, hat and badge. Something was wrong. This man has been lazy all his life, he could not suddenly decide to go to work in a place related to healthcare. But you chose to remain silent. Hoyt didn't seem to recognize you. When he saw your friends, he invited them to go with them, saying that he had a can of gasoline at home.

"Take the guys, and then you'll come for us. I don't think the sheriff's car can hold that many people," Luda intervened, grabbing your arm protectively. It's got you a little stressed out. Although there was some truth in her words. Five former students came with you, all of them obviously wouldn't have gotten into Charlie's car. The man wanted to say something, but gave up, nodding to the woman.

And so they left. All that time, Luda was asking about your life, enjoying listening to stories from college. She was more interested in this than your own parents. And now Hoyt is back. He was in high spirits. You got to the Hewitt house safely. As a child, as now, the building was still huge for you. Luda carefully led you into the kitchen, offering you tea. God, you've missed this place.

"Tommy! Come here, we have guests," Luda shouted and you heard hurried rustles and heavy footsteps from the basement.

It made you tense up a little bit. Finally, a couple of minutes later, a tall man, the size of an entire closet, entered the kitchen. Your blood turned cold. You slowly looked up. A long, tall body, wavy dark hair and a leather mask on his face. He frowns down at you, seeming to evaluate you with his cold blue eyes.

"Tommy?" As if nothing had happened, Luda-Mae asks in a cheerful voice, "Do you remember Y/N?"

It seemed that at that moment the gears were turning in his head. You needed time to think about it too. Was this huge man Thomas? No, of course, Tommy was a bit of a big kid as a kid, but he was still quite small. The only thing that attracted attention was his bandage on his face. Now it has been replaced by a strange leather mask.

You didn't even have time to think, as careful footsteps were heard from the basement. It seemed, but Tommy and none of the People were found at first. And Tim appeared behind Thomas. God, he was covered in blood and his back was bleeding. Your face is filled with pure horror. And that gave Tim away. Thomas notices your fear and turns around, immediately grabbing Tim roughly and dragging him back to the basement. Your brain screamed like a hunted animal that you needed to get out of here and urgently. Something has happened to this family, something bad, since they communicate with other people like that. But as soon as you tried to run to the exit, at that moment you were hit by something heavy on the back of the head.

His heart ached for you. You were the first person who ever showed him kindness in your life, and now you will surely be afraid of him. God, he wouldn't want to see fear in your beautiful eyes when you're afraid of him. His body was filled with an unpleasant feeling of disappointment and pain. He didn't want that, really. But he wanted to keep you by his side, he didn't want to let you go again. And he didn't want you to hurt the family. So now he was gently wiping the remnants of blood from your beautiful face, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. You were still as beautiful, his heart began to beat faster, as it did when he was a child. He saw that toy in your friends' car, you kept it all these years. Thomas couldn't help but smile. Maybe you loved him too? Not now, not after what he did.

The following days were a blur. Your head ached, and an unpleasant heaviness tightened your neck. They put you on a chain. Thomas or Luda would check on you from time to time, Luda would just leave food, and Thomas would just sit on the bed next to you and just look at you. Sometimes he would try to touch you, but you would instantly jump aside like a wounded animal. Thomas's heart ached painfully in his chest. Although.. He deserved it, didn't he? All his life he was looked at with disgust or fear. But he didn't care about those people. All these simple passers-by or victims were just empty meat. But you were afraid of him now. He couldn't stand your gaze, full of fear for your life, so he left the room every time, unable to look in your eyes.

The days slowly followed each other. You were still afraid. But there was something else. Whenever Thomas enters the room, your eyes involuntarily glided over his big strong body. You wanted to snuggle up to him, find comfort in his arms. But there was a part of you that knew it was wrong. They killed people, they killed your friends. They chained you up and kept you here like some kind of dog. And yet your body was begging for his warmth, just like when you were a child.

What was Thomas's surprise when the next time he came into the room, you crawled closer to him, asking for a hug. Your arms clumsily wrapped around his body. Thomas blushed instantly. His heart felt so good. He gently grabbed you by the hips, putting you on his lap, and hugging your fragile body with his strong arms. He buried his nose in your hair. How he missed that feeling. His brain was filled with the scent of your skin. Thomas let out a relieved whimper as you began to gently run your fingers through his tangled hair.

He never left you, he won't let you go into this cruel world again. He will protect you with all his heart. His sweet girl.

Brahms Heelshire

"Now I've won," the man says in a hoarse voice through his cracked porcelain mask with a doll's face.

He was breathing heavily, hanging over you, his left hand pressed against the wall behind you, while the other reached out to your face, gently stroking.

"Still beautiful," he whispers, caressing your chin with his thumb, tracing your lower lip with his fingernail. Your heart was pounding wildly, you shrank under the man's gaze like a frightened animal. His movements were rough, but his touch seemed almost gentle, as if he didn't want to disrupt this moment or harm your fragile being. His breathing was loud and heavy because of the mask, and the skin under his eyes was slightly reddened. And those eyes. Those warm eyes are the color of pure amber under the bright sun. They looked at you with extraordinary affection and humility. You could recognize those eyes out of a thousand. Like back then, fifteen years ago.

You nervously clutched the steering wheel rim with your right hand, counting the turns. Not so long ago, you managed to get a new job, and who would have thought that this job would be in your childhood home. Or rather, your friend. They always treated you like their own child, so they gave you this job without any problems.

The weather was clear, it was only the beginning of autumn. Some of the trees have already turned golden, their leaves rustling unobtrusively. The sky was clear, without a single cloud, so the sun shone brightly through the windshield of your car. It seemed that nothing could spoil your return to your childhood home.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest. The mind was filled with thousands of pleasant memories of your past together and children's laughter. You missed Brahms so much. It's been a long time since you've seen him.

Finally, after a couple of long hours, you arrived at the Hilsher estate. It remained the same. Obviously, Mr. Heelshire was still carefully tending the garden, growing his wife's favorite flowers. You stopped right next to the driveway, the wheels moving pleasantly on the gravel. After getting out of the car, you went inside without thinking twice. The greenery of this place has always been striking in its beauty, it seemed that no seasons had power over this place, the forests of the estate still gave pleasure with their emerald color and the coolness of the dense grove.

You were met at the very door by Mrs. Heelshire. She has changed a lot since your last visit, of course, the years take their toll. Her eyes were a little red and tired, and there were small bruises under them. Her face was unusually pale and her hair was gray, but not as when it happens from age, but when a person goes through a lot of life difficulties and faces stress.

"Honey, I haven't seen you for so long," the woman said smiling, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Her hugs were pleasant, but strangely nervous, "We were surprised when we received your candidacy for this job."

"I just really wanted to come back. My parents wouldn't let me go just like that."

"And for good reason," the woman mutters to herself, immediately turning to face you with a warm smile, "We always want only the best for you, my girl, don't hold a grudge against us."

Her words strain you a little, but you attribute it to her slight excitement before the long-awaited vacation. After all, for as long as you can remember, Mrs. Heelshire has always been a caring and hardworking woman, she didn't know the word 'rest'.

After ten tedious minutes, Mrs. Heelshire explains to you the set of rules and your responsibilities. It seemed like she was trying in a hurry to tell you everything at once. Her eyes were constantly darting around the walls of the house.

