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osaemu · 4 months

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GOJO SATORU: ONE FOR THE MONEY, TWO FOR THE SHOW

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: you and satoru, your fake boyfriend, have awards to accept and places to be. so how'd you two end up fucking in a bathroom? NSFW

contents: fem!reader. semi-public sex, p –> v, blowjob, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, you two get walked in on at the end (kinda). references hungry for more. not proofread, ignore any minor mistakes. 3.5K words.

“you two are so cute together,” the interviewer sighs, looking at you and satoru in turn. “please, tell us more about your relationship!”

satoru laughs, resting his hand on your back and pulling you into his side. you put on a smile and instinctually put a hand on his chest, pretending not to notice the way he stiffens up at the contact. “where do i even begin?” satoru asks dryly, turning and looking down at you affectionately, and he’s almost a good enough actor for you to believe there’s any real emotion behind those cold blue eyes.

two weeks ago, satoru’s media team came to you with a request for you two to start dating as a way of gaining more attention from your fans. naturally, you declined—it’s not like you’d gain anything from the deal but the burden of being paraded around on the arm of the man you hated—satoru gojo, the cocky son of some famous actor in the 90’s. but after multiple increases in the amount of money satoru’s team was willing to throw at you, you finally agreed under the condition that this arrangement would end the second you wanted it to.

“i’m sure you’ve seen our latest movie on netflix,” satoru starts, looking back up at the interviewer, whose eyes have practically turned into hearts. “the one with the serial killer, yeah? well, it started from there and just grew into more.”

“i guess you could say the attraction on the screen wasn’t all acting,” you add with a knowing smile. good thing you were a decent enough actor to pretend as if you weren’t just lying through your teeth, otherwise the millions of dollars in your bank account would all be gone.

the interviewer laughs and turns to the camera, saying something about how the chemistry between you and satoru was what really made the movie a hit—in fact, it might even be the reason you’re both getting nominated for best actor and actress.

“well, if you’d excuse us, i think we should get back to the party,” satoru jumps in, nodding his head at the interviewer in thanks. he removes his hand from your back as you follow him to the main area, weaving through crowds of fans and interviewers on his way there. you walk at his side, heels clacking against the freshly polished floor. satoru dips his head and whispers, “hold my hand.”

you scrunch up your nose and shake your head. “no thanks, it’s not like anyone’s watching right now. it’s way too crowded.”

“just do it,” satoru mutters, grabbing your hand anyways. when you start to pull away, he fixes you with a stern look and adds, “they’ll think something’s wrong if you don’t.”

“ugh, fine.”

two hours pass, filled with other actors’ remarks on how good you and satoru make as a couple. suguru geto, one of satoru’s close friends who had played a cult leader in a recent documentary even said that you might be the girl who could fix satoru. yeah, right.

“so, when do awards start?” you ask satoru, swirling your drink and relishing the sound of the ice clacking against the side of the glass. he shrugs and takes a swig from his own cup, which looks suspiciously like apple cider disguised as champagne. “really? you’re nominated for like, four awards, and you don’t even know when you’re getting them?”

satoru laughs carelessly and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on the short cut of your dress. “at this point, i’ve got so many awards that it doesn’t even matter anymore. and by the way, you look really good in that dress. oh, wait, didn’t i buy it for you?”

“you’re not smooth.”

“then why am i nominated for best actor, huh?”

“because the system’s absolute shit, obviously. otherwise toji would win every time.”

satoru groans and drinks the last couple sips of his drink, rolling his eyes. “don’t even mention that piece of shit.” you shrug in response, hiding your smile behind your glass. a couple years back, satoru had lost a role to toji and to his despair, the movie did really well, despite what he’d promised to the producers who had turned him down. and it looks like he’s still bitter over that, and all of a sudden, the perfect plan to piss satoru off appears in your head.

“look, it’s toji right there!” you gasp, setting down your drink and hopping off your seat, walking over to toji while ignoring satoru’s warnings. “oh, hi, i’m a big fan,” you say to the tall, well-built man, smiling bashfully. toji turns and looks down at you, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

“hey, pretty, you’re the girl in that movie with the serial killer, yeah?” he asks, crossing his arms. you nod and internally marvel at how tall he is—especially compared to satoru, who, by any standards, is pretty damn tall. toji looks you up and down, taking his sweet time drinking in the way your dress hugs your figure. “that scene in the alley was really fuckin’ good,” toji adds conversationally. “you’re definitely winnin’ best actress for that.”

anyone who’s watched the movie knows that the scene he’s referring to is the one where you get fucked by satoru against a dark alley wall—and you’ve seen enough edits of the scene to know exactly why it’s getting all the hype.

“aw, thanks,” you say coyly, resting a hand on your hip and tilting your head. “y’know, i’ve always wanted to star in a movie with you,” you continue, hearing satoru come up behind you in the background. you ignore the sickeningly obvious way he clears his throat and flutter your eyelashes at toji, who’s eying you with interest.

“i’d like that. i can probably pull some strings,” toji replies with a smirk. his dark eyes flicker from you to satoru and his smile turns almost patronizing. “and who’s this?”

“her boyfriend. and i really hate to interrupt this friendly chat, but she’s not up for grabs,” satoru snaps, wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging you back to your spot at the bar. you shoot satoru an indignant glare, but receive no reply besides his tightening jaw. toji laughs and waves you off, mouthing “call me” at you when you turn back apologetically.

satoru drags you by the hand to one of the bathrooms, shoving open the door with the side of his arm and pulling you inside. there’s a long, shiny counter, which you become very familiar with once your fake boyfriend hoists you up and sits you on it. “the fuck was that?” satoru hisses, narrowing his eyes accusingly.

“what, we were just talki—”

“i don’t like the way he was looking at you,” satoru interrupts, crossing his arms tensely. he fixes you with a cold stare and you fidget uncomfortably with the hem of your dress, which you now realize is rather short.

“okay, and?” you reply irritably, starting to get annoyed by the way satoru keeps patronizing you. “it’s not like we’re even dating, gojo,” you snap, emphasizing the use of his last name.

“yeah? well, i don’t need my ‘girlfriend’ slutting herself out to the guy everyone knows i hate,” satoru fires back, taking a step forward. his palms rest on the counter on either side of your exposed legs, and you suddenly notice how red satoru’s face is. the flush in his cheeks wasn’t as noticeable underneath the bar’s dim lights, but here, it’s rather obvious.

“are you jealous?” you ask incredulously, unable to suppress the cheeky smile that finds itself on your face. satoru’s jaw slackens and his eyes widen, and that’s enough of a sign for you to confirm it—satoru gojo, your fake boyfriend, is jealous. he doesn’t reply immediately, so you laugh, throwing back your head and giggling at the way satoru’s petty rivalry seems to be only one of the reasons he was so eager to get you away from toji. “aw, that’s so cute, but we aren’t even dating, sweetheart,” you coo, reaching out and caressing the side of satoru’s face.

he instantly swats your hand away, rolling his eyes at your laughter. “well, we still have to act like it, you idiot,” he mutters, leaning over you and eying the low neckline of your dress. you instinctively cross your arms and glare at him, and satoru only cocks an eyebrow in return. “so, if we were actually dating, do y’know what i’d be doing right now?”

“what?” you decide to humor him.

satoru’s demeanor completely changes at your question, going from pissed and flushed red to almost playful.

“this.”

and just like that, satoru slips his slender fingers underneath the bottom of your dress and pulls it up, exposing your black, lacy panties.

“gojo, what the—”

“shh, it’s all for the show,” he whispers teasingly, brushing one finger against the warm skin of your thigh. you involuntarily shiver from his touch, and against all rational impulse, find yourself wanting more.

in the acting community, satoru was well-known for being a stuck-up brat, and when you two had first announced your relationship, plenty of actors doubted it. after all, how could you, the classy it-girl of the movie industry, date an asshole like satoru? but even you were surprised at how easily people started to believe it when you two interacted in front of them. you’ve been told that you two had a rather unexpected burst of chemistry together, and that your relationship might actually make it.

what a shame.

satoru hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, raising an eyebrow when you don’t protest. he maintains eye contact with you as he slides your panties down your thighs, exposing your embarrassingly-wet cunt. satoru looks almost as surprised as you do at how soaked you are, even as he runs two fingers over your slit before sliding them in. you hate how good it feels—it’s been a while since you got a chance to sleep with another man, especially since you’ve been stuck with satoru for the past two weeks.

“shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” satoru murmurs, scoffing in mild disbelief as he meets your eyes and smiles. he curls his fingers upwards, causing your thighs to reflexively close before satoru reopens them. “so, wanna explain, sweetheart?” he tsks, tapping your thigh with his other hand.

you make a face and look away, cheeks heating up the longer satoru waits for a response. “it’s probably from toji,” you snap back after a moment. satoru laughs sarcastically, shaking his head almost condescendingly and pulling out his fingers.

“nice try, hon,” he says sweetly, lifting his fingers to his mouth and licking off your slick in one smooth motion. satoru exhales heavily and swallows, taking his time in doing so. “want me to go grab toji to join us?” satoru asks, forcing a smile on his lips. “i’m sure he’d love to watch you beg—”

“shut it, gojo,” you interrupt, swatting away his hand, which somehow found its way back in between your thighs. “we have an award show to get to, there’s not enough time for this bullshi—”

that was a mistake. satoru instantly lifts you off the counter and, ignoring the rather wide range of curse words you throw at him, sets you on the ground and starts unzipping his pants. “shh, we got all the time in the world. they can’t give an award to someone who isn’t there, right?” satoru cooes, threading one of his hands through your hair and pulling you closer to him. his other hand finishes unzipping his pants, freeing his already-hard dick.

you look up at satoru, forcing yourself to act unimpressed—even though you know damn well he can see through your half-hearted attempt at hiding your real feelings. “s’ that all?” you ask, hating yourself for the crack in your voice when satoru laughs at you.

