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macfrog · 4 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst 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: 9.2k

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

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

#*hits post*#*throws laptop from bridge*#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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lesbianonna · 2 years

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🥴🥴🥴

#my mom’s views on abortion and sterilization used to be wishy washy but now they’re um.#she thinks someone we know who had an abortion is fucked in the head because she never had kids #no comment lol #and every woman wants children so unless you’ve had a child you shouldn’t be able to get sterilized #hmmm #i told her that should be your own choice and that taking that choice away from a woman is not the way to go #and she just went on and on and about how women will change their minds and how children are the best thing to happen to you #as if mothers don’t all the time regret their children #she treats us all the time like she regrets us and doesn’t even notice lmaknxznjz #it’s such a warped view to have #i personally think it’s something to sit on too but to take that away from women their CHOICE?#😶😶😶

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drewsbuzzcut · 3 months

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Standing On The Sun And I Don’t Feel A Thing

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

warnings: hospitals, miscarriages, mentions pain, nausea, and blood, mentions abortion, mentions panic attacks, grief, anger, some angst, and mat being kind of mean, also mentions trying for a baby and I think that’s all (pls let me know if I missed any)

this takes place september 2030

“Where are the kids?” You ask, voice hoarse and eyes puffy.

“Shhh shhh. The kids are with Bev. Baby, what happened? I got a call from the hospital and I went straight to drop the kids off, thank god Beverly was home,” Mat takes a seat next to the side of the hospital bed. He brings your hand into his and you can tell he’s been crying.

“I-“ you start but stop as you start coughing.

“You need some water,” he presses the call button that alerts the nurse.

After a few sips of water, you close your eyes to try to gather your thoughts about all that you could remember.

“This morning, after I got to the photo shoot, I started feeling nauseous and my lower back was in a lot of pain. I just thought I was about to start my period. I don’t really remember anything after that. I think I remember seeing blood and then everyone started freaking out. Eventually everything went black,” you recall the foggy events that led you here.

“Do you know what happened? Did the doctor come to talk to you?” He asks but tries to hide his frantic state.

“I just woke up. I’m still in pain. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared, Maty,” you grip his hand really tight, bringing his palm up to your cheek for warmth and comfort.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. I love you. I’m here and you’re going to be okay,” he whispers against your forehead, willing his tears to go away.

A knock sounds on the door and Mat tells them that they can come in. The look on the doctor’s face makes you go pale.

“Is everything okay? Am I okay?” You ask warily.

“It’s nothing too serious, but I regret to inform you that you’re miscarrying at the moment,” the words fade out, your head fuzzy and heart pounding.

“I’m sorry what?” Mat says in shock.

You try to take deep breaths but everything feels shallow.

“Mrs. Barzal, you’re going through a miscarriage which is why you are experiencing severe pain and were bleeding earlier. We do, however, want to perform an ultrasound to confirm,” the doctor says in an eerie tone.

Tears spring to your eyes and you shake your head. This cannot be happening. The nausea returns and twists at your abdomen.

“That’s not possible,” you whisper.

“It’s what your blood test is telling us. We’re going to take you to a different room for your ultrasound,” the doctor says along with some other information before they leave the room.

“Oh my god,” you cover your face with your hands and throw your head back.

“I love you,” Mat kisses your forehead.

“This can’t be happening,” is the only thing you say.

An hour later it’s confirmed that your body is going through a miscarriage, and you feel like everything beneath your feet has been taken from you. You feel so empty and you didn’t even know you were pregnant.

You close your eyes and force yourself to fall asleep, but even then your mind still reels at the events of the day. Not even Mat’s hesitant touch can help you feel better.

“Y/n, wake up,” you hear Mat whisper softly in your ear a couple hours later.

You blink your eyes, the blinding light of the room making your head hurt.

“The doctor said that you will be discharged in about an hour,” he informs you, but you honestly just hear static.

Everything from that point on is a blur of unshed tears and horrific thoughts. The shrill sound of your babies wanting to be in your arms when you get home momentarily distracts you, but that emptiness lingers. You try to distract yourself with being a mom and setting up dates with your close friends. You move throughout the house, cleaning every surface over and over again to keep you sane. You go through about 4 wooden pencils as you write and write until you’re snapping each pencil in half with your strong grip. You take extra long showers to wash away each trace of grief that may be left on your body.

After a week of feeling like a robot, you start to feel every emotion you’ve been trying to push down come back up. It doesn’t help that Mat pulled himself away from you. You don’t remember the last time you had a full conversation that didn’t revolve around your kids or random topics that warranted a 30 second talk. You cancel all plans and lock yourself in the guest bedroom.

The empty feeling spreads from your stomach all over your entire body. How could you not know you were pregnant? Why wasn’t your body strong enough to keep them alive? Why did you feel so alone despite Mat being a father and a mother all while he’s trying to help you?

You sob your eyes out and twist in agony, because each time you feel like you might be okay, you’re reminded that your body failed you. No one prepares you for what it feels like to lose something you didn’t even know you could lose. You hate yourself for feeling this way, because it’s selfish when you already have kids and a husband. A family that’s already felt complete, but now it just feels broken.

It takes several phone calls to your therapist before you feel like you can function without your heart aching every second. You realized that you need your babies’ hugs and kisses. You needed to feel some kind of love.

You attempt to put back all of your broken pieces by playing with your children or napping with them. Simply just being around them puts a smile on your face. You start to feel yourself come around more. You start hanging out with friends again and laughing and feeling anything but sadness. You try to be more positive in situations you’d automatically become upset with.

The only thing that’s keeping you down is Mat. He’s become really good at being just a roommate. He’ll work with you when it comes to the kids, but other than that the space between you both feels like miles rather than inches. You’ve let him keep to himself, because you’re not sure how he’s coping with what happened- especially because you’ve locked yourself away for the past week or so.

Eventually you get tired of his silence and pressure him into talking to you.

“What’s going on?” You ask one night when he’s just getting out of the shower.

“What are you talking about?”

You stay silent for a minute and just watch him. His face conveys nonchalance, but his body is rigid.

“You know what I’m talking about, babe. Why have you been so distant with me? Is it because I’ve been sad? I’m better now and even if I wasn’t, you can still talk to me,” you say, walking up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

His body stiffens and he slowly moves away from your touch.

That really hurts.

“It’s not about that, Y/n. Believe it or not, I’m not feeling this way because you were or are sad,” he blurts out.

He continues to move around the room, getting dressed and putting on lotion.

“Okay. So what’s wrong? Why are you being pissy with me?”

“Like you don’t know,” he says.

“Obviously I don’t. Why do you think I’m asking?” He’s really starting to make you mad.

“How could you not tell me?” He finally asks.

“Not tell you what? I’m so confused right now,” you tug on your hair and shut your eyes, trying to come up with the missing details.

“How could you not tell me that you were pregnant? I had to find out by seeing you in the hospital because you were having a miscarriage,” he just about shouts and it makes you flinch.

“I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I was just as in the dark as you were. I would’ve told you if I was pregnant. I can’t believe you’d think that I’d keep something like that from you,” you explain with your voice and head low.

“Shit. I- I’m sorry. I just assumed that you knew and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I love you,” he gathers you in his arms and just holds you.

“I’m sorry I pushed everyone away. I just needed some time to think about things and to be sad,” you say through tears.

“It’s okay. I love you,” he kisses your temple.

“I love you.”

Later that night you’re both in bed, cuddling and basking in the comfortable silence.

“Mat?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think you should get snipped,” you voice your most recent thought.

“What?” He questions because he’s not sure if he’s hearing things.

“I really think you should get a vasectomy,” you reiterate.

“Wait… why?”

You adjust in his grip so you can fully face him. Your hand goes to rest on his cheek and you thumb at his skin.

“I think I’m done with having babies. We have 3 and I think that’s enough,” you say.

“No. That’s not what I meant. I mean why do I have to be the one to get the procedure done?”

“Well why not?” You ask back.

“I can’t get that because I have to be sharp for hockey. I can’t spend weeks just lazing around during a recovery period, you know that. You should get your tubes tied,” he explains and you let out a scoff.

You move away from him and get off the bed in favor of pacing around the room.

“I’ve held each of our babies inside of me for 9 months. I breastfed all of them. I just had a miscarriage for a baby I didn’t even know existed. My body is constantly changing. That’s not always an ideal situation for my career, especially because my body is an important aspect of my job. Hell, I’m practically art! So, no, I’m not going to be the one to get my tubes tied,” you rant, eyes squinted and a frown wrinkling your forehead.

“I thought that’s why you started taking classes at Pratt, so modeling wouldn’t be the only thing you have going for you?” He replies, subtly putting words in your mouth.

Your every feature turns down in a sad and disappointed pout. You honestly didn’t see this conversation going in this direction. The whiplash is unreal.

“That’s not what I was aiming for when I decided to take some classes. You’re being a real ass right now,” you bite.

“I’m being an ass? What about you? You just assumed that I don’t want any more kids. You know, I want you to at least want one of them, because if you haven’t noticed you really didn’t want either of them,” he spits out, face red as a tomato.

That makes you cry. That assumption that you never wanted your kids makes you die on the inside.

“At first, you wanted to get an abortion with Nolan,” he says when you stay silent.

You cross your arms over your chest and cock up an eyebrow, daring him to continue.

“You didn’t really want Angel. I remember you saying that you didn’t want any more kids after Nolan,” he adds.

You glare at him in return.

“Lastly, you said you didn’t really like the timing of Sloane and I can’t blame you, because you went and broke up with me and then hid it from me. No wonder I thought you hid this one, too,” Mat rips into you, voice laced with venom.

“You listen to me, Mathew Barzal, if I really didn’t want to have our kids, I wouldn’t have had them. Believe me when I say that. Of course I wanted our kids. Was I scared out of my mind each pregnancy? Yes! Would I take them back? Hell no. I love our babies, so for you to say that really sucks,” you respond, wiping away your tears.

He just shakes his head in return.

“I’m scared of pregnancy. I just lost a baby and you expect me to want to try for another one? I don’t know if I can do that for you, for us,” you correct your last couple of words before he can turn them into something else.

He watches you, staying silent as you fall apart at his feet.

“Is this going to be the end of us?” You ask.

“Why is it always a breakup with you? Is that what you really want? Deep down, do you really not want to be with me?” He accuses.

“No! I just feel like you don’t love me, so I’m not going to beg you to stay if that’s not what you want. I can’t even give you a baby, so there’s that,” you admit.

“I lost the baby, too,” Mat points out.

“I know that, Mathew. I know, but you don’t understand what it’s like as a mother to go through a loss like that. My body should be capable of growing a life. Then you go and say that I didn’t even want my kids. You don’t know what it feels like to feel so utterly empty and alone. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know that they existed, because as a mother, I should’ve known,” you whisper as your voice starts to become strained.

You feel your chest start to cave in on you and the lack of support makes your knees buckle. You go straight to the floor, tucking your knees into your chest for some kind of stability. You’ve never seen Mat so upset. You’ve never been on the receiving end of it. Part of you is mad at him for the way he’s talking to you, but another part of you understands. This whole miscarriage has turned your world upside down. You’d be naive to think that it wouldn’t affect him too.

“Baby, don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault. I love you, always. I promise it’s going to be okay,” he wraps you in his arms and squeezes you to his chest. He beats himself up for the way his words caused you to crumble. Seeing you break after already being broken down snaps him out of his anger. His word vomit just spewed out, but maybe it was a good thing because everything was out on the table.

You don’t blame him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

He doesn’t know it, but the beat of his heart does wonders to calm you down before you can have a panic attack.

“Do you hate me?” You lock your hands behind his neck, desperate to have him pressed to you in any way possible.

“Never. I’m sorry I made you feel like I did. I swear I would never hate you,” he rubs your back.

“You said I didn’t want our babies,” you get out through the remnants of your cries.

“Do you really feel that way? Be honest,” you speak again.

“Part of me used to feel that way, but every time I see you with our babies, I see how much you love them. You’re the best mama bear to our little loves. I wouldn’t have had kids with you, if I felt certain that you didn’t want them. I was just being an asshole,” he whispers into your temple.

You sniffle at his response, feeling another bout of tears ready to fall because you never knew he felt that way.

“Are you sad about the miscarriage?” You need his feelings to be transparent.

“Yeah. A lot more than I thought I would be. I’m also angry, because you shouldn’t have had to go through that. I should’ve known you were pregnant, maybe things would be different,” he answers honestly.

“It’s not your fault either. This is just a really sucky thing,” you try to comfort him, but you can see the tears in his eyes and the way his bottom lip wobbles.

“I’m sorry for being mean. I can’t take it back, but just know that I love you so much,” he finally cries.

You pull him closer, hand caressing his neck and back and you kiss his cheeks.

“We’ll work through it. We always do. Do you really want another baby?” You look into his eyes.

“I do. One more baby barzal, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to because I made you feel bad about an insecurity I have,” he admits, thumb wiping away your tears. His forehead leans against yours and for the first time in a couple of weeks, you feel whole.

“Insecurity?” It’s the first you’re ever hearing about it and it shocks you to your core. For as long as you’ve known Mat he’s always been the secure and stable one.

“I sometimes thought you were just having kids to please me and not because you were ready to have them. I guess I was feeling insecure about our age gap. I finally got somewhat of an understanding of what you used to feel like,” he explains and you feel guilty for never realizing.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? I could’ve soothed your worries a long time ago. Like I said, I had our babies because I wanted to.”

“I thought I could get away with it, but I guess it just bubbled up until I couldn't hold it in anymore. I promise to come to you whenever I get an insecurity, or just any little problem really. You’re my wife, I need you all the time,” he pulls you in for a kiss. You try to kiss every single one of his worries away.

“I would like to purposely try to make a baby, but I don’t know when I’ll be ready. Just have some patience with me,” you say into his mouth.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to pressure you into having another baby if that’s not something you want to do.”

“Mat, baby, you’re not pressuring me into anything. I’ve been having some baby fever lately. Miss Sloane is getting older, so it’d be nice to have another baby,” you assure him.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready,” he says, pulling you into a kiss.

“I love you. We’re going to get through this,” you promise him. And you will,, no doubt about it.

Being riddled with grief and guilt- that can only come from the way you both acted towards each other- will make you both stronger in the end. Stronger as individuals, as a couple, and as parents. You’re just glad you’re going through it all with your husband by your side. It’s Mathew or no one, and it’s safe to say that he feels the same way.

a/n: Looks like mat and model!reader have some therapy and lots of talking to do before they fix everything. As always, hope y’all enjoy!

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal angst #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses

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55sturn · 2 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ SWALLOWIN’ MY PRIDE

↳ series masterlist!

↳ summary: in which chris is forced to swallow his pride as he comes to terms with the new that y/n has shared, realizing it’s not just her fault. however when he mentions the alternatives, he fails to see how much it hurts his girlfriend.

↳ pairings: boston bruins player!chris sturniolo x fem!reader!

↳ warnings: swearing, angst, chris not wanting a kid, verbal arguments, big talks about abortions and giving the kid up for adoption, mentions and descriptions of vomiting, a loooot of angst tbh.

↳ important things to note: this is a heavy chapter so please keep that in mind if you choose to keep reading, i’ve done my part and have warned you about what this chapter entails so please do yours and close out of this fic if you cannot handle those topics. i am not your mother i cannot stop you, but if you choose to keep going despite being uncomfortable with the things i’ve warned you about, you are not allowed to get upset with anyone but yourself. enjoy<3

THIRD PERSON POV

chris was left utterly speechless as he stared at the thin plastic stick in his hand. the only thing running through his mind, was “what am i going to do? i just signed the contract today?” he felt guilty being so absorbed in his doubts about his career but it was something he had worked for his entire life. he knew his concerns were selfish, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop worrying about them.

the words “we’re pregnant, chris.” rang in his ears like a bell chiming, he felt his breath get stuck in his throat and he wasn’t able to breathe. he quickly shifted y/n off his lap so he could begin pacing, he held his head in his hands as his skates clunked against the padded locker room floor.

“what the fuck are we going to do y/n?” chris spits, his voice broken and unsteady as he looks at his girlfriend, her eyes red with unshed tears as she shook her head softly and shrugged.

“i don’t know chris.”

“why weren’t you careful?” chris exclaims, unintentionally putting all the blame on her as her head snaps up, her brows furrowed tightly as she breathes out a listless laugh.

“how is this all my fault?”

“i’m not saying it’s your fault. but why didn’t you just get an abortion?”

“in case you forgot what you were taught in fifth grade health class, it takes two people to make a baby, chris. you were the one that wanted to hit it raw and you promised to pull out but clearly you didn’t. and i didn’t want to abort it without your input because this child is half of you, too. and i would not be able to sit through that alone!“ she scoffs, tears dripping down her cheeks as she stares up at him, guilt and regret chipping away at the slight glimmer of hope that chris would be okay with it that she held.

“i just signed a good contract baby, i can’t miss my games for this shit.” chris sighs, his heart rate slowing down, but his mind was still racing, leaving him blind to the internal battle his girlfriend was facing.

he felt sick, he had everything mapped out for the next five years and this baby completely threw a wrench in everything that he had meticulously planned. there was no way a baby this early in his career would look good, it’d make him look reckless and uncaring about his job.

“do you not think i’ve been thinking about that, chris? that’s the only thing i’ve been thinking about since i found out or even had the slightest idea i was pregnant, i have been terrified of derailing the life plans you’ve set up for yourself and i don’t know what the fuck to do but what i do know, is that we’re pregnant and we have to make a decision about this. so until you’ve processed this, you can stay with one of your brother’s, i will be waiting at home.” y/n replies, her voice gradually getting quieter and breaking even more as she finishes. wiping her tears, she quickly exists the room, the need to vomit overcoming her.

her mind wouldn’t stop racing. it brought every possible scenario to the surface and she was beyond scared. what was she going to do? chris sure as hell didn’t seem to want the baby, and she thought she didn’t either but talking about it to chris had her realizing that she wants a family more than anything.

as she knelt in front of the toilet , she couldn’t help but laugh internally. finding out you’re expecting a child was supposed to be a joyous and happy time. finding out that you’re carrying a life that is half of yourself and the person you’re in love with, the person you’re fully committed to for life, was supposed to have you feeling over the moon. and instead, it had y/n’s stomach twisting with guilt, regret, heartache, and distress.

ash she wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet, she sat on the edge of it, letting her tears fall as she let the feelings of hopelessness and loss fully consume her heart. would she really see this pregnancy to term if chris didn’t want anything to do with her and the baby? if she did, would she let chris back into her life when he decides he wants a family? or would he seek a family somewhere else?

“how the fuck am i going to survive this without him?” she whispered to herself, quickly exiting the public washroom and making a beeline for the front entrance.

chris on the other hand, was stoic as stared at the wall opposite of him, the thin plastic stick beside him taunting him and his mind, almost as if it was telling him that he was acting selfishly. instead of comforting his girlfriend, who was as equally terrified of their recent news as chris, if not more? he blamed her. he yelled at her.

he callously told her to abort their baby to be. to get rid of the life growing inside her as if it meant nothing. as if it wasn’t the product of two people that loved each other deeply. even if it wasn’t planned or considered, that child to be was still the result of chris and y/n’s love. of the fact that they held each other so closely that they made love without any preventative measures. but chris couldn’t look at it that way, he didn’t want to.

his focus was on his career, hockey was everything to him. it made him everything he is. but was hockey really the only thing that mattered to chris? as he mulled over the answer, images of y/n sobbing as she held the freshly positive test, of her sobbing and scared in front of him waiting for him to pull her into his arms in the middle of that locker room flash through his mind. he felt guilty, he hadn’t even hugged her as she sobbed, he so badly wishes he could rewind the clock a few minutes so he could react differently but he couldn’t.

he knew he wanted a family at some point in his life, but now? it was so early. he wanted to bask in all the glory of being the newest and youngest star on the bruins without the responsibilities of his personal life hanging over his head. but that wasn’t possible.

as his team made their way down the hall, chris shoved the test into the side pocket of his hockey bag and plastered a fake smile on his face. the team cheered and hollered as they had won the game. chris joined in on the festivities, briefly forgetting the decision he had to make as the team got dressed in their suits and dress clothes, deciding to hit the bar in the lounge above the rink nd celebrate their win and landing bracket in the playoffs.

y/n was in the complete opposite state, she sat at the table, the meal she had prepped hours ago as soon as she got home after leaving the game early sat on the table in front of her. it had grown cold and stale as she tried to bring the urge to eat to life but she couldn’t bear the thought of choking back her food. she hated eating without chris. she knew he wasn’t going to join her after she told him to stay with one his brothers, but out of pure muscle memory she made a plate for him and it sat across the table from her, taunting her, as if to say “this is what your future will look like if chris decides he doesn’t want the baby.” and it broke her heart into a million shards.

could she really handle a life without him? they’ve been together for so long as it is. was it worth it to go through everything that they have already, just for a child to tear them apart? she didn’t know the answer to that and she didn’t want to. she hoped that somehow, chris’ mind would change and he would have this great epiphany and realize he wants this, the family life with y/n.

she knew how important this spot on the bruins’ team was to chris, she knew that more than anybody else. but was it more important than a life with the woman he called his soulmate? was his career more important to him than his relationship?

y/n, truthfully, had began to believe it was. he would call off dates and anniversary dinners to go hang out with the team, he would come home late the nights he promised to be home early. he put so much of their time together on the back burner, and maybe this child was the wake-up call she needed. maybe she wasn’t cut out for the life of dating a superstar hockey player.

sighing, she cleared the plates off, putting the leftovers in an air-tight container and leaving them for her or, hopefully, chris to eat another day. she quickly loaded the dishwasher and started it before cleaning the rest of the kitchen. as she had finished, she flicked off the main kitchen light, leaving the light above the stove on so that when chris came home, if he had made up his mind yet, he wouldn’t be surrounded by complete darkness. but she knew in the back of her mind, chris coming home tonight was just wishful thinking.

as she laid in bed, she scrolled through instagram, chris’ story updates catching her eye. pressing down on his profile circle surrounded by a pinkish purple ring, she was met with the sight of chris and john shot gunning beer in their suits, leaving her slightly hurt that instead of talking about things with her or his brothers he chose to party with his team. she knew that making an appearance at the after parties was important, she had just hoped their situation was more important. but refusing to let herself dwell on what she meant to chris, she rolled over and willed herself to sleep.

it had been a few days since her confession to chris and she had yet to hear even just a single word from him. and the silence was killing her. after her doctors appointment, which confirmed that she was in fact two months along, she had received texts of congratulations and more from his family so she assumed he had said something and maybe he wasn’t completely ashamed of what was happening, but she had a gnawing feeling of doubt in her stomach telling her that wasn’t the case.

“matt i don’t know what to think.” chris sighed, looking to his more level-headed brother for advice in this situation.

“well chris, do you really want her to abort it? like can you live with the fact that you’re putting her through that, you know that she’s completely all for it, but it’s different when it’s the one going through it. so would you be able to live with the fact that you’re pushing her to take away this chance, both of yours and hers, at a family right now?”

“well when you word it that way-“

“and who’s to say that you won’t be looking at having a family the same way down the line if, let’s say, she aborts the baby now and this entire thing happens again? would you put her through it twice? when you could just as easily implement all the later plans with your career that included a family into your plans for now. it would be much easier to maneuver things around right because the ink on your contract has barely dried yet. you do it later down the line and shit could go up in flames. but if you’re still dead set on pushing her to an abortion, by all means do it. it’s up to you man but from the way you’ve talk about it, y/n wants to have a family so what you’re doing is most likely killing her, and if you pushing her to do this wrecks your relationship, you won’t find another girl to love you the way she does. and i know you didn’t actually ask for it, but my opinion is that you’re being a fucking idiot. you and i both know that all you’ve wanted with y/n is to raise a family. you talked about your future kids’ names with her two months into the start of your relationship. so i’m not sure why you’re doing all this shit, chris.” matt rambled, his words cutting directly into the flesh of chris’ heart, he knew matt was right. every word he spoke nothing but truth clinging to it. so why was he putting both him and y/n, mainly y/n, through all of this? sighing, chris nodded and thanked him for the advice before plucking his keys off the counter of matt’s kitchen before heading out the door and climbing into his car.

chris made quick work of driving home to y/n, he felt so unbelievably guilty for leaving her alone with her thoughts for as long as he had. as he stepped into their shared home, he felt like an intruder, he didn’t feel like himself, because in what world would chris, the same chris who is so unbelievably and irrevocably in love with y/n, push her to terminate their child? chris should’ve been ecstatic and sobbing over the news. instead he let his job cloud his judgement and focus, and he felt terrible.