And now you're alone. Taking care of the doll was not so difficult. Although you still didn't understand why the doll had the name of your childhood best friend. No one's parents told you what happened to Brahms, you just moved in a couple of days before his birthday. You didn't even have time to give him the gift you made with your own hands. Years later, you felt guilty about it. But now, that feeling seemed to be gone. It feels like you're finally in your place. You're home.

It happened two weeks after your arrival at the manor. As usual, you were sorting out the groceries that Malcolm brought while the man was standing next to you, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching you carefully, talking about something. To be honest, you've noticed for a long time how ambiguously he looks at you. All those jokes, compliments, touches and glances. He was flirting with you. But you could definitely tell that he wasn't your type. Damn it, he was overconfident. But in a relationship, you wanted to 'be at the helm', you wanted a guy with character, but definitely obedient. And Malcolm definitely didn't fit that description.

"..hey, can you leave this doll after all? Let's go to my place. I'll show you a lot of interesting things," he says with a sly grin, taking a few steps closer.

"The Heelshirs left me here for a reason, I don't want to undermine their trust."

"Come on, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a house with just this doll?" The guy purrs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck. You are annoyed by his behavior and you step on Malcolm's foot with force. He hisses and quickly pulls away. "Fuck, are you stupid?"

"Watch your mouth, boy."

Malcolm tenses up. He hears rapid rustling in the walls, his eyes darting around the room.

"The hell with you," he finally gives up. Malcolm grabs the empty boxes and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. You're relieved. He seems to be a man, but he behaves like a scared boy.

"Y/N.. Did he hurt you?" A small child's voice comes from somewhere in the hallway. You flinch a little. You knew that voice. Brahms. True, his voice was a little different in childhood, now it was quieter and plaintive. You quickly close the refrigerator and slowly walk towards the source of the sound.

"Who's here? Brahms?"

It all happened too fast. At first, you were driven by interest with a little bit of fear. In an instant, you saw a tall, broad figure towering over you by a good two heads. You were scared. You ran away, hoping to hide from a stranger. And one day you were pinned against the wall by a muscular figure.

"Y/N, don't be afraid... I didn't mean to scare you." A child's voice mumbles plaintively. You look into those hazel eyes and your heart sinks.

"Brahms?" In response, the man only reaches out to your face, gently caressing your cheek.

"Now I've won." His voice changes. Instead of a child's voice, a low, hoarse voice now caresses your ears. You feel electricity running down your spine, you instinctively squeeze your hips.

Your hands reach for the porcelain mask, but Brahms abruptly pulls away. He shakes his head negatively. He didn't want you to see his face. He doesn't want you to be scared. He doesn't want you to leave him like the others.

"Come on, Brahms. You're a good boy. Didn't you love kissing?" You speak with a slight smile. A long-drawn-out whine comes from under the mask. He nods briefly. You lift the edge of the mask, covering his hot lips with your own. Brahms's movements are fast and assertive, he bites your lips, squeezing your waist in his hands. He missed you so much.

#slashers x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #brahms the doll #brahms heelshire x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #the leatherface #leatherface x reader #leatherface x you

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trust-goes-both-ways · 7 months ago

Text

I rewrote Descendants: The Rise of Red. Tell me what you think

Songs are in bold, names are not correct

Open on Uma informing us she’ll be reaching out to other lands for their children

They still have the Carlos bit but now it'll pay off

Introduce us to Red in Wonderland being absolute chaos

RED song

Establish Maddox as the son of Mad Hatter and he’s the cool older brother/tutor. He shows her the timepiece but not as a gift more as a plan to understand history.

Also give Jack of Diamonds something else to do, PLEASE

They receive the invitation and the QoH surprises everyone by letting her go

When packing Red reveals she stole the time piece, the voice over about the dangers of changing the past plays but she still pockets it

Chloe’s character- still cute and naive with a belief that love is the most important thing because love and being a good person changed her mom’s life. Shethinks love conquers all and is very by the book because Cinderella always did as she was told and believes it was her good attitude and perseverance that helped

Love Aint It is the same but without the stupid assembled voices

Altered LOVE AINT IT

Queen still takes over, Red and Chloe still accidentally travel back in time

They still have a fight song but a better one

Better fight song

They still meet Merlin, still pretend to be transfer students.

They go to class and meet Bridget and Ella.

Bridget is so kind and sweet and accepting

Ella is still hard working but cautious towards all royals, because her stepsisters are friends with the royals

At Merlin Academy, there’s a tradition of playing pranks that leads into social acceptance

Prank is played on Aladdin (who transferred in the year before, pretending to be a Prince when he wasn’t but he and Jasmine fell in love anyway) symbolizing his acceptance into MA social scene

CRUELLA is now the main villain kid. Dara Renee can still play her.

Life is Sweeter song plays, goth kids are introduced, and establishes Cruella as the mean girl because she feels like she has a lot to prove since she doesn’t have powers or a thing, just a desire to rule the fashion world.

LIFE IS SWEETER, mostly the same but with different characters and dancing

She adheres to a strict code of modern, sleek fashion and she hates Bridget for her Wonderland style and Ella for her shabby-chic look

Gets embarrassed (maybe her outfit is ruined) and vows revenge

Red and Chloes visit Ella and that part goes mostly the same

Chloe breaking the vase gets Ella grounded from Crowncoming

They still travel to the goth kids hangout and discover Cruella has enlisted Morgie and Maleficent to come up with a way to humiliate Bridget

VILLAIN SONG

They still go to Bridget's room

Shuffle of love bc why not

Red looks in the looking glass and still sees the dark princess future

Chloe doesn't see anything bc she's accidentally erased herself so now they have two missions

Red pockets the Looking glass so they can keep checking in on the future

The two still fight about what to do next, with Chloe insisting her parents would want her to be a rule-following person and Red telling her goodness without action is nothing

Chloes goes back to Ellas and they have essentially the same talk where Chloe realizes her goodness isn’t all-inclusive

GET YOUR HANDS DIRTY

They still have a break in, Red using her epic heisting skills

They confront the goth kids and stop them in much the same way

After they steal the book, they still have to get Ella to Crowncoming

Red, Chloe, and Bridget convince Fay she needs to help them get Ella to Crowncoming, all 5 of them get gorgeous dresses

Ella and Charming still dance because he does something to prove he's a good guy

SO THIS IS LOVE REMIX

Crowncoming happens, all goes well then BOOM, Bridget still gets pranked/turned into monster as her ‘acceptance into the cool kids club’ prank but she’s too humiliated to care

Red goes after Bridget to convince her its okay. She tells her the anger she's feeling will fester and grow and she’ll become something she hates

Chloe has to go get Ella to go help her friend. She realizes her parents will have to earn their love like everyone else bc true love doesn't just come easy, and if it’s meant to be one dance shouldnt change anything

Red forces Bridget to look in the looking glass, showing her both of their futures. Bridget is confused and horrified

The four of them end up using the watch to go back to the (unchanged) future

Bridget has to confront the QoH and reminds her why she used to be kind and that it didn't make them popular but it got them Ella

Ella confronts Cinderella about how could you let your friend go even for love

Uma talks about her friend Carlos, and how he believed it was never too late to change, and even though his mom spent her life pursuing fame and style above everything, he still believed with patience and understanding she could be good. After he died Cruella realized no amount of fame mattered as much as him and asked Uma to expand the VK program in his honor

Red and QoH make up AS THEMSELVES. QoH tells Red she loves her and everything she’s done has been out of fear of her being hurt like she was.