“ah, i think it’ll be more than enough for your pretty face to handle. now c’mon, open nice n’ wide for me,” satoru instructs you, reaching down and tilting up your chin as he guides his dick into your mouth. against all rational impulse, you let him, all while glaring daggers at him from below.

you run your tongue over his flushed red tip, and satoru sucks in a harsh breath, chest tensing as you continue kitten-licking him. his hand moves from your chin to the top of your head, and he pushes your mouth farther onto his dick, jaw tightening the more your tongue laps at him.

sure, maybe you shouldn’t be sucking off your fake boyfriend in a bathroom where anyone could walk in at any time, but it’s the first time you’ve felt this way in too long, and you weren’t ready to let this feeling go just yet. so you humor satoru and moan, smiling when you feel the way his whole body loosen up at the soft vibration. “f-fuck, didn’t think you’d actually know how to give a man a good time,” satoru mutters through gritted teeth.

“really?” you ask, pulling away from his dick for a moment to catch a breath. “we fucked for that movie, though, and you seemed pretty damn satisfied then, didn’t you?” you say in-between heaving breaths. satoru scoffs and shakes his head, pushing your mouth back onto his dick.

“yeah, but that was for a movie. this isn’t,” he clarifies, eyes fixed on the mix of spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin as you continue sucking him off. “fuck, why are you good at this?” he hisses, almost incredulously—it’s as if he was hoping you wouldn’t be this good for him for some reason, but now’s not the time to reason through it or wonder what’s going on in his mind.

satoru shudders around you, and you feel the hair threaded through your hair tighten. it’s not enough to be painful, but his grip still makes you whine from the increased pressure. his breathing becomes more shallow as you run your tongue over his length, and his foot starts to bounce on the floor as he gets closer to cumming down your throat. “shit, baby, m’ close,” satoru confirms a moment later, tilting his chin back and glaring at the ceiling.

“fuckin’ hell, i—” he cuts himself off with a loud, lengthy groan, pushing your head even farther on his dick and tensing as the full force of satoru’s orgasm hits him. he lets loose a flurry of curse words as he cums in your mouth, filling you up to the point where it starts dripping down the side of your face. it’s hot and salty, two sensations that you normally wouldn’t put together, but in this moment it’s all you can think about as you slide one hand downwards towards your throbbing pussy.

still reeling from his surprisingly quick orgasm, satoru leans back onto the counter and pants for air. as for you, you’re starting to want some of his pleasure for yourself—so you slip two fingers inside your cunt and pulse them back and forth, needy moans slipping out of your lips at every thrust. “gojo,” you call, looking up at him and licking his cum off your lips. the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cum dripping down your lips and fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt is enough for satoru to cum again, but he forces himself to maintain some level of control.

“jus’ call me satoru,” he murmurs, reaching down and tugging you up to your feet. it’s hard to stand while your legs are trembling, but thankfully, satoru does most of the work for you by positioning you against the wall, back facing him as he aligns his still-hard dick in front of your dripping pussy. “say it,” satoru mutters in your ear, resting one hand on your waist and the other on the wall just above your shoulder. “say my name f’me, sweetheart.”

“s-satoru,” you breathe, and a moment later, your fake boyfriend—who doesn’t feel so fake anymore—shoves himself inside of your welcoming cunt. you’re already wet enough to the point where he doesn’t really need to prep you at all, but you’re still just tight enough so that every thrust feels like he’s breaking you down in the best way possible.

“y’feel so good,” satoru groans, resting his chin on your shoulder and snapping his hips back and forth, setting a steady yet harsh pace. you stutter out satoru’s name again and again as your vision goes blurry, with your only thoughts revolving around the dick shoved up inside you and the man praising you in your ear.

satoru curses when he feels your walls clench around him, breaths growing shallower with every thrust. “arch your back for me, princess,” he mutters, eyes fluttering rapidly as he squeezes your waist. “yeah, jus’ like that,” satoru praises, breath brushing against the side of your face as he continues thrusting into you. “how’re you feeling, pretty? s’ this all right with you?”

you nod shakily in response, swollen lips hanging wide open as you gasp for air. satoru clicks his tongue and slows his pace, dipping his chin and studying your face. “gonna need you to use your words, angel.”

“m' good, i wanna cum,” you mumble, a loud moan slipping through your lips when satoru laughs and resumes fucking you a millisecond after you answer.

“i’m gonna fill you up, baby, i promise,” satoru whispers, and his words are barely audible over the lewd, sticky sounds coming from everywhere. all your senses are directed at satoru—the man you really shouldn’t be fucking right now, but all your inhibitions fade away as you feel your stomach start to tighten as you approach your orgasm.

“fuck, satoru, m’ close,” you whimper, arching your back even more and clenching your teeth shut. satoru sucks in a sharp breath as he confirms that he’s also about to cum, and his thrusts grow sloppier the closer he gets. “don’t stop, please, i—”

from there on, your words mix themselves together, with the only understandable word being satoru’s name. your fake boyfriend spills into you first, cum leaking from his tip and mixing with yours as you both chase your releases. and it hits you hard—if it wasn’t for satoru, you would’ve crumbled to the ground from the sheer force of your orgasm. all you can see is white as satoru finishes emptying his load inside of you, and the sticky, viscous liquid trails down the warm skin of your thighs as it overflows from your abused hole.

“shit,” satoru mutters, stumbling backwards and eyeing his now-soiled clothes. “this was a couple thousand dollars, damn it.”

you exhale a breathy laugh and turn around, leaning against the wall and meeting his half-lidded eyes. “you kidding? my dress was way more than that, and there’s no way i can wear that out now.”

satoru grins, running a hand through his ruffled hair and walking back towards you, touching your waist and sliding a finger over your dripping cunt. “you were so good f’me, baby. what were we arguing about again?”

“i have no idea,” you mumble, watching satoru lick his finger clean. he’s shameless—even as clarity returns to both of your minds, he still insists on dragging the moment on. not that you mind—that was the best sex you’d had in a while, even if it was too fast and in a bathroom.

“we should get back to the ceremony,” you say distractedly, pulling down your dress and frowning at the new wrinkles. “can i wear your suitjacket? i don’t want people to see this.”

satoru sticks out his bottom lip and pouts, looking you up and down. “but i like it. you look like you just got fucked by a really hot guy. oh, wait, that’s me!”

“you’re an asshole.”

before satoru can reply, the bathroom door opens, and you both jump out of your skins. thankfully, satoru had time to pull his pants on, otherwise it would’ve been significantly more embarrassing. suguru pokes his head in the bathroom and rolls his eyes when he sees you and satoru, and an exasperated sigh slips out of his lips when he sees your fucked-out states.

“are you two seriously fucking during the awards?” suguru snaps, amber eyes glittering with dry amusement. you look away bashfully, tugging down your dress even farther out of embarrassment. satoru shrugs nonchalantly and walks over to suguru, offering his hand in search of a fistbump.

suguru eyes him dubiously and crosses his arms. “did you wash your hands?”

“heh, no, not yet.”

ignoring satoru’s smug grin, suguru swats his arm away with the back of his hand, disgust evident all over his face. “gross, fuck off.” he turns to you and arches an eyebrow, looking you up and down disapprovingly. “you two should clean up before coming outside, otherwise they’ll probably take away your awards,” suguru adds, wrinkling his nose. “i’ll tell them you’re on your way.”

“okay, thanks,” you mutter, face warmer than ever. suguru nods in response and leaves, and when you and satoru finally return to the awards ceremony, there’s plenty of whispers about you two, and most of them aren’t very family-friendly.

well, at the very least, nobody’s gonna doubt that you two were a couple now!

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fruitsilly · 1 year

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Hate and rage and seething

#they don't make it fucking easy to do my cunting laundry here shitting hell christ almighty #i have to download this stupid fucking shit ass app #and then i put my bank account details in to pay for a washing machine to use #but i have to exit the laundry app in order to confirm the payment through my banking app #but the laundry app is so fucking shite that it removes your details every fucking time you exit the app #so it was just a sisyphean cycle #and i don't have any money in my paypal acc so i couldn't use that and it's days until any money comes in it from a bank transfer #this all lead to me having an autism meltdown #i have a meeting at 2pm (in 40 mins time) but i don't feel like being around anyone atm #thankfully i had a second bank account with a physical card i could use #but im still so fucking annoyed #i had to walk all the way back to my room to get it bc i DIDN'T KNOW I'D HAVE TO FUCKING DO ALL OF THIS SHIT AND THAT I'D NEED A CARD FUCKI #jesus christ holy fucking shit. i want to explode i hope the app explodes i hope you die i hope we both die #anyways #apple rambles #even tho i sorted it out for now i still haven't done my laundry bc i fucking hate everything rn

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macfrog · 3 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

December.

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

You hate every fucking minute of it.

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

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

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

Never mind.

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

“Tommy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

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

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

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk me home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

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

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

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

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

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

“’n whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I’m craving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

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

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

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

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

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

And I mean anything. OK?

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

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

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom.

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

Mom. Mom and Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

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

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

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

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

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

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

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

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

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

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

Let go.

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

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

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

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

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

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

But right then –

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

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

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

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

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

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

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

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

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

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

Your head shakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

“You have to go.”

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

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

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

He leaves on Saturday morning.

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

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

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

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

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

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

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

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

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

“Hm. Now go.”

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

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

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

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

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

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

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

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

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multifariousqueer · 11 months

Note

can you write miles 42 having readers bank account, card ALL that on his phone and gets mad if she purchases shi with money he didint give her. its really crazy but its miles 42....what do you expect??? hehe

Sure love!!!

A/n: y’all I love you so much but I need you guys to start requesting regular miles fanfic pls. Although 42 miles owns my 🩷

It was just a simple necklace. It was the Vivienne Westwood necklace that you saw everyone around you wearing and wanted so badly. You knew Miles would get it for you in a heartbeat but a part of you wanted to get it for yourself. It had been a long, stressful semester but you struggled through it all and got to a point where ou were passing with A’s and B’s. Coincidentally, you had gotten a job at Starbucks after months of applying and you had about $1000 saved up of your own money that you were waiting to spend on something special. That was, until that “something special” came along in the form of Miles.

