#rachel green angst

[ichorai]

blueberries ; series masterlist.

pairing ; joey tribbiani x gn!reader x rachel green series synopsis ; all of a sudden, blueberry cheesecake was joey's favorite flavor of ice cream. wc ; 44.1k and counting! themes ; angst, fluff, slice of life, slowburn warnings / includes ; talks of sex/suggestive content, mentions of cheating, mild cursing, injuries, reader is a physicist and also bisexual, literally everyone in the group is fruity other than ross lol, joey being an idiot, updated as the series goes on!

main masterlist.

chapter one. ↳ the one with runaway brides, pregnant wives, and homewreckers.

chapter two. ↳ the one with hockey pucks, double dates, and blackouts.

chapter three. ↳ the one with lumpy potatoes, new years parties, and mother-kissers.

chapter four. ↳ the one with break ups, sex dreams, and hospital waiting rooms.

chapter five. ↳ the one with accidental love confessions, friendly one night stands, and marinara sauce.

chapter six coming soon!

#joey tribbiani x reader #friends fanfiction #joey tribbiani fanfiction #joey tribbiani fluff #joey tribbiani angst #joey tribbiani smut #rachel green x reader #rachel green angst #rachel green fluff #rachel green smut #joey tribbiani imagines #joey tribbiani drabbles #rachel green imagines #rachel green drabbles #friends x reader #friends joey x reader #friends rachel x reader

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Only Pros For You (Rachel Green x reader)

Description: after finding the pros and cons list Ross made for her, you give Rachel some much needed comfort, which leads to a surprising confession

A/N: I hate Ross >:(

Warnings: Ross is an asshole (but when is he not), discussions of insecurities, hurt/comfort, some angst, ends in fluff

"I just can't believe him!" Rachel cried into your shoulder as you held her. "I mean, who would do something like that? He- he called me spoiled, and obsessed with my looks, and 'just a waitress'!"

You listened to her as she ranted to you, silently seething over the fact that this was all caused by Ross. Ross, Monica's brother, Chandler's best friend from college, and Rachel's lover. Well, ex lover, anyway.

"Look, Rachel-" you began, gently stroking her hair as she quietly sobbed into your shoulder.

"Nobody should ever have a list like that written about them, okay? But I just want you to know that if I ever wrote one for you, believe me when I say there would only be pros on there; the cons side would be completely blank. There wouldn't be a single mark to be seen, and you know why? Because you're perfect, literally.

"Maybe I'm being a little biased as your friend and all, but right now, all I can think about are pros. There wouldn't be a single con I could add, because there is nothing bad about you. You are perfect, and if Ross can't see that, then that's his loss."

She sniffed, looking up at you through teary eyelashes. "You really mean it?"

"Yes, I do," you said, smiling softly as you brushed the fallen strands of hair out of her face. "You're awesome, okay? You are way more than 'just a waitress'. Plus, your ankles aren't fat."

At that, she let out a laugh, the sound like music to your ears. "Aw, thanks, honey. You know, you were always way nicer to me than Ross ever was, even when we were dating. It just makes me wonder..."

She trailed off, the blank look on her face telling you she had spaced out.

"What, Rach? What does it make you wonder?" You questioned her.

"Hm?" She looked up at you, snapping out of the trance she was in. "Oh, nothing. Forget it."

"No, what? What were you thinking?" You didn't want to pry, but you were curious.

"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking that it was kind of funny-" she let out a small giggle as she explained, "-it's kind of funny that I was dating Ross, even though I didn't like him, and I wasn't dating the person who I actually did like all along, who was, well, you."

She chuckled nervously upon seeing the look of pure shock on your face. "But that's crazy, right?"

"Wha- no, Rach, that's not crazy at all," you reassured her. "I'm just- I'm shocked, if I'm being completely honest. I never saw someone as amazing and wonderful as you liking someone like, well, me."

"Are you kidding? What are you talking about? You're so sweet, and thoughtful. I mean, you put up with me crying for, like, what, ten minutes before I could finally speak properly again? You're just so great, and I'm only sorry that I didn't see it before."

Your eyes welled up with tears. "Really? You honestly like me that much?"

"Oh, honey, don't cry. If you cry, you're gonna get me going again," she said, pulling you in for a tight hug. "Yes, I do. I really, really do. Now," she pulled away from you, smiling, "how about we go downstairs and get a cup of coffee together, hm? It can almost be like our first date, in a way."

"Okay," you agreed, smiling back. "Just let me get my coat."

~

Taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @your-next-daydream

#friends #friends imagine #friends x reader #friends fic #friends angst #friends fluff #hurt/comfort #friends hurt/comfort #rachel green #rachel green x reader #rachel green imagine #rachel green fic #rachel green angst #rachel green fluff #jennifer aniston #jennifer aniston x reader #jennifer aniston fic #fluff #angst #90s sitcom

[bearsinpotatosacks]

What Have I Become? - Whumptober2023

Mark survived his second brain tumour after a miracle surgery shows its head. There are complications, however, he’s left not being able to form new memories. Not that he remembers that.

For day 29 of @whumptober . Also on AO3.

Words: 897

Sunlight streamed through the blinds as he opened his eyes. Next to him, the clock read 6:30am. The sheets were screwed up and tangled in his legs yet he didn’t recognise the pattern. Now he thought of it, as he put his glasses on, he didn’t recognise this room. These walls weren’t his, the room was the wrong size, the bed was too big, even his glasses were different. Where was he? What happened? Had he had too much to drink? He never drank that much, not enough to completely forget where he was. 

He got up as panic flooded his system. Opening the blinds, he didn’t recognise that back garden. The porch he thought he’d see was different. There were different flowers in the garden, in the distance wasn’t the Chicago skyline or the typical windy, rainy weather. 

Where was he? He had to find his phone. He needed to contact Elizabeth. Where was Rachel? Where was Ella? He hoped they were safe, he needed them to be, he didn’t know what he’d do otherwise, with no memories and no hope. 

He wasn’t dead, was he? It made sense with how nothing was familiar and how alone he was. Not that this fact settled him at all. He didn’t want to be dead, he hadn’t wanted his tumour to come back and the fact that there was nothing they could do didn’t ease anything.