Sends Ella and Bridget back and we have a BIG transformation

End with a real song and dance number about new beginnings

A REAL SHOWSTOPPING END SONG

#descendants #descendants the rise of red #the rise of red #disney's descendants #princess red #chloe charming #descendants 4

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tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol · 1 year ago

Text

Reasons Why I Think TFP Jack is Underrated:

Welcome to my organized bullet list of why I think Jack is cool. I used to think he was boring too, but now I think he's the goat and here's why:

-He has Main Character Energy, but he's more snarky than most cliche main characters

In fact, he is a petty king:

-He doesn't wanna be on Team Prime at first, but eventually accepts it...

...He then proceeds to BURN Airachnid's ship to the GROUND with a stupid survival kit for babies

-HE DEFEATED THE ALIEN SPIDER QUEEN WITH NOTHING BUT A LIGHTER AND A POCKET KNIFE, BRO

-HE WAS DONE WITH HER BULLSHIT LOL

-Plus he tricked Silas by pretending to beg for mercy, when really, he was stealing his walkie talkie.

-Jack is boring, BUT the fact that Jack has nothing special about him IS his superpower; Miko has the Apex Armor and her brave personality, Raf has genius level computer smarts, and Jack has PURE SPITE. It's beautiful.

-He has zero skills, but he'll figure out how to defeat his enemies anyway, SOLEY because he's tired and doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

-For example, in one of the Titan Magazine comics, Jack literally kicks Silus in the balls

Evidence:

Iconic✨

Apex armor? Cybertronian technology?

Screw that. How about I KICK you in the balls?l

-A true legend

-He's also a mess though, and I relate so hard

-He's so petty he talked two aliens into helping him cheat at street racing to piss off his classmate

-His romantic subplot is treated like a complete joke, and I love that. Normally, the Main Character✨ is awkward, but gets the girl in the end. Not Jack, though. Nope. He just constantly looks stupid in front of Sierra, nothing ever happens between them, and Arcee is just watching with popcorn as his life falls apart. It's hilarious.

Also, if I'm correct, isn't the last time we see Sierra when she sees Arcee's homoform, and thinks Jack has a girlfriend, and then Jack is like "She's my mom😅." And Sierra's all like: "Your mom looks good in leather😐...on your bike😐😐😐😐..." Maybe I'm wrong, but if that's the case, it's funny. Jack is a simp and it gets him nowhere.

-His sarcasm works perfectly with Arcee's sarcastic attitude.

-Also Tailgate is voiced by Josh Keaton (Jack's voice actor) in the flashbacks, so I headcanon that Jack reminds Arcee of Tailgate, and that's why she has such a soft spot for him.

Tailgate and Arcee's dialogue had the same vibe as her and Jack's

Also, it gives more context to why she was so scared to lose him when Airachnid showed up. It would've literally been like losing Tailgate all over again.

-Jack is Team Prime's designated Good Ideas Guy

It was Jack's idea to hijack the spacebridge to send him to Cybertron

It was also his idea to drain the dark energon out of The Nemesis when it came alive and froze everyone

-I'm probably just projecting, he has generalized anxiety disorder vibes

-I feel like he prefers a comfortable, predictable life because he gets nervous easily

-He's always the first to freak out, and overthink, and Arcee always has to calm him down

-And she's so patient with him it's so sweet😱

-I agree the writing behind his existence is meh, and a lot of the cool stuff about him is probably unintentional, but I don't care, so take that!

Anyway, the moral of the story is:

Jack is just an angry little harmonica boy. Leave him alone. He's trying his best😭

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

#JackDidNothingWrong #WellActuallyHeDidEverythingWrongButThat'sOk #He'sStillLegendary #transformers prime #tfp #tfp arcee #tfp jack #jack darby #rants #rants n rambles #timll talks #tfp airachnid #tfp mech

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deliciousangelfestival · 7 months ago

Text

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 14

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Patrick was nervous about stepping into your house to meet your grandma again after so many years. You thought it was sweet of him to bring flowers for her. And not just any flowers—he brought blue tulips, one of the rarest colors in the world.

The blue tulip is rare and expensive. Back then, it would have been impossible for him to afford it. Now that he's rich, he wants to show it to Cassandra. He regrets not being able to show it to Ophelia; it’s too late for that now.

He chose this unique color because, as Patrick explained, “Tulips and the color blue were your mother and grandma’s favorites.”

It was the sweetest gesture you had ever known, especially compared to anything your father had done. Jonathan’s level of ignorance was out of this world. It must be the only trait you inherited from him.

Jonathan never made an effort to give anything to your mom. Even with Genevieve, he hadn’t changed at all. That woman didn’t care as long as she became Madam Sinclair.

Cassandra was thrilled to meet Patrick again. Because of her dementia, she only remembered him as a teenager.

Patrick stepped inside, looking around with a mix of nostalgia and apprehension. “Hello, Cassandra,” he said gently, holding out the bouquet of blue tulips.

Cassandra’s eyes lit up when she saw the flowers. “Oh, Patrick, these are beautiful! Blue tulips, my favorite.” She beamed, her eyes sparkling with youthful joy.

Patrick smiled warmly. “I remember, Cassie. You always loved unique things.”

Cassandra took the flowers, her hands trembling slightly. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same thoughtful boy.”

Patrick chuckled softly. “And you haven’t changed either. Still as lovely as ever.”

You watched the exchange, feeling a lump form in your throat. It was like watching a piece of your mother’s past come to life. Patrick’s eyes were filled with sadness and fondness as he looked at Cassandra, and you could sense the depth of their shared history.

You left Patrick and Cassandra alone to relive the nostalgia.

Bucky commented, “For a moment, she looked younger when she saw Patrick.”

You nodded, glancing at your mother’s photo on the wall. ‘I will get back what’s ours,’ you thought.

Bucky stood right next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. You turned to him and said, “Since I met you, good things have happened to me. Thank you.”

Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I can say the same,” he replied, gently touching your shoulder.

“You’re useless.” Those two words cut Victoria’s heart deeply, especially coming from her father.

She trembled, kneeling in front of Jonathan, who sat in a leather chair behind a large red mahogany desk. Genevieve stood behind her husband, visibly nervous.

“I made a foolish mistake,” Victoria admitted, knowing that apologizing would be futile.

“You did,” Jonathan replied calmly, though anger simmered beneath his composed exterior. He blamed both Victoria and Genevieve for the current situation.

These two women had jeopardized his ability to work with AstraNova Group. If he had known that his first daughter could secure a connection with the only son of the Barnes family, he would never have kicked you out. Then you would never have met Patrick.

He truly hated that part. The thought of his daughter being with Ophelia's ex-boyfriend was infuriating. He couldn’t stand the idea that the man who once loved his late wife was now close to his daughter. It felt like history repeating itself, a painful reminder of what he had lost and his mistakes.

But it was too late now. You had won. You had two influential business figures by your side. Jonathan knew you hated him and blamed him for Ophelia’s death. He had heard many times that you intended to bring down Celestial Enterprises.

He scoffed at the idea, wondering how someone who was just a teacher at a school for troubled kids could dismantle a billion-dollar company.

But you did. He shouldn’t have underestimated you because, after all, you were his daughter.

Today, the stocks of companies owned by Celestial Enterprises plummeted. All the news media covered the crisis. He had never dealt with such a catastrophe before.