You never knew what he did but you knew he was making 8x your salary in a month. It seemed like anything you wanted, you got when you were with Miles; shoes, clothes, books, makeup any and everything you wanted, it was yours in a matter of days. It’s worth mentioning that Miles is extremely overprotective and wants to know everything about what you’re doing and buying because he loves you and cares about your habits.

Even on Miles’s birthday when you dipped into your savings to get him the latest Jordan’s, he was furious that you had to use your own money:

“Damn Ma, these are valid. How much were they?”

“Oh don’t worry about it” you said

“I said, how much were they.” His eyes narrowing in on you because he knew how much they were because he was gonna buy them 2 weeks ago but decided not to.

“$500. I’ve been saving for them for you, baby. It’s all good” you tried to assure him

“Aight. thank you.” He said, pulling you close to him, the scent of the Dior Sauvage cologne you also bought him, filling your nostrils

But deep down you knew he was pissed off and mad that you spent your own money, so after a long talk about how he should be able to keep tabs on you and keep you safe, you gave him your Apple Pay and banking info for emergencies only but of course it’s Miles and being the overprotective boyfriend he is, he checks it everyday for any “extravagant purchases” made by you or someone else.

Of course he isn’t crazy, he set a $25 limit for you before he steps in and asks what’s up. Once, you were at a mall with your friend and found the cutest shirt at Urban Outfitters and decided to buy it. The price tag read $50 but you went ahead and got it; the same happened at Bath and Body Works and Tilly’s and as you made your way to the bathroom, you got a text from Miles:

Miles: did someone take your card?

You: no why??

Miles: why’d you spend $150 in an hour??

You: I’m at the mall

Miles: so? I pay for your shit

You: dawg it’s $150. It’s not that deep 💀

Miles: I ain’t yo “dawg” and yes it is when Yk I buy you shit

You: you aren’t my sugar daddy

Miles: I basically am atp. I’m sending you $1000, buy something cute

You contemplated leaving him on seen but you remembered how he hates that so you replied:

You: Okay

You had saved up enough to get the necklace and when you got it, you were ecstatic. You thought about all of the possible outfit combos and how good it will look against your brown skin but your thoughts were interrupted by a certain someone:

Miles: what’d I tell you, Mami?

You: ?

Miles: don’t play dumb, yk I would’ve bought you that necklace in a heartbeat but instead you wanted to be miss independent and buy it yourself. I guess since you’re so independent, I’ll stop sending you that $1000 every week. How about that?

You: ok

Miles: ?

You: we can discuss this when I get home

Miles: K

You: k

It was a long ride home but eventually you accepted that Miles was gonna rip your head off and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

When you got home, he had three of the necklaces, two huge teddy bears, a bouquet of your favorite flowers and the newest pair of Jordan’s waiting for you:

“What’s all this?” You smiled and asked

“I told you I’ll pay for your shit, y/n” miles said, with a small smirk on his face

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glow-worms-are-believers · 6 months

Text

Always room for seconds (dp x dc)

"There they go again," says Aunt Alicia as she looks at the hazmat-clad backs of her sister and her husband jumping into their mish-mash-of-a-van. "And on Thanksgiving too," she finishes to herself as she turns toward her niece and nephew. Neither of them look surprised, though Jazz is clearly more affected if the tick in her jaw is any indication.

"They promised," she practically spits but Danny just sighs and puts a hand on her shoulder. It seems to draw the fight out of Jazz a bit and she sags onto herself.

Alicia loves her sister but she can be so irresponsible sometimes.

"Come on kids, let's go back inside. It's about time to put the turk-" she stops short, then groans. Maddie had insisted on bringing the turkey on account of not wanting Alicia to go to all the trouble, and Alicia had agreed on the condition that her sister wouldn't try to make it. "...And the turkey is still in the van isn't it?"

Danny makes a face. "It's probably for the best. I'm pretty sure I saw it move on the way here."

Alicia doesn't let her head fall into her hands, but only just. Instead, she takes a deep breath to calm herself down to rally her thoughts. "Alright. It'll be too late by the time we drive to town and buy a new raw one, so we can just get some already made from the store. That good for you guys?"

Jazz and Danny make sounds of assent before all three of them pile up in the car. Town isn't too far away, and the trip is mostly silent. Alicia is hesitating over what to say to cheer up her niece and nephew. In the end, they pull up to the grocery store before she manages to come up with anything.

"Dad was also supposed to bring desert," Jazz mentions as she grabs a caddie and wheels it back to them.

"I made apple pie just in case," Alicia answers. Despite her dislike for him, she can admit that Jack Fenton is a generous man. However, as she has learned over the years, that generosity doesn't extend to fudge. Which is why she's got her famous apple pie ready to pop into the oven.

Danny nods relieved, as he files in behind his sister. The three of them are rolling past the frozen section when a familiar voice cuts through the store music.

"Alicia?"

At that, Alicia looks up to see the face of one and only Martha Kent. Her lips stretch into a smile unconsciously at the sight.

"Martha, hi," she answers as the other woman starts walking closer. "How are you?"

"I'm good," the other woman says as she stops in front of them. "Just doing some last-minute shopping." Then Martha looks to Danny and Jazz and gives them a smile. "And who might these two be?"

"This is Jazz and Danny," Alicia introduces them, "my niece and nephew. They're spending Thanksgiving up at the cabin with me."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Martha says sincerely. "You left your sister and her husband in charge of the turkey, then?" She winks.

Alicia winces. "Ah, not exactly."

"They had a work emergency," Jazz says, unhappy.

Martha lets out a sympathetic oh.

"That's why we're here," Alicia explains. "They left with the turkey without realizing, so we'll have to settle for store-bought this year."

Martha makes a noise of sympathy before her face shifts into something more pensive. "You know," she starts. "I've got a big turkey at home and there's only going to be my son and me to eat it. If you guys would like, we'd love to have you over to help us with it."

"Oh we couldn't possibly-" Alicia starts to protest but Martha takes a step forward and takes her hands.

"You'd be doing us a favour," Martha says, her hands still into Alicia's as she looks up earnestly at the redhead. And damn it all because Alicia can feel a blush spreading on her cheeks at that.

"Alright," Alicia says, too flustered to argue.

Martha squeezes her hands once before letting go and Alicia can't help but miss the warmth of them. "Then it's settled."

"Alright," repeats Alicia. "We'll have to swing back home, though. I made pie."

"That's wonderful!" Martha's smile is radiant and it makes something in Alicia's chest warm.

She disguises it with a cough before speaking up. "Is six thirty too early for you?"

"It's perfect. We'll be waiting for you then," Martha says. "And for your sister and her husband too, if they manage to tear themselves away from work."

"That's not likely," mumbles Danny under his breath. Uncharacteristically, Jazz doesn't say anything about her brother's manners, only putting her own hand on his shoulder. Martha catches Alicia's eye and they exchange a look.

"Well, we'll be glad to have you three, anywho," Martha states firmly which gets her a hesitant smile from Jazz.

Alicia clears her throat. "We'd better get going if we want to be ready in time."

"Oh yes," Martha agrees. "I have to make sure the turkey's not burning." Then she winks, and for some reason, Alicia can feel that pesky blush coming back. It's made worse by the shrewd look Jazz gives her.

"See you soon!" says Martha as she leaves.

"Bye," Alicia answers back a little weakly. Then she looks down to the ground and sighs. When she straightens her head, she's immediately on guard as she catches her niece's smug look.

"What?" Alicia asks warily.

"Is Martha single?" Jazz asks, with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth face.

"Yeah," the older redhead answers slowly. "Why?"

"Just wanted to know," Jazz says innocently. And even Danny is looking at his sister suspiciously now. "since you've got a crush on her and all."

"I do no-I don't know what you're talking about!" Alicia protests though she feels her cheeks warming for the third time today.

And now Danny is starting to smirk too as he exchanges a look with his sister. "Oh," he starts as he looks towards Martha's disappearing figure. "This is going to be fun."

#I know Alicia is supposed to live in Arkansas and not Kansas but let's pretend I can't read #Johnatan Kent is dead in this one (sorry Mr. Kent)#Jazz and Danny playing matchmaker for their aunt #Clark jumping in once he catches on to what they're doing #Alicia (dp) x Martha Kent #That is one ship I'd never thought I'd write #anyone has an idea for a name for this ship?#Alicia (dp)#martha kent #dc x dp #dp x dc #roxpox #roxpoxwrote

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planetpiastri · 1 day

Text

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader [no faceclaim] summary: you're a meme rapper with a cult following on youtube, and oscar is always in your comments, but it isn't until you release your first single that everyone puts two and two together. notes: this is one of the very first requests i ever received, and finally FINALLY it is done!! we are so back

liked by oscarpiastri, patriciooward, and others

ynusername guys if i wrote a song about dino nuggets would you unfollow me be honest

view all 1,458 comments

username1 yeah

ynusername 😔

oscarpiastri no

ynusername 😁

username2 maybe

ynusername i'm getting mixed signals

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, and 502,876 others

oscarpiastri Oscar goes outside: Japan edition

view all 8,482 comments

username3 you're not even outside in any of these pictures oscar what

landonorris who are we getting dinner with, young man? 🤨

oscarpiastri My mum 😊 landonorris yeah right

username4 omg any yn fans in the comments?? mother liked the post 👀

username5 yeah they follow each other lol i don't think they've ever met though username6 they've definitely interacted, but yeah i think they're just like online acquaintances haha

ynusername nice berries mate

oscarpiastri Thanks, I've heard that before

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri, and 251,876 others

mclaren Happy Birthday Oscar! 🥳

view all 7,654 comments

username7 guys why's oscar kinda...

username8 WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??

oscarpiastri 😁😁😁

ynusername happy birthday. oscarpiastri Ok that's a lot of negative energy please step back username9 help these interactions are always so random??

username10 oscar's waist looking SNATCHED omg

username11 guys is this a safe space for me to confess something?