As he went to rush downstairs, he noticed a note on the set of drawers on the other side of the room. It was Elizabeth’s handwriting. So she was here, wherever here was.

Please watch this, it will explain everything.

There was an arrow pointing to a DVD. The case was blank, slightly worn as he picked it up and made his way to the living room. Ella wasn’t crying, which he thought was weird. She should be, she should be awake by now. Anxiety settled in his stomach as he turned on the TV and switched it to the DVD player. After placing it in the drive, he sat, tapping his foot.

The screen lit up with Elizabeth’s face. His stomach eased when he saw her but his questions were still prevalent. 

“I bet you’re confused right now, you’ve woken up with no recollection of where you are, how you got there or even what day it is. It would scare me too, so I made this DVD for you to watch each morning, it was your idea actually, before the surgery.”

Surgery? What surgery? Last he knew, there was no hope for his brain tumour. No one around, no memory of how he got there, not terminally ill. 

“Last minute, we found out about a surgery to remove your brain tumour but there were complications and it left you unable to form new memories. It took us all a while, I had to work less because I knew you’d wake up each morning confused and I didn’t want to leave that to Rachel, who was also devastated to know her dad wouldn’t remember anything beyond that day.”

He thought of Rachel. For a second, he tried to picture her, maybe going to prom, or homecoming, or something. All he could see was her at fourteen. He still didn’t know what year it was. That was a scary thought. 

“We got through, though, we moved to Seattle, so we could be near Doug and Carol, and so Ella could have friends nearer to her age and you could have more people around you, people you knew before the tumours.” 

So that was why the skyline was different. He’d gotten so used to it that he hadn’t noticed the distant outline of the Seattle Needle amongst the clouds. 

“I’m still a surgeon, at the same hospital as Doug and Carol, Rachel’s in her freshman year of college, back in Chicago, she’s going to be a doctor, and Ella’s starting school, she’ll be awake soon if not already, so I’ll cut this off quickly so you can get her ready.”

She shuffled in the video. “You’re a stay at home dad now, there wasn’t anything we could really think of you doing apart from being a doctor and with such major memory problems it wasn’t feasible. But we’re trying Mark, we all love you, and don’t for one second think of yourself as a burden to any of us. We want you around, we have you around, and that’s all that matters. I love you.”

He mouthed I love you too to the screen as it went off. Getting up, he ejected the DVD and stood in silence for a moment. There were pictures on the walls that he didn’t recognise. Them in Hawaii, Rachel in a purple dress for her senior prom, her graduating, Ella’s first day at school. He’d been there for all of them, but not really. He couldn’t remember any of them. Rachel would become a doctor and he wouldn’t know it. Ella would forever be a baby, no matter how big she got. 

As he stood reminiscing, he caught himself in the reflection of the glass front of a picture frame. His face was more wrinkled, tired and tanned. A layer of fresh stubble was on his jaw, his glasses new on his face. Not that they were new, he had no idea. 

What had he become?

----

I feel like this is quite typical of me. Oh, Mark lives! 😃 Oh, he can't remember anything and is missing his kids growing up 😞. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #fic #no. 29 #what have i become? #er #e.r #memory loss tw #mark greene #greeneday #elizabeth corday #mark greene lives au #rachel greene #ella greene #ella corday #brain damage #fix it fic #bear writes #angst #whump

[userlaylivia]

@another-step-you-take

#it'll be hard to choose because I love them so much but I'll probably choose s2!! #the angst and their first kiss and them getting together was absolutely perfect!; #ross gellar #rachel green #ross x rachel #roschel #friends #tumblr poll #polls

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #call of duty modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare iii #modern warfare iii #modern warfare 3 #task force 141 #tf141 #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #captain price #john price #simon ghost riley #simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #mactavish family #call of duty fic

[sundrop-writes]

Your First Kiss With Dick Grayson

Dick Grayson x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

The Titans have faced a lot together, but never something quite as troubling as the possible return of an inter-dimensional demon that shreds apart worlds and leaves nothing standing in its wake.

You hate to admit it, but even standing with your team - you're afraid. Dick tries his best to comfort you, but for once during his career as noble, selfless team leader - he takes a moment to be selfish, and does something that he has been avoiding doing for years.

Dick Grayson x Gender Neutral Reader. Childhood Friends to Lovers. Angst and Fluff. Set during Season 4, Episode 6.

Word Count: 2,900

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this one is a bit more on the angsty side; this fic features major spoilers for season 4 (and for the majority of the show) - so if you're watching it for the first time or you haven't seen it yet and you want to watch it spoiler free, then avoid this fic for now; the reader character is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; the reader is one of the original Titans; the reader and Dick are childhood friends through the Justice League - the reader is the adoptive child of Oliver Queen/Green Arrow (the reader is a talented marksman and trained in combat); the reader is mentioned to be an orphan (again, aren't all good superheroes); major pining from Dick - he has had a crush on the reader since they were kids (most of this is from his POV, so it's not specified if the reader has returned his feelings for just as long); mentions of canon character deaths; a lot of this is from Dick's POV so - warnings for Dick being emotionally constipated and referring to romantic feelings as a 'disease'; this is an AU where Dickkory never happened; mentions of canon violence - not described in graphic detail; mentions of the apocalypse/the world ending (and the anxiety this can cause); the reader is feeling extreme fear/anxiety due to the possible end of the world; technically - unresolved pining. I believe that's it.

A/N: The second part of the First Kiss series! I had a lot of fun with this one. This is the first really romantic fic I have written for Dick, and I enjoyed it so much omg. I was so tempted to write an enemies to lovers version with him, because he annoys me so much in the canon, and I feel like 'kissing in the middle of a heated argument' would work so well with his character - but maybe we'll save that one for Jason (or Hank, idk). instead, I went with emotionally constipated Dick Grayson, because that is sooo canon. he would not admit his feelings for someone if he had a gun to his head. and I had a lot of fun writing this mostly from his POV. I feel like he is such an interesting POV character to work with, so I might do more from him in the future. anyway, please enjoy!!

...

Stress. 

There were few other words to describe the horrible feeling that was dense in the air around them. 