“baby?” chris calls out, quickly climbing the entryway stairs and standing in the main hallway, waiting for y/n to answer.

“in here.” she calls back, her voice tired and strained from all the crying she had done. as chris rounds the corner into their room, his heart breaks at the sight of her curled up on his side of the bed in his hoodie.

“i am so sorry y/n, i’ve been an asshole.”

“i’ll say.” she whispers, shifting back to her side of the bed as chris climbs in beside her.

“i want to apologize for blaming you, it’s not your fault. and for suggesting an abortion without actually hearing what you want. if you want one, i’ll support you. i talked to matt and he made me realize what a jackass i’ve been. if you genuinely want this baby, then i do too. i love you, and i want you to be safe and happy. and if having a family makes you happy, then i’m willing to raise this baby with you because in all honesty, i do want this baby.”

“what about your career?”

“we’ll figure that out when we need to.”

“okay. i love you.”

“i love you forever and a day, y/n. i’m so sorry i’ve been so shitty, i was scared and lashed out on you when i should’ve acknowledged that you were scared too, i shouldn’t have let you deal with it on your own.” chris hums, wrapping his arms around her as she dries her tears and rest her head against his chest.

↳ taglist: @dylsdunbar @verosivy @soursturniolo @4sturns @sturnsclutter @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @themattgirl @lovingmattysposts @lacysturniolo @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @strawberrysturniolo @lustfulslxt @sturnifyed @carolsturns1 @teapartyprincess4two @mangosrar @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @cutenote @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @33sturniolo @heartz4chris @hearts4chris @evie-sturns @nicksmainbitch @gnxosblog @sturniolopepsi

↳ this story is far from over, let me know if you want a part three <3 there’s gonna be so much angst i actually feel bad which is crazy bc i never feel bad for writing angst

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percervall · 5 months

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Mamma mia, here I go again {pt1}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: talk of pregnancy, brief mentions of a one night stand, mentions of cheating, mentions of abortion Word count: 1.2k Taglist: @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lazybot @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj

Part 1 of the Mamma Mia series

“Still not feeling well?” George asks you when he spots you dropping slices of ginger into your mug. You shake your head, trying to breathe through the waves of nausea.

“Had too much to drink again?” he jokes.

“No, God I wish it was just a hangover… Just- Just the consequences of my own actions,” you tip-toe around the subject as you pour the hot water into your mug. You feel George’s eyes on you, can almost hear the gears turning as he tries to figure out what you mean.

“So not a bug or food poisoning, not hungover… Are you-..”

“Yes,” you cut him off, not wanting anyone to hear, “Yes, I am and- and it is what it is.” You feel your shoulders tense up and you will yourself to relax.

“Does Kevin know?”

You shake your head, shame settling heavy in your chest at the mention of your on-and-off-again boyfriend, “No, and I don’t see why he should because I am not keeping it.” Before George can say anything else you leave the coffee station in the motorhome to find solace in your office, praying to whoever will listen that this doesn’t get out.

Your hope is short lived when there’s a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you call out, eyes glued to the screens in front of you.

“Hey,” a voice calls from the doorway and you freeze when you realise who it is.

“H-hey,” you reply, trying your hardest not to turn around.

“Can you please look at me?” You bite your lip and swivel round, pushing your computer glasses up into your hair. Looking up your eyes meet his’.

“Hey,” Lewis says again, a warmth to his eyes you’re having trouble placing.

“Hi,” you manage to utter, voice timid. You know you would’ve eventually have to see him again, working for the same team kind of made it impossible not to, even though both of you had decided to never speak of that night again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lewis asks, breaking through the fog of thoughts and memories.

“Tell you what?” You can feel your brows pull together in confusion.

“That you’re pregnant.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, you feel as if someone has pulled the rug from under you.

“Who told you?” you manage to utter as panic rises in your throat.

“George. I overheard him telling Lando and Alex before the press conference.”

“Oh no,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. You can only imagine the gifs and memes that are floating around on social media right now.

“I take it he wasn’t making it up? Come on, talk to me, My,” he says gently, crouching down in front of you. The nickname helps you feel a little more at ease, it having followed you for most of your career ever since you told one of the reporters off for making a sexist comment when you were at RedBull, Mika Häkkinen overhearing you.

“Yes, I am pregnant,” you whisper, “and the reason I didn’t tell you is because-.. I don’t-.. Lewis, I fucked up so bad. I don’t know who the father is.”

The two of you look at one another and you know he is thinking the same as you –the night neither of you regret but promised to never speak about.

“So there’s a chance I’m-..”

You nod, biting your cheek to stop the tears from falling. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not keeping it, I can’t Lewis.”

“Wait, hold on. Does Kev know?”

You shake your head. Confusion is written all over his face.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t look him in the eye and tell him I cheated. Twice. In the span of 48 hours.”

“Oh Jesus. Damn girl,” Lewis mutters.

“But it’s fine,” you tell him in an attempt to convince yourself and ignore the feeling of shame weighing on you like a ton of bricks, “I have an appointment booked for Tuesday. I’ll be fine.” You wipe your tears away and plaster on a fake smile as you put your glasses back on.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do,” you say, effectively shutting down the rest of this conversation. Just four more days, you tell yourself, you’ve got this, just four more days.

Trying your hardest to keep your head down –and avoid the men that participated in your predicament–, you make your way through the paddock, scrolling through the data on your iPad.

“Skat?” someone calls out to you from your left. There’s only one person you know who would call you that and right now he is the last person you want to see.

“Oh, hi Kev,” you offer meekly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kevin asks you as he comes to stand in front of you. An unnerving sense of deja vu climbs its way up your spine.

“Didn’t tell you what?” you ask in return. Instead of answering you, Kevin holds up his phone, showing you the still paired Google calendar.

Tuesday 5 September 9:30 BPAS

“Kev-..”

“No, tell me why you didn’t tell me and I had to find out through Google. An abortion provider, really?”

“Lower your voice will you?” you hiss, his tone rubbing you the wrong way.

“Since when do I not have a right to know you’re pregnant with my child?” Kevin ignores your request and barges on, demanding an answer.

“Everything alright here?” The Australian accent makes you want to cry. Of course it’s just your luck that he is also here.

“Doesn’t concern you, Webber,” Kevin tells the older man before turning back to you, “Why did you keep this from me?”

“Kevin please-..”

“No! Why didn’t you tell me that you’re pregnant?”

You know you have two options here: you can either come up with some bullshit excuse or you tell him the truth, and neither of them seem particularly appealing right now.

“Because-..” you start, swallowing thickly, “Because I don’t know if you’re the father.” You feel both sets of eyes on you as you fight back the tears.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean?” Mark asks you quietly, a hand on your arm.

“You know damn well what I mean. And I am not your sweetheart.”

You have to give Kevin credit, it only takes him two seconds to put one and one together before he’s swinging for the former F1 driver. Mark takes a step back, shielding you behind him at the same time.

“Okay,” you hear Nico say and when you peek around Mark’s broad back, you see the German driver holding Kevin back. You have no idea where he came from, but for once you’re grateful to see him. “Kev, we fock smash doors, not people.”

“Suck my balls,” Kevin seethes, struggling to break free.

“Kevin, unless you want to explain all of this to both Steiner and Netflix, please listen to Nico,” you say. Kevin freezes, seemingly becoming aware of his surroundings, and lowers his arm.

“We will talk tonight, okay? Pretty sure you have a meeting to get to and I need to see if Toto hasn’t fired me yet. Tonight,” you add when Kevin opens his mouth to reply, “Same goes for you Mark. I’ll text you.” And with that you leave them behind, head down as you walk back to the Mercedes motorhome.

And the plot thickens! Told you it was an unhinged idea 🙈

Feel free to let me know what you think! Your comments, tags and likes mean the world to me

#f1 fanic #kevin magnussen x reader #kevin magnussen x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber x you #mamma mia fic

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precious-little-scoundrel · 1 month

Text

Dear John || Something Borrowed

Masters of the Air fanfiction

Summary: Upon the sudden stop of all their correspondence, Miss Lana Tierney finds herself bereft of her pen pal John Egan’s support -not however, without him first having made a heavy declaration and entrusted her with a precious bit of himself. Battling Tinsel Town’s awful labyrinth of censors, agents, and an ever disloyal mother, Lana seeks to find John, and having once found him, to remind him of his promise to try. Meanwhile in Stalag Luft III, Major Gale Cleven may loiter at his incriminating radio longer than strictly necessary in hopes of hearing a voice that would bring his best friend a shred of hope.

My many thanks to: Christi and Ashley for endless amounts of encouragement and advice and enrichment of the plot, y’all are invaluable darlings and precious friends. To Bri who has been the brains and requests behind the concept and the beating heart behind giving Bucky a love of a lifetime

Warnings: 18+ disturbing content. Not so much war focused but rather Hollywood in the 40’s which can be horribly gruesome itself. We are happily ripping off Lana Turner’s real story for much of this, and so in this chapter you will find mentions of certain harrowing abuses she endured. Such as: brief references to a forced, studio-required abortion, bugging of a woman’s room, arranged engagements, drugging, hinted sexual exploitation, willing current sexual favors in return for a role, Bucky going a little nuts as a POW, Lana’s mother being the worst, John Huston making a cameo that will probably make you wanna punch the guy. It’s ok, the real fella deserved it. Go ahead. Again, nothing explicit, didn’t wanna get all yucky but these themes are prevalent in here in passing.

Word count: a whopping 8k

Character name reminder: Julie Jean Turner goes by the Hollywood alias of “Lana Tierney”

Lana lay abed and stewed. She was past grief, or perhaps it was easier explained that Grief and her sisters, Denial and Betrayal, were more of Julie Jean Turner’s privilege. Miss Lana Tierney, academy hopeful and box office gold, had little left but rage and the moist silk of her pillow pressed to her burning cheek.

“What an awful few days it’s been.” she’d allowed herself to say a few weeks back.

The Julie Jean of that week didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Life was bad enough then, back when he called, but his voice cured everything from her terrible week. Vincent and the engagement and the studios, all of it. But then came a letter, one written awfully like a goodbye, and another one after it but all of them were little provisions for if he were to go down.

Scribbled hours before going up.

“I love you, I know it’s a lot to spring on a gal who’s just doing her bit and keeping me happy but I do. It’s an awful type of love, Julie, very tight fisted and I think I only love you because you love me so well in your way. I don’t think that’s the sort of love to do anybody any good, but I’d regret not saying it, beginners can’t be haughty. Here I wanted to stick my toe in and you gobbled the whole leg, and I love you. I love you for it. I love you.”

She’d rubbed over his signature, not a bit of cursive in that scrawled -John- a million times.

And then, just like that, just like what had happened to her friends and a million women across the world- his letters simply stopped. Julie Jean learned elsewhere he’d been shot down for weeks by the time she’d gotten the last one. It was hard to have finally heard his voice and known of his purpose, but now? -a dead silence that had a voice and face and love attached to it. It was agony of a sort she’d never known and was made worse by the loneliness in her secrecy of not being able to mourn it aloud.

She moaned into the mess of her pillowcase and ignored Bertha's fifth knock of the afternoon. Who’d recognize the glamorous Miss Tierney now? Pitiful and tear streaked and pale from blood loss. She still lay on a chucks pad the studio nurse had rolled her onto, a feeble trickle still seeping between her legs. Curled on her side with eyes glinting at the afternoon sun, she seethed at one more thing taken from her.

Lana could hardly stand it. But she had to try. She’d made John promise he would. They’d promised each other, and somehow she hadn’t any doubts that wherever he was, he was trying.

“Miss Tierney?” That was Herbert’s voice and Jean rolled her eyes at the predictability of this household. After not answering Delores they sent in Bertha and upon not answering Bertha here was Herbert and if she didn’t answer him, her mother might manage to rouse herself and drive over.

“Come in Herb, if you must.” she groaned, hand outstretched and patting blindly for a cigarette on her nightstand.

Her old driver came in with an unusually light step, it bespoke a sympathy for her plight that Jean would have preferred a thousand times never to read on his usually persnickety face. “How are you holding up after -“ he stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed as Jean rummaged and when she sat back with cigarette and holder in hand, she found him looking down at her with such concern she nearly threw the lamp at him. “Tonsillitis, huh?” he hummed sympathetically.

“Oh yes, nasty bout.” she lied merrily, the ache in her violated womb protested her move to sit up. “They had to take them clean out.” it was the only printable explanation for her ailment.

“Yeah.” Herb had been a renowned stuntman before he’d been demoted to driver, and before stuntman he’d been a soldier in the trenches and before that he’d been a clerk. If anyone knew about coat hangers and poor girls held down to be kept forever virginal and ever in use, Herb knew. Herb had warned her even, told her what a sick racket they ran here in Tinsel Town. Much good it did her, she was in too deep before she knew she had so much as stuck her toe in.

Rather like Bucky in love, apparently, and that thought made her madly blink away a stupid rush of tears.

“What’s that?” she pointed at the parcel she just now noticed was tucked under his arm.

“Oh, this? Chocolates. Here, my lighter miss?” Whatever was under Herbert’s arm wasn’t shaped like any chocolates she knew and Jean was about to give him a talking to for being insipid when her mood was so poor but then she saw him press a warning finger to his lips. He walked around the side of her bed and indeed pulled out a lighter, metal and rude and no doubt a relic of the first war, and flicked it for her to light up. Bending down he smelled of tobacco himself when he took the unprecedented liberty of whispering in her ear: “They bugged the room during your operation, Miss. Must be careful. Especially if you want to keep your gift.”

He pulled away and looked down at her sorrowfully before quietly laying the dirty brown package atop her pristine sheets. Mother had them changed after the bloodbath of the…operation. They were spotless before and now they were sooty. That pleased her.

Jean forgot to look away from him. She was startled and upset by the news but she didn’t doubt it. They’d probably bugged the phone ages ago, god knows they’d stop at next to nothing and she did so want to keep something for herself. If she couldn’t have a baby, her baby, then she’d keep a parcel, damn them all. Then a cold feeling of dread filled her and she thought to grab at her books and look for the hidden letters.

Gone. Mother. It must’ve been mother, it was her sort of thing to have rifled through Lana’s things while she was being operated on and found them and took them and-

The rage spurred her to look down at what Herb brought her, cigarette forgotten between her quivering lips. She expected it to be from him, a little pep up. Perhaps a doll or a stuffed animal to cheer her. But no, this parcel in its plain brown wrapping had come from afar, smudged and delayed a million times judging by its redirected stamps -and she’d know that writing from anywhere.

Her Johnny.

Julie Jean’s little gasp let slip the cigarette from her mouth but not before Herb caught it from singeing the sheets. He was quicker than anyone gave the old man credit for, banged up head or not. “Thought that might cheer you.” he grinned in that begrudging way of his, as if he were cross at the joy made manifest on his face.

“I’m scared.” she admitted in a whisper, hands hovering over the brown twine strings. Whatever was inside was squishy and giving. And whatever it was, John had sent it before he’d been shot down. But still, somehow it felt like a gift from him on this, the worst day of her life. Like he was sending some comfort even from hell on earth and without a clue of her own dispair. Herb seemed to read it the same way, and that’s how Jean knew she wasn’t being a delusional, hysterical wreck, if that crusty old sod knew its significance in coming today, then it was plain as the irregular nose on his face.

“Scared of chocolate?” His tease covered a strong reminder for her to watch her words.

“Mm, yes, what if there’s raspberry filled ones?” she whispered back. “You know how I can’t abide raspberries.”

“Guess you’ll just have to be brave and see.” he nudged her.

Nodding her head solemnly, Jean tugged apart the twine that had kept John Egan’s package together for an entire transcontinental delivery. It fell away with a crinkling sound and she found folded upon it, without a bit of fuss or wrapping, the oddest piece of cloth. Almost a patchwork of pale leather and a zipper and -Jean’s throat closed as her hand descended and felt along the soft fluff of a sheepskin collar.

He didn’t. He didn’t send her his jacket? Surely —

Herb made a noncommittal noise beside her which sounded awfully like some touched sorta gasp at the sight, but as it was Herb and he had a tobacco wad where he should have had a heart, so he must’ve been coming down with the same cold that landed Lana in tonsil surgery.

Hands shaky and heart hammering, Jean reached in and pulled the garment out, a tiny little note fluttered out. Someone else’s penmanship. “To the care of Jean Turner, until it can be retrieved by Major Egan.”

“Oh god.” she felt like sobbing before pressing her face into the sweat fumed plushness of it. “Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.” she kept his name buried in his jacket, secret like his gift and his love and his comfort and her desires. Eyes and mouth muffled into the darkness of something that was his. She felt Herb’s gentle hand pat on her head and the following click of the latch as he went out.

“Mister Vincent called to say there’s dinner and photographs scheduled for tonight, Miss Tierney.” he informed her levelly before he left and her ears were not so buried in Air Force Shearling she couldn’t hear of her doom. “There’s been some speculations -they want to smooth it over. Bertha was trying to pass it on.”

Bertha wanted to wipe off whatever remaining blood was on her and primp all signs of coercion off her devastated face, that’s what Bertha was here for. Jean vaguely wondered if her mother’s clenching hand print still lingered on her cheeks, she rubbed John’s jacket against the soreness of her mouth, muffling her sobs the way her mother’s hand had stifled her screams of pain only hours ago.

Back to work, asap, it would seem. -Bleed down your nylons dear, it’ll be alright, so long as they see a happy face and a lucky new couple.

Vincent. She wasn’t sure how she’d face him, the weekend getaway and his little “test drive” of her had been bad enough, the fact he hadn’t the brains to prevent it from having consequences or the spine to stand up for the life of the child he made- oh, she wondered how she’d manage to down her asparagus in the face of it all. Acting, she presumed, a true talent that had suddenly become a personality since -since? -she wasn’t sure when.

Beside her for months now, stacked beneath the pile of new Runyon books she’d taken out of the library, had been a pile of letters that didn’t have a bit of acting in them. Raw and true and terrible and wanton, each of John Egan’s thoughts tumbled off their confining pages and into her heart in mirrored response to her own. Now mother had them.

Jean wondered where all her own letters to him were, now that he was gone and someone else was in his bunk.

Funny to think of that, the most honest account of herself was most likely moldering in the bottom of some MIA airman’s footlocker.

It was all a bit self indulgent, she admitted even as she stripped out of her bloody gown and down to her bare skin, but she had lost plenty and she needed him: so she slipped him on, soft wool caressing her and stopping the shivers of shock that had wracked her all morning. It smelled so manly and sweaty and terribly real she about swooned at the sensation of having a bit of him next to her. Now she’d seen him -all those darling candid photos in repayment for hers- and she’d heard him -oh that awful, wonderful telephone call right before he disappeared- and now she was smelling him.

Jean would have to bathe and take a handful of aspirin and cinch in her girdle and kiss her fiancée tonight, but for a brief hour she layed in bed naked as a baby with her gift wrapped around her like swaddling clothes.

Vincent came later with the car, one of his father’s for certain, and eyed her choice of outerwear with a sour mouth. Fleece and chiffon was an odd mix but Lana always had been a trendsetter and it was early November, even if it was Los Angeles. Of course, for her the jacket was John, and so she wore him like armor -and if she was wearing it, they couldn’t take it without her knowing.

“I’m cold.” she answered Vin’s unspoken question sharply on the ride over, “I’ve just had tonsil surgery, you may recall?”

“It stinks.” he huffed back, his nose presumptuously nuzzling under her curls and very near the sweat soaked fleece, “Smells like a barnyard.”

What it smelled like was a red blooded American man’s honest days work killing Nazis. But Vincent and his pale hands and arranged medical exemptions weren’t likely to know what that smelled like, so Lana felt compelled to give him a pass. “It’s for the war effort,” she sighed, “we must all make sacrifices. Mr. Warner told me it would be grand press to wear it.”

She’d never spoken to Mr. Warner about much else but weather and her tits, but growing ever more desperate as these days went on, Lana thought perhaps she’d pay him a visit.

“Great press?” Vincent seethed, charmingly one track focused, “The press should be about our engagement! Not the war!”

“Be a realest, dahling,” she soothed, “nothing, not even the great scion of a prestigious family such as yours is half as fascinating right now as ball bearings and top turret production in Greenfield. If we want them to print about our engagement, it’s got to have something to do with the general war, see?“

“Ah, ah I see.” Vincent swallowed her lie well enough, still perturbed at the fracturing of his beloved media attention but consoled that Lana was not aspiring to make him a fool.

Oh how foolish that was of him, Lana hummed to herself as they pulled up to the restaurant, perhaps not tonight or in a week's time. No, for now she was down and out and no doubt about it, but eventually, she’d scramble on top, she had to or she’d be offed eventually by it all. She knew that now, it was plain with each aching step on wobbly legs and each smile of her crimped, anemic face, Vincent’s pliable hand more vice than support on her elbow as she stepped out under Chasens’ green awning.

There was conversation and photographs all through dinner, her agent and a Warner Brothers executive kindly gracing the table with heavy, stilted and very implied conversation. Lana might’ve breathed better in her booth had they held an actual gun to her head and told her to finish her parsnips that way. They were very happy she had recovered from the tonsillitis so well, they were very eager to see her on set bright and early tomorrow, they were very eager that any doubt about how in love she was with the respectable Vincent be ameliorated -a very big word to say with a mouthful of steak- and very hopeful that Lana wouldn’t get any ideas about a repeat of the War Bond tour. Yes the last one had been very effective and the government was pleased, but too much exposure to common crowds had a tendency to lessen the goddess effect, she must be let out to the pubic sparingly, and they in turn must not feel entitled to her in any way.

Such as…reaching out through the post, for example, much less expecting to be answered with anything less standardized than what Bertha might write twenty times over in her name in an afternoon.

“I just want to do my part.” Lana demurred.

“Oh honey, you’ve done your part, and now you’ve got a new part. Make a wish.” And there before her was brought out a cake slice with much fanfare, icing making a pretty little drizzle of words -“speedy recovery Lana, love from everyone at Warner Brothers Studio.”

She’d seen actresses carried out plastered to the four winds on sedative from slices just like this one, chivalrously poured into a waiting backseat of a producer or studio head, taken back to be put to bed. God knows what else happened in those beds. Her nausea returned fourfold and it wasn’t acting when she gasped a need to go to the powder room.

Instead she dashed to the phone, the one in the cubby near the toilets, trying resolutely to ignore the spying eyes of waiters and curious waves of famous guests passing by.

“Pick up, Herb, pick up.” she begged, listening to it ring and ring, then suddenly felt a horrid fear at the realization she’d left the jacket slung over her chair at the booth, with Vincent. “Herb please, please.” she moaned, stomping one well shod foot against the marble floor.

“Hallo?”

“Herb, oh Herb!” Lana gushed urgently on hearing him pick up, “You must come pick me up, they’re onto me with the letters and they’ve brought out cake and- bring a car, Vincent brought his father’s-“

“-Thank yeeew, Herbert, that will be all.” Mother’s affected transatlantic sent shivers down Lana’s spine right as she felt the cold clasp of her rings around her wrist, receiver wrenched effectively from her nerveless hand, “This is a family matter, your services are not required.”

“Mommy dearest.” Lana felt her lips trembling in a odd way that fought against the creeping numbness, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Would that I could say the same, Lana.” Mother reproved, “To abandon your fiancé without thought? And to find you calling on Herbert, like this were some otiresome fundraiser from which you may carelessly abscond -really. Your behavior is nothing but deplorable lately, I hardly know you. The cost, Lana, think of the cost of it all, this recklessness.”

“Who told you?”

“That you weren’t appreciative of the cake?” Mother smiled shyly, “Alfonso.”

The owner, of course, when he couldn’t get a hand up Lana herself he had become quite partial to mother, loyal to an opulent degree. She suspected that cake more than ever, the phone, too. God there was no getting out of this town, this place, this life.

“Alfonso says you’re distracted,” mother went on, “pale and sniffing some jacket? What has gotten into you?”

“Vincent.” Lana joked miserably and if half of Hollywood wasn’t sat so near, she’s rather sure her mother might’ve struck her.

“You’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to smile for the pictures, and you’re going to like it.” Mother laid out the case, the plan and the rest of her life, “And when we go home you’ll be getting a piece of my mind.”