landonorris no, keep it to yourself

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and others

ynusername finally releasing a single woohoo!! 'bark bark' coming out april 19th on spotify and apple music ^-^

view all 1,874 comments

username12 OMG YESSSS

username13 WHAT YN THIS IS SO EXCITING!!!! CONGRATS!!!!!

oscarpiastri What's it about

ynusername you have to stream the song and find out silly oscarpiastri Is it about me ynusername oh my god

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others

ynusername the type of face you'd go to war for (look past the camera, he's shy)

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landonorris shucks, i'm blushing

ynusername i am so obviously not talking about you

username14 NEW MUSIC WHEN??

ynusername the single JUST came out CHILL!

username15 the last slide??

username16 new music hint? ynusername no that's just me talking about oscar and lando landonorris ....which one am i? ynusername i literally called you a slut nine times in suzuka username17 so oscar is lust???? oscarpiastri Thank you Barbie!!

liked by mclaren, ynusername, and 516,392 others

oscarpiastri Busy busy week, but glad the secret's out. My girlfriend is cooler and funnier than yours, by the way.

view all 7,990 comments

ynusername you're so hot i am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

ynusername the hair?? the smile?? the grabbable waist?? WOW!!

ynusername gonna write another song about you

ynusername if i saw you in the street i'd catcall you

ynusername i want you.

oscarpiastri I love you too

username18 FKSDHJGLKHDJG IM SO HAPPY YN CAN BE UNHINGED AND CRAZY NOW GOOD FOR HER GOOD FOR THEM!!

request: hiiii babe! i love ur account! i was wondering if u could do an oscar piastri x meme rapper gf with an @addy_kate fc. like shes actually really funny and her music is oddly good (like tmg).

tagging: @thearchieves @sheridamn @nikfigueiredo @charlig123456789 @ilove-tswizzle @aandreea2005 @sideboobrry @vellicora @eire-the-egg @marymustdie @cocote1410 @taygrls @koalapastries @vroomvroommuppett @nichmeddar @d3kstar @333kiki @ririyulife @resident-swiftie @zimm04 @jupiter-je-taime @ever_bizzare @blue-isnt-avaliable @iifloweringnightsii @graciewrote @formulaal @m0cha-bunny @marvelsimps @mehrmonga @elliegrey2803 @theblueblub @gwginnyweasley @sltwins @f1kenzzz @alexmarie29 @donttouchthegnote @clemswrld @hollieeelol @leireggsworld @luvvtrent @maddie-naps @lilcowboy0 @tygecjjd @skepvids @bwddermilch @pnkwhskyprncss @notawc @landossainz @janegxi @chaotic_version @lookatitlaterlol @cometsrodrigo @lizzypiastri @nixisracing @lavviee @yaesflorist

if you want to be added to any of my taglists, fill out this form

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #instagram au #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #f1 instagram au #social media au #oscar piastri au #saturn writes

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stvharrngton · 3 months

Note

Ooh requests? Literally anything mushy-gushy lovey-dovey romantic with Steve! Like cuddling under blankets on movie nights that get a bit handsy? Or romantic getaway weekends where it's just you and him? Or god-forbid wedding night sex? That man would be on cloud nine on his wedding day?? The sex would be SO incredibly sweet and tender I just know it!

i love all of these ideas but i went with wedding night i hope that's ok!! <3 ps I'm sorry this took so long :(

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, fingering, unprotected p in v, steve is a lil cocky but v sweet

word count: 3.1k

requests are open!

You reached the top floor of the hotel, the floor where the Honeymoon Suite resided. You and Steve walked hand in hand, fingers interlocked together before he abandoned that, scooping you up in his arms.

“Steve!” you squealed, clutching onto him for dear life as he carried you the rest of the way down the hall.

“What?” he asked innocently, warm honey eyes glancing down at you, “It’s tradition, I have to carry you over the threshold as the new Mrs. Harrington.”

You swooned at hearing that for the millionth time tonight but it never got any older. Your wedding wasn’t big, nor fancy, by any means but it was what you wanted. All your closest friends and family by your side as you married the love of your life.

Watching from his arms as Steve struggled to get the key in the lock of the door, you hid your giggles behind pursed lips before he finally managed to turn the lock.

The room was beautifully put together, the big, soft, four poster bed the centrepiece. Big windows and plush furniture, complete with champagne on ice for you both. It wasn’t the fanciest, but it was everything you could have dreamed of. You both insisted on paying for the wedding yourselves, denying help from friends and family. But you knew Steve’s Mom couldn’t take no for an answer, depositing a substantial amount of cash in her only son’s bank account.

“Here,” Steve hummed, setting you down on the edge of the bed, kneeling to the floor so he could unbuckle the small strap on your shoes. He set them aside, taking both your hands in his much larger ones, placing a kiss to each knuckle before squeezing them tight.

Steve stood up straight now, leaning into you to brush his lips against yours, ever so softly. The kiss was sweet and heartfelt, his palm cupping your cheek as your lips moved against each other. Your noses brushed against one another’s when you pulled apart, the tip of Steve’s sculpted nose trailed along the slope of your own.

“I still can’t believe we’re married,” he whispered, voice sincere as he spoke, “I know it’s been hours but I’m so lucky.”

His words made your heart flutter. The soft look in his eyes, orbs of warm honey so loving and wet, his thumb soothing over the apple of your cheek, you felt so in love. You blinked up at him with big doe eyes before he went back in for another kiss.

Steve soon switched your positions with him sitting on the bed and you between his legs. He coaxed you into his lap, your knees pressing into the bed either side of Steve’s thighs and you were grateful the skirt of your dress allowed for ample movement. Steve’s large hands caressed your back, moving up and down over the lace bodice whilst his lips never left yours.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” he whispered against your lips, fingers working delicately to undo your dress, allowing you to step out of the material. Once your dress was safety away, you stepped back between Steve’s spread legs, his large palms immediately clutching at your waist.

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” he cooed, pressing featherlight kisses to your stomach as his fingers explored the white lace that covered the intimate parts of your body, “my beautiful wife.”

You swooned at his words, the butterflies swarming in your stomach as your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his lips on your skin. You were soon back in Steve’s lap, your lips colliding once more in a heated kiss. His hands found your back again, travelling down until they reached the globes of your ass, squeezing at the flesh. Steve licked into you all pretty, all tender and sweet as your fingers rushed to unbutton his shirt, his jacket and waistcoat abandoned long ago.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips over Steve, already feeling too good and he’d barely got started. You hummed in content as his lips found your neck, teeth nipping at the sweet spot behind your ear, his tongue darting out to soothe the bite.

Steve flipped you over, your back hitting the bed with a soft thud. He soon rid himself of his shirt, situating himself rightfully between your legs. His hands trailed over your body, large hands squeezing at your tits, his lips following with kisses in their wake. You sighed out your husband’s name in response.

“Tell me what you want, honey,” he whispered. His mouth made its way down your body until his lips reached your heat, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses over the material of your panties.

You whimpered as you leaned up on your elbows, eyes wet and pleading with your husband. You couldn’t think straight, didn’t know what you wanted, all you knew is that you wanted Steve, in any way he could give.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” you breathed, back aching as Steve was still making work of soaking your panties, in more ways than one, “your fingers! Fuck, I want your fingers, Steve.”

Steve could only chuckle as you squealed out your answer, one that he was surely satisfied with. “Anything for you, my beautiful wife.” He spoke against your skin, fingers hooking beneath your panties, pulling the lace down your legs, careful not to displace the frilly garter that was snug around your thigh.

The words made you hide a blush behind your arm as you slumped back against the bed. You felt his fingers curl around your wrist, moving your arm away from your face as Steve’s lips found your neck. Whispering against your skin, leaving wet kisses in their wake, “Come on, baby. Let me see you.”

Steve peppered kisses all over your face until you couldn’t help but let a smile creep back on your face. His fingers headed south, the pads of his fingertips ghosting over your tits, circling the peaks of your nipples before brushing over your stomach and finally reaching your pussy.

Your legs moved farther apart by instinct, letting Steve’s fingers explore your pussy; your throbbing clit, your sopping wet hole. He hummed against your skin as he felt you, your wetness coating his fingers as he spread it around. Your skin went hot as he spoke once more, “You’re already so wet, baby, hm? Such a perfect, little pussy.”

A low moan tumbled from your lips at his words, your eyes fluttering shut as he finally slipped a finger inside. Just a single digit but it was enough to have you falling apart beneath him. He pumped it slowly, fucking his finger in and out of your cunt as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling around the pert bud.

Your back arched from the bed as Steve brushed his thumb over your puffy clit, smirking as you moaned his name.

“Want another, honey? Is that it?” he asked, his finger picking up the pace, curling at the knuckle, “Think you can handle it? Doing so good for me.”

You couldn’t help but whine, clutching at the sheets as your other hand found Steve’s soft locks. You did your best to nod your head, mumbling something that resembled a please.

So Steve plunged a second finger inside your hole, scissoring and stretching you open as your noises only got louder. The pace of Steve’s fingers grew gradually, his thumb rubbing at your clit harsher. Your slick leaked down his fingers and Steve only grew stiffer at the sound of his fingers fucking your wet pussy.

He watched as your eyes went glassy, barely able to keep them open. Steve towered over you, hooking his leg over your own to keep your thighs spread, his crotch subtly rutting against your soft, doughy thigh. His fingers were fucking you at speed now, Steve liked to be soft and gentle mostly, but he knew how you liked it when it came to having his fingers inside you. And that was hard, fast and deep.

“Are you gonna cum for me, honey? Go on,” he cooed in your ear, tongue licking at the shell, “make a mess all over my fingers, baby, want you to feel all kinds of good.”

You whimpered as your walls clenched around Steve’s fingers, a few more circles of your clit and you were a goner. Back arching off the bed you saw stars, nails digging into Steve’s scalp as you lost yourself all over Steve’s fingers. You cried his name like a banshee and Steve was totally in awe of you.

“Oh, that’s a good girl,” he mused, slowing his fingers to work you through your climax, “there you go, honey.”