Everyone was looking to Dick for answers, and unfortunately, he had none. Sebastian was missing, likely kidnapped by Mother Mayhem in order to complete a ritual that would likely mean the end of the world. Rachel had lost her powers and the Titans needed her unique form of magic now more than ever. Tim was impatient, annoyed because Dick wasn’t letting him use the minimal training that he had. But of course, Dick was hesitant to let the next would-be Robin off the bench after what had happened to Jason. 

(Dick could barely bring himself to think about Jason these days.) 

Kory was having difficulty controlling her newfound powers, and so was Gar. Which left the team weakened on all sides. Jinx was helpful on the magic front, but she was far from easy to control when it came to executing plans and corralling her rather wild personality. 

And Dick didn’t even want to think about what was happening with Conner. He just had to pray that this whole shaved-head, Lex Luthor impression was part of his mourning for his would-be father, and hopefully - it would be temporary. 

All of the chaos among the team left Dick leaning on you. As usual, you were likely the only person on the team who wasn’t experiencing any extreme drama. You were the only Titan with some true stability. 

And you were the person on the team with the most experience. Even more than Dick himself. Beyond being part of the original Titans team that had helped to found The Tower, you had been trained under Oliver Queen, who was part of the Justice League as Green Arrow. Ollie had taken you on as his own child when your parents died and left him as your carer in their will. Naturally, early into your childhood, he had started training you in the art of combat and marksmanship - so you grew up with intense skill. 

You and Dick met soon after he was adopted by Bruce. And much like Donna, you were a kind face and a wise voice that kept him mentally grounded well into adulthood. But you were also someone mischievous that made him smile; someone he could always turn to for a well timed laugh. 

You always kept him sane. 

And very much unlike Donna - soon after he met you, Dick started to develop feelings for you. 

Of course, back then, it was just a silly crush. When he told Donna about it at the time, she laughed. And when he had hidden his face in embarrassment, she then told him that it was ‘cute’. She told him that you two would be good together when you got older. So naturally, Dick took her words as biblically concrete advice. 

He decided that he should wait for you. That the two of you would be good together when you got older. 

So he waited. 

And he waited. And eventually - life got in the way. 

He had a huge falling out with Bruce, things at the Tower went south. It was never the right time to tell you. How the hell could he tell his best friend that he had those big, terrifying feelings mounting inside of him, worsening each year like a disease? 

It was never the right time to tell you because he was dodging disasters left and right and he needed you more as a friend than as a lover. He needed you as a brick wall to lean on. He needed you as that voice of common sense in his ear - the leader’s loyal first mate, giving him advice behind the curtain and keeping his head on straight. 

He didn’t need to tell you about his awful, festering feelings and have you gone from his life too. 

When Garth died, and then Jericho died and the Tower shuddered, it still didn't feel like the right time. Wounds were tender and even if you were never downright angry at him like everyone else was - you needed your space. Dick respected that. 

That day, you stood at the mouth of the elevator, about to leave for Star City to go and lick your emotional wounds at Ollie’s for a while, and you looked at Dick with tears in your eyes - looked at him like you were waiting for him to say it. But it wasn’t the right time. 

He still thought about you every single day when he was in Detroit. And then - he showed up at your door with a scared little girl, needing more advice, needing that brick wall again. It was only natural that when chaos found him, he needed your help. 

He hated that your advice was to call in Dawn and Hank. He relied on you, and you relied on family. And he hated that they were waiting at your apartment, called against his will once he had left to do some more sleuthing. 

But he found that you were right when he saw how Dawn bonded with Rachel, when Hank put up a vicious fight against those strangers who came to collect her in the name of her father. 

Watching you get thrown off that roof sent Dick’s heart through his stomach. As he clung onto the rooftop with his fingers and the muscles of his arm burned, all he could think about was you. As you sputtered out blood and he cradled your head, unsure of how to help you, terror gripped him in a way that it never had before in his life, because he realized that he might actually lose the most important person in his life. 

As you lay in the hospital, a set of machines barely keeping you alive, with Dawn loyally holding your hand in comfort and Hank seething to get revenge on the people who had hurt you - Dick ached with regret and not having told you. 

Still, when you showed up at that house in Ohio, somehow magically awakened from your near death by Rachel's powers - Dick felt that it just wasn't the right time. He swallowed his regrets like ash in his mouth when he reunited with you, hugged you tight. He didn’t even consider telling you about his feelings to be on the radar of possibility. 

When you came back to the Tower to help bring in Doctor Light - it just wasn't the right time. When you showed up in Gotham to help bring down Red Hood - it just wasn't the right time. 

Even when Dick died and was brought back to life by some strange magical pit, a pool of waters that brought him dreams of a far off life with you - it still wasn’t the right time. 

You were there to Dick's call, loyal and waiting, every single time. You looked at him with as much love and longing in your eyes as he needed (at least, according to Dawn and Donna you did) - but still, it never felt like the right time. 

It never felt like the right time to destabilize his entire life by uprooting the one good friendship he had. It never felt like the right time to truly fuck things up with you. 

Now, because of some cult that Dick believed to be long gone and a stupid blood ritual, the world was ending, and it still didn't feel like the right time. 

He wasn't the son of a demon from another dimension, but he still felt cursed. 

When Dick saw you slip out of the room, clearly trying to sneak away from the group, his stomach twisted with nerves. It was rare that you of all people cracked under the pressure. It was rare that you needed to escape from the madness for a breath. He mumbled an excuse to Kory and then chased after you, knowing that it wouldn't be hard to tell where he was truly going - but truthfully, he didn’t care. 

He easily caught you in one of the late night deserted halls of STAR Labs. 

The many glass walls overlooked the city - a collection of bright lights that made up Metropolis. Thousands of people that you never knew, that you had never met before. People that all seemed too important now as you contemplated their lives; thought about the fact that you might not be able to save them. 

Dick saw the sickly look on your face, the glassy sheen of guilt in your eyes even from far off as you leaned on the polished titanium railing that separated the upper floors from the atrium. His footsteps echoed in the empty hall and you heard him approaching from far off. He made no effort to sneak up on you or conceal himself, not wanting to startle you when you were already in such a distressed state. 

The minute you looked over your shoulder and saw him, your face broke from that dark, doomed frown into a haste smile, and you reached up to wipe away your tears, attempting to be subtle with that motion. You were trying to hide yourself from him. 