He knew who was behind it. It wasn’t the Barnes.

It was Patrick. The man had finally made his appearance and challenged Jonathan to a battle.

Jonathan gritted his teeth and looked at Genevieve and Victoria. He stood up. “Both of you are jinxed.” He left, slamming the door behind him, leaving the mother and daughter alone.

Both flinched at the sound, never having seen him this angry before.

“Mom…” Victoria whispered, her voice trembling.

Genevieve massaged her head and raised her hand. “Be quiet.” She sighed, "I shouldn’t have brought up the idea of the engagement with the Barnes.” She regretted it. If the engagement had never happened, you would never have appeared.

“She got Bucky because she and her grandma found him. It’s not like she has something good to offer,” Victoria said bitterly.

Genevieve paused. “What are you talking about? Found Bucky?”

“Do you know that Bucky once got kidnapped?” Victoria replied.

Genevieve nodded, then stopped abruptly. She immediately left the room, leaving Victoria confused.

Genevieve got into her car and drove without her usual driver. The car stopped in front of a shady bar in a dark alley.

The bar was a dimly lit dive, with flickering neon signs casting eerie glows on the rough, graffitied walls. The clientele consisted of bikers in leather jackets, shady characters with shifty eyes, and people who looked like they had long histories with the law. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol, creating an atmosphere of danger and secrecy.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself before stepping out of the car and walking into the bar, her heels clicking sharply on the grimy floor. The eyes of the patrons followed her, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion in their gazes.

In her classy outfit, Genevieve stood out like a sore thumb, immediately becoming the center of attention. Some patrons whistled at her, but she ignored them, striding confidently through the room until she spotted the giant figure.

He was sitting alone, smoking a cigar, his presence dominating the space around him.

Genevieve stopped beside him. The man glanced at her momentarily and then smirked like the devil. “Are you here to see me?”

She was silent. Then she took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago," she said, her voice steady. "It was you who kidnapped the Barnes' only son, right?"

The man's eyes narrowed, and he took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly. "And what if I did?" he replied, his smirk widening.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

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vesseloflukola · 19 days ago

Text

Privacy and Misdirection

So, the last few days have been interesting. As you know, we have not received much of substance from our main characters (Luke and Nicola) for some time now. Nic used to give us a lot more crumbs. We even got some crumbs from Luke (IMO those crumbs were mainly because of the influence of Nic).

I believe Nic and Luke have been together for a very long time, and have been using the adjacent’s as cover for their relationship. The crumbs were for those of us who have always seen their connection and refuse to leave the ship.

However, I think some Lukola shippers may be too close to the detailed truth of their relationship for their liking. I think that is why the misdirection by them and their friends started. I think they first used misdirection to confuse fans (and possibly paparazzi) as to where they actually were, so they could get some privacy. I think they have further used some misdirection by friends and family to confuse fans about their relationship.

Over the weekend, we had someone post a screenshot from a public Facebook page of a distant relative of Luke’s, where she asked about going to Cyprus in October and asked if the weather would be good and Luke’s mother answered that Luke’s girlfriend is from there and she said it’s the perfect time to go.

This is such a red herring to me. It’s odd to me that someone is stalking Luke’s extended family member’s so closely. It’s interesting that a family member, who just happens to have a public profile, also just happens to ask about Cyprus. Then, his mom happens to comment four days later and mention something on social media that Luke has never claimed? If Luke WAS dating Antonia, his mother would know his stance about not putting his relationship on SM and I don’t think she would casually do so herself. I think she would privately message this family member through messenger or text. I personally think the initial ask and the answer four days later by Luke’s mom was planned. Then, I think they made sure that someone knew how to find it, so that it would make it’s way to the fandom. I think Luke’s mom then going back to remove her comment just added fire to the flames.

Now on to today’s picture “leak” from Deuxmoi. I have alway’s believed that Jake is Nicola’s gay bestie. My opinion on that has never changed. They share much love…as friends. I believe he has also helped Nic and Luke a lot as cover for their relationship when needed. These pictures of the two of them look SO joyful. They look like pictures of two best friends up to no good. I definitely get that way with my best friend when we are being mischievous. We become giddy and giggly.

I have always believed what Nic has told us…that she likes to keep her romantic relationships private. I don’t believe for a minute that she decided on a whim to change her mind about that, especially since she has been more in the lime light over the last year. I believe that would cause her to cherish her privacy even more.

I think part of keeping her privacy IS the misdirection right now. I don’t know if the pictures that came out today were planned or if she saw someone taking pics and they decided to play things up, but regardless, they were having fun, being goofy, and telling the story they wanted to tell.

I believe there are probably some big changes coming for Nic and Luke. I think they might be more private in the near future. I hope they do decide to launch soon and in the best way for them when they are ready. I, like many others, think it would be such a sweet reveal if they were to do a Shondaland Friend’s to Lover’s special where they tell us they are together, but I will take what they decide to give us. For now, I will celebrate their past and future projects, be happy with all the interview’s and pictures we have received of them, and wish them both happiness and success.

Mischievous Besties:

The cutest couple:

#lukola #friends to lovers #mischievousbesties

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

Note

Thank you for writing my little Tony story 🤍

If it's not too much, can you write a second part for me please? Tony and reader finding out the baby's gender, Tony surprising her with a beautiful surprise proposal, maybe the other Anvegers can even help 🤍 the marriage and the baby's birth? 🤍🤍🤍 I lobe family man Tony too, it's so cute 🤍🤍🤍

Thank you!

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.4k

ᯓ★ part I

ᯓ★ Summary: it's almost time for the baby's arrival so Tony decides that it's the perfect time to propose, as he drops to one knee you're sure you've found your happy ending,

ᯓ★ TW(s): childbirth

ᯓ★ I love family man Tony so much, matter of fact, I love every character seen as a family man I don't know why lol.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The baby shower is shaping up to be a bigger event than you ever expected, though you probably should’ve seen it coming. With the Avengers involved, nothing is ever subtle. Tony, of course, is no help in scaling things back. In fact, he’s leaning into the chaos, throwing out extravagant suggestions like hiring live performers or setting up a drone fireworks display. You shoot most of his ideas down, insisting that this is a baby shower, not a red-carpet event.

Still, the excitement is infectious. Natasha takes charge of the planning—she’s surprisingly good at it, efficient and precise, down to the last detail. She ropes Bruce into helping, and the two of them become the only ones who know the baby’s gender. The rest of the team, including you and Tony, are kept in the dark, much to Tony’s annoyance.

“I don’t see why I can’t bribe Banner,” Tony grumbles one afternoon as he paces the kitchen. “He’s a terrible liar, anyway. A few drinks, a little sweet-talking, and he’d spill.”

“Good luck with that,” you reply with a smirk, stirring a cup of tea. “Natasha would kill him if he said anything. And you know she could.”

“Fair point,” Tony concedes, though he still looks annoyed. “Still, I’m calling it now: it’s a girl. She’s going to be brilliant, gorgeous, and way too smart for her own good. Just like her mom.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really? Because I’m thinking it’s a boy. Stubborn, full of energy, and probably way too much like you.”

“Not possible,” he says with mock seriousness. “There’s only room for one of me in this world.”

Clint chimes in later that evening when the team gathers in the common room, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he munches on a bag of chips. “I’m betting on a boy,” he says, pointing a chip in your direction. “Gotta have someone to teach archery to. Plus, Stark with a son? That’s comedy gold.”