Steve was peppering kisses all over your face when you came back to reality, his fingers still inside you but not moving, keeping you full up for just a moment longer. Only when he brushed his lips against yours did he remove them, a whimper escaping your lips when he did so. One that Steve gladly ate up.

You curled your fingers through his soft tresses as he kissed you slowly, almost as if he was savouring every minute of this moment with you. He pulled away from you for only a second, a second to pull his fingers to his lips, the same fingers that were inside your pussy not moments again. You stepped in quickly though, before Steve could slip his fingers in his mouth, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and bringing them to your own lips. Your tongue swirled around his digits, tasting yourself on him.

Steve groaned as he watched, eyes hooded and dark, bottom lip snug between his teeth. You released his fingers with a pop, a faint smirk tugging at your lips as you did. He pulled you up into his lap, not caring about any wet patches you may leave on his pants, wrapping his arms around your waist as he caressed your back.

“Oh, my wife’s such a little minx.” Steve teased, moving his hands down to your ass, large palms groping at the supple flesh. You could only giggle in response, the heat creeping up your cheeks as your fingers ran through the hair on Steve’s chest, moving down his stomach to where his belt buckle sat.

He helped you out, undoing the buckle and shoving the black material down his legs, leaving him in just his boxers. Your hand reached further south, ghosting over his length over the boxers. Stroking and squeezing, ever so lightly. Steve let out a loud, deep, guttural groan in response.

“Fuck,” he hummed, letting his eyes flutter closed. Your fingers dipped beneath the elastic of the waistband, your nails raking through the neatly trimmed hair there, delving further until they could wrap around Steve’s thick cock. You felt his grip tighten, his fingers digging into your skin with every move, every stroke.

His boxers soon joined his pants and his shirt, scattered somewhere on the plush carpet of the Honeymoon Suite. You tried to crawl off of him, to get on your knees before him, tongue out ready and waiting but Steve had other ideas.

“Baby, no, I–” he stammered, holding you at your waist to keep you in place in his lap. Those big brown eyes bore into your own, warm and inviting as they always were.

“But, what about–” but Steve cut you off before you could finish. One of his large hands came to cup your cheek as he spoke, his voice quiet and soothing.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives for that,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. His other hand reached for his cock, holding it at the base as he slid it between your folds, teasing, smearing the wetness that was already there, “I jus’ need to feel you, honey, please?”

The desperation that laced his voice sent your head spinning. The butterflies erupted in your lower stomach at the thought, the fact he was eager to have you sink down on his cock, to fill you up really had you reeling.

So you nodded, bracing yourself on Steve’s shoulders as he guided his cock inside. You sank down on him to the hilt, taking all of him at once, an impressive feat to say the least. You both moaned out at the feeling, your walls wrapped around him, his cock throbbing deep inside you.

You took a minute to drink it in, the feeling of being full up, the pretty picture of Steve below you. His hair was perfectly messy, his cheeks a little rosy, his eyes a little hazy. His pretty pink lips were parted just slightly, his jaw slack as he held you close.

Slowly but surely, you started to roll your hips, back and forth, Steve’s cock sliding in and out of your pussy. Your nails digging into his broad shoulders as you rode him, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, wet, open mouthed kisses being left in his wake as he groaned lowly.

“God, fuck,” he whined, revelling at the feeling of your body pressed against his, your tits rubbing against his chest with every roll of your hips, “you feel so good, honey. So fuckin’ good.”

Your head rolled back in pleasure as you began to move faster now, grinding on Steve’s cock with vigour as you mewled at his words of praise. Steve sat back on his hands now, watching you make work of him and his cock. He was in awe of you, as he often was, the way your hips moved in a tantalising motion, the way your hands moved over his body before moving to your own. Fingers dancing over your skin, up your stomach and over your tits, squeezing and rubbing at your nipples.

Steve looked at you like you held the world in your hands, the moon and stars cascading through your fingertips. Every mole, freckle or blemish on your skin is a fine piece of art, the glint in your eyes a stroke of your character, the cute blush on your cheeks a cause to admire. He had never been so in love, drowning in his own happiness and pleasure simultaneously.

But as much as he was revelling in having you perched in his lap, cock sliding in and out of your pussy, there was always that underlying feeling that had Steve urging to take control. So he gripped your hips and flipped you on your back for the second time that night.

He gripped your thighs and spread them wide, his gaze falling to where you were connected. Where his thick cock was splitting you in two, stretching your pussy out wide. His length was slick with your juices, the creamy ring forming at the base of his cock. Steve slowed the pace, his hips moving at a deliciously slow pace.

“Oh, look at her, baby,” he cooed, his eyes flitting up to you through the hair that had fallen into his face, “she’s so wet, and it’s all for me? Fuck, pussy was just made for my cock, I just know it.”

“Steve,” you whimpered, arching your back and reaching out to clutch at any part of him your fingers could reach.

“I know, baby, I know,” he mused, leaning down to grab at your hands, threading his fingers through your own as he continued to roll his hips against your own, thrusting slow and deep, “I’ll take care of you, yeah? I’ll always take care of my girl.”

You wrapped your legs around him, your feet crossing at his tailbone as you pushed him closer to you. Steve let out this groan, one that was all pretty and deep, his eyes rolling back as he felt your walls clench around him. He squeezed your hands in his, his thrusts became more erratic, his rhythm slightly off the pace.

You could tell he was close, the way the tips of his ears bloomed red, the way the cute, pink flush crept up higher on his neck. Steve dropped your hands, opting instead to cup your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours as the other slithered between your bodies, his fingers soon finding your clit. He rubbed softly, a movement that matched the way his cock was fucking in and out of you, pulling a wailing moan from you.

“Oh, please,” you cried, your eyes squeezing shut, “please don’t stop, Steve, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey,” Steve chuckled, peppering kisses all over your face, “you want it, huh? Want me to fill up this pretty little pussy, is that it? Been such a good girl f’me. God, I can’t believe I get you all to myself for the rest of my life.”

Your pussy fluttered around Steve’s cock at his words, the pressure building in your lower stomach as his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt became a little too overwhelming. “Want it so bad, Steve, baby, please. Oh, please fill me up.”

You pleaded with him and who was Steve to deny you? He groaned as you begged him and Steve only doubled down. Even though the speed he was fucking you was slow, it was enough to have you both ticking over the edge.

“Oh, fuck—,” he whined, “cum with me, honey, yeah?” His thumb stroked over your cheek as his eyes looked into yours deeply, fingers still rubbing at your clit. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm start to build, your skin tingled white hot as your legs began to shake.

Steve called out your name like a song, musings of praise falling from his lips over and over again. High-pitched whines mewled in your ear as Steve filled you up, his cock still fucking in and out of your spent hole, doing all he could to keep his cum deep inside you for as long as possible.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck, his lips placing sloppy kisses to the skin there as you both mellowed from your high. Your chests heaved against one another as you caught your breath, your fingers still tangled in Steve’s hair. He pulled out of you with a whine, eyes catching a quick glimpse of his cum seeping from your pussy.

Steve leaned over you as he rolled over next to you, cradling your face in his palm as he brushed his nose against yours, the tip of his own running down the slope of yours, ending with a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That was–”

“Amazing? Out of this world?” Steve cut you off with a smirk, “Best sex of your life? Just to name a few.”

“You’re an idiot.” You giggled, swatting at his shoulder as you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve hummed, pressing one last kiss to your lips, “but you’re stuck with this idiot for the rest of your life.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #k.fic #request

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months

Text

twst food culture compilation

Please note: this post does NOT include all food-related lore in TWST (for example, you won’t find a lot of information about individual characters’ food preferences or personal experiences with food here). This post ONLY talks about the food culture, notable locations, cultural dishes, and unique foods of the Twisted Wonderland world at large (ie countries, specific towns and cities, etc).

I did my best to scour for info, but I’ll update if I find anything new or details I missed the first time around.

General and/or Unspecified Location

There is a seasoning called “pure azure salt”, which is said to be rare, even in the Coral Sea.

Twisted Wonderland has a fruit called ruby berries (which taste “like freshly picked strawberries”).

There is frozen mint with a “refreshing profile” that grows in icy mountainous areas.

There exists Walrus-brand oyster sauce. Trey uses this to cook hamburger steak for his younger siblings. He says the oyster sauce provides a "nice savory flavor" with considerable depth. Trey also jokes about adding it to chestnut tarts in book 1.

There are mentions of irl Japanese foods such as konjac and takoyaki, but so far no place of origin in Twisted Wonderland has been sited.

Like in the real world, celebrities like Vil and Neige are used to promote products (including food and drink) in commercials, on social media platforms, etc. For example, in book 5, we see Neige advertising Red Apple Soda and Vil using his Magicam account to promote the apple juice made by Epel's family.

There's a popular dish called "pumpkin carriage stew". The insides of a pumpkin are scooped out and the shell is filled with a creamy stew, which made it difficult to carry over to tables. It would sell out every day at the cafe Ruggie used to work at.

Some restaurants call their spaghetti with meatballs "starry night spaghetti", named after the tale of two dogs who shared a spaghetti kiss under a starry sky. It is said that sharing spaghetti with meatballs with someone outside would lead to true love.

Hunting is sport as well as something done for food.

Briar Valley

General

Cotton candy is a classic snack food sold at Briar Valley food stalls. The way it is prepared resembles spinning threads, which is considered a blessed occupation (as there was a period in Briar Valley's history when no one was able to spin thread, so some clever individual tinkered around and made cotton candy instead).

In the battlefield (~400 years ago, during the human-fae war), soldiers would roast rats and lizards to eat if they didn't have rations or other ingredients.

There is little in the way of modern technology and electricity; typically, one would prepare dishes and/or collect ingredients by hand (such as via fishing) or by using magic.

Magic is used to light fires for cooking. There is little risk for fire accidents since magical fires automatically go out when you go to sleep.

Because Briar Valley is located to the north, it can get very chilly. When the snow melts, it turns into very cold freshwater.

According to Lilia, “berries are a must-have, especially at birthdays parties” in Briar Valley. They are famous for its berry juice.