Dick came to stand beside you, resisting the urge to pull you into his arms. He desperately wanted to shelter you away from any fear you might be feeling. Maybe it was selfish; wanting to hold you, wanting to protect you from anything in the world that could possibly harm you. Maybe it was downright idiotic - because realistically, he knew that couldn't protect you from this kind of harm. He couldn’t protect you from the world ending. 

“Y/N-” Dick murmured your name gently, clutching a fist tightly by his side to resist the urge to reach out and soothe a hand over the trembling muscles of your jaw. 

You were holding in a sob, and it came out as a harsh, sarcastic laugh instead. 

“I know.” You said. “I know. You're doing that Team Leader Guy Thing.” 

You tried to make it sound playful and joking, but with your voice wet and soaked with worry and fear, it came off as a pathetic bid to deflect. 

Dick wasn’t sure how to reply. Because yes, he was doing that ‘Team Leader Guy Thing’. He was trying his best to, anyway. 

“You're gonna ask ‘are you okay?’ and I'm gonna lie and say ‘I'm fine, boss. All good.’” You continued. 

At least you were being straightforward about it being a lie. 

Dick wished that he had something genuinely helpful to say, but his throat stalled with dryness and his chest ached at seeing you so distraught. It really wasn’t something that he was used to. 

“I mean, it's not like it's the end of the world.” You let out another dry, sarcastic laugh. 

Then, there was a moment of silence - a beat of realization as your chin quivered and more thick tears rimmed your eyes. 

“It's - it's only the end of the world.” You spoke these words heavier, dropping any false laughter in your tone - it truly hit you. Any further jokes you could make left you. 

Dick choked on his own tears when he heard the aborted sob in your chest - something that came out as a whimper when you reached up to clutch at your heart. 

You were genuinely terrified. Terrified that the Titans wouldn’t be able to find a solution in time. Terrified that everyone was going to die. Not just the people you loved, but - everyone. 

“Hey, come on.” Dick said, his leader instincts, his natural caring for you kicking in. “We've been through worse.” 

Working with the Titans, you had been through a lot. Drug busts, battling against costumed psychopaths, the loss of a dear friend to a dangerous assassin. But you weren’t sure that you had been through something worse than this. Everything the Titans had been through had never affected the world on such a large scale. 

“Have we?” You argued gently. 

Perhaps not. Maybe the only time the team had been in such dire straits was the first time Trigon attempted to come to earth. But that had been when Rachel had been armed with her powers and had been prepared to take him down. But Dick wasn't going to voice those thoughts to you. 

You waited in agony for him to say something, and your tears finally breached - rolling down your face in hot tracks, laying marks of the true fear you were feeling, laying it all bare for the first time. Dick knew that his own eyes reflected that same glossy hurt now, if only for the pain he felt in seeing you cry - something that was so incredibly rare over the time he had known you. 

Dick reached out and gently cupped the side of your cheek, running his thumb across your face and wiping some of those tears away. You were so startled by the tenderness of the touch that you couldn't help but to let out a whimper, and you felt frozen as Dick spoke his next words. 

“It's gonna be okay.” He told you, trying his hardest to sound confident in the words. “We're gonna get through this. I know we will.” 

This time, unlike many before, you couldn't be inspired by his confidence. 

“Have you - have you considered what happens if we don't?” Your voice barely reached above a whisper, barely daring to tempt fate with this possibility. 

Honestly, Dick had not. In these kinds of situations, he didn't allow himself to focus too much on the negative. As the team leader, he did have to take all the possibilities into account. It was something he had to do in order to keep everyone safe. But if he focused too much on death and darkness, much like Bruce did, then he knew that paranoia would overtake him and his team would get caught in the crossfire. 

He had to spend his time coming up with solutions to fix the problem rather than spending his time caught up in knots, worrying about what would happen if he fumbled and didn't actually fix things after all. 

The literal end of the world? It just wasn't a possibility in this mind. 

But right now, standing there, staring into your big eyes, glossed over with fear as you looked to him for answers - there was only one thing that Dick could think of. 

And it was so incredibly selfish. It didn’t have anything to do with the team or being a good leader. It didn’t have anything to do with helping the others. 

Dick brushed his thumb over your cheek again, an incredibly tentative touch that had your skin tingling. You let out a small sigh, and the world froze around you when he leaned in - slowly, moving toward you at a pace that more than gave you time to escape if you wanted to. But you found that you didn’t want to. You found his closeness to be an incredible comfort in these moments of mental chaos. 

And so, he gently planted his lips on yours. 

It should have come as a shock - your childhood best friend kissing you. But in that moment, it just felt right. All you could do was shut your eyes and lean into the kiss, reaching up to grip his wrist, keeping him close to you as you leaned into his smothering heat. His lips were surprisingly soft, and he tasted like coffee - using caffeine to keep himself awake for days, trying to marathon a solution against the impending doom. 

His kiss was firm but so giving - a touch that easily swallowed you up with heat from the top of your head all the way down to your toes. It was a sensation that pushed out the rest of the world, smothered any worries about who or what might bring an end to it. 

It was the most tender, but most wonderfully passionate kiss that you had ever experienced in your life. 

When he pulled away, you sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling incomplete without his lips on yours. The shock then began to set in, like pulling the knife from a stab wound and feeling the blood rush out of you freely. It created a dizzying mixture with the heat that was now boiling under your skin. 

Why? Your brain screamed out as you stared at him. When? How long had he wanted to kiss you? How long had you been missing out on Dick Grayson? 

Dick could see all those questions bubbling beneath your surface as the fear in your eyes shifted to confusion, and he finally decided to speak. 

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly. “But if the world does end, I couldn't die without knowing what kissing you is like.” 

“Dick-” You sighed, about to go on a long rant about how he could have done that years ago, about how he should have - and the end of the world was a shitty excuse. 

But you abruptly cut off your own words when more footsteps squeaked down the hall - the rubber soles of sneakers scuffing against the polished floor. 

Dick jumped away from you as though he had been burned, clearly wanting to keep the interaction private. Both of you tuned to see Gar approaching. 

“Dick?” He posed. Gar had a look of confusion, clearly wondering if he should question what was going on between the two of you but swallowing it. 

“Yeah?” Dick replied. 

“Um - Conner's missing.” He announced this in a nervous, meek tone, not wanting to bring the team leader any more bad news. 