Thor, who’s been helping decorate the living room with streamers and balloons (many of which are Asgardian-sized), disagrees. “A daughter would be most fitting,” he declares, his voice booming. “She will have the strength of her father and the grace of her mother. A true warrior!”

Steve, predictably, tries to stay neutral. “I think you’ll be happy no matter what,” he says diplomatically, though there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes as he looks at Tony. “That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stark try to handle a teenage girl someday.”

“God help us,” Natasha mutters with a smirk.

On the day of the baby shower, the compound is transformed. There are decorations everywhere—streamers in pastel pinks and blues, balloons shaped like baby bottles, and a banner reading Welcome, Baby Stark! stretched across the main wall. The table is laden with food, drinks, and an elaborate cake that looks too beautiful to eat. There’s even a pile of gifts in the corner, ranging from practical items like diapers and onesies to absurdly expensive gadgets Tony probably ordered himself.

Natasha and Bruce are the picture of calm, though you know they’ve been coordinating the big reveal for weeks. The two of them exchange knowing looks every time someone tries to guess the baby’s gender, clearly enjoying their role as gatekeepers of the secret.

The main event comes after everyone’s had their fill of food and games, including a hilariously chaotic round of diaper-changing races featuring Steve and Thor. Natasha steps forward, holding a small box wrapped in neutral-colored paper. She taps a spoon against her glass to get everyone’s attention.

“All right, everyone, it’s time,” she says, her tone firm but playful. “Y/N, Tony, come up here.”

You exchange a glance with Tony, who’s grinning like a kid at Christmas, and follow Natasha to the front of the room. Bruce joins her, carrying what looks like a smoke cannon with pastel-colored confetti inside.

“Are we sure Banner knows how to use that?” Tony whispers to you, earning a chuckle.

Natasha ignores him and gestures for Bruce to hand the cannon to Tony. “This is simple,” she says. “On the count of three, you twist it. The confetti will tell you the gender. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tony says, his grip tightening on the cannon. He looks at you, his grin softening into something tender. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Ready,” you reply, your heart pounding.

The room buzzes with anticipation as Natasha begins the countdown. “Three… two… one!”

Tony twists the cannon, and an explosion of pink confetti fills the air, raining down in a sparkling shower. The room erupts into cheers, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the cloud of pink with wide eyes.

“A girl,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly as the reality sinks in. “We’re having a girl.”

Tony turns to you, his grin splitting his face as he pulls you into his arms. “I told you,” he says, laughing as he spins you around. “I knew it!”

You’re laughing now too, tears streaming down your cheeks as the team gathers around, offering congratulations and playful jabs. Thor claps Tony on the back hard enough to make him stumble, while Clint pretends to look disappointed but quickly admits, “She’s probably gonna be cooler than a boy anyway.”

Natasha smirks, crossing her arms. “Told you it was worth the wait.”

As the excitement settles and the confetti begins to drift to the floor, Tony kneels in front of you, his hands resting gently on your growing belly. He looks up at you, his expression soft and filled with a kind of awe that takes your breath away.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “It’s official now. You’ve got one hell of a team waiting for you out here. But you know what? Your mom and I? We’re the lucky ones.”

Your heart swells, and you reach down to run your fingers through his hair. In that moment, surrounded by your friends, your family, and the overwhelming love in Tony’s eyes, you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

The nursery preparation becomes a joint project, though you suspect Tony might be using it as an excuse to turn every design meeting into a spectacle. It starts with a simple conversation over breakfast about colors and furniture, but within hours, Tony’s drawing up blueprints for a room so high-tech it could double as a lab.

“Tony,” you say, leaning over his shoulder as he sketches a design for a mobile with holographic planets orbiting a glowing star. “This is a nursery, not the International Space Station.”

He turns to you with an exaggerated look of shock. “Why settle for ordinary when our baby can have the universe in her room? Imagine it—she’ll look up and be inspired every night.”

You can’t help but smile, even as you roll your eyes. “She’s not going to care about any of this for at least a few years. Let’s focus on a crib that doesn’t look like it’s from the future, okay?”

“Compromise,” he says with a smirk. “The crib will be traditional. The rest? Cutting-edge Stark tech.”

Choosing the color scheme turns into its own adventure. You veto pink almost immediately, wanting something more neutral and calming. “What about soft blues and grays?” you suggest one afternoon as you hold up a paint swatch.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Blues and grays? What is she, a baby or a Zen monk? Let’s go bold—deep purples, maybe some gold accents.”

“She’s a baby,” you remind him with a laugh. “She needs soothing, not a nightclub.”

Eventually, you settle on a compromise: a soft starry theme with muted blues, silvers, and whites, accented by golden stars and constellations painted along the walls. Tony insists on installing a custom ceiling projector that will display a moving galaxy, complete with twinkling stars and nebulae, for bedtime. You draw the line at installing an AI assistant in the room—at least for now.

The naming debate, however, proves to be even more challenging.

It starts casually one evening as you both lounge on the couch, flipping through baby name books. “Okay,” you say, running your finger down a list. “How about something classic? Elizabeth? Grace?”

Tony shakes his head. “Too stuffy. She’s going to be a Stark; she needs something unique. How about Nova?”

You pause, considering it. “Nova’s not bad,” you admit. “But it feels… incomplete.”

Tony grins. “Well, it’s lightyears ahead of Grace.”

You toss a pillow at him, laughing. “Fine. What else have you got, Mr. Genius?”

He leans back, pretending to think deeply. “Aurora. You know, like the northern lights.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Beautiful, but maybe a bit too Disney princess?”

The conversation goes on like this for days. Tony throws out names like Vega, Lyra, and Andromeda, while you try to steer him toward something more grounded. Neither of you seems willing to budge, though secretly you both enjoy the banter.

It’s during one of these discussions, late at night, that the perfect name finally emerges.

You’re lying in bed, the lights dimmed, and Tony’s hand rests protectively over your belly as he rambles about constellations. “Sirius is too much,” he says, more to himself than to you. “But it’d be cool if we could tie it back to something celestial. Something meaningful.”

You hum in agreement, half-asleep, when a thought strikes you. “Stella,” you say softly, testing the name on your tongue.

Tony freezes, then sits up slightly to look at you. “Stella,” he repeats, his voice thoughtful. “Latin for ‘star.’ Simple, beautiful, and meaningful. I love it.”

You smile, your heart warming at his reaction. “You really like it?”

“I don’t just like it,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s perfect. Stella Stark. Our little star.”

The next morning, you tell the rest of the team about the name, and everyone agrees it’s fitting. Thor, especially, is thrilled. “A name worthy of the cosmos!” he declares, raising his coffee mug like a goblet.

Even Clint, who usually teases Tony at every opportunity, nods in approval. “Stella’s solid,” he says. “Classy, but not pretentious. Good pick.”

As the nursery nears completion and Stella’s name starts appearing on everything—from personalized blankets to a tiny plaque above the crib—you find yourself growing more excited with each passing day. The walls are painted, the furniture is assembled, and Tony’s holographic mobile is, admittedly, a work of art.

One evening, as you both stand in the finished nursery, Tony wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “You know,” he murmurs, looking around at the room, “we might’ve gone a little overboard.”

“A little,” you agree, though you can’t help but smile.

“But she’s worth it,” he adds, his voice soft as he rests his forehead against yours.

“She is,” you whisper, your heart full.