“Oh really mother,” Lana sighed heavily, “I couldn’t take the last piece.”

The pinch on her arm was familiar of when Lana was a child and refused to sing in yet another talent show - the fifth that weekend. “Your fault for falling ill, now we must make up for lost time.” they were gliding back to the table arm in arm with Lana’s pale skin pinched between mother’s manicure, “Smile, darling, smile and wave.” as they wove between one starry guest and another.

Mother’s gait stalled for one fraction of a moment upon coming up to the table and seeing the bizarre article of clothing hanging over Lana’s chair. “Works better than a mink.” Lana proclaimed quite loudly, giddy enough to attract most male attention around who craned their necks to watch her shimmy it on for a try-on, much to Mother’s feigned amusement. She shimmied in the fleece, chiffon doing little to hide the jiggle of her derrière beneath the jacket’s hem and the flash of a bulb cracked significantly amongst the dinner chatter.

“It’s much too large for you -the sleeves, the shoulders-“

“That’s because it’s a genuine article mother!” Lana preened, satisfied to have caught the eye of the one she wanted as he sat in his booth.

Powerful and dark and lecherous, The Jack Huston stared at her unabashedly over the haze of his cigarette, his own date forgotten, taking in the way the man’s coat dwarfed her little body in a pantomime of covering her physically, masculine leather and zipper in stark contrast to baby soft skin swelling out of her neckline. She knew that look well, one of a man sizing her up for how she’d look beneath him.

Lana smirked at him significantly, squeezing the material around her dreamily and created a significantly more substantial amount of decollage for him to view upon doing so. “Lana, sit down for god’s sake.” Mother was hissing and Lana saw Huston laugh at it, she rolled her eyes and dramatically shrugged, seating herself as asked but refusing to break eye contact with him until he raised his glass in a toast to her brazenness.

“Lana, photographers! Come now! Chin up, smile, smile darling.”

There were so many flashbulbs here it was obnoxious to not only Lana’s throbbing eyes but the other patrons, still a hard launch of a stilted, lab grown relationship was hardly an oddity in Hollywood or its most favored eating spots, and so it was endured.

“Doll, open up,” Vincent cajoled in Lana’s ear, hand kneading her waist and nose pressed to her hair, “practice for the wedding.”

It looked quite humorous if a little uncouth in the papers next day, Lana’s gasping and amused indulgence of her green boy fiancé as he playfully stuffed her mouth with cake in that pitiful tradition of marital provocation.

“Look at my dearest daughter, tonsil surgery yesterday and already, so eager, can’t be kept from dinner with her darling fiancé!”

The world grew fuzzy as Lana did her best to keep the wad of cake in her gums until she could spit the most of it out. “Tell your studio i want compensation for having to share press with the war effort.” Vin was complaining to the executive and Lana felt her world swim, only one single, dire hope remaining -Herb.

She gripped the edges of the jacket tighter and tried to focus. Mother was being called away, taking her leave with a photographed kiss to Lana’s clammy temple -some business with Aunt Lu and that promised check for her swimming pool. Lana had put in a lot of swimming pools for a lot of relatives, she was beginning to lose track between the pools and the houses and the cars and the wardrobes and always -“it’s family, Lana, they depend on you. Chin up, smile, smile darling, smile for the cameras, there’s my golden girl, box office magic.”

“Lana it’s very important you understand the role of an engaged woman-“ the executive was very insistent and Lana was very tired and very fuzzy feeling, which apparently Vincent could sense as his hands began to grow courageous in his petting, “-it’s a fine balance between respectability and attainability. The studio has worked so hard to give you this life, made enormous sacrifices so you could have a chance at this career, created an expertly crafted persona for you -if you were to jeopardize it all in any way, by inviting speculation about yourself or your lackluster roots-“

Lana was about ready to stand up and scream “I’m Julie Jean Turner from Broken Arrow Oklahoma!” and watch the deflated disinterest cover her audience like snow, it would ruin the effect -she wanted them to care that her life was a lie, but as soon as she told the truth, they’d lose all interest either way. Fame was funny like that.

“Mr Vincent,” Alfonso was most solicitous as well as perispring when he hurried over to her fiancé’s side, “there’s been an incident, your car, sir! The windows, they are smashed! And there appear to be eggs?”

Lana wasn’t sure she successfully suppressed the bubbling little laugh that flitted out of her leaden chest at Vincent’s deathly white pallor. There were two of him in her fractured, drug impaired vision and he acted like looney twins, scrambling up from the table in a flurry of hands and pomade, tux tails flapping like a frightened bird. “It’s my father’s car you idiot! Where was the doorman? Where?”

“Ooooh daddy’s gonna be mad.” Lana cooed to herself, amused at how this failure of a son couldn’t land a deal or a car or his own, only a troublesome actress who was in dire love with a man she’d never met.

Dear Herb, the eggs were such a nice touch.

The executive was waving off the cameras, this part of the night hardly suitable to be recorded. “Stewart, phone call for you.” A commanding, sonorous voice beside her sent goose flesh popping along Lana’s arms beneath the jacket, Jack Huston and his cologne suddenly pervading the place like an ominous deity casting its shadow over the now almost empty table.

“Mr. Huston.” Lana simpered sweetly when Stewart had left and it was just them alone with his hand on the back of her chair, thumbing at the lamb skin. There were two of Huston too, in her vision, and Lana gulped in trepidation of having to please both.

“Miss Tierney,” he replied, grinning a little too wide for her to focus, “you know what you look like you need?”

“What’s that, Mr. Huston?”

“Call me Jack.”

“What’s that Jack?” she tittered, happily courting ruin.

“A nightcap.” Jack declared and was extending a large palm for her before she could second guess. It was the choice of a lion over a wolf here in Hollywood, and Lana had such plans for Mr. Huston. But, like most things, Lana’s plans must wait until Mr. Huston’s plans for her had been satisfactorily met.

Of all the backseats to be poured into in Hollywood, Huston’s was rather plush and smelled nice and had a clinking little bar in the console, well stocked and vintage. Better yet, the car wasn’t his father’s, it was his. As was his mind and his time and his appetite. Lana could only dream of having that sort of brash freedom, for now she must attach herself to those who did if she so much as wanted a taste.

“So what’s with the jacket?” Mr. Huston had the liberty to be casual on a ride back to his house with a much desired starlet, after all, he had a slam dunk assurance she wasn’t going to say no on arrival.

“It belongs to a man who loves me.” she slurred earnestly.

“Pilot?”

“Yes. He writes the sweetest, filthiest things.”

“To you?”

“Only to me.” she whispered with drunken vehemence.

“I bet he does.” Huston laughed.

Mr. Huston enjoyed ribbons: tying them around her, to be specific but of all the novel and varied ways to be satisfactory it wasn’t so bad, and when he lay next to her afterwards as the drug began to take her fully under, Lana was pleased by the heavy arm around her waist. He didn't care about the tonsillitis. Bucky’s jacket hung carefully over the armchair in her line of sight, Jack had been nice about that, too.

Yes she could make some use of Huston and his ribbons and his new army uniform and his government contracts.

————————————————-

“I was insensible.” Lana maintained the following day at a meeting with Mother and Stewart and a slew of concerned agents and executives who were pleased enough by the engaged cake smashing photographs, less so by the discreet vandalizing of their blonde product by John Huston. “I don’t know what you put in that cake but it did the trick and I was as aghast as you upon waking up where I woke up.”

“And the jacket?” Mother had her priorities straight, troublesome memorabilia first, dear daughter’s virtue second.

“Shoot, I think Huston has it.” Lana whimpered, “I was in such a state, such a rush to leave-“

“Well that was a very unfortunate oversight, Lana.”

“I know.”

“He could use it against us.” Mother fretted.

“He’d make a fool of himself if he did,” Stewart shined best when full of his self-bloated importance and meetings such as these were essential fuel for that importance, “it would look like he took a pilot to bed.”

“Stewart, she’s all over the nation’s morning paper’s wearing the horrid thing!” Mother snapped and while she herself was admittedly awful most times, Lana never doubted she was shrewd, far more than Stewart and all the men in the room she jockeyed for lead with. “In fact Lana, this has really brought to a head a growing issue. Your restlessness, your ingratitude, it’s become insufferable and now it jeparadizes everything. I am speaking of the coat but also of the letters. Oh yes, I know all about those.”

A wise performance required Lana to play the frightened and shocked little miscreant and so she did, wide doe eyes looking beseechingly penitent and horrified in the face of having been caught doing a single independent thing. “Oh mother-“

“They are bad enough with their filth and their familiarity,” mother cut her off, “but to have written to him in your old name! Lana, the carelessness! It’s a mercy he’s dead, think of the presumptuous attitude he would have adopted had he returned. Unthinkable!”

“Dead?” Lana felt her throat close up, wishing desperately to be back in his jacket again, regretting most harshly her high-priced scheming of last night. All of it had been for him, and he was dead.

“Quite dead.” Mother was irritated by her crestfallen state but not so much as to prevent her crowing over little Lana’s misstep. “And now I am burdened with the necessity of tracking down his effects, getting your side of the correspondence back, think of the unpleasantness of contacting his family! Conversations with dead servicemen's families are always so tedious. You do recall what a bore it was for me to have to carry-on with them on your tour. And all of this to get back your filthy, perverse break of discretion.”

“Were they to get out they’d ruin your reputation.” Stewart put in the obvious, “They’d reveal your plain and common upbringing, your drab name and worse, you would be known to be a horny, hungry young woman.”

Lana stared at him across from his desk, that adrift feeling of aloneness taking over her, such as she’d only felt a few times in her life, like when her mother left her on her first studio couch for an audition, despite her pleas to stay. “Yes,” she agreed faintly, “it would be a terrible thing for an object of desire to appear willing. Or wanting, at all capable of their own needs. It would really ruin the shine of it all, I see.”

“Lana!”

“Oh mother, really, pimped out all my life -all for it to be ruined by the suggestion I might like it!”

“It’s worse than all that.” Stewart insisted gravely, immune to female objections and tantrums, “I’ve been contacted this morning by one of the branches of our government dealing with espionage and information,” -no wonder he was feeling so very important today- “and they’re concerned that the German Air Force is aware of your correspondence with Major Agen-“

“It’s Egan, actually.”

“-Agen and a tapped phone call as well, they have concerns, Lana, about the Germans using this connection as leverage on him, now they have him in their camps, under their thumb, at their mercy.”

Lana’s fractured world slid together again like a suctioned mosaic, one focal point of reason being clear. “He’s a prisoner of war.” she knew just the right inquisitive tone to encourage Stewart to keep blabbing.

“Yes.” Stewart was very grave and very important about being privy to this information, and Mother let out a fuming little cluck of her tongue at his fumble.

“So, he’s a prisoner.” she smirked triumphantly at Mother and was not corrected for once. “Not dead.”

“Good as dead.” Mother clarified.

Lana still smiled, she could work with “good as.”

———————————————-

“Jack?” Lana had timed her delicate attack most carefully, waiting until Huston was relaxed but not asleep, dressing but not in a hurry, happy but not restless, and most importantly, not remotely tired of her.

“What doll?” Jack had a broad back and nice hands, sometimes Lana imagined they were rather like Egan’s, or maybe that’s what she told herself to keep the tears at bay long enough for each amorous performance to conclude, “Your mother bitchin’ about me again?”

“Well,” she shied away into the bedding, “to be honest, yes.”

“Little rebel.” he praised her on his way to sling on his suspenders, apparently he was going out tonight, she felt a clench of panic in her gut at the need to throw her pitch before he left or hushed her.

“Jack I’ve been thinking.” She began again.

“Not what you’re payed for, doll.”

“No, true.” Lana was used to laughing at that same joke told by a couple dozen different men, “But is that skit competition still on? The one for the CBS slot?”

“Yeah, few more days left, why?”

“Anything promising yet?” Lana ventured carefully, Jack was so very busy with all these government contracts for documentaries and proganada shows, and ever since then he’d had a very short fuse, fussy over his stalled artistic dreams. Not that he didn’t care about the war, he did in fact, and that’s why Lana liked him if she liked him at all. But he liked it the way a movie maker does, he wanted to tell stories and he wanted to be somebody important, and if he wasn’t going to be shot at he damn sure would be known to hang about the guys who were.

He was off to the Pacific to film some Marines mucking about on some godforsaken Atoll in a month or more. She had to make her move.

In the meantime, he was to organize a broadcast. Lana bad learned that from the grapevine at Warner’s, Betty D. dropping as much over her three carrots at lunch.

“I was wondering why we haven’t got ourselves an anecdote to Axis Sally.” Lana chose to be blunt, Jack was different from other men, he liked her babified act as much as the next man, but he’d belted her too for ‘playing dumb’. Since then she’d said her mind, as much as she dared and he called her idiotic often, but she’d not been belted again. “Our boys keep listening to that trash, and the housewives too, just to hear reports on the missing and the prisoners.”

“They listen ‘cause she’s sexy and funny.” Jack informed her with a pointed look.

“That too.” Lana contemplated the sheets before her, “But can’t we be funny and sexy too? Instead of demoralizing we could be happy! And we’d not have reports on prisoners but we could give them clues and hope, in case anyone's listening in.”

“Listening in.” Jack had stopped his halfhearted listening to her, wheeling suddenly with cuff links partway hanging, “You mean in camps?”

“Camps. Resistance. Wherever.”

“They don’t let them have radios, ya know.” Huston pointed out, but it wasn’t said in argument, he was pondering too.

“You know they still manage.” Lana smiled softly and he smiled back.

“Ok, what’s the pitch?” He sighed and sat himself down again on the side of the bed, evening plans abandoned for the moment.

Lana’s heart swelled with hope and the delicious feeling of being taken seriously. Even if she was lying in his bed with hair a mess and dignity mighty rumpled. “Perhaps we could tack onto Fred Allen’s spot? Hasn’t he got a vacancy? A variety show? A skit? I don’t know, but we could have repeat actors and we could have guest stars. And it could- it could be a girl-“

“-Allied Sally.” Huston joked and Lana genuinely snickered at that.

“Something like that.” She agreed, chagrined at the need for a catchy, corney radio name, “And she could be waiting for her sweetheart, sending him messages and well wishes and jokes and -Oh! The score! The scores on everything! Baseball! Jack!”

“Calm down, calm down, it’s decent.” Jack hushed her, waving her giddy self back down as she warmed to her topic, “And you could be her.” he stated the obvious.

“Don’t you think I’d manage it well?” She cajoled, cocking her shoulder in her best pantomime of a coquette. “Aren’t I funny and sexy, Mr. Huston?”

“Hmph,” he scratched his cheek and stared at her as if summing up the likelihood of this working, “needs another angle. Beyond skits.”

“Alright. Like what?”

Huston secured his cuff links, smile broadening as his mind began to whirl, “Letters.” he stated and Lana’s heart froze, “Love letters, we gotta keep it sexy, you said so yourself. There’s nothing so funny as a redacted letter being read out over the censors. The constant beeps alone will get laughs, give it the right inflection in between and you’ll have a game on your hands with the listeners guessing and filling in.”

“Letters.” Lana mumbled in agreement, numb at the brilliance of it and filled with horror at the idea of monetizing what John Egan had given her -connection, love, devotion, grit, humor. But this broadcast, it might be the only way to keep in any sort of contact with him. At what cost? Would he care at all for her after it? Would he think she used him up for a little business inspiration? Oh she couldn’t bear it, yet worse, she couldn’t bear life as Vincent’s wife, locked in for another ten years at Warner’s under mother’s thumb. “It’s brilliant.”

“Almost uncanny how likely a story it is.” Huston grunted as he pulled on a shoe, sending her a sly look that broke her a heart a little more, “Nothing so powerful as a tale based on a real thing, Lana.” he reminded forcefully.

The letters, the blackmail her mother hung over her, all of it dealt with if this pitch became a reality. It would all fade into a myth. And with it all the realness John had brought her. “Yes, I said -it’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, easy does it for now.” He cautioned, “Gotta sort your mother and let that contract expire gently. I’ll pitch it myself. See what CBS can wrangle up. Don’t get your hopes up and keep that jacket safe, it’ll be invaluable when we get you a storyline for it.”

“Right.”

“Well go on, tell mommy dearest.” he goaded, nodding to the phone.

“Oh they wouldn’t be approving.” Lana disagreed, referring to the whole pack of them, her mother and her lawyers and her agents.

“Why not? Sounds like great business. Solves all the scandal too.”

“Something like this part-“ Lana demurred, “-wouldn’t suit my image, mother says.”

Jack barked out a rough laugh, plopped back down on the bed and tugging the sheets from her clutches. “Your mother does realize you’re walking wank material, right? That’s your image.”

“Yes,” Lana sighed, “but…unwilling, she says. That’s the crucial part.”

“Oh. Yeah, well,” Jack eyed her up, “you do make a great impression of a scared lamb in bed.”

“They’re concerned it’ll make me too independent. Like the War Bond tour,” she gave a wistful smile, “I kissed so many boys my lips swelled right up. It was grand.”

“Now Lana,” Huston cautioned, “I’m not on any crusade to liberate you, myself.”

“Oh I know!” She was quick to assure, ever the obliging little lady, “And I don’t want to be. Not from you or the studio-“

“-just from mother dearest?” he nodded knowingly, not knowing the half of it.

“Yes.” she pretended great relief at his perception.

“Huh, well, good. Because this idea would have a contract of its own, and it would be long if I’m any judge of the longevity of the project. You’ll be locked in for years.”

“But it’ll be my choice.” She reaffirmed, and this time she meant it.

“And you’ll look willing.” Jack grinned and she grinned back, compulsively like a child mimicking their threat. “Might take some practice though, to make you look willing. Get over here, doll.”

———————————————-

Major Gale Cleven was appreciative of the dangers of listening to the radio in camp, it was one of those necessary and crucial risks that required responsible stewardship and utmost care. It wasn’t a flippant pastime and it wasn’t a recreation, but then again, neither was it strictly business. Like much of their lives as prisoners of war, he and his fellow soldiers toed a strict line between honoring their captors’ jurisdictions while also thwarting their imposed restrictions at every possible juncture.

Sometimes one should listen to the radio because that is what free men did, and Gale Cleven tried by any means possible- letters, books, calculus or his frigid metal headset- to stay free in his mind, to comport himself with the same surety as his free counterpart.

Otherwise, you lived like a ghost in your own body. And that was no good for oneself or those around you. As everyone who shared a bunk and combine with John Egan was quickly learning. The immediate joy of reuniting with him, the fear of losing him to his wounds, the relief of his recovery, it had all leveled out at the end like a anticlimactic ride on a rollercoaster, skidding to a plateau where he was neither well enough to be exempt from Gale’s concern, nor ill enough to warrant the patience required to put up with his rabid moods. Always restless, being kept in the glamorized equivalent of a dog run was hardly fitting for his nature. It was hard on everyone, but Gale wasn’t such a relativist as to assume John Egan had it the same as everyone. Some folks required more miles and more sky to keep them sane, and Bucky was one of those.

It had tipped Gale into a habit that could no longer be qualified as strictly informative, nor could he defend it as necessary where he to get caught. It was undoubtedly poor stewardship to spend an extra half hour listening to the inane comedy of a BBC guest production. But he had started it to cheer Brady when Glenn Miller’s band was on, and it had done such good for him and Bucky as they crowded ‘round, that Gale had since stayed alert for any other such ‘triviality’ that might be of use.

If the Colonel walked in and demanded an explanation for this extra bit of carelessness, Cleven thought he might make a decent defense about waiting for Ed Murrow to come on, broadcasting for CBS from London, always with a decent take on what was happening in the war. The motivation of Murrow often having stars on his program was completely erroneous.

Or so Gale swore to himself for the tenth time as Demarco kept watch and he himself painstakingly tuned the dials and bent his ear to sort the static.

There was music and the typical overlap of voices for awhile until he honed it down, British and American accents floating in, obnoxiously layered all on top of each other still, yet this time intentional. He must’ve hit a variety show. He gave himself two minutes, that much he’d allow and if the thing he’d been waiting for in secret for months did not occur,

he’d move right on or pack up for the night.

“I’m not sure about no boy writing you letters!” a man’s voice crackled through, comedically irate.

The next voice was girlish, smooth despite the poor frequency and made the hair of Gale’s arms stand on end from universal male appreciation and a gut wrenching sense of recognition: “Well I don’t know any more about it, paw paw, except that he loves me and I love him!”

“Yeah?” -Gale thought perhaps that was Bob Hope’s voice, play acting as the fuming father figure, “Yeah, then tell me, dear daughter, what sorta fella calls the girl he loves: Acorn! Huh?”

Gale’s eyes bugged from his head, glassy and shocked and Crank rushed over in solidarity, terribly sure the whole continent of North America had just been reported as broken off into the sea. “What is it Buck?”

“Crank!” Gale croaked, “Go! Go get Egan, tell him his girl’s on the radio and to get his ass in here, goooo!”

“Egan’s got a girl?” Benny was bewildered.

“Acorn!” Brady and Gale yelled in unison.

“But that’s Lana Tierney.” Crank pointed over the spunk wall, or as it was called in more noble moments of higher aspiration, the Wall of Hopes and Dreams, where Lana and Rita smiled tantalizingly and warm from their crinkled posters, down on the men’s bunks.

“Yes, Acorn. Go!”

Gale held his breath and listened harder, trying to gauge how far into the sketch he had caught them, wishing them to linger, as if by sheer willpower alone he could make her stay on until Bucky got there.

Fuck -acorn? Why would she use that? She had to be out of her mind to dare a thing like that, had to be just to get his attention, right? Surely? Had to be out of her mind, Gale decided, which was just another diagnosis for love. And that gave him pause.

“What’s your feller anyway? He a squirrel?” Bob Hope was pressing the issue right as Bucky burst in with a flurry of flapping overcoat and steaming breath.

“Get in here, come on, get over here.” Gale stood up and pointed to his vacated seat, shoving Bucky down for good measure and crouching to press the headpiece to his ear, wanting to share it for some idiotic reason, as if like a parent he could cut the cord if something sad or risky came on.

“Maybe he is,” Lana was breathily defending, “and we’ll live happily ever after in our tree. And there’s nothing you or Jerry can do to stop us!”

“Shit.” Egan breathed out reverently like he’d been punched real and good and an epiphany on life was brewing beneath his shuttering smile. “Holy hell it -it is her. It’s acorn.”

“On a show called ‘Dear Acorn’, Bucky.” Brady chimed in, face as lit up for Egan’s current happiness as if it were his own.

“So what’re you twos gonna live on, huh?” Bob Hope crackled through “Love and nuts?”

“Oh well dunno, I do so love my nuts.” Lana rejoined.

“Jesus!” Gale pulled away from the headset like it had personally accosted him for a tumble in the sheets.

“Acorn.”

“Yeah paw paw?”

“You’re nuts.”

“About him I am.”

“Uhuh.”

“And there’s nothing you or Jerry can-“

“-can do about it, I know, acorn.”

“Pinky promise!” Lana chirped a couple thousand miles away, and John Egan obeyed her once more with a raised hand and a crooked finger.

That night at roll call they had something to whisper about, and for once it wasn’t half cooked schemes to climb the barbed wire or try smothering the commandant in his sleep. Instead Bucky was rocking back and forth joyfully on his heels in the bitter night air, trying hard to keep his grin in check as the spotlight swooped over, choosing the intermediate bits of darkness to nag Gale for any bits he’d missed.

“I sent for ya right away, Bucky.” Gale insisted in a gentle whisper out the side of his mouth, “They were just starting to joke about letters being written to an acorn.”

“Can you believe it?” Egan hissed, almost demented in his sudden good cheer, “She’s that proud of me, built a whole damn show on it. Fuck, it makes a man wanna fight a dozen wars.”

Gale eyed him up carefully, the inside of Bucky’s head a foreign place even to him, but if his friend was hopeful and generous enough not to mind his intellectual (or rather, lack of intellect) property being capitalized on for the war effort, then Gale wasn’t about to sow seeds of doubt. “She’s somethin’ else.” he agreed nebulously, and meant it, “Bombs Away Betty, huh?”

“Showing partiality to one branch of the armed services, Buck.” John was back to grinning, “She must’ve liked the jacket.”

Hope you enjoined, thank y’all for all the screams and thoughts you’ve sent through my asks, the comments and reblogs too, I treasure each.