“What?” Dick gaped. 

There was no time to further discuss what Dick had said to you. With the end of the world in your hands, it easily fell to the back of your mind. 

...

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#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans x reader #titans fanfiction #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x gn reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x you #titans hbo #dc titans fanfiction

[laurenairay]

you've been sent to save me - N. MacKinnon

Summary: what’s meant to be will always find a way.

Rachel Summers can’t stand Nathan MacKinnon. But when a mutual friend’s wedding pulls them together, will anything change?

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some angst, some bad language

A/N: Here is my fic for @fallinallincurls birthday bingo! I chose wedding season/dates, forced proximity, meddling best friend, and invisible string theory. This was a lot of fun to write (and I can't believe I've never written a full fic for Nate before!), so I hope you enjoy it Bre! Sorry it's a bit late!

Title from always been you, by Shawn Mendes.

~

Invisible string theory suggests that everyone has someone in their lives who is attached to them by an invisible string that transcends time, distance, and geography. It’s fate.

~

June 2023

“There’s just one more thing.”

“Oh?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nate’s going to be a groomsman.”

Rachel immediately groaned, tilting her head backwards. A little dramatic perhaps but for Nathan MacKinnon? It was justified. She’d been over the moon when her childhood friend had asked her to be a bridesmaid for her wedding next summer, but now knowing that Nathan was going to be in the wedding party too?

“It’s bad enough that I can’t avoid that grumpy smirky fucker whenever he’s back for the summer, but now I can’t even avoid him for the happiest day of your life?”

“It really will be the happiest day of my life, won’t it?” she sighed happily.

“Angie, focus,” Rachel snapped, unable to stop herself from huffing out a laugh. She wanted to stay mad at her friend, but it was hard with the dreamy look on her face.

Angela just giggled. “Look, Brad has been friends with him for years, you know that. And I can’t change that – I’m sure it’ll be fine?”

“Angie!” Rachel whined.

She just laughed harder. “Rach, I will make sure he won’t act like an ass. I promise!”

“I’ll believe that the day I see it.”

~

June 2024

It was finally time for Angela’s wedding. After a full year of planning – helping choose the bridesmaid dresses, the hair and make-up trials, the hen do itself, spending her weekends making table decorations – the fateful weekend had finally arrived. Rachel had been given the option to travel up a couple of days early ahead of the wedding ceremony on the Saturday, so she’d eagerly booked the time off work, and was travelling to Inverary Resort bright and early on the Thursday morning. Rachel was ready to settle in and relax with the rest of the bridal party, all friends over the years from Cole Harbour, to celebrate one of her oldest friends marrying the love of her life.

What could possibly go wrong?

After 3 and a half hours of driving, Rachel was ready to kick her shoes off and pick up a cocktail, and as she spotted Angela running happily out of the main building towards her as she parked her car, she found a smile spreading across her face. This weekend was going to be amazing, she just knew it.

“You made it! How was the journey? We got in a few hours ago and it was fine for us – was it still okay for you?”

Rachel just grinned at her friend’s happy rambling, throwing her shoulder-length dark waves up into a basic ponytail before grabbing her bags out of her backseat. Thankfully the transportation of the bridesmaid dresses – a gorgeous olive green that suited Rachel’s dark hair and tanned skin perfectly -  were taken care of by Angela’s mom so she hadn’t had to worry about creasing that.

The two of them caught up as Angela walked her through the main lobby of the resort, picking up Rachel’s room key as well as a glass of complimentary prosecco. Rachel tried not to get too wide-eyed over the beauty of the venue, but it was hard not to gawp. The views alone were amazing, and she wasn’t even on the water’s edge yet. From what she understood, for the accommodation on site there was a main lodge with the majority of rooms, as well as whole bunch of individual cottages. Rachel had chosen to stay in the main lodge, as a single guest, so at least she didn’t have to walk far with her luggage.

“Alright, here you are. There are a few other guests already here so get settled and then come downstairs to meet us for drinks. It’s just a chilled day today, touring the grounds and relaxing really, with a dinner tonight at the Lakeside restaurant,” Angela explained, “I’ll see you soon?”

“You got it,” Rachel grinned.

Angela’s enthusiasm was infectious at the very least, and Rachel could feel herself buzzing as she unpacked her bags. She couldn’t wait explore the grounds of the resort – and she was more than ready for the spa morning tomorrow in the Glasgow house cottage that Rachel had set up for the bride’s party – but first, drinks.

After freshening up with a spritz of perfume and a swipe of lipgloss, Rachel left her room, phone and room key in hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

No fucking way.

Rachel turned her head to see the last person she wanted to see standing two doors down from her with a suitcase at his side. He must’ve just arrived. It was just her luck that his room was so close to hers – Angela had better not had a hand in that – as always during the summers when he was home, it was like she couldn’t escape him. Nathan MacKinnon was everywhere.

“Look what the cat coughed up,” Rachel shot back, fake smile at full capacity.

Nate just snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aww don’t front, Rach, you know you missed me.”

“Like a thorn in my foot,” she said dryly, “And don’t call me Rach.”

Rach was for friends only. And Nate was no friend.

Nate held his hands up in surrender with a snicker, finally unlocking his room door.

“If you find yourself lonely in the middle of the night, you know where to find me,” Nate smirked.

“Eurgh, in your dreams,” she grimaced.

“Yes, frequently.”

No. Just no. The audacity.

Rachel gagged dramatically, hamming up the noises, and to her surprise Nate burst out into laughter, leaning against the doorframe as his face scrunched. That had to be the first time he’d laughed so genuinely with just her. She hated the way it made her stomach fill with butterflies.

“Oh man, I needed that,” Nate grinned, still chuckling, “I’ll see you down at the lounge bar?”

More bewildered than anything else, Rachel just nodded. “Yeah, see you.”

What the hell was that?

~

Angela’s plans for the spa morning on the Friday couldn’t have been more perfect, if for nothing else than to clear Rachel’s mind. Over the space of 4 hours, Rachel (plus the other three bridesmaids, Angela, Angela’s mom, and Angela’s soon-to-be mother-in-law) got a manicure, pedicure, and a facial, on top of full use of the sauna and pool. It was exactly what Rachel needed to wind down from her work week (and the weirdness with Nate yesterday) and relax ahead of the big wedding day tomorrow. By the happy glow on the bridal party’s faces, everyone else agreed.