Coral Sea

General

According to Jade, there are no fires in the Coral Sea. Therefore, most of the food consumed is raw.

A month-long land boot camp first established by a mermaid princess that married a human prince teaches merpeople fire safety and how to eat food as part of its curriculum.

It's rare for merfolk to eat anything sweet, as those kinds of foods aren't readily avaliable in the sea.

The Atlantica Memorial Museum has the mermaid princess's "silver hair comb" on display. This, of course, refers to the "dinglehopper"--a common fork. This implies that merpeople (such as the mermaid princess referenced in many stories) fused to be unaware of the eating utensils on land.

Azul's mother owns the "hottest restaurant" in the Coral Sea. It started off as a small place, but has since expanded to have a large staff.

Couples from the Coral Sea frequently request rainbow dessert soup with trident cookies for their weddings. To eat it, you use the trident cookie to stir the sweet sky-blue soup, which then turns the soup into seven colors of the rainbow. This is a dish that is only served for special occasions in the Coral Sea, and it is typically served warm.

Jade says that he was surprised to see that many land dwellers eat their fruit without the peel; this would imply that those from the Coral Sea typically eat their foods with the skin/peel left on, or as-is.

Playful Land Amusement Park

All food and drink are handed out for free.

They serve food in large quantities, such as tuna, entire tart cherry pies (with cinnamon, clove, and crushed nuts in the filling) and a whole peppery roasted chicken. The park encourages consuming in excess.

Other food items being offered include fried tuna fish and sparkling apple juice. The juice comes with an umbrella stuck in the opening to prevent bugs from getting in. You remove it before drinking.

They have ice-cream in many flavors! We see strawberry milk in the related event.

The park had candy and popcorn in “apple core” flavor. Supposedly, this is a taste inspired by the story of the Generous Fox giving a Puppet Boy an apple core instead of a whole apple because “the puppet wished to have a core”.

There is a “Candy Road”, a street lined with shops that have caramel lollipops, chewy candy, marshmallows, cookies, chocolate crunch, and lots of other sugary treats!

Their chocolate crunch has 12 different charms thrown in.

The third most popular souvenir are pasta snacks in the shape of the Friendly Fox and Gentle Cat. The second most popular is a tin of plain cookies in the shape of the Friendly Fox and cocoa cookies in the shape of the Gentle Cat. Finally, the most popular are apple core flavored candies!

Sage's Island

Night Raven College

Pomefiore holds a welcome party for the freshmen, which includes a fancy dinner.

Scarabia regularly holds banquets, typically at Kalim's request.

Heartslabyul holds so-called "unbirthday parties" whenever it is a day that does NOT fall on a Heartslabyul student's birthday.

The dorm members of Scarabia and Heartslabyul pitch in to prepare for banquets and unbirthday parties.

Mr. S's Mystery Shop stocks food items, such as candies (which Floyd often buys), tuna cans, and ingredients for baking (this is where Deuce and Yuu pick up things for the chestnut tart in book 1). Sam also sells food items that he seems to have made himself, like the Mystery Drink (which Octavinelle eventually buys the rights to).

The school cafeteria is said to have delicious breads.

Once a month, a famous bakery from out of town serves their goods at NRC. Their stock includes items such as chocolate croissants, egg sandwiches, yakisoba bread and cream bread ("cronuts and bear claws"), roast beef sandwiches, red bean buns ("hot dog buns"), and deluxe minced cutlet sandwiches ("deluxe ham and cheese"/"grilled cheese" in the localization). They sell out fast!

The cafeteria at NRC serves food buffet style; the cafeteria is kept warm with magic from fire fairies which are supplied with dry firewood every day.

Master Chef ("Culinary Crucible") is an elective course at NRC that teaches students how to cook. It is meant to curb the expenses related to eating out and to help the boys maintain balanced diets and learn how to take care of themselves. Judges for this course are randomly selected from the students and staff (prior to this methodology, people would bribe the judges for extra credit).

While taking Master Chef, students help with preparing meals in the cafeteria in exchange for part-time pay.

The instructors for Master Chef are ghosts who were professional chefs at five-star restaurants when they were alive.

There are various locations on campus where the students go to fetch ingredients for Master Chef. This includes an on-campus farm, ranch, windmill... and even the dormitories themselves!

Octainvelle has the Mostro Lounge, described by Jade as "a meeting place for gentlemen" where fighting between dorms is prohibited. While dining there, students are expected to abide by Octavinelle's rules. It is run by the manager and founder, Azul, who made a deal with the headmaster to get the rights to open the establishment. NRC gets 10% of the revenue the Mostro Lounge makes.

The Mostro Lounge has a one-drink purchase minimum.

The Mostro Lounge also operates food stalls and/or sells food at many school events, such as the cultural festival in book 5 and the interdorm magical shift/spelldrive tournament in book 2.

It is mostly Octavinelle students who staff the Mostro Lounge, but there are occasions when outside students are brought in as extra help. Ruggie has worked there part-time, as well as Jack, Ace, Deuce, and tons of other students.

NRC opens its school gates to the local townspeople for a period leading up to Halloween; during this time, they distribute candy and other sweets (such as Sam's waffles, served with jam made from NRC's apples) to guests. There's also a party on Halloween night where lots of food is served.

The woods behind the campus have chestnuts, which the main crew collect for an apology tart to Riddle.

The Botanical Garden has some edible plants growing there. These include strawberries, which the Science Club cultivates.

Unbirthday Party Rules (related to food)

Rule 25: There must be a tea party on the 5th of every month.

Rule 29: You must not eat the Queen's tarts without her permission.

Rule 153: The only tea you may drink in the evenings is herbal tea.

Rule 186: Do not eat hamburger steak on Tuesdays.

Rule 256: You must not drink lemonade with honey past 8 pm.

Rule 271: You must get up from the table within 15 minutes after eating lunch.

Rule 339: Your post-meal tea must be lemon tea with 2 sugar cubes.

Rule 529: If you eat steak on the night of a full moon, a cat must play the violin afterwards.

Rule 562: Do not bring chestnut tarts to an unbirthday party.

Rule 648: You must brush your teeth 2 times on nights when you eat turkey.

Rule 703: Whoever comes in 2nd place in a croquet match must serve tea to the Queen (dorm leader) the next day.

If the dormouse wakes up at an unbirthday party, you are to paint its nose with jam.

Coffee is forbidden; tea must be served at all occasions except for birthdays.

According to Cater, sweets are mandatory at unbirthday parties.

Dwarves' Mine & Silent Woods

There is an abundance of wildlife in these areas; Jade often goes hiking and foraging, making note of what he finds. He uses the plants to make his own tea blends (which are sometimes added to the Mostro Lounge's menu) and the herbs, plants, and mushrooms to experiment with in cooking.

There are fish to be found at the lake, including massive catfish.

The Foothill Town

There is a port for mainly cargo ships located at the southwest part of town. It's called Crane Port! The east side has a port as well, but that one is moreso for passengers. Crane Port has been getting fewer and fewer people passing through lately (until Port Breeze Fest, in which the NRC boys run food stalls and help to revive business in the area). Group A makes churros, Group B makes waffles, Group C makes salads, Group D makes cotton candy, and Group E makes clam chowder.

A popular restaurant in the Crane Port area serves foods like french fries and burgers. Their signature menu item is a donut made from potatoes. Actually, this restaurant specializes in potato dishes!

There is a chain restaurant on the island that also has locations elsewhere, including in Ace's hometown. He mentions that there are slightly different flavors to the sauces depending on which location you go to.

The town also has other eateries that are more geared towards students, seeing as it exists on an island with two notable magic schools to the north and the south. Cater often mentions going into town to take pictures at cafes.

There is a famous patisserie there. You have to line up early in the morning before opening time to get your hands on one of their strawberry tarts (or anything, really!).

Scalding Sands

General

The Scalding Sands seems to borrow heavily from Middle Eastern cultures. For example, some of the Scalding Sands’ traditional dishes include, but are not limited to: roasted lamb, moussaka, döner kebabs, shawarma, flatbreads, potato and bean spreads, and seafood sautés.

Tea is a popular beverage; it is had at every meal and break. People can drink up to 10 cups of tea a day!

The Scalding Sands specializes in black tea. For entertaining guests, special tea leaves are used.

In the Scalding Sands, they brew their tea leaves loose and without an infuser. This makes the tea very strong and bitter. To counteract the powerful flavor, people add lots of sugar to their tea and drink it with sweets.

“Luxurious” tea is very sweet, since sugar was once very expensive (due to a shortage of it, according to the localization) and considered a luxury.

Due to the hot weather, people often toss herbs into their tea to make it more refreshing to drink.

Coffee is also popular; there are many cafes that serve coffee and tea. The Scalding Sands is known in particular for their spiced coffee, which has a very distinctive flavor. This coffee is brewed without a filter, and some cafes do “coffee divinations” (reading the shapes and patterns of the grounds and the water droplets that remain after drinking to tell the fortunes of customers).

There are a lot of unique spices in their dishes. This is especially true of banquet dishes. However, a variety of dishes are still served at these occasions.

Kalim describes the Scalding Sands as being “big on stewed stuff” like curries.

In Kalim’s hometown, people love to gather around the table and talk over a meal.

Halloween in the Scalding Sands is celebrated by feasting on a variety of dishes. The idea is that the food must be abundant so that the ghosts that return to the world of the living for the night may also have their fill.

It used to be difficult for the people of the Scalding Sands to obtain water due to the lack of rainfall, hot climate, and expansive desserts. However, Kalim’s ancestors utilized the country’s rivers to reach other countries and to trade their textiles, spices, tea leaves, and other local goods with foreign lands. It was particularly impressive at the time, as they were the first traders from the Scalding Sands to sail (back then, accurate nautical maps were not a thing). This maritime pioneering is what would make the Asim family their massive fortune.

The Asims and other merchants heavily invested in technologies and innovations to make the area more sustainable and potable water more accessible.

The waterways of the country eventually developed into canals and communities formed around them as trade hubs. The canals are also used to host ferryboats for locals and tourists to sightsee, boosting the tourism industry. This also made access to water much easier for the residents, and the water helps to cool the temperature.