As the galaxy projector casts a soft glow of stars across the ceiling, you know that Stella is already surrounded by more love and wonder than you ever could’ve imagined.

The shift in behavior starts subtly. At first, you think you’re imagining it—the way Natasha ends phone calls the moment you enter the room or how Clint suddenly has a reason to leave anytime you try to ask what he and Tony were whispering about. Even Steve, who’s usually a beacon of honesty, seems unusually tight-lipped when you catch him and Bruce exchanging cryptic looks during a mission debrief.

Tony, of course, is no better. If anything, he’s the most suspicious of them all. Normally, he shares every detail of his day with you, but lately, he’s been “working late” more often than usual. When you ask what he’s working on, his answers are evasive, laced with a nonchalance that you don’t buy for a second.

“Just tweaking some tech,” he says one evening, typing furiously on a holographic keyboard that he closes the moment you approach. “You know, the usual.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “The usual doesn’t usually involve secretive meetings with the entire team or you hiding your screens from me.”

Tony looks up, flashing you one of his patented grins. “Paranoid much, sweetheart? Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones.”

You roll your eyes, but you let it slide—for now.

The day of the proposal dawns like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony humming softly beside you, his hand resting protectively over your belly, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him. At seven months pregnant, your body feels heavier and more tired than usual, but Tony’s been nothing if not attentive—sometimes to the point of hovering. Still, there’s something in his gaze this morning, a kind of nervous energy that makes you suspicious.

“What’s with the grin?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“No grin,” he says, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “Just appreciating how stunning you look, as always.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, giving him a skeptical look. “If you’re planning something, Stark, I’ll figure it out.”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your belly. “No secrets here, baby girl. Daddy’s just got work to do today.”

That afternoon, Natasha convinces you to go out for some “girl time,” which in itself feels suspicious. Nat rarely suggests spa days or shopping trips, but she waves off your questions with a smirk.

“Can’t a friend treat her very pregnant bestie to some pampering?” she says, steering you toward the door. “Besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do while Tony tinkers in the lab.”

By the time you return to the compound, you’re relaxed but even more curious. The hallways are quiet—too quiet—and the usual buzz of activity is strangely absent. As Natasha leads you toward the common area, your suspicions grow.

“What’s going on?” you ask, stopping in your tracks. “Why do I feel like I’m walking into an ambush?”

Natasha just smirks, tugging you forward. “You’ll see.”

The doors to the common area slide open, and your breath catches. The room is transformed. Soft, glowing lights hang from the ceiling like stars, casting a warm, ethereal glow. A pathway lined with rose petals leads to the center of the room, where Tony stands in a perfectly tailored suit, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. Behind him, the rest of the Avengers stand in a loose semicircle, all wearing knowing smiles.

“Tony,” you whisper, your heart pounding as Natasha gives you a gentle nudge forward.

He takes a step toward you, his usual confidence tempered by the kind of vulnerability he rarely shows. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world fades away.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You’ve already given me so much. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and in just a couple of months, you’re going to give me the greatest gift of all—our daughter.”

You feel tears welling up as he continues, his hand reaching out to take yours. “But before she gets here, I want to give you something, too. I want to give you my heart, my name, my everything. I want us to be a family, officially, because… well, because I love you more than words can ever say.”

He drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and opening it to reveal a dazzling engagement ring. The diamond sparkles like a star, and you can’t help but gasp.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft but firm, “will you marry me?”

For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to speak. Tears spill down your cheeks as you nod, a laugh bubbling up through your emotions. “Yes,” you finally manage, your voice breaking. “Yes, Tony, of course!”

Tony’s grin is so wide it looks like it might split his face. He slides the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly, and then he’s standing, pulling you into his arms. He holds you close, burying his face in your hair as you cling to him.

“You’re crying,” you murmur against his shoulder, your voice teasing despite your own tears.

“I am not,” he protests, though his voice wavers. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening. “Okay, maybe a little. But don’t tell anyone, all right? I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You laugh, wiping at your own tears as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Behind you, the Avengers erupt into cheers and applause, Clint letting out a loud wolf whistle while Thor raises his hammer in triumph.

“About time!” Clint calls out, grinning from ear to ear.

Natasha smirks, her arms crossed. “Told you she’d say yes.”

Later that evening, as you sit together in the nursery, the engagement ring glittering on your finger and Tony’s hand resting over your belly, you can’t help but marvel at how far you’ve come. He looks at you like you’re his entire world, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like nothing could ever go wrong.

“You’re happy,” you say softly, studying his face.

Tony looks at you, his expression filled with a love so deep it takes your breath away. “I’m more than happy,” he says, his voice low and earnest. “You and Stella… you’re everything I never knew I needed.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as the baby kicks gently against his hand. “We love you too,” you whisper, and in that moment, the universe feels just right.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day starts out completely normal—or at least as normal as life gets when you’re living with Tony Stark and the Avengers. You’re lounging on the couch, rubbing your enormous belly, when you feel the first contraction. It’s mild, more like a cramp than anything else, but enough to make you pause mid-sentence while you’re trying to convince Tony that the name Stella is not negotiable for her middle name.

“Everything okay?” Tony asks, looking up from where he’s fiddling with one of his many gadgets.

You nod, brushing it off. “Yeah, just… I think she’s practicing her escape plan.”

Tony chuckles. “Smart kid. Of course, she’s my daughter. She’s already planning ahead.”

You roll your eyes but let the moment pass. That is until another contraction hits—not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. You wince, shifting in your seat.

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Okay, that wasn’t just a practice run. What’s going on?”

You try to play it cool. “I think it might be starting, but it’s fine. First labors take a while. No need to—”

But before you can finish, Tony is up and moving like the house is on fire. “FRIDAY! Get the car! Clear a path! Call Banner! Wait, no, call Bruce AND the hospital! Get Nat to pack a bag—do we have a bag? Where’s the bag?”

You laugh despite yourself, waving a hand to calm him down. “Tony, relax. I’m not even sure it’s—”

Tony is already pacing, pulling his phone out to make calls. “Relax? RELAX? You’re about to bring an entire human into the world, and you want me to relax? You know who doesn’t relax? Tony Stark. I plan. I execute.” He points to your belly. “That tiny genius in there is counting on me!”

Another contraction interrupts your attempt to reassure him, this one stronger than before. You grip the edge of the couch, exhaling sharply. Tony’s eyes go wide, and his face pales.

“That’s it,” he declares. “We’re going now. FRIDAY, where’s the car?”

By the time you get to the hospital, Tony’s nerves are a full-blown circus. He’s barking orders at the nurses, double-checking every piece of equipment they wheel past, and generally acting like a man whose entire world is on the brink of chaos.

“Are those sterilized?” he asks one poor nurse, gesturing to a tray of instruments. “Because I know a guy who can check for microscopic contaminants.”

“Tony,” you groan from the wheelchair they’ve put you in. “Let the professionals do their job.”

“Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “Right. Sorry. Carry on.”

Once you’re settled in the delivery room, the contractions intensify, and so does Tony’s panic. He’s pacing again, alternating between squeezing your hand and apologizing for squeezing your hand too hard.

“Why is this taking so long?” he mutters, glancing at the clock. “Is there a way to, I don’t know, speed this up? I mean, we’ve got science, right? Lasers? Something?”

Your labor nurse gives him a patient smile. “Babies come on their own time, Mr. Stark.”