If you’d like to be tagged in my MOTA writings, drop a note below. 💋

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spacelazarwolf · 1 year

Text

“ur female!!!!!!!”

ok i’m female. now what?

“taking hormones isn’t going to change your sex!!!!!!!”

i’m fine with that. now what?

“you’ll always have been born a girl!!!!!!!”

yep, and that’s part of what makes me who i am, so i’m fine with that. now what?

“you’ll never be a real man!!!!!!!”

if by “real man” you mean cis man, yeah, i know. i’m cool with that. now what?

“you’re mutilating your body!!!!!!!!”

ok sure, and i’m fine with that. now what?

“changes from hormones are irreversible!!!!!!”

yeah i sure hope so. now what?

“you might regret it!!!!!!”

yeah i might. but i’m an adult who made a decision and is fully prepared to deal with those consequences if i ever do change my mind. now what?

“gay men will never sleep with you!! only bi men who think you’re a woman!!!!!!”

i mean, if you insist, sure, whatever. i don’t care. now what?

“you’re ruining your beautiful female body!!!!!!”

yep, sure am, and i’m fine with that. now what?

no, really. now what? if i accept that i’m female and will always be female, agree that i’m “mutilating” my body and will never be a cis man, that hrt causes irreversible changes that i might regret someday, and i still want to undergo these changes and be called certain things, now what? what would you like to happen? do you want legislation put in place to prevent me from having autonomy over what i choose to do with my body? because my state has already done that by banning abortion. if you don’t want to encroach on my bodily autonomy, what do you want?

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tojikai · 1 year

Text

Permanent Mark X: Loss

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of abortion, implied miscarriage

Series Masterlist

“We all experience the pain of losing something. Or someone.”

“You. Film it.” There’s no way in hell that I’d let you fool my daughter again.

Your mother was furious at the sight a couple of meters away from her. Just when she was thinking about reaching out and helping the two of you with your issues, she sees this. The man who was swearing to take care of you and her grandchild just a week ago is here meeting someone else.

Your mother partially blames herself for your poor decisions in life. Not being able to look after you, talking to you only to nag you about the company, and not paying attention to your bad habits are only a few of the things that she started to regret when you yourself started to face the consequences. Your mother isn’t clueless about you, though. She already got a feeling that that woman isn’t just anyone or someone that piqued your curiosity. Not by the way you ran after her and definitely not by the way you avoided your mother’s gaze when she asked why you were asking about her.

You’re not interested in people who don’t show interest in you and it’s always been like that so why would you suddenly wonder about a random employee from another company? It turned out that your mother was right. She watched as she took half a step closer to Satoru, something he didn’t even flinch at and it only made her blood boil. This woman with an angelic face is the devil who almost got her daughter killed in an accident and your mother has no plans of letting it slip.

“Move the meeting’s schedule.” She turned to her assistant as the girl scrambles to get her notes all while holding her phone, “I need to go to Mr. Takahata’s place right now.” They passed Satoru and the lady while he held her by the shoulders and it took everything in your mother not to ask the driver to stop just to smack her across the face. Is that why she started hanging around the building longer than the time needed? To see the father of her daughter’s child?

Your mother took a deep breath, reminding herself not to assume things so carelessly. If she happens to be wrong about what she saw, she might end up ruining, not only your plans for yourself but also for your child. She needs to think everything through before acting upon it. For now, she needs to know who that errand girl is and the best place to get information is her working place.

Reaching Mr. Takahata’s office, your mother was greeted by multiple workers who already knew her because of the joint project of the companies. She walked over to the desk, letting her assistant speak for her as she looked around for people who might know the woman who was with Satoru.

“Ma’am, Mr. Takahata is in another meeting at the moment and has no free schedules today.” Her assistant talked to her, and the woman behind the desk gave a small smile. “It’s ok, I can wait in his office. I just have to ask him something.” She ignored the employee and head towards the elevator. The silence inside the small space made it easier for your mother to think about all the right questions to ask.

If possible, she’d want to ask you about your break up with Satoru in a more detailed way but she’s also aware that you probably wouldn’t tell the truth about it to her. Especially now that your perception of her is a villain, trying to take away the future that you are planning for your kid. There’s no way that you’d let her know anything that could give her a valid reason to step in and take actions that would obviously contradict those plans.

If what your mother saw is the truth, she wouldn’t stand idly by.

_______________________________________

“I’m about to meet a client.” Satoru spoke, “Something about franchising.” There was a rummaging sound from the other side of the line before a string of curses rush past his lips. “It’s the key, ain’t it?” You bit on the apple as you leaned on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I was so tired yesterday so I kinda forgot where I threw it at.” He clicked his tongue before you heard the jingling of keys, indicating that he found it.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” You said with a little scoff, ignoring how Satoru tried to defend his ways but you were too distracted trying to remove the seeds from the apple. “Are you not going to your mother’s office?” He asked just as you bit again causing you to reply with a hum, finishing chewing as you processed his question. “No. My mom suspended me for a whole week but dad said that she only said it because she thought I wasn’t feeling well because of what happened last time.”

You believed your father about that one. You know your mother wouldn’t let it show that she’s trying to take care of you. She just has her own little, annoying ways to do it. “Yeah, your dad probably told her why we had to leave earlier last week because of that.” You remembered how you faked feeling unwell to avoid the truth from spilling out. Had your father found out, you wouldn’t be talking to Satoru right now. “You think so?” You said nonchalantly as all the possible outcomes for the situation flowed to your brain.

“She’s your mother, Y/N. she cares about you. No matter how angry she gets at you.” Satoru sighed heavily as you heard him close the door. “I know.” You replied curtly before adding, “I’m going to cook. I’ll see you when I see you.” You stood up straight to walk to the cupboards, checking if you have the ingredients for today’s cravings.

“And that is later. I’ll be going there later.” He stated and you furrowed your brows as if he can see you, “You don’t get to decide that.” You retorted, pulling out cans of milk before proceeding to the fridge. “Yes, I can. I miss you. And that little bean.” You found yourself smiling at Satoru’s words accompanied by his chuckles. There’s been tension between you and him ever since that night and you had to remind yourself that that is not how this relationship is supposed to be. Plus, it’s just your hormones. Right?

“No. I’m dropping the call.” You told him, getting annoyed at yourself for your thoughts. “Alright, bye. I love you.” Despite the situation, Satoru has never hesitated to say the words to you. Actually, It started to become normal. Just like when you were dating. The only difference is you don’t say it back anymore. “Call me if something comes up,” Satoru added just before you abandoned the call.

Ever since Satoru found out about your conception, he’s either texting, calling you, or at your apartment. In other words, he has been present at almost every moment of your pregnancy. You could only imagine how he’d probably never leave your place when the baby finally arrives. Just as he said some nights ago while you were having a conversation in your bed, “We’d be living together. Basically." You told him that you’d just let him have the child for some days but he insisted that the baby should be close to both parents at all times because it’s better for them.

“You know, that’s not how co-parenting usually works.” You tried to reason out with him, but you know that it won’t convince him. “Not usually, but it could be like that.” He spoke as he flips himself to his stomach, looking at you with a serious face as he nods slowly, knowing that he was outsmarting you. “What if I don’t want you around me at all times?” You looked away from the television to check his reaction.

“Then that would really hurt.” His voice turned soft and you know that you really hit it where it hurts. It made you feel guilty as you bit your lip, watching him exhale a sad laugh as he looks down, leaning on his elbows. “But it’s fine. As long as it makes you comfortable, it’s okay.” He looked up to smile at you, though his eyes remained lightless.

“I was just kidding. I just want what’s best for the baby.” You looked away again, swallowing. You know that he was really hurt by your question. Some people would probably say that he deserves it, for everything that he made you go through. But you just don’t do that to people you love or even the people that you used to love. You don’t go around doing things that could hurt them just because you called it quits.

It’s never ok to step on someone’s heart just because you’re healing your own. Causing them chaos won’t grant you peace. You learned that the hard way.

Silence enveloped the two of you for a good half an hour, your eyes stayed glued to the television but your mind was still circling around the conversation that you had with Satoru. You turned to look at him, ready to say sorry when you found him asleep. He was on his side, with his palm on your stomach, snoring lightly. You never took notice of it before but he looked so exhausted. When he was not here doing everything for you— cooking, cleaning, driving back and forth to the store, or whatever you want—he was at work.

You watched his face closely, holding his hand in place as you slid down from leaning your head on the bed frame to fully lying next to him. If there’s something that you want your child to take from him—aside from his eyes which are definitely the most noticeable part of his face—is his hair. He looks so angelic with his long lashes which made his eyes more breathtaking.

Your hand found purchase in his locks, pushing them back and running your fingers through them until he started to stir in his sleep. You quickly drew your hand back, ready to pull the blanket over you to turn away from him but he caught your wrist. He held it gently as he put it around him, pulling your body closer to his. The warmth coming from his skin made it impossible for you to pull away.

So, you stayed there, looking up at him as he locked eyes with you. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, which he answered with a tired smile, mouthing “It’s alright.” before kissing your forehead and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You buried your face in his neck, letting your breath fan over it as the warm palm of his hand rests on your lower back.

You don’t understand how and why you’re letting yourself become this comfortable around him again. You can’t remember when you started letting him hold you like this again but there’s one thing you are sure and aware of.

You missed being here.

Blinking, you continued preparing your food, shaking your head to get rid of the thoughts. You’ve been having conversations with yourself lately about why you’re letting yourself enjoy all of that again when you know damn well that you have no intentions of letting him back in your heart again.

Have you changed your mind about that? Definitely not. But there’s a part of you that says that Satoru was being sincere. Apart from telling you how he’d do literally anything for your child, he never forgets to remind you that he’s doing all of this to show you that he wants to win you back and make up for all he’s done.

Lately, he’s been going to meetings about their business, you remembered him telling you that one of their employees quit and now he has to fill in for their space until they finally find someone capable. You yourself have also been calling Kento, asking about the situation in the office, and to your relief, he’s handled them all for you. You know you’d have to go back there to work. You could work at other companies but you’re afraid that your mother already probably called them not to take you in just so she could tie you down to the company.

You don’t know how the road will be during this stage of your life. But you’re determined to restructure yourself and your life.

_______________________________________

2 Days Ago

“The boss’ daughter is pregnant.” Rie’s looked up from her plate to her friend who was continuing to casually sip away at her milkshake. It was Sunday and they decided to hang out. Despite only meeting the woman at your mother’s office, they became close in no time. She’s a very friendly person.

Rie didn’t answer, letting her friend, Shaina, talk about how they’re suspecting that Satoru was the father. Thoughts flow in Rie’s mind as she tried to connect the dates. Well, it’s not impossible, depending on how long you are into the pregnancy and the day that you slept with Satoru. It could also be someone else’s considering how you were apart from each other for a while after you healed from your accident.

“That gorgeous man with white her, A.K.A her ex could be the father, considering how he’s the one who accompanied her. Or it could be someone else, like the hot guy with long hair and tattoos that also brings food for her in the office from time to time.” Shaina gossiped, and Rie was suddenly thankful that she accepted her invitation to eat out.

“It couldn’t be that. That’s their friend. Plus, Satoru wouldn’t be following them around if that’s the case.” Rie reasoned out, trying to look as uninterested as possible but curious as to your real situation. It’s not like she’s looking for a chance to swipe Satoru from you. But this is something that involves him—the man she loves. “How did you guys even know that she’s pregnant?” She inquired further, leaning back on the chair.

“Someone saw her and the white-haired guy stepping out of an OB clinic. It could mean other things, but they said that she was cradling her stomach.” There was a moment of silence as Rie tried to process it. Did Satoru get you pregnant when he slept with you that day? Or did you sleep with someone else before or after it happened? There’s no way for her to find out because there are no other people close to you who aren’t also close to Rie.

She’s not even one bit worried about you, but she’s worried for Satoru. The sound of her fork scraping on her plate made Rie clench her teeth. There were too many scenarios running through Rie’s mind as she completely shuts out her friend’s voice. Rie has thought about this before. Why would you let Satoru sleep with you so easily after all that he’s done? Was that your plan when you both went to your apartment that day? Get him under your sheets so he has a reason to keep going after you even when you’re putting him through just to get you back.

“They probably told the boss the day that we saw them there.” She looked at her friend again, pretending to listen when all she’s been thinking is how you’re possibly making Satoru own up to a kid that’s not even his. Is he so blinded that he didn’t even consider if it’s really his or not? You could’ve slept with someone else around the same time.

“I don’t really know much about Miss Y/N. But I heard that she used to be a bit of a rebel and that’s why she’s only starting to work at the company now.” Rie nodded her head as she thought of how she’d open the topic to Satoru. It’s not that she’s trying to get back at you. She just doesn’t want Satoru to put his life on the line for something that isn’t even his doing. Plus, it’s not impossible that you’re really fooling him.

_______________________________________

Satoru stood outside the building where he was supposed to be meeting his client. He arrived earlier than he expected and was informing them through text. He’s also thinking about sending you a photo of the bake shop in front of the said building just to ask if you’ve been craving some cakes. He smiled at the thought of his child taking after his love for sweet foods. Satoru was about to go in but a familiar voice called out to him and before he can even turn his head, Rie was already running toward him, holding on to him.

“Rie?” Satoru furrowed his brows and was about to step away when she tightened her hold on him, with worry and stress painted all over her face. “Y/N’s pregnant, right? Is it yours?” She asked right away and Satoru’s eyes widened at her question. First is because he has no idea how she could’ve found out when the pregnancy has been kept between you, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. Satoru is a hundred percent sure that she couldn’t have heard it from your parents; there’s no way that they’d announce that their daughter got pregnant by her ex. The second is because of why Rie is asking if it’s his.

Satoru is not obligated to give her an answer to all of this. He’s not even supposed to entertain her like this. What if someone sees them together? He can’t afford to lose the tiniest trust you have in him right now. Not to mention that that little amount of trust was only given to him because you got no choice.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you, Rie, you know that. Okay, I’m sorry for what hap—” Satoru shook his head as he tried to step away from Rie but was cut off by the slight raise in her voice and how she tugged his arm, stepping closer to him. “Are you sure that it’s yours? Don’t do this to yourself, Satoru.” She almost begged him as she desperately tried to hold his hand, letting hers slide down his arm. Satoru’s eyes widened at her question, denying himself that he even heard it. He found himself tugging Rie away.

He shouldn’t even be interested in this. Y/N won’t do that to him.

“Someone might see us and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression, Rie. Why are you doing this?” Satoru whispered harshly at her the moment they reached a narrow alleyway. “I told you we’re over, Rie. I’m sorry but we’re over.” Satoru breathed out, looking around to see if someone followed them. As if they’d let him catch them if this was really a setup. Satoru made sure that he was covering Rie from anyone’s line of sight. His back was turned away from the street as he stared at her with frustration in his eyes.

“I just- Satoru, you have to listen to me. Did it happen because you slept with her that day?” Her hand went back to gripping his shoulders and arms as she again, steps closer to him. Satoru could only look at her with pity and exasperation in his eyes. She’s obviously panicking; probably rushed to him just to talk about whatever this is because she was still trying to catch her breath.

“You might be overlooking some things, Satoru. I’m not hating on her, I’m just worried about you.” She looked up at him. Her hands are cold and she’s trembling under her skin while she miserably fails to pull him into her. She hadn’t been this close to him since the day that he broke up with her. The nearest that she has been to him was when they ran into each other at her mother’s company building. Even then, he didn’t even let his eyes linger on her.

“She could’ve slept with someone before or even a day after you, Satoru.” Satoru’s thoughts overshadowed Rie’s voice as he looked back on that day.

You were comfortable enough to be topless in front of Suguru. You were healed enough to move around. Satoru doesn’t know what you have been doing until that time just to move on from the pain he caused you, just to forget him. And as much as Satoru hates to visualize it, he could see you getting on the bed with a faceless man when you’re too drunk to care. What if it really happened to be like that? It could be any day close to the day that you had sex with him. it is possible, it is-

Satoru shut down the voice in his head. This isn’t helping. Not after he found out that Y/N and Suguru did something together. This doesn’t put his mind at ease and he doesn’t want that to push him to do, say or even ask things to you that could cause stress. He already told himself that he was over that. Satoru closed his eyes tightly, reminding himself that you wouldn’t lie to him like that.

“Rie, calm down. You listen to me.” Satoru grabbed her arm after making her drop her hold on him. “Y/N wouldn’t do that to me.” He said it so firmly, that Rie let out a whimper of defeat, shaking her head, letting him know that she knows that she got a point. “She has every reason to deny me that baby. Even if it was mine.” Satoru was firm on his decision to not let this get to him. It couldn’t be true and Satoru has cold, hard proof to ensure that.

“You don’t understand, it could be someone else’s—” That did it for Satoru as he held her arm tighter, gritting his teeth and panting as he calmed himself down. It took everything in him not to scream out at Rie, “Listen to yourself, Rie. You’re not making any sense. Do you even know how much she fucking hates me?! If Y/N could pick a father for her baby right now, it wouldn’t be me, Rie. So, what makes you think that she’d lie about it being mine?” A shiver run down Rie’s spine as she stepped away, covering her mouth as she let the tears stream down his face.

“Stop this, Rie. I don’t want to do anything like this anymore. I’m trying to fix my life with Y/N.” Satoru stepped away from her, looking at her shaking form as she tried to apologize. “I’m trying to be better for her and my child, so please…” Satoru shook his head as he turned to walk away, fixing his shirt as he took a deep breath, leaving Rie as she cry out his name. Satoru sighed in relief as he remembered all the things he said.

Those were the truth. You wouldn’t lie about him being the father because you despise him too much. It kills him to even think of it. Satoru could bet his life that if you were ever given the chance to turn everything around, you’d probably choose to never meet him ever. But if he was given a chance to turn things around, he would have gone straight home that one night. Then none of this wouldn’t be this hard right now. You could be shopping painting the baby’s room or writing down names.

If anything, you’re the one who has a reason to suspect him. You have every reason to accuse him of baby-trapping you. Satoru blinked a tear away as he mentally punched himself for doubting you just because of what happened with Suguru. Now he’s getting all answers that he needed. One good thing came out of that encounter with Rie.

_______________________________________

3 Days Later

“Harder,” You whined as you lightly kicked Satoru’s legs, chewing on your unpeeled apple. You kept your eyes on the screen as you heard him apologize. It was another rainy day and you were spending it on the bed as Satoru massaged your feet. It doesn’t really hurt considering how early you still are in the pregnancy but you read about it and now you want it too.

Satoru slept over the night before due to the very heavy rains. You were angry at him for the whole night for not going home earlier before the weather got worse but now, not so much anymore considering how you want a foot massage. “I wonder how you’d be when the baby weight starts really making your foot hurt. ” He giggled at you making you scowl at him before pulling your foot away from him harshly.

“Sorry, I’m not making fun of you. You’re just adorable, right now. What more, when you’re already round.” He giggled even more and this time he really got a kick from you, making him yelp. You fixed your position to turn away from him as you placed your apple on the plate in the middle of your bedside table.

“You think this is fun. You think this is funny.” You partially got up to pull the covers over your head, attempting to put something in between you and Satoru who’s still smiling even as he rubs his thigh. “Look, it’s not like that. You’re just cute. Don’t be mad.” His voice sounded muffled as you covered your ears with the thick fabric of the sheet. You get sensitive when you think about how much you’d change when the baby gets bigger and bigger. And although you understand that that would mean meeting your little one sooner, it still makes you self-conscious.

“Come on, now. Sorry. “ Satoru managed to get under your covers, wrapping a strong arm around you which you tried to swat away but failed. Albeit not kissing—you could still feel his lips on your shoulders as he tangled his legs with yours. It felt nice. Having a warm body to press yourself into is nice, you thought as you stopped struggling under his hold. You tensed when he peppered light kisses on the shell of your ears as he pulled the covers down.

“I’d get big.” You croaked as he pulled you to his chest, “Hm? So, what? You’ll still be beautiful.” He whispered to you kissing the side of your head. You still don’t know how you’d manage your resolve if it’s like this. You’ve read stories of how two people did almost every hurtful thing possible to each other and yet, still handled everything by the end. It’s like fighting over which piece fits a part of the puzzle and celebrating together when it finally got solved.

Some of them didn’t even have a connection to keep them strung together even through a time apart, unlike the two of you who are taking care of a developing life inside you and thus, have more reason to figure things out. Sometimes it makes you feel like a bad mother, putting yourself and your life first before the child. You know that it’s crucial for a child to have a whole family, especially when there’s no active reason to let it live with a broken one.

Satoru’s been working on himself, there’s significant progress in your relationship now. And although trust isn’t something you had fully given to him yet, that doesn’t mean that he cannot earn it in the days to come. There’s really no reason for you to act harshly toward him right now. Not when he’s been doing nothing but make you feel loved. Even more than before, if you’re being honest.

Forgiveness isn’t an issue but the pain you went through is preventing you from giving yourself to him again and along with that is your child’s future. It wouldn’t be easy to forget what he put you through but you could push that aside for your child.

If you had to risk your heart for your child’s life, you’d do it.

“I don’t care if you think I’m beautiful or not. It’s about what I think.” You retorted as you tried to get out of his grasp, stubbornly pushing his hand away. For some reason, it didn’t sit right with you that he thinks that you care about what he thinks of you. Yet, you found yourself thinking, Will he stop giving me this treatment when I get big? A laugh from Satoru, made you snap out of your thoughts.

��But I’m still letting you know. You’ll still be pretty even when you get big.” He rested his chin on top of your head as he whispered, you could only answer him with a scoff before his phone started to ring. He clicked his tongue as he pulled away from you to reach for it, he only took a quick glance at his phone before showing you the caller's I.D. which showed multiple numbers that indicate that it was from an unknown number. He leaned on the bed frame as he answered.

“Hello? Who’s this?” He ran his fingers through your hair, moving stray pieces of hair away from your face as he talked on the phone. His voice sounds strict and professional yet his eyes held nothing but fondness as he looked at you. You could hear a feminine voice from the other line and Satoru’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed; his hands stopped massaging your scalp and he sat up straight.

“Like, right now?” He looked out the window to see that the rain has completely stopped before looking at you. You wanted to lean in just to hear what was going on, you wanted to ask him why but an eased look took over his features as he relaxed back into his previous position. You’re still curious but you assumed it was nothing serious.

“Alright, alright.” He spoke before biting his lip as he dropped his phone to his side. He gave you a small smile before moving to lie down beside you. “Listen, I kinda have to go. They need me in the office.” He looked at the wall clock above the television before glancing at the skies outside again. The weather has cleared up and you didn’t even notice. Only the sad color of the sky and the silver linings remained.

“Yeah, yeah.” You flipped through the channels, trying to find something else to watch as Satoru pecks the side of your head before standing up. “I’ll call you on my way home so I can get you something, okay?” He stretched his back as he watched you look up at him with furrowed brows. “You really insist on staying over every day? Your clothes are piling up here. Take them home.” You spoke to him almost monotonously as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t really want to go home. Don’t you enjoy my company?” He tried to lighten up the mood, seeing that you weren’t joking at all. He still gets this cold treatment from you sometimes and he doesn’t really know if the pregnancy causes them or if that’s how you really are with him. Either way, they are both valid and understandable reasons.

“I can do things on my own, too, you know? This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, Satoru.” You looked up at him, with real concern on your face. You’re actually getting alarmed by how close you’ve been letting yourself get with him. You already told yourself that you’d be standing on your own two feet and not relying upon others so much anymore like how you did before. You've been doing that but having Satoru around...you just can’t accept that you’re starting to feel something for him again.

“I’m sorry. I just… This is the only chance I can get to prove myself to you. I’m not pressuring you into anything, but I’m still determined to make things right. For you and for our child.” There was an awkward silence as you stared into each other. This Satoru is different than the Satoru you knew. He has grown. Even during the times that you were apart, you can tell that he has grown. Not just because of the baby but you figured that the separation really ignited something in him.

“Come here.” You spoke, and his eyes almost widened at your request. He got used to you always kicking him out, and pushing him away, and hearing those words from you left him in shock. Even so, his body moved to you as you crossed your legs. You held his face between your hands, tracing the lines of his features as he leaned toward you.

“I appreciate everything that you do for us. But some things are not easy for me.” You whispered to him, seeing how his eyes softened yet filled up with sadness and longing. He nodded as he closed his eyes before smiling at you. "I know, love. I know. I'm sorry." It was his turn to grab your face and kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes, feeling how he pressed his lips a second longer than usual. Satoru knows that your relationship is not back to the way it was. And it probably never will but change might not be so bad—Satoru figured—especially if it involves you and your child.