After a light lunch, the full wedding party met up in the main lodge, ready for a rehearsal. Angela and Brad had wanted a full walkthrough of the running order, timings, and placements of the day, just so they were prepared, which Rachel wasn’t going to complain about in the slightest. It could never hurt to be ready.

Not even Nate’s irritating grin as he stood next to her, continuously nudging her with his shoulder, could ruin her peace.

“So, in terms of who will be walking who down the aisle, we’ve paired the groomsmen and bridesmaids up already.”

As the four pairings were called out, Rachel’s stomach sank. She was walking down the aisle with Nathan MacKinnon. Of course she was. So much for peace. This had Angela written all over it, the meddling wench.

“Rach, I-”

“Don’t even say a word to me right now, you giant potato,” Rachel hissed under her voice.

Nate choked out a laugh, leaving Rachel to make her face blank and calmly walk towards the other bridesmaids. Angela’s expression was all but begging her not to cause a scene. Like she would cause something as inelegant as a scene. No, she would wait until there was a moment to pull Angela aside because what the hell was she thinking?

“What the fuck, Angie?”

“Hi Angie, you look incredible Angie, thanks for planning everything ahead of your wedding tomorrow Angie.”

Rachel pursed her lips, hands on hips, but Angie just shrugged, an amused smile on her face. The two of them were in a little alcove in the main lodge, completely hidden from view even though everyone had gone their separate ways, so Rachel didn’t bother to hide her displeasure in her body language.

“I don’t know what you want me to say? The two of you are paired together to walk for all of two minutes. You can handle it,” Angie mused.

“Why him? You could’ve paired me with literally anyone else,” Rachel groaned.

“True, I could’ve, but it’s done now. Besides the two of you could use a little time to be friendly. Or, you know. Friendly.”

Bleurgh. Absolutely not.

“You are the worst and I don’t know why we’re friends,” Rachel grimaced.

“At this point, Stockholm Syndrome?” Angela beamed.

Rachel couldn’t help but to crack a grin, Angela just giggling at her victory.

“It’s two minutes, you will survive it. The two of you will look good together at least...”

What?

They were complete opposites – Nate was blonde, blue eyed, beefy and pale. Rachel was dark-haired, dark-eyed, slim and tan.

What?

“…and Nate’s obsessed with you anyway.”

“Ew, no, he’s not obsessed with me,” Rachel said, sneering slightly.

“No? With everyone else, he’s awkward and dorky. But with you, he’s laser focused. I wonder why,” she said, finishing with an innocent smile.

“Oh gee lucky me! I don’t know, because he’s an ass?” Rachel scowled.

“No, because Nathan MacKinnon’s flirting never matured past pulling pigtails on the school playground,” Angela shot back.

What?

“He’s not flirting,” Rachel scoffed.

Angela paused for a second, gazing over Rachel as if she was trying to figure something out, before she laughed incredulously. “Oh my God, Brad’s going to lose his mind when I tell him. You really can’t see it, can you?”

“See what?”

Rachel didn’t know what her face was doing to reflect her defensive words, but Angela held her hands up in surrender.

“Just take a step back and look at everything. He wants your attention solely on him and this is the only way that’s been successful in catching it. For twenty years – and you know it. Watch him with other people. Watch him with other women. He’s flirting with you, Rach. Just think about it.”

~

Watch him with other people.

Watch him with other women.

He’s flirting with you, Rach.

Just think about it.

Angela’s words swirled around Rachel’s head all through the rest of the day, and it was all she could do to follow her friend’s advice. She watched Nate, all through dinner and the drinks afterwards. She watched how Nate was beaming and friendly with Brad and their Cole Harbour buddies. She watched how Nate was bland and polite with women that flirted with him at the bar. She watched how Nate watched her when men approached her, always catching him looking at her, eyes intense and hot. Why did Angela have to put those seeds of doubt in her head? Why did she have to do it now, the night before the wedding, when there was so much else to think about?

Why did she have to be right?

Nate was so different with her than anyone else, even people they’d known all their lives, and it was completely turning everything she’d ever thought about him on its head. This wasn’t fair. She didn’t need this, not right now. It wasn’t fair.

The wedding day came with no further clarification for her thoughts, her head in full turmoil, and it took all of Rachel’s concentration and willpower to focus on being the best bridesmaid she could be. Angela wasn’t even aware of the way she’d swept the rug out from underneath Rachel’s feet, which was probably for the best if she was being honest, so Rachel just let herself get swept up in the excitement of all the bridal party getting ready together, hair and make-up and dresses and happy tears, all of them looking gorgeous by the end of it – Angela most of all.

As the time came for them to walk down the aisle, Rachel’s nerves were in tatters.

“Rachel Summers, damn. You clean up well,” Nate murmured.

She ignored the shiver his words sent down her spine.

“Bite me MacKinnon.”

He immediately raised an eyebrow, eyes assessing her.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, frowning.

Of course he noticed. Of course.

“Peachy,” she said through gritted teeth, plastering a smile on her face.

“I can tell you’re lying.”

“Gold star for you.”

It felt like an automatic defence to slip into their usual banter, Nate just huffed out a laugh, smirking slightly, all of it serving only to make her feel unsteady. How the hell had she missed this for so long? How easy their connection was? How his bitching was actually…flirting?

“Alright princess, let’s go celebrate our friends,” he mused.

As Nate stuck out his elbow, Rachel inhaled shakily but didn’t hesitate to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. Even through the jacket, she could feel the warmth of his body, the thickness of his bicep, and all she could do was try to keep a straight face, to not let anyone see how the simple touch was making her head spin. What the fuck was happening to her?

They walked in silence, in perfection symmetry, Nate sending her a small smile as they separated at the altar, and it wasn’t until the wedding march music started, signalling Angela’s imminent arrival, that she realised she was lost in thought. She needed to pull herself together, and quickly.

Rachel locked her eyes on Angela and Brad all through the ceremony, letting their happy smiles and obvious love for each other fill her mind, a smile of her own easy on her face. This was Angela’s day, that’s all she had to focus on. That’s all she needed. Still, in the drinks reception and through the sit-down meal, Rachel found her eyes drawn back to Nate, the two of them seated at the same table (of course, albeit not next to each other so her gaze was able to float over him without looking too obvious.