Silk City

The bazaars in Silk City are where locals do their shopping for various goods and staple foods like vegetables and fish. There are also stalls with gourmet food that cater to tourists.

Camel Bazaar is named after camels, which were used to transport people, goods, and luggage before Silk City’s canals and roads came to be. There also used to be an oasis where the camels would rest and drink after long treks; this oasis became a center for commerce and eventually evolved into a marketplace. To this day, the name “Camel” has stuck, even if people use trucks, ships, and cars more than camels.

There is also Zahab (”Gold”) Market, which is popular with tourists for shopping (especially for souvenirs!) but also has swindlers and pickpockets mixed in with regular customers.

Many snacks are sold! There’s camel milk chocolate, cookies drizzled in syrup, sunflower seeds, pistachios, chickpeas, all kinds of nuts, dried fruits (including dates), jams, jellies, syrups, starfruit, dragonfruit, etc.

(Lamb) shawarma is described as meat roasted on a spit and served on baguettes or pita bread. Because grease drips off while it cooks, it is “surprisingly healthier” than one expects it to be. Shawarma is also customarily served with vegetables (tomatoes, onions, olives, jalapenos, etc.) and sauces (yogurt, garlic, chili, hummus (a paste of garlic and chickpeas), mayo basil, etc).

There is a vendor that can supply large quantities of sweet and refreshing coconut water; this is because they’re used to providing for Kalim’s extravagant and excessive tastes. They create a hole in the top and provide straws to poke in and use to drink the water. The coconut flesh inside is also edible.

There are a lot of bread stalls; bread is also another staple food, and it comes in many sizes, shapes, and textures. Small roadside bakeries have wood-fired ovens which allow them to serve bread fresh to customers.

One stand sells baguettes that are taller than many children; these “tower baguettes” are a famous Fireworks Festival treat. People say that if you eat a big one, you’ll never go hungry again! The saying comes from a story of a young man that shared bread with hungry children. It’s because of that story that baguettes are considered a good luck food that many vendors sell on holidays.

The Camel Bazaar sells an elastic ice-cream (based on a similar irl frozen Turkish confection). It is kneaded on a pole and stretched out; customers are meant to “catch” it in their cups and cones. It’s food performance art! All the stretching makes the texture very unique.

There’s a fruit stand that is only open on festival days which sells a Silk Melon sundae; the fruit is hollowed out to host ice-cream (of the same melon flavor!) and toppings which make it very photogenic.

Starfruit is usually put in salads, according to Trey.

The dragonfruit sold is recommended to be eaten with honey. You drizzle it on top of a slice and eat!

Silk City’s signature fruit is the Silk Melon. It is called that because of its silky texture and sophisticated sweetness. It can’t be found in many other countries. The man of legend that shared his bread with a starving child is said to split a melon with his friend, even though he did not have much money to spare. It’s because of this tale that people started saying if you share Silk Melon with someone, it would make your friendship or romance last forever. Now the fruit is a festival staple and considered a symbol of good fortune.

In the past, water was only used for irrigation due to its scarcity. Some gave up on farming after years of trying to produce crops and failing—but others refused to give up and cultivated the land to made it fertile, something which future generations would reap the benefits of.

The fruits and veggies sold Camel Bazaar are freshly picked and grown locally. Jamil says this is possible because the arid climate actually helps with growing crops of high quality. Produce raised with less water concentrates flavor since the final fruit will have a higher sugar content. Because of this, Silk City’s produce is prized by chefs all over Twisted Wonderland. Of course, you can get them at an affordable prize in Camel Bazaar!

Shaftlands

General

The Shaftlands are famous for its jeweled pineapples.

The Shaftlands spans a large area of land and has drastically different climates depending on the part of it you're looking at. Therefore, we can deduce that foods and customs surrounding food are very different as well.

City of Flowers/Fleur City

The city’s food culture seems to be inspired by real world Paris, or at the very least, France.

Bread is a local specialty, particularly very buttery kinds. As you walk down the streets, you can smell bread baking. The City of Flowers has 10x (or more) the variety of bread that Sage's Island offers, and has an abundance of bakeries too.

Bread-making is popular in the City of Flowers. The windmills at the edges of the city grind grains to produce fresh flour. There are also watermills powered by the Soleil River to assist with making flour.

Because wheat is plentiful in this area, some of it is also used for desserts. One such confection is financier, which is made from a combination of wheat flour, almond flour, and butter. It resembles a gold bar, so eating one is said to bring financial prosperity.

Lately, gluten-free desserts have been trendy.

A dessert that does not use wheat flour is macarons. In the City of Flowers, they are yellow and shaped like bells to honor the Bell of Salvation which oversees the community and provides magic that helps rare plants grow in the area. The filling is a ganache with dried bits of grapes and apples.

Grape juice is popular in the City of Flowers, as the fruit is another specialty. You can buy the grapes raw and eat them as is, or ask a vendor to crush it (skin still on!) into juice for you. Some buy the grapes to give as gifts!

The grapes are grown in vineyards right outside of the city, and the farmers are constantly experimenting to improve their breeds. They taste very rich, tangy, and sweet.

The City of Flowers is also known for its many specialty cheese shops. Together, bread and cheese are called the staple foods of the city, and are sometimes eaten together. One specialty cheese shop the boys visit sells baguettes topped with ham and rich melted cheese.

The city considers goats a symbol of good luck, so they are treated with care. There are many community goats (which are just as common as domesticated cats or dogs) allowed to roam freely in the city. It is said that if you treat the community goats with kindness, they will come rescue you in your time of need.

Goat milk is used in some of the specialty cheeses produced by the city. The grapes mentioned earlier are also made into fruit compotes to go with the cheeses.

Harveston

This village has many dishes that borrow from a mixture of irl Nordic cultures. There’s also an emphasis on having hometown pride and the community itself being very close.

As expected, many of Harveston's dishes feature apples: apple pie, grilled and roasted apples, apple salad, apple pound cakes, etc.

Epel's family has an apple orchard that has been in the family for generations. They grow different kinds of apples throughout the year. Many of his neighbors are older people who also raise produce, and they help each other out when they're short on hands. The community is very tightly knit because of this, and treat each other like extended family.

Harvest season (autumn) is the busiest time of year; once that's over, everyone comes together to have a party. It's a potluck style celebration where everyone brings a homemade dish or homegrown food to share.

Harveston preserves its produce (such as apples and wild greens) by pickling them and serving them in salads. The bright colors are maintained by boiling the produce in a copper pot, which stabilizes the pigments. It's wisdom passed down from generation to generation.

There is also pickled herring, traditionally eaten on bread. Brining preserves the fish while it is still raw and doesn't dry it up. It's ready to eat right out of a jar, no cooking required.

The local stew is not very thick. It tastes sweet because of the added vegetables and savory because of the tender meat in it. There is also a salmon broth sprinkled with herbs which is described as "melty".

Fruits and vegetables can be packed in snow to keep them preserved. This method is called “snow aging” and prevents evaporation. In the old days, the villagers would build whole farms out of snow. In modern day, they just shovel the snow into a barn. This creates a natural fridge that will naturally thaw in the summers. Snow aging in this manner makes the produce sweeter and more nutritious.

The next town over is a three-hour bike ride. The roadside has many apple trees you can enjoy during the trip.

You can easily pick apples off the branch and eat them fresh! Farmers can snack on apples while picking.

Harveston is surrounded by tall mountains that are snow-capped all year, the most famous one being Mt. Moln. The greenery around Harveston is due to the spring water irrigation which runs down from Mt. Moln.

Most of Harveston’s land is used for orchards, and apples are their main produce. They also make many products using those apples like chips, rice crackers, and cookies.

Fall apples are sweeter, while winter ones are more sour. Winter apples are unique to Harveston.

Harveston also grows a lot of garlic.

Harveston farming is done the old fashioned way, as the predominantly older population distrusts chemical fertilizers and biotechnology.

Some villagers like the mayor and Marja (Epel’s grandma) adjust their accent to communicate with people from outside the village. Marja says she switches up when she’s selling goods in another town, since it can be tricky for non-Harveston locals to understand.

Hand washing before eating is a must! They take the act very seriously in Harveston. Stories say the miners of the past used to get very sick due to poor hygiene, but their health improved drastically once they started washing regularly with soap and water. It was difficult for them to get treatment because the town is so remote and far from hospitals or doctors, so the best thing is stressing prevention. This why the townspeople are sticklers about hand washing now.

To wash the Harveston way, you plunge your hands into ice cold water and make it all foamy with soap. You also scoop the water up and splash your face as well (as the miners from the past would also do this).

Apple Square is the main festival venue; it has many vendor stalls in an area called Kokko (which means “Bonfire”) Market. The Sledathon is the most lucrative time of year for the townsfolk.

Many of their products are made locally by the older folks in town. The goods aren’t trendy or very fancy, but they’re high-quality and made with Harveston pride.

The stalls give apple juice, apple tea (which has fruit pieces floating in it), and apple ginger tea for free. The apple juice is one of Harveston’s most popular products.

Giant five-meter apple pies are made for the Sledathon. They’re considered one of the main attractions, and you can get a slice from them free of charge.

There are other stalls that sell regular apple pie too. Every vendor has their own style, from the apples used to the crust and baking technique.

There are other kinds of fruit pies for sale, but apples are the most popular and “special” ones. The Beautiful Queen had a preference for apple pies, so the townspeople do too.

Harveston apple pies have such an entrancing flavor that the nearest city has stores that stock them. Critics say that Harveston apple pies make anyone drool and that the best way to convince someone to do you a favor is to gift one.

Harveston holds an apple competition to find the reddest apple. This is because the Beautiful Queen prized beautifully red apples. In the past, the townspeople would offer the reddest apple from the season’s harvest to the Beautiful Queen. Over time, it evolved into the apple competition.

Kokko Market makes pancake balls from a flour batter and top it with jam. It’s prepared in a pan and with methods similar to takoyaki, coming out crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.