Tony points at her, dead serious. “I’ll have you know I’ve streamlined multi-billion-dollar manufacturing processes. I could totally streamline—”

“Tony!” you snap, gripping his hand through another contraction. “If you don’t stop talking about lasers and streamlining, I’m going to throw you out of this room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quickly, wincing as your grip tightens. “You’re doing great, by the way. Absolutely phenomenal. Ten out of ten.”

As the hours pass, Tony alternates between being overly helpful and hilariously unhelpful. At one point, he tries to "coach" you through the contractions, repeating advice he clearly Googled five minutes earlier.

“Breathe, babe,” he says, crouching next to you. “In through the nose, out through the—OW!” He yelps as you squeeze his hand, your patience wearing thin.

“I am breathing!” you growl. “You breathe!”

“Right, got it,” he says, shaking out his hand. “I’ll breathe quieter.”

By the time you’re ready to push, Tony looks like he’s aged ten years. His hair is a mess, his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen, and he’s nervously chewing on his bottom lip as if he’s the one doing all the hard work.

“Okay,” the doctor says. “It’s time to meet your baby. Dad, are you ready?”

Tony blinks, his face going pale again. “Wait, me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Just stay next to me and try not to pass out,” you deadpan, glaring at him through gritted teeth.

The actual delivery feels like a blur, but Tony’s reactions are crystal clear. As soon as Stella’s first cry fills the room, he freezes, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. The doctor places her on your chest, and you look down at the tiny, wriggling bundle of perfection. Tears stream down your face as you cradle her, overwhelmed with love.

Tony leans over, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he’s afraid to touch her. “She’s… she’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

You glance up at him, smiling through your tears. “She is.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as if trying to fight back tears of his own. “I’m not crying,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… dusty in here.”

“Sure, Tony,” you say, laughing softly. “Whatever you say.”

He finally reaches out, gently running a finger along Stella’s tiny hand. When she grips his finger, his face lights up like you’ve never seen before.

“Hi, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “It’s me. Your dad. I’m the guy who’s going to spoil you rotten and probably embarrass you in front of all your friends someday.”

You laugh again, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. As Tony leans down to kiss your forehead, then Stella’s, you know this moment—this messy, chaotic, perfect moment—is one you’ll never forget.

The ride home is surprisingly smooth, considering Tony’s usual flair for drama. He insists on driving, despite your gentle protests, and the way he handles the car like it’s made of glass is almost endearing. Stella, snug in her carrier, sleeps through the whole thing, her tiny face scrunched in a way that makes your heart ache with love.

“Are you sure she’s breathing?” Tony asks for the third time, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, Tony,” you reply, trying not to laugh. “Babies sleep. It’s kind of their thing.”

He huffs, clearly unsatisfied. “Well, it’s nerve-wracking. I’m used to things that come with a manual, not ones that just… exist and rely on me not to screw up.”

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The Avengers are waiting when you arrive at the compound, their faces pressed against the windows like eager kids waiting for Santa. Even Clint, who normally pretends to be too cool for this sort of thing, looks uncharacteristically excited.

The moment you step inside, carrying Stella in her carrier, they descend like a swarm.

“Oh my God, she’s so tiny!” Natasha coos, her usual stoicism replaced with pure, unfiltered awe. “Look at her little hands.”

Steve grins, leaning down to get a better look. “She’s beautiful,” he says warmly, his voice tinged with a kind of reverence.

“She’s definitely got your nose, Y/N,” Bruce chimes in, smiling shyly. “Lucky kid.”

Even Clint, who’d joked for months about how he wasn’t going to fawn over “just another Stark,” can’t help but soften. “She’s pretty cute,” he admits, though his grin betrays his attempt at nonchalance.

“Cute?” Tony cuts in, feigning offense. “Try perfect. Absolute masterpiece. My finest work.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “She’s not one of your inventions, Tony.”

“No,” he agrees, his gaze softening as he looks at Stella. “She’s better.”

Thor, meanwhile, looms in the background, looking uncharacteristically nervous. You catch him shifting his weight from foot to foot, his brows furrowed as he watches the others coo and fuss over Stella.

“Thor,” you call gently, motioning him over. “Do you want to meet her?”

He hesitates, his usual bravado replaced with uncertainty. “I am unsure,” he admits, his voice low. “She is so small. What if I… break her?”

Tony snorts. “Relax, Point Break. She’s sturdier than she looks.”

Thor’s eyes widen. “Are you certain? For I have been told I am… exuberant in my movements.”

You can’t help but smile. “You’ll be fine. Just be gentle.”

Carefully, you unbuckle Stella from her carrier and place her in Thor’s massive hands. He cradles her like she’s made of glass, his expression a mix of awe and terror.

“She is… radiant,” he says after a moment, his voice soft. “A tiny warrior in the making.”

Stella squirms, letting out a small gurgle, and Thor immediately panics. “What is this sound? Is she displeased? Have I offended her?”

You laugh, taking her back before his nerves get the better of him. “She’s just waking up. You did great, Thor.”

He exhales in relief, looking visibly proud despite his earlier fear. “Then I shall strive to earn her favor, as a worthy uncle should.”

As the evening wears on, the Avengers take turns holding Stella, each of them surprisingly adept in their own way. Natasha rocks her gently, whispering something soft and sweet in Russian. Steve looks completely at ease, cradling her with a quiet confidence that makes you wonder if he’s done this before. Bruce hums softly, his gentle demeanor soothing Stella when she stirs.

Clint, ever the showman, gets her to grab his finger and immediately declares, “She likes me best. Sorry, everyone else.”

Even Thor eventually works up the courage to hold her again, this time with less fear and more awe.

Tony, meanwhile, hovers nearby, alternating between beaming with pride and trying to direct everyone on the proper way to hold her.

“Support her head,” he says for the fifth time, gesturing like he’s leading a workshop. “And don’t jostle her too much. She’s had a big day.”

“Tony,” you say, placing a hand on his arm to calm him. “She’s fine. Look at her—she’s surrounded by love.”

He glances around the room, taking in the sight of his teammates—his family—cooing and fussing over Stella. His shoulders relax, and a small, genuine smile tugs at his lips.

“Yeah,” he says softly, slipping an arm around your waist. “She’s going to be okay.”

You lean into him, watching as Stella lets out a tiny yawn, completely unfazed by the chaos around her. In this moment, surrounded by your unconventional but loving family, you know she’s going to grow up in the best possible way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day is perfect—blue skies, warm sunlight, and the hum of excitement in the air as friends and family gather in the garden of the Stark estate for the wedding. You stand in the bridal suite, adjusting the lace sleeves of your gown, the soft fabric hugging your body comfortably enough to accommodate the postpartum changes you’re still embracing. In your arms, Stella squirms, her tiny hands tugging at the delicate veil trailing over your shoulder.

“Mommy’s trying to look fancy,” you murmur, kissing her chubby cheek. “Try not to drool too much on the dress, okay?”

Natasha appears in the doorway, dressed elegantly in a flowing gown but still managing to radiate her usual aura of cool confidence. “Ready to knock Tony off his feet?” she asks with a smirk.

You laugh nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Natasha leans in to take a peek at Stella, who’s now gnawing on her fingers. “And what about you, little one? Ready to steal the show?”

“She’s been ready since birth,” you say, smiling fondly. “I just hope she doesn’t start screaming halfway down the aisle.”