If he has to wait for a thousand years for you, he'd gladly and patiently wait.

Just as Satoru was about to get up, he paused when he saw you standing up as well. “Drop me off at the store, I need to get something.” You smiled up at him, grabbing his arm as you struggled to put on your bedroom slippers. “You could wait for me, we’ll get it together.” Lately, Satoru’s been the one doing all the shopping for you so, you rarely step out of the apartment. This time, you want to do it yourself again.

You whined when he held your wrist as you walked to your closet, ready to pick clothes. “No, I just need some fruits. I haven’t been out for days so, I want to do it myself.” You lightly stomped your feet on the carpeted floor, hearing Satoru sigh as you turned your back to him to open your cabinet. “Alright, let’s get dressed, then.” Satoru tried to pull at the hem of your shirt but you were quick to swat it away, hearing him laugh. “I can dress myself, thank you. Get out.” You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, making him pout as you lightly pushed him out before locking the door. You closed your eyes as your brain made all scenarios flash in the back of your eyelids had you let him dress up with you.

You told yourself ‘no’, but your heart was saying otherwise. You don’t know if this self-control of yours can last.

_______________________________________

Satoru didn't tell you that it was your mother's employee who called him to her office. He was shocked at first because he was strictly forbidden to tell you about it. Stepping out of his car when he reached the company was already a task. He made sure to stay alert, keeping an eye out for any setups that may come his way.

He doesn’t want to think of your parents like that. But after that meeting with them and seeing how your mother reacted, he can't cut out the possibility of her doing something underhanded just to separate him from you. It made Satoru worry about you, as well. If it's really something like that, then it also involves you. And he's afraid that he won't be able to do anything to protect you.

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he thought that it could be something brighter, too. What if your mother has finally accepted your decision? What if she just called him to set some things straight and to make sure that his promises to take care of you and the baby are true?

What's getting him really curious is the reason why she didn't want you to come. He could only conclude that this is something that you cannot know about. And this makes the possibility of her having only good things to talk to him about really low. She doesn't seem the type to plan surprises. And if she does have a surprise plan, Satoru's sure that she wouldn't want to include her daughter's ex.

First, step inside the company building and there's already an employee waiting for him. "To the main office, Sir." The lady said as she bowed to him before walking ahead to lead him. "The boss sent me to make sure that you'll go straight to her office, Sir." She spoke, making Satoru's eyebrows slightly furrow. He wanted to ask why but he knew that the lady wouldn't really tell her anything so, he just nodded slowly.

Opening the door to your mother’s office, Satoru thanked the lady as she urged him to go inside. He expected to see your mother sitting on the big swivel chair reading papers but he was welcomed by Rie as she looked at him with frightened eyes, sitting on one of the chairs near your mother’s table. There were photos of him and Rie on the day of their encounter not even a week ago. All blood drained from his body as he got flashbacks of it.

“What’s going on?” He whispered, not sure if Rie could hear him and it doesn’t really matter. He needs to know where your mom is. He needs to explain all of this. Was that a setup? Has your mother found out that Rie was the reason Satoru left you and now she’s using her? Is this how your mother plans to keep you away from him? By making it seem like they met behind your back? Multiple questions were echoing inside his head all at once and Satoru isn’t sure if he should find your mother and talk to her or go home to make sure that you were not getting the wrong information.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” He didn’t even notice your mother come in or hear Rie’s explanation of the situation. "Were two talking about how to get out of this situation?” She walked calmly to her desk, pushing forward the photos of the two of them. Satoru doesn’t know where to start or how to explain what really happened without getting your mom aggravated. Her movements are calm yet the atmosphere inside the room got worse the moment she stepped in.

“What? There’s nothing to explain when there’s solid proof, right?” Satoru shook his head, stepping forward to grab one, “This is not what it looks like—” Your mother’s laugh cut him off and Satoru already knows that his words were not believed. “Of course, that’s what people who are lying always say.” She taunted, before turning to Rie, not giving Satoru time to explain. “What about you? You’re the other woman, right? What’s going on in these pictures if it’s not what I think it is?”

“I was about to meet someone else when she appeared, she—” Satoru started again, desperate to convince your mother that he isn’t lying. He badly wanted to ask her if she told you about it already, scared—no, terrified—that you might also misunderstand the pictures. “I’m not asking you.” Your mother’s gaze pierced through Satoru and he could almost see how everything would’ve turned out if she found out about his infidelity at the hospital.

“You. Answer me.” There was a long pause as Rie looked down, her eyes were already red as she clenched her hand, shaking as she took a deep breath. “I…Your daughter…she might be lying to Satoru. She’s desperate for him, she slept with him while he was with me.” Rie answered through clenched teeth as a tear escape her eye. She doesn’t like that your mother is acting like you can do no wrong when you’re the reason why Satoru left her.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Satoru retorted angrily. He shook his head in disbelief. This isn’t the Rie he knew in high school. Is she so hell-bent on getting her revenge that she’s going this far? “It was my fault that happened before I broke it off with you, Rie. I thought we were over that.” Satoru was getting desperate, things are getting out of hand and he doesn’t know how he’ll keep you in trouble.

“She still did it! What makes you think that she didn’t do it with someone else when you were apart?! How sure are you that you’re the father of that child?! She could—” Slap. Rie fell at the impact of your mother’s hand on her cheek. She touched the place with her shaky hands before looking up. Satoru looked at your mother’s furious face as she stared down at Rie.

“Who are you to talk about my daughter like that inside my building?!” Her voice boomed inside the room and Satoru was sure that anyone who passed by that door would’ve heard her. Rie could only sob as she tried to collect herself from shock. There was a pregnant pause before Satoru blinked, determined to prove himself that he wasn’t doing anything behind your back as he took the chance to explain himself.

“M-Ma’am, she thought Y/N was lying about her pregnancy and wanted to talk to me about it. I know Y/N w-will never do that. My conversation with Rie didn’t even last long.” Satoru spoke hurriedly, stumbling on his words as he tried to get his answer across. He needs this to be over so he could go home to you. He fears that your mother already contacted you about this without getting to hear Satoru’s explanation. Knowing that your mother already knows that he cheated, Satoru wouldn’t be surprised if she wouldn’t believe him.

“Your daughter is not the angel you think she is. Satoru cheated on me with her.” Rie stood up, sobbing as she took a single step back. “Satoru left me because of her.” There was a pain in her voice and Satoru could tell just how much that situation destroyed her. He felt bad, he felt sorry for her but she hasn’t been doing the right things. If this is her way of getting back at you, Satoru would never forgive it.

“I could say that you deserve it after what you did to her.” Your mother was a savage, not even flinching at Rie’s revelation to her. No one can tell what’s going on inside her head as she opened a drawer and pulls out a phone. “Don’t you think that’s your karma for ruining a relationship? You should be ashamed of yourself first.” She tapped away at the phone before placing it in front of them. A video of Satoru and Rie played. This is what Satoru was scared about. Getting the situation taken out of context.

“I tried to push her away, Ma’am. Please, believe me.” Your mother didn’t say anything as she let the video roll. It was when Rie’s face was only a few inches away from him as they stood between those big buildings. The time when Satoru almost doubted you. He wasn’t aware that it took so long. Anyone who would see the video would think that they were two lovers having a moment and Satoru prayed that you wouldn’t see any of this.

“Doesn’t look like it to me.” Your mother voiced out, leaving Satoru out of explanations. Before any of them could even say anything, the door swung open, revealing you and the confused look on your face as you dropped your grocery bag. Your hand flew to your stomach, knowing that there was something wrong judging by the looks in their eyes. “What’s going on?” Satoru was quick to walk towards you as you spotted the phone and photos on the table. Your eyes landed on Rie as she looks down, her cheek noticeably swollen. You came here in hopes to make amends with your mother. But it seems like you’re in for something more. Just when you thought everything was going great.

“Mom,” You called out just as Satoru took your hand in his cold one, “Y/N, listen to me. This is not what it seems. Let me explain—” Satoru tried to stop you from walking to the table, but you already saw the pictures. “Y-you were with her…” You slowly looked up at Satoru, not trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. Satoru shook his head as he held your shoulders, you glanced at your mother who only stood with a disappointed look on her face.

“I asked Satoru to come here alone. I was supposed to talk to him about this and I got more information than what I intended to pull from them.” There was a silent warning in your mother’s eyes. You could hear Rie sniffing behind you as Satoru, held your face in his hands to look at him. “She came to me, she was saying things, Y/N. And I tried to push her away. I was supposed to meet with a client, do you remember?” You let the tears stream down your face as you tried to tell yourself that he wouldn’t lie. You don’t really know what to believe in anymore.

“You didn’t tell me about this.” You whimpered as you held his wrist, attempting to push him away from you. “You’re saying that this happened yet you didn’t tell me about it. How am I supposed to just believe you?” It frustrated you that you had to find out like this. You turned to Rie, looking at her with furrowed brows, curiosity rather than anger. “What were you telling him?” She failed to look you in the eye as she stepped away. The hatred that you saw in her eyes during that time with her in the elevator was still there. “Are you trying to get back at me?”

“No-” She sobbed, taking a step back as she looked up at you and your mom. “Then, what were you doing?” You don’t know why it hurts so much. Despite Satoru’s explanation, you still find it hard to trust his words. This has happened before, what if he really did it again? What if he realized that he wants to be with her again and that’s why he agreed to meet with her? What did they even talk about?

“I wanted to talk to him. And he pulled me in between those buildings.” Rie straightened up her posture as she spoke. “You know why I pulled away. Don’t try to lie.” Satoru retorted as he stepped forward to glower at Rie. “Of course, you don’t want us to be seen…Right?” Rie knows what she was saying. But it’s not fair that she’s the only one going down when she’s been betrayed too. Besides, what she’s saying is still true. It’s just up to you now how you’d interpret it.

“You could’ve left her there if you didn’t want to talk to her, Satoru.” It was your mom’s voice, speaking out for your thoughts. That’s right. If Satoru didn’t want to be with her, he could’ve just walked away. What were they talking about? What’s got him so interested that he really made an effort to hide her?

“What did she tell you?” There was a crack in your voice as you watched the playing video on the phone. How his hand held her arm, how close they were to each other as he remained unmoving, how he let her hold run her hands on his shoulders. It still hurt. Seeing him with someone else still hurt. It felt like that time again, at Shoko’s party. You could almost see her clinging to him. You could almost see him pull her by the waist. It fucking hurts again.

“She was asking me if I-I was sure that the baby’s m-mine. She’s trying to tell me that you could be…lying about me being th-the father, Y/N.” You looked up at him with furrowed brows, more tears escaping your eyes as your lips twitched. You could already see why his first reaction was to pull her away to talk.

“And you’ve been having doubts?” You whispered as you bring up a hand closing your eyes as you wipe away your tears. Sobbing when you realize that he almost believed her over you. You hated that she could always have him wrapped around her fingers. You hated that there was still a chance that he’d choose her over you. Are you still not that much to him?

“Y/N…I-I had them before but-” Your cries cut off Satoru as you covered your face with both of your hands. He really did doubt you. That’s why he still went and had that conversation with her. What if she managed to convince him that time? Would he have left you in the cold again? Would he abandon you again? Would he take back his promises and run away with her again? It tore you apart thinking about how he still seems to trust her despite knowing all of you. Does he still have lingering feelings for her?

“Y/N, listen. I know you won’t do that. That’s why I came home to you that day, right? I hate myself for ever thinking that, Y/N. But I believe you.” He took you in his arms, holding your face to wipe away your tears as you try to catch your breath. This is all too much for you. Thinking about how close you were to being thrown to the side again makes you feel like there’s a thick band wrapped around your chest, trying to stop you from breathing. It’s all more painful when you think about your baby.

“I don’t know anymore, Satoru.” You shook your head as you pushed him away, stepping away from all of them as tears cascaded down your face. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Your thoughts were mixed when Satoru first left you for Rie. Now that you found out how he almost chose to believe her again, it hurts twice as much. You don’t know what to think about anymore. You just want to go home, far away, anywhere to protect yourself and your child.

You don’t care how your mother got the footage and pictures. It’s enough that you know what really went down. It was silly of you to think that your situation with Satoru is getting better.

It was foolish of you to think that you have all of him.

“I’ll have someone take you home, Y/N. It’s better for you to be at the mansion.” You hear your mother say as she walks towards you. You didn’t expect your mother to hold you as she tried to lead you out. “Stay here. Or you won’t see her ever again.” She mouthed at Satoru as he tried to get near you, before giving the both of them a warning look. Even your mother didn’t want to believe it but what can she do when she herself didn’t hear how their conversation went?

She asked them here to confront them about the cheating that happened when Satoru left you. She ended up finding out that her daughter slept with her ex when he was in a relationship with someone. Mr. Takahata’s employee failed to give her that information and she’s assuming that it’s because it didn’t really happen for long. She still has to ask you about that.

Getting her driver to lead you out, they managed to get you in the car as you sobbed your heart out. She also called a doctor on the way back to her office to tend to you. She’s not used to losing her composure and in all your life, this is the first time that she’s seen you break down like that. It almost felt like she didn’t know what to do and for that, she feels terrible. She’s supposed to be your mother.

“Do you know how I found out?” She walked behind Rie as they both remained where they were before she left. She made sure to leave someone by the door to stop because if her daughter was done with them, well she was not. It was her blood and flesh, her only daughter that got stepped all over and almost killed.

“I got people, I got eyes and ears anywhere you go. More people know about you than you know.” Rie let out a shaky breath as she looked over to Satoru who stared blankly at the table, hopeless. Is he not even one bit concerned about her? “If it wasn’t for my daughter getting involved in a car accident, I would have thanked you for making a scene at that party. You really gave your indecency away.” Rie shivered at the memory. It felt like it only happened yesterday. She didn’t even think about how the people and their friends would look at her because she only wanted to be loved by Satoru.

“I-We didn’t mean for her to—” Your mother let out a laugh as she picked up the pictures to put them back in her drawer. Satoru’s eyes followed them, breathing in as he got pulled back to reality. “It’s a little too late for you to explain or apologize. You already lost everything.” A horrified look took over Rie’s features as your mother say the words. She already knows what that means. She’s aware of how powerful and influential your mother is in their industry and Rie could only imagine herself getting kicked out of every company building she tries to transfer to. Where will she end up?

“It was a mistake, ma’am. And my work has nothing-” She tried to move closer to your mother, ready to beg but your mother was quick to raise a hand. “Save it for the employers. Let’s see if they’d let a snake work in their company.” She gave her a smile that only brought tears to Rie’s eyes. She wanted to kneel and beg for all that she said. “Ma’am, please…” Rie was desperate and she was angry. She didn’t know what else to do to get Satoru to come back to her again. She thought that if Y/N throws him away, he’d crawl back to her. She wasn’t thinking straight.

“You can try to talk me to it for hours and I won’t change my mind. I’m not your boss but Mr. Takahata gave me permission to dismiss you. So, go. I won’t spend the rest of my day looking at the woman who tried to destroy my daughter’s life twice.” Your mother was unblinking as her eyes sent daggers to Rie. She was about to kneel before her when she started to speak again, speaking of nothing but the terror that she was about to bring to Rie’s life. “Or I can call someone to help you get out?” It was a warning and Rie could only hold back her cries as she stepped back. She could barely catch her breath as she looked at Satoru, hoping that he’d even turn to look at her. But he didn’t.

Rie could only walk out in shame, mortified by the looks that she got from the employees that she passed by. There were whispers and judging looks in their eyes and even the friend that she was expecting to maybe look at her with pity is now sending her an ice-cold stare. She hung her head low in shame, thinking about how everything could’ve been different if she wasn’t being selfish, if she didn’t get involved, if she didn’t let her desires get the best of her that night.

_______________________________________

Satoru didn’t even notice Rie go as he thought of how he’d make your mother understand his true intentions. He knows that there’s nothing else to say about his past mistake and he’d regret all of it for the rest of his life. But he still hoping that she’d let him do his best for you and your baby right now.

“I don’t think it’s still right for you to keep seeing Y/N, Satoru. You can be a father to her child without ever getting near her.” Your mother spoke to Satoru, getting all of his attention. This is his greatest fear. “I-it’s not just about th-the baby, Ma’am. Please, I-I was trying to make everything right, to make it up to Y/N.” He tried to explain but your mother only stared at him for a long time.

“I love her. I love Y/N. I made the mistake of leaving her, and I’ll forever regret it but I’m doing all that I can to fix her, to fix all of this, Ma’am. Please…” Satoru had to pause, wincing at the pain in his chest as he thought of everything that’s been happening going down the drain. Just like how he let 5 years crumble when he broke your heart. “...Don’t take her away. Don’t take them away.” Tears were blurring his vision when he looked down.

“Do you understand that my daughter almost died because of your mistake?” Your mother spoke through clenched teeth. “If possible I wouldn’t even want my daughter anywhere near you. She’s been making far too many mistakes because of you.” There was anger, sadness, and disappointment on your mother’s face. In your mother’s head, she’s blaming herself for not seeing any of this coming. For not even knowing that her daughter was left all alone with her vices. She could’ve been there for you that time when you were trying to wash away your pain with poison. They could’ve helped if only they paid a little more attention.

“You’re not seeing her if it’s not about the child.” Satoru knows that your mother’s words are final, but despite all his pleas and explanations, she didn’t budge. “It’s better than a restraining order, Satoru.” She warned as she took a seat. It was all over for him.

“I have so many things to say to her, Ma’am. So many things to clarify…” Satoru sobbed, “...I just need her to know.” If you won’t take Satoru back then he’ll just let you know that he’s all for you. That not once had he even thought about leaving you again in the middle of it all. That your word is the only word he’d believe. He needs to let you know that you have all of him. You’ve always had all of him even when he wasn’t with you.

“If she’d let you. Only my daughter can decide if she’d trust you near her again. You said you’d been trying to work it out with her, right?” Your mother stood up, surprisingly calm after all that she has found out and even more surprising that she’s letting you decide for yourself about it. But even so, Satoru still fears that she’d push you to go through with the abortion. “You had days to tell her all about it but you didn’t. If it wasn’t anything, you shouldn’t have tried to hide it.” She spoke as she picked up her bag before walking towards the door.

“I was only worried about—” Satoru tried again but your mother was quick to raise a finger. “Only she can decide.” With that, she walked out of the doors, leaving Satoru to cry his heart out as he fell to his knees. Regret fills him as he thought of how the little things he didn’t do and the impulsive choices that he made led to all of this.

It scared him to death but he can almost see himself losing you forever.

_______________________________________

Five days have passed and not a single one of them went by without the maids informing you that Satoru wanted to talk to you. Your mother has met him a couple of times, and the third one she almost filed a restraining order against him. If it wasn’t for your father, you don’t know what would’ve happened. Day and night you’ve been thinking about how it’s going to be for you and your baby.

You don’t have it in you to face Satoru anymore. Flashbacks of how everything went to shit with your relationships won’t let you sleep. The scene in your mother’s office kept getting inside your mind every time you close your eyes. You really thought Satoru was being transparent to you again. You really thought that he wouldn’t try to hide anything from you anymore, but he did. Not only the meeting but his thoughts about you.

You blamed yourself for his doubt. Even if Suguru texted you not to worry about it anymore, you couldn’t help but think that if only you weren’t so careless none of it would’ve happened and all these complications wouldn’t have taken place. The most painful of it all is when you think about how Rie would probably handle him better than you.

The only reason you see for their break up is the accident between the two of you but other than that, you know that Satoru didn’t have to deal with issues when he was with her. Unlike with you. His life was never at peace with you. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to doubt you. Because you were broken. Maybe you’re not the solid foundation that he needs.

You remembered yourself sobbing before the tears that fall from the corner of your eyes sent you to sleep. You just wanted it all to be over now. You wished that you could already hold your baby and say that it’s all going to be fine.

…........................................

You woke up in the middle of the night with intense pain in your lower stomach. You winced as you tried to get up, guarding your it with your free hand as you struggled to support yourself with the other. You hissed as you sat down, still drowsy from sleep but you know that there was something wrong. You hurriedly turned on the lamp on your bedside table and you took your phone in the process.

It's not long before you felt wet and uncomfortable between and under your thighs. Did you pee yourself? You wondered as you pulled the sheets away from you to check. Your eyes widened in horror when you saw blood. Your baby. You don't know when you started to scream but within a couple of seconds, your mom and dad were already rushing to your side.

"Mom, my baby!" You cried as she and your dad tried to help you out. It was no use. All of your limbs felt weak no matter how much you tell yourself that you have to move to save your baby. Your father had to carry you to the car as you were quickly rushed to the hospital.

Are you losing your child? The only reason that you wake up and get up every day, ready to change the course of your life? There were flashbacks of the day you found out, you were pregnant. The fear and joy, all at once. You remembered going to your first appointment. You remembered looking up baby room ideas. And you remembered lying in bed with Satoru as he placed feathery kisses on your stomach. He would smile up at you even when he knows that you won't return it. He whispers the sweetest of things to your growing little one.

They were peaceful days that you would never be able to take back. They were peaceful days that you would never experience again.

"It's gonna be fine, Y/N." Your mother shushed you as she wrapped an arm around you. "My baby, Mom! They need to save my baby!" You wailed as you reached the hospital. The nurses are doing everything to calm you down along with your parents as you cried, begging for them to put your baby's life first. You didn't think you'd see the day your mom would cry but there she is, with tears streaming down her face and standing a couple of meters from you as the professionals did their job. Your father rubbed her shoulders up and down while he did his best to comfort you. Your vision blurred and darkness took over you once again.

In your dreams, you were holding a beautiful baby to your chest as a man kissed you on the forehead…They were your heart's deepest desires.

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anamericangirl · 3 months

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i had an abortion in 2013 and it is eating me up inside no one in real life knows but every few years I snap like this and just bitch on anon to someone about it because it hurts me somehow and I'm embarrassed i even did it. I know my family and best friend wouldnt judge me but the idea of being truly seen as someone hurting who made a mistake is just too much. Idk who to talk to. Especially because most people are pro choice where i live especiallu therapists and womens groups and idk.

I’m so sorry you are going through this, anon. Especially alone. It’s a tragic reality that no one ever talks to women or prepares them for the very real feelings of abortion regret and the emotional consequences that unfortunately sometimes don’t go away with time. There is an unwarranted stigma around women who talk about abortion regret and it can make them uncomfortable speaking out or seeking help because they feel like they are experiencing emotions they shouldn’t be. But you are definitely not alone!

It’s ok to feel the pain and regret and admit to yourself that you made a mistake. It’s ok to hurt and feel the loss. It’s an important part of the healing process.

I would definitely encourage you to seek out counseling. I’m so sorry you haven’t been able to find resources where you live but I do know of some places you can reach out to.

Hope After Abortion offers both support groups and one on one counseling and is very careful to respect confidentiality. I think they are a great organization to reach out to.

H3Helpline also offers help and support to women who are experiencing abortion regret. I don’t know quite as much about them as the above but they might be worth a try.

I really am so sorry for your loss and am so sorry you are suffering in silence. I really hope you reach out and try to get some support and eventually feel comfortable confiding in your friends and family for additional support and healing.

You are always welcome to reach out to me as well. I will keep you in my prayers. 💔💜💙

#anon #answered

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lillypad910 · 10 months

Text

It’ll Get Better

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!f! Reader

Word Count: 3717

Warnings: cussing, talk of sex, but no smut, breakup, depression, talk of suicide (and almost doing it), teen pregnancy, forced abortion, abusive relationships, tones of healing.

Summary: You are Andy’s girlfriend, friends with Jason and Chrissy and the rest of the popular kids of Hawkins High School, but your life flips upside down when you find out your pregnant. After a harsh breakup with your boyfriend and being discarded by all your friends, you find yourself at the Sattler Quarry, standing on the edge of the rocky cliff, will you jump? Or will a certain freak save you from your dark space?

A/n: Sorry for the long pause in posting! I’ve been working on this for a could days now, but it’s been a slow rolling with writer’s block and school work (I’m in a summer class this month and it’s been kicking my butt a little harder this week). Please enjoy!