Pancakes also come in a square form. In Harveston, pancakes are baked in the oven instead of on the stove. Some people cook pancakes in the fireplace too; this makes them tender, thick, and pudding-like.

There are many grains used for bread: sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, oats, flax seeds, sesame seeds, rye, wheat...

Barbeque is served for large gatherings and celebrations.

Cooking tends to be done in the fireplace instead of on a stove, especially in the case for stews. It keeps the room warm in winter while the food cooks.

Harveston has a bean and fruit soup. Most other places serve it cold, but those in Harveston sometimes enjoy it warm. It’s a thick consistency and the fruit in it has been dried.

When setting the dining table, people in Harveston leave one extra plate out. This tradition comes from a story about a traveler visiting a family’s house and being surprised by the messy state of it. The traveler cleaned the house and cooked a nice meal for the family. From this story came the belief that as long as you leave a plate at your table, you’ll never want for food or go hungry.

Sandwich cakes are common party centerpieces. They are made with bread and vegetables, topped with shrimp, deviled eggs, olives, apples, and salmon slides arranged in a rose shape. The frosting on it is made from mayonnaise and sour cream, making sandwich cakes more salad than dessert.

They sell cherries and other berries by volume. Also sold are vegetables and juice, freshly squeezed.

Because Harveston is located in a mountainous region, there are rare varieties of mushrooms to be found. These can be served in a traditional mushroom soup, which can be finicky to prepare (so usually only experts make it). Mushrooms are also cooked in butter and served in sandwiches.

Mushrooms, herbs, and flowers are foraged from the nature (both public mountains and private woods). Locals usually don’t buy plants that are wild when they can pick it themselves. Instead, they’re sold to tourists.

Good foraging spots on Moln Mountain are kept secret so people don’t overharvest. The mountains are dangerous in winter, so foraging has to be done in spring or summer.

Harveston brines raw fish like salmon in a mixture of salt, sugar, pepper, and fill. In the old days, brined salmon was buried in sand to let it ferment.

Fish is dried to preserve it and to enhance the flavor. Before there were proper roads, it was hard to bring in food for the winter, so Harveston relied on foods preserved in the spring. They last for a long time and have many uses (such as in soup stock or to eat straight up). To this day, preserved meats and vegetables are a local specialty and new methods such as roasting have been developed for preservation.

Sunset Savanna

General

The food here appears to be inspired by African cultures of the real world.

There is floral cacao in the Sunset Savanna. It bears fruit only once every 10 years.

Gummy bugs are popular and a Halloween staple.

The people of the Sunset Savanna value living in harmony with nature and will go out of their way to adapt to the land (due to the high population of beastmen, who have animal ancestors). Because of this, they oppose change that could damage the environment. There are some parts of this arid country that still rely on wells for their drinking water needs. They also hold the Tamashina-Mina festival every year to pray for rain.

Sautéed mutton is a common meal in this country. Leona brags that the Sunset Savanna is top notch when it comes to cooking meats.

The bananas of the Sunset Savanna are starchy and resemble potatoes (similar to plantains). They are steamed and served as a staple food. They’re faintly sweet and are actually very light and easy to digest.

It’s easier to grow fruit instead of wheat and rice in their climate.

Rice crepes, another staple, are served with a stew that you pour over it. The stew comes in variants such as a white fish stew simmered in tomato sauce, spinach and potato stew, beef stew, etc. There are also many side dishes you can enjoy with the crepes. The crepes aren’t meant to be eaten alone, as they taste too sour solo.

The phrase “that’s the Circle of Life” is a proverb that has been around for ages. The strong eat the weak, then when the strong die, their bodies become nutrients for the grass which feeds the next generation of prey animals. Life comes “full circle”, and the proverb indicates this delicate balance.

The Sunset Savanna is famous for its coffee. It tastes spicy, not bitter, because the custom is to add spices to the drink.

Food prep performances seem to be common for the wealthy; Leona mentions seeing big fish filleted before being served.

Yogurt is considered a “healthy dairy” and is typically served for breakfast.

Elephant Graveyard

The Elephant Graveyard, once considered a scary and lawless place (the “shadow lands” which were not a part of the original kingdom), has become a tourist destination.

They are known for selling vanilla cookies shaped like bones.

The hot springs at the Elephant Graveyard have kettles hidden by the steam. The hot water vapor cooks onsen tamago (a traditionally Japanese irl dish) and puddings. It imparts a slightly salty and sulfurous flavor and smell to the foods.

Sunrise City

The Raintree Market is a bazaar that features many foods and drinks.

Many snacks sold in the marketplaces are local specialties, so they’re popular as souvenirs.

Wild and cultivated hibiscus flowers are boiled with sugar to produce a red juice. There is also a white juice, which is made using wild baobab (which is full of nutrients; people call it a beauty elixir you can drink). A legends says that, long ago, members of the royal family would have their foreheads painted with baobab juice when they were born. That’s how the fruit became a local specialty.

In the original tale, the juice for marking foreheads was red. It seems that, over time, the color was changed to white by word of mouth, with the latter description fitting more with the white fruit of the baobab. Because of this change, more and more stalls have been selling a mixture of hibiscus juice and baobab juice.

The baobab fruit is also used to make a particular sour candy. The candy is dyed with res food coloring and is then dusted with sugar and chili powder. It’s described as having a “mature” flavor.

Mangoes are a local specialty! Vendors will happily cut open the fruit for you to enjoy on the spot.

Other notable fruits for sale are tart passionfruit and creamy but smelly jackfruit. The latter is considered the largest fruit in Twisted Wonderland and grows on its tree’s trunks.

The Sunset Villa is a luxurious hotel that hosts VIPs and important guests of the state. They offer a large selection of drinks (fruit juice, black tea, coffee…) and serve whole slabs of steak in front of you before serving at luxurious barbecues. After dinners, they have dance performances.

There is an enormous sausage that’s wrapped up in a coil. If unwound, it’s a meter long. It’s meant to be cut with scissors before eating. The sausage’s herbs make it taste refreshing, and its meat is finely grounded to allow its flavors to come through.

Seafood is fresh and cheap, provided you live by the sea or in a coastal region like Dawn City. In more inland areas, seafood is considered a luxury.

Their seafood tends to be cooked with strong spices.

Ruggie’s yet-to-be-named hometown

Because the residents are poor, their food is usually made from collected scraps (such as pumpkin pie made predominantly from the pulpy parts) or prepared with substitutions and without extra flourishes. For example, Ruggie’s grandma prepares homemade donuts for his birthday but they couldn't afford fancy toppings (until Ruggie started working to bring in extra income).

It’s implied that there were instances when Ruggie (and presumably others from his hometown) had to eat rotten food or out of trash cans to get by.

Queendom of Roses

General

There is reference to some irl UK foods in this region, such as the jacket potato.

The Queendom of Roses is famous for its rose jelly rolls. Roses are the flower the country is best known for, of course, but they also have lavender, rosemary, sweet violet, foxglove, bluebells, and many berries.

People from this country eat flowers (which are specifically grown for eating). Flowers are also used for dried flower bookmarks? potpourri, etc.

The Queendom has a good selection of breads.

Apparently, the Queendom also has a strong “tea culture”.

People in the Queendom of Roses eat a lot of different pastries (pies, tarts, quiches, croissants, etc). Croissant donuts in particular have been pretty trendy lately. They’re donuts made with croissant batter, so they come out super flaky.

Potatoes are a staple food.

Jacket potatoes are common at festivals; they are potatoes baked with the skin (ie “jacket”) still on. The standard topping for them is baked beans, but you can also have tuna mayo corn, bean chili, sour cream, avocado, and other things.

Anyone that grew up in the Queendom of Roses has probably done the “cookie smash” at least once as a kid. (More info on this under the “Clock Town” section!)

Riddle and Trey's yet-to-be-named hometown

Trey's family owns a bakery (called "Patisserie Clover" according to the TWST manga). It seems to be a small "mom and pops" shop with no particular notoriety. However, the manga implies that it was the Clover bakery where Riddle saw the strawberry tarts and became entranced by them. This is also where Riddle would later try his first strawberry tart.

In Riddle and Trey's hometown, people enjoy apple bobbing during the Halloween season.

Before interview: Riddle was worried whether they can start on time and was relieved when Vil showed up and Vil was pretty smug about it lmao

There is a farm not too far from where Riddle lives; it is famous for its ice-cream buns. There is also a cafe located on the farm! It opened shortly after Riddle entered NRC and is so popular that it’s spoken about in magazines and tourists go there just to sample their sweets.

Clock Town

The people of Clock Town value time and punctuality due to the town's connection to the White Rabbit, who was always in a hurry. Many of the foods sold at stalls are things that are easy to hold and eat while walking, such as sliced sandwiches.

The Clock Town Folk Museum mentions a girl that appears in the story of the White Rabbit. She ate cookies that made her grow large; the museum recreates this experiment by projecting a large image of guests that eat cookies they have set out.

The Clock Town Folk Museum also runs a bugle-playing contest. The participation prize is a carrot cookie.

Clock Town sells a brand of potato chips with the White Rabbit logo on them.

The town also sells cookies iced to look like a pocket watch. The icing is made from a mixture of sugar and egg whites (“royal icing”) which hardens considerably. You’re meant to crush the cookie with a hammer to make it into smaller pieces, making it easier to eat. It’s based on the story of the White Rabbit breaking his pocket watch. Others tried to help him fix it by hitting it with a hammer, but it didn’t help at all, only damaged it more!

A lot of people enjoy growing plants, gardening, and horticulture, including stuff that can be eaten like herbs.

Sausage rolls are served in pairs to resemble bunny ears; the container they come in resembles the White Rabbit. They’re sausages wrapped in a pie crust/puff pastry dough, and come in cheese and a spicy sausage variant for the White Rabbit Festival.

There are large mushrooms that grow in Clock Town; eating one side will turn you large, eating the other side will turn you small. The girl in the story of the White Rabbit has eaten these strange mushrooms before. These mushrooms are said to be enchanted and only work in a particular area; its effects last for ~1 minute after eating.

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