Just as the night before, the way he smiled at other guests versus how he smiled at her was completely different, and she was just glad for the prosecco nearby. She was going to need it to get through this night, she knew that much. As the speeches went on and the food was served, she felt herself getting more and more overwhelmed, feeling more and more stupid for how much Angela’s revelations were affecting her. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? It’s not like it was going to change anything, right? She’d get through the wedding reception and go back home tomorrow morning and avoid Nate until he left for Colorado next month. It was totally doable. It was a great plan. It was-

“And now, please join us on the dance floor for the bride and groom’s first dance!”

Fuck.

Rachel moved on autopilot, standing to the side of the semi-circle of guests as Angela and Brad walked into the middle of the floor. Just as the music started, she felt a familiar body moving to stand next to her, and she wasn’t able to hold back the shaky breath escaping her mouth, the softest whimper only audible to him.

“What’s wrong?”

You're the light, you're the night, You're the colour of my blood, You're the cure, you're the pain, You're the only thing I wanna touch, Never knew that it could mean so much, so much.

“Hey, Rachel, are you okay?”

You're the fear, I don't care, 'Cause I've never been so high, Follow me to the dark, Let me take you past our satellites, You can see the world you brought to life, to life.

“Rach. Rachel. Seriously, you’re worrying me.”

So love me like you do, la-la-love me like you do Love me like you do, la-la-love me like you do Touch me like you do, ta-ta-touch me like you do What are you waiting for?

She was worrying him? Rachel glanced up at Nate as Ellie Goulding’s voice continued to fill the barn, and the soft look in his eyes just about broke her. It was all she could do to inhale sharply and shake her head.

“No, I’m not okay. I need to get some air. I need to get out of here.”

Nate’s soft expression immediately turned serious, eyes more intense than she’d ever seen, sending a bolt of electricity through her blood. “Can you make it through the dance? It’s fine if you can’t, I can get you out.”

What?

“I…I can wait,” she managed to choke out.

Nate looked at her for a couple of seconds before nodding, arm moving to gently rest behind her as if some kind of fail safe, and it was all Rachel could do to focus on keeping her breathing steady, eyes stinging with tears as she locked her gaze on her friends as they twirled around the floor. But in reality she was barely taking anything in, other than the heat of his body protecting her. Because that’s what it was – he was protecting her. She knew she was a hair away from having a full-on breakdown, and the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention away from the happy couple. The last thing. It was only that thought that kept her together until the music ended, and the moment everyone burst into applause, Nate was whisking her outside, somehow neither of them being stopped by other guests for polite chitchat.

Small mercies.

When they were in a secluded grassy nook, Nate turned around to face her.

“Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

How could he even ask that?

“Am I okay? Of course I’m not okay!”

He held his hands up in soft surrender. “What’s wrong?” Nathe frowned.

“You! You’re what’s wrong!”

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Okay I know for a fact that I haven’t done anything to earn that.”

Rachel just groaned, clenching her fists as she closed her eyes briefly. He hadn’t done anything to earn it? He’d done everything to earn it!

In the 20 years they’d known each other, all she’d ever ‘known’ of him is the way he always poked at her, always the first to draw attention to her doing something stupid, untying the bows in her hair, jostling her in the school hallways. As they’d grown up he hadn’t really changed, even when he spent more time away for hockey. He still made fun of her choices in boyfriends, in clothes, in music, even being as dumb as to take the last beer at summer parties or the burger she’d been waiting for or laughing at her not being able to walk in a straight line when she was drunk.

But never anything cruel. Just stupid attention grabbing things that absolutely got her focusing only on him and no-one else, just like Angela said. Stupid irritating Nathan MacKinnon, and all of his stupid ideas, and stupid inability to actually talk like a human being.

It wasn’t until Nate started laughing that she realised she’d been ranting out loud, blurting out all of her angry thoughts to him, and it was all she could do to let out a frustrated bitten-off scream of frustration as he smirked that annoying smirk.

“You’re right, I don’t want your attention on anyone else. I never have, Rach, and I never will. If I’d known you hadn’t actually realised that, maybe I would’ve used my words. But where’s the fun in that?”

Oh that absolute ass.

Rachel let out another quiet shriek of frustration, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, Nate still laughing even as she pulled him down and pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

Invisible string theory suggests that everyone has someone in their lives who is attached to them by an invisible string that transcends time, distance, and geography. It’s fate. And for Rachel Summers and Nathan MacKinnon, they were destined.

#my writing #nathan mackinnon fic #bre's birthday fic bingo #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon x oc #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

[cabinofimagines]

Wait for me?

Ah, it is the yearly Poly!Solangelo fic for my birthday (the 11th for timezone sake) :) Gotta keep writing hehe

thanks to my ex (my muse ) and Danny for proofreading!

Pairing: Poly!Solangelo x reader, Will Solace x reader x Nico di Angelo Request: Hey, I was thinking maybe a solangelo x reader where the reader comes back late from a quest- like it took them longer to complete then they thought it would and Nico and Will were all worried and then just general fluff or something? Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to write it Word count: 3.4k Warnings: mentions of death a few times, some angst

-Asnyox

The low flicker of the campfire put everyone in an orange light. For a bit you had actually managed to sing some songs with the few campers still at camp, but the energy was a little low. 

“It’s always kind of weird when people leave after winter break, huh,” Austin remarked while he was still softly strumming his guitar. “Yeah, the quiet comes back too quickly.” Will said from beside you. He was holding a sleepy Nico close to him on his other side, while softly playing with your fingers too, “At least the infirmary will be empty again,” “Oh no, we might get bored,” Kayla joked softly, “Hey, Rachel, weren't you going back today too?” Rachel nodded her head, after which she shook it again. She sighed. “I wanted to, but I feel like I am forgetting something. There is something I need to do before I can leave camp and it is eating at me.” Rachel stared into the flames before groaning loudly. “I hate this.”

“Well, dear child, I do not remember any tasks given to you.” Chiron spoke as he walked closer to the campfire, “Perhaps a belated prophecy as our Oracle?” he suggested. Rachel perked up. Her eyes widened as green smoke started to come from her mouth.