You sat at the lunch table, your arms crossed as you listen to Chrissy tell everyone about her exciting date with Jason. “He took me to dinner at Enzo’s, then out to a movie, THEN we went to the lake for a light night dance! Isn’t that so romantic?” She chirps, practically glowing with joy. “Yeah, Chrissy, that’s lovely!” One of the other girls smile.

You stay silent, glancing over at the end of the table where Jason and your boyfriend, Andy, were practically slapping each other for fun. You love Andy, you really do, but god was he a bad boyfriend. All he ever does for you is take you out to dinner before dragging you out to the lake to fuck you in his car. “(Y/n),” Chrissy’s sing-song voice calls you back, “how are things with Andy?” Every fellow cheerleader looks at you and you smile. “Good…! We actually just went out last night too.” You immediately regret mentioning it. “Oh? What did you two do?” All the girls you call friends hold their heads up by their palms after sitting their elbows on the table. “Uh…” you hesitate, the still red handprint on your thigh just covered by your skirt as you pull it down lower. “We ate and then also went to the lake…”

Chrissy smiles, “how sweet!” And just then Eddie Munson decides to jump on top of his table. He talks about how everyone is annoying, besides his table, honestly you really weren’t paying attention, you could care less about what the freaks do. “You want something, Freak?” Jason stands up, going over to get closer to him, Andy following him.

The whole dilemma is squished quickly, with a teacher calling them all to relax. When the bell rings you walk up to your boyfriend, smiling at him. “Hey, you ok? Don’t let that freak get to you.” You place your hand on his chest and he groans. “He just pisses me off.” Lucas glances away nervously. “I know, Babe, but you need to control your anger more.” You remind him. He sighs and wraps his arms around you, “You’re so pretty.” He smashes his lips to your and you giggle.

You sit on your bathroom floor a week later, tears streaming down your face as you chunk the positive test across your floor. It had to be a faulty test, there was no way. Sure you weren’t on birth control because you couldn’t tell your mom you were sexually active, but he takes precautions. He… oh god, the lake.

How the hell are you gonna tell your basketball jock of a boyfriend that you’re pregnant? His entire career would go down the drain, hell his life.

You pick yourself up off the floor, shaking so bad your legs start hurting when you stand up completely. You feel like you’re gonna faint or throw up. Maybe both? You couldn’t tell anymore. Your stomach was tossing and turning, as you stepped closer and closer to the phone on your dresser. Dialing his number, you hold your breath.

“Hello?” His groggy voice echos out of the speaker. “Andy…?” You call out, still extremely nervous. “(Y/n)?” He groans, “Babe, what ever it is it can wait until tomorrow? I’m too tired tonight, ok? Bye.” He hangs up on you before you can get a second word out. You sigh, “Love you too…”

You place your phone down and turn towards your dresser, panning the pictures of the basketball team, some of you and the rest of the cheer squad. You all look so happy. One image catches your eye, Andy and you at a ballgame. He’d thrown the winning shot that Friday, and after cheering with the boys you ran up to him, so proud of him. He was so happy.

The memory calms your nerves. You could tell him, you knew you could. He’d probably panic, but he wouldn’t just drop you, right?

You sit on the floor of the gym the next day, your short cheer skirt barely covering your ass as you sit on your knees. The basketball team scurries across the gym floor, dribbling the ball between the teams, the ball flying through the air. You watch Andy carefully, nervous to tell him later after the game.

The game was won by Hawkins High, and your entire friend group decides to go out to dinner to Benny’s. Standing out in the cold with Andy next to you, hugging his jacket around himself, you huddle closer for warmth. “Hey, Andy?” You get his attention, “what?” You feel your nervous coming back, that aching feeling in your stomach. “Can… can we talk for a minute before the others get here…?” He looks at you confused.

You both move to the side of his car, “Im gonna say this and I don’t want you to freak out, ok?” You tell him. He raises a brow at you, “freak out? Babe, come on, I’m Andy.” He pulls you closer by the waist and you smile softly to yourself. “I know but…” you hesitate, pressing your palms against his chest. Your fingers grip around his basketball jersey under his letterman. “Andy,” you take in a deep breath, “I’m pregnant.” You don’t look at him, keeping your head lowered at you wait for his reaction.

A scoff leaves him, his arms dropping from your waist. “This is a joke right? You’re fucking with me.” His voice is colder than normal, hurtful, spiteful. “What? No, Andy,” you look up at him, “Why would I joke about this? I’m serious.” You frown at him, upset that he thought you would joke about something so serious. He shoves you away and you stumble back a little shocked by his sudden change in care. “Who did you fuck? Are you fucking kidding me? You fucking cheated on me?” “What?! No!! Andy,” you reach back out to him but he slaps your hand away, “I didn’t cheat, Andy, it’s yours.” You tell him, your eyes watering as your emotions get the better of you. He glares at you. “Bullshit.” You scoff, “Andy, why the hell would I cheat on you? I love you.” You try to tell him, tears now pouring down your face. Andy glares at you. “Well thats a problem.” You freeze, your heart suddenly stops as your breath hitches. “What…?”

Andy scoffs, “Come on, (y/n), you didn’t actually think I loved you, did you?” He laughs, a new smirk forming on his lips. But you just feel like your whole world is shattering around you. “What…?” Andy groans, rolling his eyes. “Of course no one would believe you cheated, shit. Why would you?” He smirks to himself, “I’m gonna be honest with you, at least this once.” He leans down a bit so he’s at your level. “I’ve cheated on you, with a couple of different girls. All on the cheer squad, all your friends.” Your breath hitches, fresh tears falling down your face. “But… but at the lake you… you said you loved me…” your voice is soft, hardly audible. He laughs at you.

“I lied, (y/n). It’s easy to do it to get what you want, even when I guess the girl is stupid enough to get herself knocked up from it.” You sniffle rubbing your palms over your eyes to get rid of your tears. “But… it takes two…” you mumble. He breaths in harshly, “No. It takes one girl being stupid by being active without being on birth control.” He glares at you. “It’s your own fault, Babe. Not mine.” He chuckles, “maybe if you weren’t such a whore this wouldn’t have happened.”

You stare at him in disbelief as the cars of your friends pull up. “You better leave.” His voice catches you off guard once more, “best tell them we ended it rather than let them know the truth huh?”

It’s been three weeks, you sit in the medical bed, your mother screaming at the gynecologists as they try to calm your mother down. “Ma’am, please. The operation was successful. There is no need to yell.” You mother’s face just gets more red. “No, the reason to yell was when my 17 year old daughter decided to have sex before getting on birth control!” Her head whips towards you but you don’t look at her, keeping your eyes looking out the window, your hand on your stomach. “Miss (l/n)?” A nurse smiles at you getting your attention. “Are you ok?” She asks. You expression is numb, your voice is monotoned, it worries them. “I’m fine.” You reply. “Mom, can we go home…?” You ask, your hand dropping into your lap. It’s not like it was rubbing anything anymore, anyway. As they said, it was successful.

You should be happy, thankful even. Your life isn’t uprooted or drastically changing. But it has, your friends don’t talk to you anymore, Andy made up some shit about you and now the entire team and cheer squad hates you. Chrissy wont even look at you.

It was just three weeks ago that your heart was shattered in that parking lot of Benny’s, two since your mother brought you in and you first saw that clump of cells in your belly on that monitor, and now today, when they showed you that screen again, now empty. You should be happy.

But you’re not. How could you be? You were thinking you would tell your boyfriend and somehow, some fucking miracle he would become that perfect boyfriend. He should have held you, told you everything was gonna be ok, that you would raise it together. But no. Here you are inside a planned parenthood nearly forty miles away from your home.

Your mother practically drags out to the front desk, her hand squeezing your wrist tightly. “Mom, please, you’re hurting me…” you tell her, trying to pull her clawed fingers off your wrist. “Oh I’m hurting you?” She signs the papers and drags you out to the car. “Ungrateful! Had the perfect boyfriend, perfect future husband and you wasted it away!” “Mom, I didn’t-” “Hah! When your father hears about this-” your eyes widen, “No, Mom, please! I’m sorry, just don’t tell Dad. It’s already taken care of we don’t need to get him involved!” You practically beg her, the fear of your dad making you grasp at her.

She told him.

You got home the next day from school and we’re greeted with a slap across the face. “You bitch!” Your dad yells at you, grabbing at your hair and pulling you outside, “You think that kind of behavior is acceptable in this house. Fucking hell no.” Your mother stands behind him, arms crossed. “Get the hell out!” He throws you back out the front door, “and don’t come back. You fucking filthy whore! Get out!”

You wandered the streets of Hawkins until you found yourself on the cliff of Stattler Quarry. As you stared down into the water bellow, maybe a couple hound red feet under you, you could practically taste the release. You step closer to the edge, your sadness being the most prominent thing in your brain. You wonder how deep it is down there, 20, maybe 30 feet?

You could do it. You could just walk off the edge, no one would miss you. Not your “friends,” not your mom nor your dad, Andy would probably joke about it at your funeral, if there even was one.

You wonder if it would hurt, if the slap of your body against the water’s surface would sting at all.

“Hey,” a voice calls out to you and you swiftly turn around. The one person you never expected to see stands there. Eddie Munson stands a good ten feet away from you, his hands out defensively. “Don’t come any closer!” You yell at him. “Don’t do it.” He tells you, his voice soft, “That’s a long drop, the collision would feel like your skin was being ripped off.” He takes a step closer and you heart races, setting father to the edge.

He glances around. “I’m telling you it’s not a good way to go. I know right now it probably looks promising, like a clean fresh start. But it’s like jumping straight into a bucket of ice.” He elaborates. You hesitate, “How do you know? You don’t get it!” Eddie takes a deep breath, taking a single step closer to you.

“I’ve dived into that water before, (l/n). Sure not the same circumstances, but I promise it hurt enough to make me never do it again.” He takes another step. “And what if I don’t care?” You ask him. He gives you a soft smile. “I heard you know, about what happened. Andy’s a dick, we all know it.” You let out a soft laugh, “He wasn’t always. That’s the point! He only became a dick to me after.” Eddie holds out his hand to you, which makes you step farther to the edge, so he recoils.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I know you’re scared. Everything feels really shitty right now, but,” Eddie stares at you as you turn to look away from him back over the cliff, “look at me, (y/n).” You look at him, your eyes wide with fear and he feels like his heart is breaking. No matter how cruel your friends were to him, he never thought you were a bad person. He’s not the type of person to wish death upon you because of your shitty friends. Hell especially not this way.

“Just…” he holds out his hand to you, slower this time not to startle you, “take my hand. We’ll get you down from there and we can go, I don’t know. Get a milkshake?” He chuckles softly and you eyes soften at the suggestion. “I can’t go back to school, Eddie.”

His eyes widen when you say his name. To be entirely honest, he had no idea you even knew his name.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to right away, but you will eventually. I know I’m not the best person to say this, but dropping out isn’t a great idea.” He chuckles lightly. For the first time in your life it wasn’t a chuckle you ignored, his words reach you now more than anything he’s ever said had before.

“Hey,” Eddie grabs your attention again, wiggling his fingers to bring your attention to his hand that’s still reaching out to you, “when you do decide to go back,” he smiles at you, “I’ll be right there with you, trust me they’ll pay more attention to the freak than an ex cheerleader.” You feel yourself laugh a bit, not because he said something funny, because what he said oddly gave you a sense of relief. Not because he was the ‘freak’ but because he said he would be there. You slowly reach out to his hand, going to step down from the rock you were standing on.

Just before you could grab him your foot slips. In those few seconds you realize you weren’t ready to die, your scream was probably heard miles out. But you never felt much air. Eddie had grabbed you so fast you didn’t even notice it, pulling you quickly away from the edge and against him, back on solid ground.

“Hey hey, it’s ok. I’ve got you.” He rubs his hand against the back of your hair, your sobs are muffled by his shirt as you cry, harder than you have ever cried before.

He stands there letting you cry it out against him, before pulling you even farther away from the edge, slowly getting you closer and closer to his van. “Here,” he opens the passenger side door and helps you inside, letting you get comfortable, or at least as comfortable as you could get with how tense you look. He buckled you in, pulling the seatbelt over your shoulder and lap, making sure it sits comfortably on you.

After getting into the drivers side he watches you carefully as you finally start to calm down, rubbing your eyes with your sleeves. He gives you a minute before holding out his hand to you. You look at him confused and he smiles. “I just… thought you would like to feel grounded.” He explains.

You lay your hand in his, your fingers locking perfectly together and you feel yourself smile. His hand is rough, something you didn’t notice before. You knew he played guitar, his band being talks about quite often amongst your group of ‘friends’ when making fun of him. You never realized until now how fucked up your friends were, how their idea of this guy was so misguided.

“Thanks…” your voice came out soft, and his hand squeezed your as he pulled out of the quarry, leading you both the an ice cream parlor for those promised milkshakes.

It had been a month since that faithful day, the day you realized the ‘freak’ was actually the nicest guy in all of Hawkins. He was calm, made sure you were comfortable, and didn’t bring up the subject ever again.

“Eds,” you had started calling him the nickname shortly after you moved in with him, his room becoming yours as he moved to the living room with his uncle. You were heavily against the idea of taking his room when he gave it to you. Obviously you could go home, but you were willing to sleep on the couch until you could get in contact with your aunt or cousins.

“Can we get some of these?” You hold up the container of Planter’s Cheez Balls. They were one of your newer favorite snacks. He laughs a bit, “sure, put ‘em in the cart.” You do so, throwing the snack in.

After finishing your grocery shopping, you make it back to his trailer, bringing all the bags in from his van. “Is Wayne working tonight?” You ask him, emptying out the bags on the counter before putting things away. “Yeah,” Eddie joins you, sitting the remaining bags down on the counter, “He said he’s gonna be at work until 7am tomorrow, so we need to figure out dinner on our own.” He helps you empty out the bags and put away all the groceries. When you finish, you both plop down on the couch, his arm behind your head as he turns on the tv. You pop open the container of cheese balls in your lap.

“Open up,” you hold a ball in between your index and thumb, turning towards him. He tilts his head back and opens his mouth, you throw, and the ball lands safely in his mouth, “good catch!” He smiles as you giggle happily continuing to eat your snack. He puts on a movie he knows you will like, before getting comfy into the couch cushions. You lean into him subconsciously. He stiffens up, shocked by you leaning in, which makes you freeze, “Sorry…” you go to pull away but his arm throws over your shoulders and holds you close to him. “Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart.” He smiles at you, laying his head against yours. You smile as you both sit there on the couch, snuggled up together.

Eddie is very different than Andy was. Andy could be rude, refuse to cuddle you when you desperately wanted physical affection, but Eddie doesn’t. He leans into it, he may be a bit taken aback at first, but he doesn’t stop you, he encourages it.

About half way through the movie you catch yourself not watching anymore, glancing at the man you know would call your best friend, honestly he’s your only friend now. “Eddie,” you grab his attention, making him turn to you. “What’s up?” “Thank you.” He looks at you confused, “For what?” You smile at him. “Everything, you took me in, saved me from doing something stupid, told me everything was gonna be ok, and it has been, because you made it ok.”

Your words hit him hard, and he stares at you for a moment, “(y/n), I…” he hesitates, removing his arm from around you and turning so his full body is turned to you, making you a little anxious. “I don’t need a thank you, I did what any decent person would do. You don’t need to thank me for that.” “But I want to!” You practically yell at him, you hands balling up into fists and pressing against your chest. You know you look like a kid right now, but you don’t care. “I want to thank you…”

Eddie smiles and leans forward pressing his lips to your forehead, “Well then, you’re welcome. I’m glad you’re still with us, Sweetheart.” You blush at his physical affection, your cheeks burning as he pulls away, and you realize something. You like Eddie. You like him way more than you thought possible. “Eddie,”

He looks at you a little concerned seeing your scrunched forehead. “Yeah?” “I-I like you…” Eddie freezes, his heart racing as the words left your lips, those soft pink lips he’s been dreaming of kissing for the past few weeks.

Maybe it was the way you looked when he bought you that milkshake that day after he found you at the quarry, the soft smile you had as you excepted the treat. Maybe it’s the way you would jump up and down with joy when he bought you your favorite movie for you to watch together after a week of you living with him. Maybe it was the way you hugged him when you cried, remembering the fact that you weren’t alone anymore.

Maybe… maybe it was the way he wanted to be there for you for the rest of your life that makes him say his next words. “I love you…”

Your head tilted up, eyes wide when the words left him. “Y-You what…?” You eyes watering as you stare at him. “I love you, (y/n). I know you said you ‘like me’ but maybe given some more time-“ you cut him off, your lips smashing into his, practically falling on top of him. His arms throw around your waist, pulling you close to him as he kisses you back. It was everything you both had dreamt of, soft, sweet, and dreamy.

Tag List!

@cagethemunson @spikeybatt @cherrycolas-things

@r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

#stranger things #eddie munson #x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #angst/fluff #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #enemies to lovers

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pillarsalt · 2 months

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hi Im the same ex transmasc anon who sent you that aask about rhe tumblr ban thing, I did a lot of reading without forcing myself away this time. (I used to look at radblr sometimes bc I got curious, but when it started making too much sense i would make myself stop reading and tell myself I was being manipulated and try to forget about it..looking back that probably wasnt normal haha,)

I have mixed feelings tho. I don’t regret looking closer, the amount of sexism in the trans community was horrible. I think even radfems don’t understand how bad it was because it was all subtle styff. But seeing it constantly irl and online was terrible for me as a female. It gave me so much internalized misogyny, it made me hate myself and I felt worthless and stupid! and whiny! and annoying! all the time!! unless I was able to be perceived as a man. I felt like I had to be a man to have any respect in the community. I remember being so amazed to see abortion be covered by trans people I followed in even a reblog because it was the first time I saw people in the community talk about female issues at all. Even then it was covered with disclaimers and terfs DNI banners. male,opinions were always prioritized.

I thought this was dysphoria and a sign I was really a man. then I started reading radfem things and its like that feeling instantly lifted. I felt respected, listened to, even though I wasn’t speaking. It was also like all this stuff I’d internalized from being female, all the trauma around sex based oppression, was actually being addressed. in trans circles you get called a terf for acknowledging females face any kind of oppression (they acknowledge sex when it’s to talk about how hard male loneliness is on young trans women, and how the incel to trans woman pipeline happens, though…)

but the reason I have mixed feelings is bc I now feel….dumb? And afraid. And angry. I spend well over a decade being part of this community, half my friends are in the community, I’ve been trans since I was 9. My typings not the best… dyslexia sucks lol. But I like to think I’m smart. Now I don’t know,

And it makes me think totally different of these people I saw as progressive cis male allies, who were so loud about trans rights and hating JKR and terfs. Now they just feel like the same flavor of anti-feminist man I hate.

And the community is so huge and it’s so widely accepted and I don’t know how to deal!

But I am happy to be a woman now. In a healthy way I haven’t been for a long time. thats all that matters.

I'm sorry for everything you were put through. Many girls and women have been sucked into this thinking it will provide a solution for their distress at the social ramifications of the body they're born in, only for more people, namely men, to take advantage of their distress and gain power over them. As you mentioned, even "cis" men get in on the action when they justify intimidating and threatening women with violence in response to perceived transphobia. It's a terrible situation to be in. Made worse when you can't openly talk about with people you're close to for fear of alienating them.

I think you should give yourself more credit. You ARE smart. You questioned what you were told was never allowed to be questioned and realized you were being misled. And what you said about trying to make yourself forget the realizations you've had, that is normal. It's a difficult and scary thing to hold opinions that conflict with those of the majority of your peers. I think it's like the climax of cognitive dissonance -- when what you know is true clashes so hard against what you want to believe, you find it impossible to justify anymore, so you just resort to pretending you never learned the information in the first place. Been there.

I'm just being a stereotype now, but there's a classic Dworkin quote for this:

"Many women, I think, resist feminism because it is an agony to be fully conscious of the brutal misogyny which permeates culture, society, and all personal relationships."

Anyway my point is, don't beat yourself up. I'm really happy to read that you're accepting your womanhood, it's a hard journey but it's worth it to have a good relationship with yourself. And in my experience (at the sage and wisened age of 25) that it gets easier as you get older. You work through mistakes, and that prepares you to handle the next mistake better. You're right, your health and happiness is all that matters, keep striving for that and it will steer you right.

I wanted to give you some reading recommendations, you mentioned you have dyslexia but I believe these two are available in audiobook form if that's up your alley:

Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference by Cordelia Fine

Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men by Caroline Criado Perez

There are tons more great books on feminism but these two are my go-tos for hard facts on gender, socialization, and the systematic discrimination against women worldwide through biases that are built into society.

Well uh; TLDR thanks for gracing my inbox, anon :) Hope you keep well.

#ask

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wyattjohnston · 11 months

Text

waiting to break - jack hughes

series: we don’t have no time to waste

summary: the tough conversations are the ones that bring you closer to together.

word count: 1,927

warnings: mentions of abortion, pregnancy fears, bulimia, zegras is also in this if that matters to you

Being back in Michigan always settled Daisy more than ever she recalled—it was the third summer in a row that school had ended, Jack’s season had ended and they touched down in Michigan all tension released from her shoulders.

The back porch became her favourite place quickly, the high afternoon sun warming her skin as she laid claim to a recliner that she wasn’t going to give up for anybody no matter how often the boys complained about her not sharing it around.

A major downside to the back porch was the horrible squeaking made by the sliding door whenever someone came out to talk to her—which, as much as she loved all the boys dearly, was far too often.

Trevor was the first to interrupt her, early one Monday morning, cringing as the door disturbed his attempt at subtlety and offering her a cup coffee.

“Hey, Haisy,” he greeted, using the nickname derived from her Instagram handle. He asked, cautiously, “You doing alright?”

“In what respect?”

“The—you know.”

Daisy’s lip twitched at his vagueness; it was the same way everyone asked her about it.

“The abortion? I’m fine, Trev,” she answered, her voice filled with nothing but honesty. “I have zero regrets about it.”

“Good,” Trevor said, nodding. He finally sat down on the recliner beside her instead of hovering. “Great. That’s—I’m really glad to hear that.”

As much as Trevor could talk, they sat in silence on the porch, staring out through the trees and the garden in front of them. The rest of the house was quiet, no sign of life from anyone else, and the lack of conversation wasn’t great for Daisy’s train of thought.

It was a train of thought that crept in every time she was left to think for any length of time, one that she’d not brought up to anybody else—one that she hadn’t wanted to bring up but it was eating away at her and Trevor felt like the best person to voice it to. Partly because he was there at that moment and partly because he would have the most insight into Jack’s brain.

“I do want to ask you something—tell you something?” she said, unable to make eye contact with him, even as she saw him turn his head in her periphery. “I think I need your advice.”

Trevor was laughing when he spoke, “My advice? I don’t think you’ve ever come to me for advice.”

Daisy drew her knees to her chest, her chin resting atop them.

“Jack and I… we haven’t…” she inhaled so deep her lungs hurt and then continued, all in one breath, “Trevor, I’m so scared of getting pregnant again that Jack and I haven’t had sex since March.”

“Oh,” Trevor said, no longer laughing. “Really? He didn’t tell me that. What do you need my advice for? I don’t really know how to help you with that.”

It wasn’t far off from what Daisy had been expecting if she was being totally truthful. It had her questioning her decision to talk to Trevor but only briefly before the words started to spill out of her mouth again, a faucet leak that could not be stopped once it started.

“What if he decides he’s had enough of waiting?” she asked rushed despite the whisper she was speaking in. “Like, I haven’t talked to him why and I’m really scared that he’s…” A lump grew in her throat, it was difficult to talk around. “Scared he’s going to leave me if I don’t soon.”

Trevor went silent for just long enough that Daisy had to look at him, moving her cheek to her knees and regretting it when she saw him staring distantly through the trees. She lifted her head just so that she could drink coffee, and followed it up with a long sigh, because maybe getting it out of her head hadn’t been the relief she’d wanted it to be.

The sigh kickstarted Trevor again, a little shake of his head just before he said, assuredly, “Jack’s not going to leave you.”

“Our entire relationship is sex—are we even Jack-and-Daisy if we don’t have sex?”

“Uh, yeah. If your relationship falls apart because you aren’t having sex then the rest of us have no hope in finding true love.” Trevor turned on the recliner, nudged her leg with his foot, and added, “You need to talk to him. I’m not the right person to fix this.”

Another sigh left Daisy before she rose to her feet and to the railing just so that she could lean over it and return some blood back to her brain. Trevor was beside her in an instant, his hand on her upper back in what she could only assume was meant to be comforting—it was really just putting her more on edge.