The music starts—soft, romantic, and unmistakably orchestrated to perfection because, of course, Tony insisted on hiring the best string quartet money could buy. You step out into the aisle, holding Stella securely against your chest.

All eyes are on you, but your gaze locks instantly with Tony’s. He’s standing at the altar in a sharp tuxedo, his hair immaculately styled, but it’s his expression that floors you. His eyes are shining, his lips trembling slightly as he takes you in—his fiancée, his daughter in your arms, walking toward him like a vision straight out of his dreams.

When you’re halfway down the aisle, you catch him discreetly wiping at his eyes, though his attempt to play it cool is utterly transparent. You can’t help but smile.

“Crying already?” you tease softly as you reach the altar.

Tony’s voice cracks as he replies, “It’s allergies. Don’t get used to it.”

The officiant clears his throat, gesturing for everyone to sit. You pass Stella to Natasha, who holds her with practiced ease, but not before Tony sneaks a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Don’t cause too much trouble for Aunt Nat, okay?” he whispers.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter, a few tears, and vows that manage to be both heartfelt and hilariously Tony.

“I promise to always make you laugh,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “To build you anything you need—even if it’s just a better coffee maker. And I promise that no matter how big our family gets or how crazy life becomes, you’ll always be the center of my world.”

You smile, your heart full as you reply, “And I promise to keep you grounded—even when you’re flying. To stand by you, even when you’re being insufferable. And to love you, completely, for the genius, ridiculous, wonderful man that you are.”

The guests cheer when you kiss, and you can hear Clint shouting something about “finally making an honest man out of Stark,” but you’re too caught up in the moment to care. Tony’s hands are on your waist, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “You’re stuck with me now, Mrs. Stark.”

The reception is lively, filled with laughter and champagne toasts, but the true star of the evening is Stella. At six months old, she’s the smallest guest but easily the most adored. She’s passed from one Avenger to the next, each of them taking turns cooing and playing with her. Steve lets her grab at his finger, grinning like a proud uncle. Bruce gently bounces her on his knee, her giggles drawing smiles from everyone around. Even Thor takes a turn, holding her aloft and declaring her “the mightiest of babes” before you quickly retrieve her, worried he might throw her like Mjolnir.

Despite the joy of the day, you and Tony find yourselves constantly glancing toward wherever Stella is. When you see her reaching for a cupcake, her tiny hand almost toppling the entire dessert tower, you excuse yourself mid-conversation to intercept.

“She’s got your appetite,” you say, placing Stella in her high chair and handing her a safer option—a teething biscuit.

“And your stubbornness,” Tony adds, crouching next to you to adjust her little headband. He kisses her forehead before looking up at you, his expression soft. “We did pretty good, didn’t we?”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him. “We did amazing.”

As the night winds down, you dance with Tony under the fairy lights, Stella dozing peacefully in Natasha’s arms nearby.

“Today was perfect,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

Tony pulls you closer, his hand warm on your back. “Because of you,” he murmurs. “You and Stella—you’re my whole world.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love. “And you’re ours.”

The music swells, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you in your own little world, the rest of the party fading into the background.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Four years later

Four years later, the Stark household is as lively as ever. Stella, now a spirited and endlessly curious four-year-old, is the undeniable star of the compound. She’s sharp like her dad, determined like her mom, and, to everyone’s ongoing astonishment, utterly enamored with Thor.

“Where is Uncle Thor?” Stella demands one morning, her tiny hands on her hips in a perfect mimicry of your stance when you're irritated. “He promised we’d go find worms for the garden!”

You chuckle as you rest a hand on your growing belly. “Honey, Uncle Thor’s busy with work. He can’t always come running every time you call.”

“Why not?” she counters, pouting. “He’s the Mighty Thor. He’s not too busy for me.”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’ve got your daddy’s charm, you know that?”

Tony walks in just in time to hear the exchange, a cup of coffee in one hand and a slightly sour expression on his face. “I don’t know what he’s done to brainwash her, but I don’t like it,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your cheek before ruffling Stella’s hair.

“Uncle Thor is the best!” Stella declares, throwing her arms up dramatically. “He’s teaching me how to lift Mjolnir!”

“Is he now?” Tony says, narrowing his eyes. “I thought I told him no godly powers until after kindergarten.”

Later that afternoon, Thor arrives as promised, and Stella runs to greet him, her excitement so infectious even Tony can’t entirely suppress a grin. Thor sweeps her up, spinning her around like she weighs nothing.

“Ah, my favorite little warrior!” Thor booms. ��Are you ready to brave the wilderness?”

“Yes!” Stella squeals, clutching onto him tightly. “Let’s go, Uncle Thor!”

“Wilderness?” Tony interjects, crossing his arms. “You mean my backyard?”

Thor just grins. “Every great adventure starts somewhere, Stark.”

As they head outside, you and Tony watch from the window, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders.

“I can’t believe she picked him as her favorite,” Tony says with mock despair. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“A magic hammer?” you suggest, smirking.

Tony gasps in mock offense. “Unbelievable. After all I’ve done for her.”

“Don’t worry,” you tease, patting your belly. “Maybe this little guy will be Team Dad.”

Tony’s face softens immediately, his free hand coming to rest gently on your growing bump. “He better be,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss it. “Otherwise, I’ll have to build another suit—Baby Iron Man Edition.”

Stella eventually drags Thor back inside, both of them covered in dirt but grinning like co-conspirators. Thor greets your belly with a reverent nod, placing a hand on it like he’s bestowing a blessing. “He stirs with strength already,” he declares. “A future warrior.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “He’s not even born yet, Point Break. Let’s not start handing out titles.”

Stella crawls onto the couch next to you, her small hands carefully pressing against your belly. “Mommy, when will the baby come out?”

“In a few months, sweetie,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “He needs to grow a little more before he’s ready.”

“Will he be bigger than me?”

“Not at first,” Tony interjects, scooping her up onto his lap. “But don’t worry, Stella. You’ll always be the boss. It’s your job to teach him everything you know.”

Stella beams at that, puffing out her chest. “I’m going to be the best big sister ever.”

Tony chuckles, kissing her on the forehead. “I have no doubt.”

The rest of the day is filled with the usual chaos—Stella insisting she help with dinner (which mostly means spilling flour everywhere), Thor recounting dramatic tales of Asgardian battles to an enraptured audience, and Tony tinkering in his lab while occasionally glancing over to check on you.

Later that night, as you’re tucking Stella into bed, she clings to your arm, her wide eyes full of curiosity.

“Mommy?” she asks softly. “Do you think the baby will like Uncle Thor too?”

You laugh, stroking her hair. “Probably. But I think he’s going to like you the most.”

Her face lights up, and she snuggles deeper into her blankets. “Good. I’ll share Uncle Thor with him, but only a little.”

After kissing her goodnight, you return to the living room, where Tony is waiting on the couch, a glass of sparkling water in hand for you.

“Is she down?” he asks, pulling you gently into his side as you sink onto the cushions.

“Out like a light,” you reply, taking the glass. “She was asking if the baby will like Thor.”

Tony groans, tipping his head back dramatically. “That man is a menace.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know you love how happy he makes her.”

Tony’s arm tightens around you, his voice softening. “Yeah, I do. But you know what makes me happiest?”

“What?”

“This,” he says, resting his hand on your bump again. “All of us. Together.”

You smile, your heart full as you lean into him. “Me too.”

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