She straightened up, worried about the potential for anybody else to see them through the door and ask what was going on.

With a tight jaw, she said, “I don’t know how to talk to him about it because I don’t know when I’ll be ready—if I’ll be ready. I can’t risk that again.”

“He’s not leaving you, Daisy. He hasn’t even talked to me about it—the not having sex thing. Definitely no mentions of breaking up with you. You’re a couple of nymphos, sure, but your relationship is more than that.”

“He’s my best friend,” she said with a trembling bottom lip. Trevor was quick to wrap his arms around her, and Daisy held her breath to try and stem the tears. She managed to squeak out, “I’m so scared that if I bring it up it’ll ruin everything.”

He pulled back, sure and clear when he said, “I’ll bring it up with him. You have to have the convo with him, but I can at least get him to start it.” There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, and Daisy waited out the strained look on his face until he added, “You know that the talk is about the pregnancy thing and not just sex, right?”

Her eye roll was affectionate. “Yeah, Trev. Thank you.”

Daisy had no timeframe for whenever Trevor was going to bring anything up with Jack and no desire to rush the eventuality. It had been a painfully long twenty-four hours of playing up the severity of her cramps, just enough to give her an excuse to lay in bed and be grumpy.

Jack came into check on her again when she didn’t make an appearance for dinner, offering to get her whatever she wanted to eat only to be met with a shake of her head because the cramps really were taking their toll. He frowned at her, his eyebrows pulling together so tight it looked painful.

Daisy wished she hadn’t kicked off the covers when she started overheating because she wanted to pull them up around her neck and hide from the concern he was exuding.

He shuffled his feet, his hands wringing uncomfortably in front of him, and said, finally, “I had a chat with Z today.”

Unhindered by any sheets, Daisy launched into a seated position before she had even registered the panic running through her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hastily and perhaps a little too loudly.

Jack flinched at the unexpected reaction, asking just as quickly and just as loudly, “For what? Why?”

“For not fucking you, for talking to Trev, for not talking to you, for getting pregnant in the first place.” Daisy huffed. “I don’t know.”

“None of those need an apology—especially not getting pregnant, Daisy. That was as much my fault. More, probably. It’s my dick I forgot to wrap up. And I know you’re going to talk about the pill, but you’ve got so much going on. I don’t know how you remember to breathe.”

Daisy laughed a little, most of it getting caught in a hiccough. A small smile formed on Jack’s face, though it wasn’t very convincing. She reached out to him, summoning him towards the bed. As much as she wasn’t wanting to have the conversation, she never gave up any opportunity to be close to him.

He joined her in only a few steps, kneeling beside her on the mattress. She shuffled over just enough to let him sit down properly, and fell into his open arms and he laid them down.

“Did you notice that we aren’t having sex?” she asked meekly, find it easier to talk when she wasn’t looking directly at the concern written all over his face.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“We still did other stuff,” Jack said, as it it was painfully obvious, “and I kind of figured you’d talk to me when you were ready. I mostly thought it was school and work stressing you out, but. I probably should have worked out it wasn’t when the semester finished.”

“It’s not a dealbreaker for you?”

“No? I like having sex and I would like to have it with you again—but I need you to want to and I need you to enjoy it and that’s clearly not happening. The other stuff was that—”

“Yeah, Jack, giving you head isn’t going to get me pregnant.”

Jack’s chest shifted, as he exhaled a reluctant laugh. His arms tightened around her just before he moved them around so that they were face to face. She sighed at him, the concern not having left his face—she wasn’t sure she’d been expecting it to be gone but her own fear had lessened so she expected him to be doing at least a little better.

He clearly wasn’t, though, when the concern morphed into something more pained and hesitant. Daisy poked his chest, her own brows pulling together, to get him to say whatever it was that was still on his mind.

“Do you think maybe you might go back and see a psychologist?” He asked. Daisy’s breath hitched. “Because we made one mistake and didn’t use a condom, and we can and will keep using them and the chances of you getting pregnant again are really slim, right? We’ve been fucking since we were seventeen and this is the only time.”

Worried, the fear she thought had lessened creeping right back into her bones, Daisy asked, “You think I’m crazy?”

Jack chose his words carefully, slowly saying, “I think you’re afraid of something we can avoid. I also noticed that your eating is getting a bit erratic again and I’m worried that the bulimia’s going to come back.”

“I haven’t been purging,” she defended herself instantly.

“The binging, though?”

She looked away, staring at the painting on the wall behind Jack’s head for the first time since they’d put it in the room. Lying about it would be simple, something she was well versed in even though it had been years since she’d had to.

It wasn’t worth it, that much she knew.

So she admitted, still avoiding his gaze, “Little bit. I think if I’d stayed pregnant it would have been a problem. That’s part of the reason I can’t risk getting pregnant again.”

Jack, unbothered by her not lack of eye contact, pulled her closer until his arms were wrapped around her and she was burying her face in his neck. An apology was quick to leave his mouth, for not asking her when he noticed things changing, for expecting her to talk to him, for making her feel like she couldn’t.

tag list: @fallinallincurls @spine-buster @2manytabsopen @xcicix @sorryjustafangirl @senditcolton @shinyfalcon4 @laurenairay @jarmorie @diary-of-jj @its-bitchin-belle-bitches @sssstarstruck

if you’re reading this and needed a sign to participate in the summer fic exchange 2k23–this is it!

#jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #homemade fic #we don't have no time to waste fic #fic: devils

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

Note

Oh please don’t hurt us too bad Leah. Terms of Endearment is just so good! It’s like a bad car accident that you can’t look away from.

Welp—oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. I don’t think you’re gonna like this one then anon because shit just keeps spinning out of control. Here’s some Jake Seresin angst so I get get the tension out of my system. As always here the Terms Of Endearment Masterlist

Warnings: Domestic Violence, control issues, a intense verbal confrontation between Jake and reader. Mentions of abortion.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Jake Seresin wasn’t the type of person who had a lot of regrets in life. He firmly believed that every step he took was one filled with purpose and intention. Although he didn’t believe in a lot of things like the great beyond, religion like his parents did or little green men who roamed the galaxy, he did believe in the power of fate. He believed that everything was supposed to happen for a reason, good or bad. Whatever may come, whatever challenges he needed to face, whatever adversity he needed to overcome—he did so with the understanding that it was meant to play out whatever way it did.

But if you asked Jake Seresin if he still believed in fate and destiny and purpose and if you were meant to have been caught up with Jaidyn Zeus Dolan? Jake would say that it was his biggest mistake not to have pulled you out before you got too entangled in the web of unfortunate events that would transpire. He would say that it was his own fault that you experienced everything you did in that relationship because he was the one that introduced you, set it up, and left you in his care.

Jake Seresin would say that wasn’t fate. He’d say he failed you as a friend, as a brother. He failed to notice the signs even if they were written clear as fucking day right in front of him. He failed to see that if you stayed with Jaidyn Dolan your fate would be one that ended six feet under—and that was a fate Jake couldn’t possibly accept.

“Thanks for letting me tag along.” Jake bumped into your side as you walked down the path towards your home. “Still can’t believe you’re pregnant.” He chuckled softly at the thought of you, his best friend, being a mother. “God you’ll be such a good mum Fe.” Your smile quickly faded when you noticed a few white trash bags on the curb right out the front of your house. Jake noticed too, frowning as you both approached them. You tore into one harpzaradly before coming to the realisation.

“These are my clothes?” You mumbled as fury and fire ripped through your soul. “That Motherfucker.” You huffed out as you grabbed the bags. Collecting them all before dumping them by the front door.

“I’ll take that chair if you don’t want it?” Jake tried to make a light-hearted jab at the recliner that had been thrown out next to the clothes that were just dumped into bags on the curb. He wasn’t all that sure what was going on as he followed you inside. He knew enough though that it couldn’t have been too good. You’d told him Jaidyn wasn’t all that keen on having this baby. That he’d asked you to get an abortion the second you told him you were pregnant.

“Fucking Jaidyn, God.” It was coming out in mumbles as you gritted your teeth. Storming through the house till your font Jaidyn in the kitchen. “Hey—!” You shoved at his back, pushing him forward into the countertop before he turned around with an expression you knew all too well. He was about to have a go at you—only he stopped and balled his fist at his side when he’d seen Jake standing in the middle of the arch way.

“What the fuck?” He settled with, he was always good at hiding the bruises he’d give you. Never in plain sight. He was calculated and strategic. He wouldn’t start hitting you wherever he could get a welp of pain from you until well after Odette was born. Until Jake was stationed in North Island. Until he’d separated you from everyone who ever gave a shit about you.

“You put my shit on the fucking curb?” You raised your voice, feeling confident enough to confront him while Jake was here. You knew Jaidyn wouldn’t try it with him around. No. He’d just wait until later when you two were alone. “This is my home!” You reminded him, shoving him again, only this time he played pretend and stumbled back as if you’d actually been strong enough to force him back.

“The fuck Fe!” Jaidyn retaliated as he looked over to where Jake stood idly by. “You see the way she fucking acts man, it’s psychotic.”

“You can’t fucking do that!” You yelled, it was on for young and old now as you lunged at him, smacking his back and kicking him wherever you could. You knew that you’d get it later—but god you felt empowered with Jake's presence.

“Yeah well— I want you fucking out!” Jaidyn shouted back as he dropped down and picked you up. Lifting you over his shoulder as you kicked and screamed and balled your first to slam against his back.

“This is my house!” You sobbed. “I live here!” You screamed. “I live here! This is my fucking house!” It was falling out of you like a mantra of pleas.

“Okay easy, easy easy easy—“ Jake saw that now was the right time to intervene. He knew you and Jaidyn had been having some issues but he’d never seen it play out before him. He loved you, how could he not when you were his sister? but he’d known Jaidyn for a good few years before the academy. They played lacrosse together in senior year of high school. Seeing two of his closest friends go at it like a pack of wild dogs wasn’t on his most recent bingo card.

“I own this house!” You cried out. Tears flowing freely from your waterline.

“Easy!” Jake interrupted as he grabbed you from Jaidyn's shoulder, pulling you back as Jaidyn stepped back with his hands up near his head in surrender.

“The title is in my name!” You reminded Jaidyn. You probably shouldn’t have done that, later that same month he put the house on the market after forging your signature.

“I’m not letting you live here! Not until I know you got that goddamn abortion! No fucking way—“ Jakes heart skipped a beat and not in a good way. More in the way of an aneurysm. Holding you against his chest, you tried to lunge forward but Jake's grip only tightened.

“FUCK YOU!!” You spat. You could see the blood lust in Jaidyn's eyes. He was going throttle you later.

“Look at you!” He shouted back. “All right? You’re fucking pathetic! You need to take a fucking personally god damn inventory!”

“Did you just say inve—you?” Jake saw his moment and he took it. Letting you go as he stepped in front of you. “You AA people are all the same, you want a goddamn parade because you stand in front of the other alcoholics and state the galactic obvious.” It was probably a dog shot to bring up Jaidyn's personal issues with alcoholism but Jake knew his mate was stepping over the line as well. “It’s the very definition of narcissism man—so will you please take a drink and shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck up—!” You hissed over Jake's shoulder before he side eyed you.

“Get to a clinic.” Jaidyn shook his head. “Before your shit gets moldy.”

“Listen man.” Jake had really had enough at this point. “I’m not gonna get involved in your personal problems but don’t talk to her that way.” Taking a few strides toward Jaidyn, Jake balled his fist. “You talk to her that way again and I hear about it? You're done for.”

Jaidyn Dolan knew at that moment he had to segregate you from your friends, from Jake specifically. He beat you black and blue that very night in all the places that could be hidden. He threatened Jake too—said if you ever told him a word, a single peep, he’d have no problem cutting his throttle cable. You knew he wasn’t bluffing.

So you said.

Nothing.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bradley sat with his back against Jake's front door. His head lulled a little to the side as he fought off the urge to just close his eyes for a few moments. He couldn’t though, not with you and Odette sleeping on the mattress Bradley had helped you drag down stairs into the living room. It felt like he’d just taken it back up--but having you down stairs was the easier, more appropriate choice in terms of safety.

He watched as you slept, Jake's baseball bat in his hand. Thinking of all the ways someone could try and get into the house. Bradley knew sometimes the lock on the front door didn’t work properly, so he decided that to give you an extra sense of comfort and protection he’d sit with his back against it for a while. That was four hours ago. Ever since he’d noticed you’d fallen asleep hugging your daughter tight, he hadn’t moved. He couldn’t.

Bradley Bradshaw was a tired man, he was so tired that he’d started falling asleep for a few minutes at a time before jolting awake when he realised he’d allowed himself to drift off. He was so tired in fact that he hadn’t heard the back door unlock, open and then close quietly. He didn’t hear the footsteps coming closer to the living room and he definitely didn’t feel the presence looming above him.

“Bradshaw—“ Jake whispered as he kicked his best friend softly. “Get up man the fuck you doin against the damn door?” Jake smirked as Bradley jolted awake, snoring out a gasp as he came to.

“Holy shit how long was I out for?” Bradley looked over at where you and Dot slept soundly. Blankets and pillows sprawled around you both. “Fuck—“

“Long enough for me to come through the back door unannounced—“ Jake sighed, his eyes never leaving the space in the living room you had turned into a makeshift bedroom. “She get to sleep easily?”

“Not really, said she was gonna stay up but I think when Dot went down Fe pretty much just gave in.” Bradley explained as he stood, rubbing his eyes as he yawned. “I think her body just told her to quit.” Rooster knew that if you could fight off the urge to sleep you would have. But you were emotionally exhausted. “You got here quicker than I thought you would? What’s the time like two in the morning?”

“Three—“ Jake was quick to correct. “I was on the first flight out of Austin.” Silence lingered between the two aviators for a brief moment as they watched you and your daughter co-sleep. The hold you had on her was laced in fear rather than comfort, afraid that if for a second you let go she’d be stolen from you. Taken. “So my cars fucked is it?”

“Oh yeah big time, complete write-off man.” Rooster smirked, tapping Jake on the shoulder softly as he pressed his lips together in a gentle nod. “He did a bang up job that's for sure.”

“Fuck, I don't even know what we're gonna do Bradshaw.” Jake sighed as he made his way into the kitchen, rubbing his tired eyes as he made a straight shot for the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“Beer sounds fantastic right now.” It was weird to think about how far Bradley and Jakes friendship had come. They’d always known of each other—ever since their first encounter at TopGun. They weren’t inherently friendly towards one another, it always seemed to be easier to argue despite their many similarities than to admit they had nothing to really fight over. None of that mattered though when Jake had saved Bradley's life. He’d done it without hesitation either. Against orders, against everything all of his superior officers were telling him. Hangman however, couldn’t leave Rooster and Maverick to just die, especially when he could do something to help. Ever since? They’d been two peas in a damn pod. Jake was convinced he’d do it again if he had to, because now Bradley Bradshaw had a family. A girl who would mourn his death and a daughter who’d cry for him every night. “Thanks.” Bradley took the crisp beer bottle Jake held out for him with a soft smile while Jake pretended to ignore the swelling, cuts and bruises that littered the expanse of Roosters knuckles.

“So what exactly are we gonna do about this guy?” Although he hadnt slept, Jake was determined to talk it over with Rooster, to make sure they were on the same page. There was nothing more important to either of them than keeping you and your daughter safe.

“I already warned him that if he even looked in their direction he’d be breathing through a feeding tube.” Wiggling his knuckles as he sat down at the same dining table Jake had nearly caught you and Rooster fucking on, Rooster took a sip of his beer, sighing as the amber liquid soothed his temperature. “But considering the circumstances I'm sure it only made him all the more mad.”

“Yeah no kidding asshat.” Jake groaned as he joined Rooster at the table. “You know I remember this one time where Fe had asked me to go with her to one of her early ultrasounds for Dot before she was even well, Dot.” Bradley could already see the anxiety and pain riddling his friend, listening as Jake took another sip of his beer before licking his lips clean. “Jaidyn didn't even want her to have her, threw all her shit out onto the curb while we were out and I didn't even take that as a sign that something could have been wrong.” Shrugging his shoulders, Jake settled into the quietness as he turned his head to see if you were still sleeping, you were. “I mean, how fucked up is that?” Jake shook his head, disappointed in himself. “And then before I knew it she was just MIA, gone.” Again he shrugged his shoulders, only this time he looked back at Rooster who still sat across from his listening intently. “I thought maybe she wanted space to live her own life? I mean we lived in each other's pockets our entire lives, so it made sense that because she was a new mum she'd want her own space with her family.”

“He shut her out?” Bradley filled the drowning silence as Jake nodded in response, holding back his own tears.

“Yep, and I never second guessed it until it was too late.”

“It wasn't your fault.” For the few minutes neither Jake nor Bradley hadn’t been watching where you and dot were sleeping, you’d woken up to the sound of faint mumbling coming from the dining room. “You can't blame yourself for the crap I put up with Jake, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say.” You were sleepy, yawning as you spoke as your feet took in the the direction of where Jake sat. He was on his feet in seconds with arms held wide for you to walk straight into his warm embrace.

If there was one thing Braldey Bradhsaw knew for sure it's that there wasn't a single thing Jake wouldn't do for you. Watching as you accepted the warm embrace from the man who'd taken you in as his own sister. The two of you went deeper than the ink beneath the skin of your tattoos. And although you didn't share the same blood he was your brother and you loved him that's the truth. You were living different lives, heaven only knew, but if you made it back with all your fingers and your toes, come five years or twenty years, you'd come back together like nothing ever changed–things would always stay the same. If you were dying on your knees, Jake would be the one to rescue you. If you were drowning in the sea, he’d give you his lungs so you could breathe.

“Hi–” You mumbled into his chest, pulling away after a few moments to look up as Jake looked down at you, he was trying so hard not to cry. His bottom lip quivering. “Okay, no, don't you cry because then i'll cry and then before you know it Bradshaws gonna be inconsolable and–”

“Woah!” Bradley gasped as he threw his hands up in surrender. “Don't bring me into this!” It made you smile as he let go of Jake and made your way over to Bradley, taking a seat on his lap as he kissed your cheek softly. “Sorry if we woke you mamma–”

“Its all good–” Your heart did a leap inside your chest at the term of endearment that fell effortlessly from Rooster's lips as he kissed the juncture of your neck, leaving small goosebumps in his wake. “Dont think ill be getting much for a while anyway.”

“We’re gonna take care of it Y/n you don’t gotta worry about it alright.” Frowning, you looked at Jake from across the table, giggling as you leaned into Roosters chest.

“You sound like your in the fucking mob Hangman ease up.”

“I already punched the dude so if he’s stupid enough to try something after that then he’s really not that bright.”

“Yeah well.” Reaching out for Bradley’s beer, you took a quick sip before pressing your lips together. “You two never got to see the pleasure in that animal's eyes when he was caving my skull in.” The memory was yours and yours alone to bear the burden of. “So I highly doubt your warning would have done anything Bradley.” Turning to kiss his forehead. “No offense—but I really do think it would have been easier to just run than to stick around like sitting ducks.”

“Sorry, what did you just say?” Jake sat up a little straighter. “When was that ever an option?” Maybe it was just the exhaustion taking, but that comment lit a fuse inside Jake.

“Jake—“ Bradley warned as you caught the sight of your daughter walking towards you. She’d woken up not long after your warmth had disappeared—dragging her comfort blanket behind her as she sucked on her thumb with tired eyes. “Now's not the time man come on.”

“You were just gonna leave?” Ignoring Roosters warnings, Jake pressed on in his questioning as you got up to tend to Dot. Scooping her up in your arms as you stood at the head of the table. Rocking side to side to hopefully get her back to sleep before she was awake long enough to stay awake. “You were just gonna pack up and high tail it out of here like you haven’t made a life here?”

“Well, I was prepared to go with—“ Bradley added under his breath before Jake sent him a deadly glare.

“I don’t think I need to go into heavy detail about why that thought crossed my mind—“ You hissed. “But I’m not going anywhere, so just, drop it? Alright?” You were tired, that much was easy to tell, but tensions were starting to run high as the three of you tried to process the unimaginable. “I ran to protect my daughter once and I’d do it again if I had to and you don’t get to judge me for a second if I chose to do that you arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Running away from your problems doesn’t make them go away.” Jake hissed as he finished his beer, standing from his place at the table as Rooster stood to stand between you. “Just makes them bigger, prolongs the inevitable.”

“Well in my case the inevitable is ending up six feet under or becoming another statistic in some domestic violence case study at some prestigious university somewhere!” You’d begun to raise your voice, so much so in fact you’d startled a sleepy Odette enough for her to start crying.

“Here baby—“ Bradley cooed as you handed her over. “I got you.” Stepping out of the way so you and Jake could hash it out like adults. “You’re alright.” Rocking side to side as he worked to soothe the little girl. “Hangman, I’d back off if I were you, we’re all tired.”

“Fuck up Bradhsaw you were just gonna run off with her!” Jake spat as he turned around to run his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath before he said something he’d regret. “You know what? I never should have gotten you involved in this crap!” Jake was just tired—he hadn’t slept since Christmas Eve and even then it was a shitty five or so hours. “I should have kept my mouth shut when Penny called about Jaidyn showing up at the bar—!”

“What?” You frowned in confusion as silence fell throughout the house. Odette's soft sobs were the only thing that could be heard. “You knew he was here? In North island?” You tried to put the prices of the puzzle together as Jake stood there with wide eyes not knowing what to say after letting the fan of worms spill on the floor. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Rooster? Take Dot outside.” Jake asked, Rooster nodded as he took a few steps towards the front door but you were quick to race around in front of him, sliding on the hardwood floor in your soaks.

“Take my daughter anywhere without my goddamn permission and I’ll fuck you up Bradley—that’s a goddamn promise!”

“Y/n, I’m just gonna take her and sit on the porch swing alright?” Rooster knew you were just projecting your anxieties into the world, this whole thing was all too much for you to handle. “I’m not taking her anywhere, I’ll be right outside the door.”

“No, no, don't you take my baby away from me.” It was the tears in your eyes that reminded Bradley how broken you really were. Reaching your arms out to take Dot back. Holding her as tight as you could as you sobbed. “Did you know?” Through painful heartbroken sobs, anguish laced your voice. “Did you know he was here and you didn't think to tell me?”

Bradley didn’t know what to say, he’d only ever done what he was told to do by the one person who he thought knew you the best. Looking over his shoulder at Jake who stood there in disbelief at the scene he’d caused.

“I just wanted you to have a good Christmas Y/n.“

“Oh god—“ cupping your mouth as you shook your head to muffle your sobs. “I can’t believe you two didn’t tell me.”

“Y/n—“ Jake thought it was a good a time as any to interrupt to try and de-escalate the situation he had accidentally caused. “Bradshaw was just doing what I told him to do.”

“Oh good!” You raised your brows and you scoffed back Roosters way as he stood before you. “So you’d jump off a bridge if Jake asked you to as well would you?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do here Fe, I’m just trying to protect you.” Rooster wasn’t going to argue with you and he most certainly wasn’t about to fight or tell you how to feel about this entire situation. After all it was your ex and you knew better than both him and Jake combined about just how far he’d go. You had every right to be lashing out. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I thought I’d have a chance to after Christmas at least? I didn’t expect he’d try to run us off the road—“

“He’s a psychopath Rooster, what the fuck were you expecting huh? That he’d give you time to sit down and break the news to me gently?” It was then you turned your attention back to Jake, stalking forward as you pointed his way. “And you, you fucking left me!” Jake flinched at your words as your venom hit his skin. “You left me when I was at my fucking lowest so how god damn dare you try play some version of a saving grace when you and I both know the only reason why you let me stay here in the first place was to help your guilty conscience sleep a little easier at night!”

“That’s not true and you know it!” Jake spat back as Dot cried a little louder in your arms at the shouting that was echoing off the walls. “You know that isn’t true—“

“You left me to rot! YOU LEFT ME BEHIND!” The tears weren’t stopping for either of you, Dot was a mess when Bradley finally had enough and took Odette from you again. He just held her against his chest, rocking her and cooing sweet nothings into her ear to settle her as you and Jake went back and forth. “You knew what he was doing to me and you still left me there with no support system Jake! God I couldn’t imagine where I’d fucking be right now if he didn’t drag us to California for a casino party with his buddies.”

“I didn’t know.” You saw the way Jake gritted his teeth, you saw the way he clenched his jaw and balled his first in anger, not at you but at himself. “I didn’t know what he was doing to you!”

“Yeah? Is that still the web you wanna spin?” You scoffed as a pained laugh escaped. “That day you told me you’d been chosen for some special detachment, you still think I gave myself that back eye?” Jakes cringed at the thought. He knew something was wrong, he just hadn’t put two and two together. “Or do you remember that you were the one who drove me to the hospital? Held my hand and stayed by my side as I gave literal birth to the daughter he never wanted a bar of?”

“You did that?” Bradley interrupted as tensions slightly died down. “Jake, that’s—“

“It was supposed to be Jaidyn, but he was too busy watching the cubs game.” You hadn’t stopped looking at Jake as he walked towards you. “I’d been in labour for a few hours by the time Jake showed up—she almost came out in the car.”

“Listen to me you little shit.” You hated that Jake was three months older than you. “I know I fucked up alright?” He smiled softly, cupping your face as he tried your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I know I should have done more to protect you but that’s what I’m doing now.”

“I don't think you know what he’s really capable of.”

“He doesn’t know the lengths we’d go to protect you Y/n.” Bradley was quick to add as she stepped a little closer. Jake stepped back to hand you over to the only man he trusted to love you the way you deserved to be loved. “He’s got no idea what I’d do for you, or Hangman.”

You had to take a moment to breathe, take in your surroundings and just calm down. Shutting your eyes as you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, both of you.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” Jake shook his head, reaching out to take Odette from Rooster. She’d settled down when she saw you had started to as well. The second Bradley’s arms were free of your daughter, he was opening them for you. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you the moment we knew he was in town, in retrospect? It should have been the first thing we did.” Bradley nodded in agreement as you hugged him tight.

“I think I need to go to bed, I’m just exhausted—emotionally and physically.” Bradley looked at Jake over your shoulder as he kissed the top of your head. Jake just nodded, gesturing his chin in the direction of the living room .

“Come on, let’s go get some rest, pretty girl.”

“Jake? You okay to take Dot?” You asked as you turned around in Bradley’s arms. It wasn’t necessarily a question you needed to ask because you knew that the answer was always yes. But as Jake nodded, you felt a little better for asking anyway.

“She can sleep with me, I got her—just please for the love of god get some fucking rest before you blow our heads off.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Okay do you want Banana pancakes or cereal?” The next morning was a lot quieter in the Seresin x temporary Y/l/n Household. Odette and Jake had woken up just after you and Bradley. Rooster was still waking up, lying between the sheets on the mattress in the living room after you’d made your way upstairs to have a shower and freshen up after the absolute horror show that last night had become.

“Pancakes.” Dot smiled brightly at her uncle as he placed her into her highchair. Kissing her forehead softly as he tickled her underarms gently, forcing a giggle from her that was the purest sound he’d ever heard. “Dop it, Dop it!” She squealed as Rooster made his way into the kitchen, walking in the see Jake stirring up your daughter.

“You gonna offer me pancakes as well?” Rooster teased as he walked by and gave Dot a kiss on the cheek. “Morning bubba.” He cooed, ruffing her hair up as he made his way over to the coffee pot. The kitchen in Jake Seresin's house was definitely the hub of the household.

“Do you not have a home to go to or something Bradshaw?” Jake teased back, reaching into the cupboard to fetch the box of pancake mix. “I don't remember offering you a permanent bed and breakfast package?”

“Funny you mention it, I'm planning on going home today.” He hadn’t actually been home in a few days, and even before that for a few days he had been sleeping with you in your room at Jakes. Braldey had been spending way too much time in Jakes for walls than his own. He knew he had washing to do and lawn maintenance to keep up on. There was definitely a load of dishes that still sat dirty in the sink and a load in the dishwasher that needed to be unpacked.

“Don't let the front door hit you on the way out bro.” Bradley smirked to himself as he let that bro that slipped from Jake's lips slide. Pouring himself a coffee and absentmindedly pouring Jake a cup too. “You gonna ask Fe to go with you or?”

“I was thinking she may want a little space today, but I'll see what she's up to and if she wants to come over she's welcome.” It wasn't that Bradley didn't want to spend every waking second with you, but he knew if he left to tend to his own home today that you'd still be safe with Jake. “She seemed a little calmer this morning though, guess the whole thing kinda rattled her huh?”

“Oh yeah, big time.” Jake chuckled as he poured the dry mixture into a mixing bowl, tossing Bradley a banana to cut up for Dot. “I've seen her get worked up before but last night was a whole other level, she terrified.”

“Guess she's got a right to be when this guys as unpredictable as she says he is.”

“Tooster can I pwease have some nanna?” Dot asked as politely as she could from her highchair, watching as Bradley cut the potassium rich fruit into small bite size pieces before scooping it up and placing it right onto the highchair table. No bowl required because he knew she was just gonna make a mess anyway.

“Oh course you can darlin’.”

“Hey Tooster can you pass me the milk?” Jake snickered to himself as Bradley opened the fridge and passed Jake the oat milk, a faint singing coming from the upstairs bathroom as he did so. “I heard her playing the Joanas Brothers before, year three thousand.” Jake added as he watched Bradley smile and look up with a questioning look. “She mentioned having and everything shower.”

“The fuck is an everything shower?” Braldey asked as he heard you singing a little louder, laughing to himself as he sipped his coffee.

“Something she does when she needs a full reset I guess? Shaves, washes her hair, does a face mask, tans, leaves my bathroom looking like some back alley spa." Jake shook his head as he mixed the pancake mixture. “I'm not kidding, bet you ten bucks she's up there with a face mask on using her hairbrush as a microphone, used to do the same thing whenever she’d stay at mine on the weekends before my mum decided she was a little too much to handle.”

“Ten bucks huh?” Rooster smirked against his coffee cup, downing the caffeine before placing the now empty mug on the kitchen bench. “Be right back.”

Rooster missed every second step as he barrelled up the stairs, heading straight for the bathroom he could hear you singing in. the door slightly ajar in case Dot needed something.

“I can buy myself flowers–” You sang to yourself as you painted your face with the cooling mint mud mask. “Write my name in the sand–” Bradley smiled against the door for a moment, thinking to himself if he should even bother interrupting. “Talk to myself for hours–!” You got a little louder, a little prouder with your singing, tone deaf as ever but you weren't singing to a crowded arena, just little old you. “Say things you don't understand.” Bradley gently pushed the door open, you saw it on the corner of the mirror as you finished off applying your mask. A towel wrapped tightly around your body after your very refreshing shower. “I can take myself dancing–” Bradley just smiled, watching as you locked eyes with him through the mirror and grabbed your hairbrush. “And I can hold my own hand–!” It was night and day to the side of you Bradley had seen last night, he much preferred you like this. Dancing, singing, smiling and loving yourself. You had every right to be scared though and he loved you either way.

Turning around to grab Rooster by the wrist, you pulled him further into the bathroom, urging him to dance with you as you turned up the music you’d been blasting through your speaker. Spinning around in Bradley's arms as he swayed with you and kissed your neck, he knew you weren't singing to him, but to your ex. You deserved love, but first you had to learn to love yourself first.

“Yeah, I can love me better than, you can.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt t @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde @americaarse

#terms of endearment// bradley bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradleybradshaw #bradley x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster series #top gun rooster #rooster imagine #rooster x reader

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deathbecomesthem · 4 months

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Author's Note: This is a second person POV story based on a very real experience in my own life. At 19, in 2001, I got pregnant and had an abortion. I have zero regrets about that decision. This is the first time I've sat down and written about this experience from start to finish. Originally, I thought I would turn this into a fanfic, but it didn't feel right.

TW: Unwanted pregnancy, vomiting, abortion, fear, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness. Am I forgetting something? I hope not. This is not an easy read, but please read it. We need more real stories about abortion in the world.

*Do not send me hugs. Do not tell me you're sorry. | ~5K words

---

“You ok, Chicken?” Your mom’s voice echoes in the narrow bathroom, barely muffled by the hollow laminate door. “I can get you some water or Pepto.”

“I’m ok. I’ll be out in a minute.” Bile slicks up your tongue while you squeeze the words out of your mouth. You swallow it back. And then again. You’re suddenly very grateful to be in your mother’s bathroom where it still smells of bleach from frequent cleaning rather than the mouse infested apartment you’ve been staying in for the last year. Just a short stopover in your childhood home that happens to coincide with this personal hell you’re living in.

The vomiting is not what clued you in. It’s not the reason you made that trip to the pharmacy, despite never keeping track of your cycle like a “normal” woman. You just knew. Your body began to feel alien at some point, you felt held captive by something. Everything smelled. The water pouring from the tap in your kitchen, acorns scattered on the back patio, his skin sweat slicked and heated. You could smell everything so much more, as if that small cluster holding court in your gut was reaching through your senses already.

Yesterday morning while you hurled up the coffee flavored stomach acid into your mother’s toilet, a daily habit you’d happily break if you could, you heard her in her bedroom talking on the phone. Your aunt Deanna called, and your mother’s whispered gossip could easily be heard by your overly sensitive ears. “Poor little thing, she’s been so sick lately. I think she might need to see a doctor…. What? No. No, absolutely not that.”

Sorry, mom, but it can be that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the thing that your aunt had suggested over the phone line. The woman living 500 miles away could see the thing so plainly, and yet you and your mother refused to acknowledge it. But that was the thing that pushed you to the pharmacy. The idea that it would be found out, and very soon, if you didn’t get a handle on it.

Two pink lines. Dark pink. Unmistakably two of them. You shoved the plastic test back into its wrapper. You opened the drawer of your dresser and shoved the test behind the dust rose colored Bible. You threw a bra on top of it. You looked down into the drawer and examined it closely. Nothing intriguing that might make someone, your mother, look twice and fiddle around. You’ll take the evil thing to work with you tomorrow and throw it into the giant metal dumpster where only the neighborhood racoons might stumble upon it.

As if it matters. That thing only tells you the truth of the situation, and throwing it away won’t change it. You rest your hand on your stomach and close your eyes. You try to make yourself feel something. You try to conjure images of bottles and stretchmarks. You think about him and wonder. None of it reaches you in any meaningful way, and your mind is suddenly resolute. You’re going to get an abortion as soon as possible, even if it means you max out the only credit card you have to your name.

Brrrrnnngg

You jump at the sound of the phone on your bedside table ringing. The digital clock reads 1:24, and you already know who will be on the end of the line before you pick it up. You’ve been putting him off for over a week. You plan to continue to put him off until the thing is done. You want him away from it, you don’t want him to see any of it. It’s not for him.

“Hello.”

“Hello. How are we feeling today?” His voice has an immediate effect on you. It does every time. It’s too perfect to be contained in a memory, so when you hear it, it’s always a shock to your system. It zings through you.

“Oh, feeling like a dried husk. Not great. I’m sorry. Maybe next weekend I’ll be up for something.”

“Mmm. You said that last weekend. I already told you, I don’t mind just hanging out at your place. We can watch movies, and I can pretend to not notice when you go puke your guts out or whatever.” His words come out in a whine. It’s a technique that often works with you, and he knows it.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment next week, I expect to feel better by the weekend.” These things are both true and a lie. Not quite all of either. And you know that an appointment on Thursday morning will mean that by Friday evening you’ll likely feel like shit - but it will be over. And that’s the only thing that matters.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, but it’s not meant as anything more than a silly thing. He misses you, and that’s sweet. He’s sweet. You want to keep him that way.

—

“You know, women my age fought for your right to do that. I support you completely,” your boss looks up at you from the chair in her tiny office carved into the center of the coffee house between the dining room and the kitchen. “Just this one time, though. Don't let this happen again.” Her hand finds yours and she squeezes it.

“I won’t, Nancy. Thank you. I should be able to work by Monday.” You back away, letting her hand drop. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

She waves her hand and assures you, “I know. I will never say anything about it again. Like it never happened.”

Like it never happened. You think about that while you make your way to the front of the coffee house, slipping on the wet tile as you pass the espresso machine. You see them sitting at a table in the center of the dining room and make your way towards them. You’re wishing for more privacy, and hope that, for once, the people in this place will focus on the conversations happening at their own tables. Keep their minds on the books held up to their noses. You sit in the uncomfortable vinyl covered chair and smile weakly at the two women in front of you. Barely friends, but the only ones you know will help you.

“Tomorrow morning. It’s supposed to be at 11, but they want me there at 9. We should leave by 8.” You’re just rattling off information while Bri, the person that’s taking you to your appointment the following morning nods along while her pen glides across the small notebook in front of her. “It should really only be a couple of days before I’m pretty much back to normal.”

“I need you to understand that this is a serious medical procedure,” these are the first words that Tesa has spoken since you sat down. She’s older than most of the people in this circle of friends, and a med student. “You’re going to need some care.”

You look down at the wooden table and nod slowly, considering. You’re going to need some care. That’s true, you’re sure, but also not something you can worry about.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got the weekend off. I’ll do everything they tell me I need to do, don’t worry.” You keep doing this. You keep finding yourself reassuring people around you while barely holding yourself upright. You want to shrivel up. You want someone to cradle you and brush your hair. Instead, you reassure - yes, I know what I’m doing. Yes, I’ll be careful. Yes, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.

“I really think you should tell him what’s happening. He should be the one to take you tomorrow, and take care of you. You don’t want this to be a secret you have to keep from him.” Tesa continues in a worried tone. You open your mouth to respond, to explain again that you’re not going to do that, when Bri breaks in.

With a hand on your knee and a small scowl on her face aimed at her girlfriend sitting beside you, she says, “I support your decision completely. You don’t have to tell him anything if you don’t want to. It’s your choice, and I’ll take care of you.”

—

Bri picks you up in her small, black Ford Escort promptly at 8 in the morning. You nod at each other and say nothing. It’s quiet, and the highways are empty. Bri doesn’t turn the radio on, she just allows the quiet to stretch and expand. You let it swallow you up. You let your ears focus on the sound of the car bumping along the ridges in the road. You let your ears focus on the hum of the engine. It’s already getting hot on this early September morning, but neither you nor your driver reach for the window cranks.

You’re halfway to your destination when you first wonder how Bri knows the way. It’s not a common destination, a clinic in one of the larger outskirt cities that circle the big one on the lake. She must have studied a map, you assume. It should feel strange to be in this situation with her, someone you’ve only known from behind a counter or at your sister’s monthly board game night, but it doesn’t. She is a force of steady calm, and your heart aches with it.

After exiting the highway, it’s only 3 short turns until the car is facing the very ordinary looking office building. No signs out front to announce the purpose of the place, just a building next to dozens of other buildings that look nearly identical. Except for the man standing alone with a cardboard sign hanging out of his hand. He has a lazy stance, and you close your eyes. You hope against hope that he doesn’t clock the fact that a car is pulling into the parking lot beside him. You’re going to have to walk back across his spot on the sidewalk to get to the front door of the building.

Bri pulls her car into a spot as far from the sidewalk as possible and turns to say, “I want you to walk on the inside, ok? It’s going to be fine.” Her voice never wavers, and you believe her. It will be fine. You barely even hear his voice when he finally realizes he’s missing his opportunity. Baby killer and whore are weakly lobbed in your direction, ineffectual to a mind already numb from the thing set out in front of it.

You walk, side by side, up two flights of stairs and find the door you’re meant to go through. It’s shocking to see the waiting room already half full. This is the only clinic in the greater metro area in a state that’s less than friendly to the needs of women. You sign in while Bri takes a seat opposite a very pregnant woman with, you’re assuming, her husband. You don’t let yourself think about what that means. And then you wait, both you and your chaperone with paperbacks to pretend to read.

“I told him,” you can’t help but listen to the woman sitting in the corner seats. She’s older than you by at least 5 years, and sitting cross-legged in the plastic chair, “I ain’t payin’ this time. I can’t afford it. He can either pay for me to come down here, or he can pay for another baby.” Her friend is nodding in agreement.

The thought of having to make multiple trips to this place makes your stomach lurch. You look up to see the very pregnant woman looking at the one speaking in the corner. There’s no expression on her face, she’s just looking for something to focus on outside of the hand she has rested on her swollen belly.

The very pregnant woman is the first to get called back. You hold your book up to hide your face, despite the fact that no one’s looking at it. The minutes pass like hours, and the hours like days. Time becomes meaningless, and the woman in the corner never deviates from the conversation that she keeps with her friend. Time becomes meaningless, so when your name is finally called 5 hours later, you’ve nearly forgotten why you’re sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair in this too cold waiting room. Bri offers you a smile and a nod, and returns to her paperback while you’re led back through a door.

The first stop is the counter just inside the waiting room door. A young woman with a pixie cut has you read papers and sign them. Injury, sterilization, death… just things that may or may not happen at the end of your day. You sign without a second thought. You get out your credit card, and don’t think about the $500 you don’t have to pay for this today. You just swipe it, and sign again.

The lady that escorted you from the waiting room leads you down to the end of the hallway. “First things first, we get a picture, ok?” You say ok without understanding what you’re agreeing to. You’ll agree to anything to get to the end of this thing.

You sit in a chair that closely resembles the one you sit in at your dentist’s office. A small woman comes through an open door next to the chair, she has a radiant smile on her face. “Hello, how are you?” Her heavy accented voice is sweet and calm. Everyone here is calm. “Sit tight for a minute, ok? This won’t take long.”

She moves your shirt up in a quick move, tucking it under your bra, and pushes down your sweatpants a little. “A little cold,” she says as she squirts a bit of gel on your low abdomen. It’s something you should have noticed, the fact that there’s a machine against the wall next to the big chair. You’re too focused on existing moment to moment, you can’t be worried about things that other people will worry about for you.

The woman runs a wand attached to a cord that leads back to the machine at your back. “Oh, look at that. Almost nothing there at all,” the woman pulls the machine up so you can see the monitor. A black and white image is in front of you, “we have to do an ultrasound, that’s the law. But you’re maybe not even 6 weeks. Nothing there, not really.” She’s right, you can’t even see the thing that she’s talking about, and she doesn’t bother to point it out. She just puts the wand away and wipes your belly.

The other woman, the one that led you back to this place, is suddenly at your side again and ready to take you through another door. This one is an office. No one tells you where you’re going, and that’s fine. It doesn’t matter. Each place is another step closer to the end of this thing.

“Take a seat, this will only be a few minutes.” A new woman sits behind a desk and points to a chair in front of her. You sit obediently. “So, why are you getting an abortion today?”

Your face must have given something away, some sort of concern or frustration because she’s quick to add, “a counseling session is legally required before you can get an abortion in this state. I promise, I’m not here to judge you in any way.”

You nod your head in understanding and decide that this is someone you can tell the whole truth to. She doesn’t care, and this is the work she does. So you tell her, “I don’t want a baby. I can’t afford it, and I don’t want it.”

“You know the risks involved in the procedure? You read the waivers?” The woman asks while looking down at a piece of paper in front of her. It’s some kind of checklist that needs to be completed before you can move to the next room.

“Yes. I know the risks, and I understand them.”

“Does the father know you’re here?” The woman asks, and it’s the first time someone’s managed to break through the wall you built up around yourself since you entered this building.

“No. I’m not telling him.”

“Well, we really recommend you tell the father. It’s not something you should go through alone unless there’s a really good reason.” She looks up at you, sees your face, and looks back down to her paper. She makes a couple of notes and says, “as you know, abortion access is at risk, now more than ever. We ask that you consider volunteering your time in some way to help the cause if you can.” She stands and hands you a brochure before heading to the door to let the first woman, your guide, back into the room. “Good luck, you’ll be fine.”

Your guide leads you back down the hallway, past the door to the waiting room, past the chair with the ultrasound, and into a room with lockers. “You can put on a gown. Everything comes off, but you can keep on your socks” she points to a stack of hospital gowns on a shelf on the far wall, “and leave your things in locker 12. Once you've changed, head through that door, “she points to a door opposite the one you’re standing in, “and the nurse and doctor will be in for your procedure shortly.”

She leaves and you head over to the stack of gowns. Small, medium, and large. You grab the size you think is right, and realize you’re still holding onto the pamphlet that the last lady, the hippy, handed you. You look at it for a second and wonder what to do with it before remembering locker 12. It’s fast after that. You walk over to your locker and set the paper down before stripping off your clothing and donning an all-too-familiar paper gown. Your feet are immediately cold when they hit the tile floor with only a thin piece of fabric protecting the bottom of your feet. You move quickly through the door to the dark room and instinctively move to take your spot on the exam table.

You don’t notice the instruments. You don’t notice the machine. You just sit and wait. Those are things that you don’t need to worry about, and you’re thankful for that. A woman comes in, a new woman, with a surgical mask over her face and pale pink scrubs. She says something and you nod. You don’t know what she says, and it doesn’t really matter. She encourages you to lay back on the table and begins to move things around on the table at your side.

And then he comes through the door. A tall man in green scrubs, a surgical mask over his face. He introduces himself, but you won’t remember the name he gives you. He’s just the doctor, and that’s fine. You’re surprised to find how quickly things go when he enters the room, but his time is probably at a premium in a place like this.

The doctor is positioned at your feet when he says, “this will pinch a bit. Only a little, and it will be quick, ok?”

What does he know about it? Nothing, you realize, as he works inside of you. It’s loud, the machine at your side, and it doesn’t pinch. It hurts. It’s painful, and you’re no stranger to pain. Pain has taken up residence in your body many times over the years, but this is a new one. This is a cousin to the pain that you’ve come to know, something stranger than you’re used to. A deep ache inside of you in a place that you don’t know well at all.

“It hurts,” you say. You don’t mean to say it, but you do anyway. It’s as if you need him to know that he’s wrong, and that it does hurt. It’s not a pinch, it’s a pull. The nurse finds your hand, and holds it tightly.

“Oh, nah. It doesn’t hurt. You’re fine.” The man in the scrubs says back to you, oblivious to the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. He’s too busy probing and scraping and sucking with that thing in his hand. “It’s almost over.”

You don’t bother telling him again that it hurts. You close your eyes and sob. You let tears roll down your face, and wail. You release the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, along with that cluster of cells that would have - if left alone - changed your life completely. You will leave these things in this room, and find that you don’t miss them.

10 minutes. That’s how long you sit on the exam table with a doctor between your legs. 10 minutes and you’re led to yet one more room. Three other women sit in big recliners, packs of ice sitting in their laps. You’re handed your own when you gingerly rest yourself on your own chair.

A young woman hands you a paper cup full of water and 2 pills. “For your pain,” she says, “You can take 2 more Advil in 6 hours. You should do that for the next couple of days to stay ahead of it.”

The time in the recovery room moves faster than the time in the waiting room. You don’t think about Bri sitting alone with her paperback in her hand. You’ll never really know how long you sat there before they finally let you get up and move back to the changing room. You’d forgotten about the pamphlet hiding under your bra, but you take it. You don’t even consider putting it in the wastebasket on your way out, or simply leaving it in the locker for the next woman to find.

Leaving the clinic is quick compared to entering. No hurdles. No credit card machines, ultrasounds, or counselors. Just stairs and a door. The pain is worse than you thought it would be, and you think about the way that Tesa had looked at you in the coffee shop yesterday. She tried to prepare you for a thing that can’t be prepared for. You don’t notice the small group of people that have joined the lone man with the cardboard sign, too tired and sore to hear their poisonous words.

Back in the car, you speak the first words to Bri that you’ve spoken today. “Can we stop at a gas station? I’m out of smokes.”

“Sure, Honey. You wait in the car and rest.”

—

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He’s asking the question before he’s even fully entered your room and closed the door.

You’re laying in your bed, waves of pain traveling through your gut and pelvis. He was so easy to convince, you didn’t even have to lie well. Seeing a smile sit sweetly on his face fills your eyes with tears.

“I’m ok. Just hurts.” You tell him. He climbs into the bed with you, and wraps you up in his arms. It’s a mistake, letting him come over so soon afterwards. Hormones compound the pain and trauma. He reminds you that your loneliness is a self imposed thing. He reminds you that you didn’t even let him try to do the right thing.

So, while he has you wrapped tight in his arms you tell him. You feel his arms go slack while he takes in your words. He says nothing. He listens with loose arms that hold you lightly. He doesn’t say a thing for the rest of his time with you. You stay in his arms, and the silence ricochets off the walls of your childhood bedroom.

#writerblr #second person pov #short story #nonfiction #abortion #bodily autonomy #thanatos writes

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