(Y/n) will return alone, after collecting the stone, and repairing a parents shrine, Only then, all shall be fine.

 Will’s grip on your hand suddenly got tight, as Nico sat up from his position, clearly distressed. The green smoke faded and Chiron quickly caught Rachel as she fell down. 

“(Y/n),” Chiron addressed you as he made sure Rachel was sat safely, “it is most unusual that you have been directly addressed by name. This most likely is a quest from your godly parent, do you accept this quest?” You could feel the eyes of your boyfriends on you, their worried gazes burning into your head. You knew they would not want you to go, but it was your parent, who chose you to do this. 

“I do.” you said, and you heard protests from your boyfriends. 

“I will-” Nico started, “I mean we will go with (Y/n).” the son of Hades looked at Chiron, who shook his head slowly. “I fear that that is not possible, my child.” Chiron stated calmly, “As the prophecy demands (Y/n) to go alone.” Chiron turned to you, “It probably is best if we go over possible details at this moment, so you can leave in the morning if you wish.” 

You started to stand up, and so did your boyfriends. 

“Will, Nico, I-” you purse your lips. “I want to know the details-” Will started but you shook your head. “How about you go to my cabin while I discuss this with Chiron?” You grabbed both a hand of Nico and one of Will, “That way will probably be quicker, and I will tell you the details afterwards, okay?” Reluctantly your boyfriends nodded their heads, as they watched you walk off. 

───────────

“I don’t care what the prophecy says!” Will grumbled as you were packing your bags, “What about the rule of three!” “That contradicts ‘will return alone’ Will, we’ve been over this.” you sighed, a slight tremble in your voice, “I don’t want to go without you, but I will not” you glared at your boyfriend, “needlessly endanger the loves of my life by ignoring the prophecy.” you waved your hand, “besides, it’s like Chiron said, just a small thing to do for my godly parent and then I will be back! Nothing to worry about.” You heard Will sigh from behind you as you went over your belongings one more time. 

“I don’t like it.” Nico stated, “I want to protect you, you shouldn’t have to go in alone.” You turned around to see your boyfriends sitting together on an empty bunk bed. You walked forward and motioned them to scootch apart, worming yourself between them. You softly grabbed both their hands, squeezing them softly. Nico leaned his head on your shoulder. 

“It’s not like we have much of a choice. It’s either going alone, or most definitely get you two mortally wounded, if not outright killed.” “But what if you get hurt?” Will whispered, “What if I am not there to help you?” “You will be, after all,” you looked at Will, meeting his eyes, “You taught me how to do first aid, don’t tell me you’re doubting your skills as a mentor?” Will grimaced as his gaze softened. 

“We will still be worried about you, love.” Will slowly moved towards you and gave you a careful kiss, “and we’ll miss you.” 

“I will miss you both.” you sighed, “I think that might be the worst part.” You felt Nico snuggle into your neck, “Just promise me you’ll wait at camp for me?” “I guess,” Nico mumbled, “But if I catch any wind of you being in danger I don’t think Will would stop me.” Will nodded his head in agreement. “Nico!” you paused, “Gods I love you both Will, please make sure Nico won’t do anything stupid,” Will hummed in agreement, as Nico protested with a weak ‘Hey!’ “Oh and Nico, please make sure Will doesn’t do anything either-” Now it was time for Will to feign hurt.

“Why is he not allowed to do anything stupid, and I am not allowed to do anything?” Will put a hand over his heart. 

“Love, I think you’ll be too busy looking after Nico.” you shrugged, “and the last time we let you do stuff you somehow came back with six cats to take care of so,” 

Will sighed as he went back to leaning on you, “I am going to miss you,” he pressed a kiss on your shoulder. 

“I’ll miss you too, but if all goes according to plan I will be back in a fortnight!” you promised your boyfriends.

───────────

The next day you were off, leaving behind two worried boyfriends. With a positive attitude, and your sword on your side, you were sure this would all be a piece of cake. However, the first obstacle was already in your way after only a few hours of traveling. 

You sighed as you checked the map. The first part of the quest was to find the right material to repair the shrine, and sadly the Home Depot you went to was all out of it, so the first ‘easy’ part was getting harder with the second. What should you do, rent an Uber to bring you to the next closest Home Depot (you did not have that much money on you), ask the Gray Sisters to do it instead (that would be a near death experience) or try stealing some from a museum? The last one might not be the smartest, but then why would there be a museum right next to the Home Depot? 

On your way you went. 

───────────

The sun was setting and it had been a few days since you left. Nico and Will sat together as they looked out over the strawberry fields, definitely not in case you were going to suddenly show up from outside the border. 

“I miss them.” Nico sighed, “But they will be okay, right?” “I hope so,” Will leaned his head on Nico’s shoulder, “What do you think they ate for dinner?” Will felt Nico sink down a little. “I don’t know, what if they didn’t have any?” Nico tensed a little, “What if they are stuck in a hole right now, desperately trying to get out?” Will huffed. “Do you think they drank enough water?” Will asked and Nico made a non committal noise, and Will sensed his worry, “What if they found a new kind of demigod and became ambassador for their godly parent there without telling us?”  “What do you-” Nico gasped, “Hey! It would have been dangerous to introduce Camp Half-Blood to Camp Jupiter at the time!” Nico protested, roughly sitting up. Will swiftly followed his movement. Nico glared at Will, “I am seriously worried about them, okay?” 

“I know, Nico, my sunshine,” Will smiled, “But what if they get accused of kidnapping their parent and become a wanted criminal throughout the entire states?” Nico’s glare faltered. “I think it’s more likely that they lose their memory,” Nico hesitated, “to get raised by wolves for a bit, before they arrive at Camp Jupiter. At least then we will find them again.” Will softly cupped Nico’s cheek with his hand

“They will come back to us,” Will kissed Nico, “We just need to trust them.” 

───────────

Nico paled when he realized where you were. He had heard the story of Em’s emporium from Percy and Annabeth. Why were you here? 

“Stupid cyclops with it’s stupid hands and fucking-” you walked into frame. Nico tried to move closer, but he noticed he was stuck. Stuck as a statue. “Take a breath (Y/n),” you looked around, “Improvise, adapt, overcome. There must be statues around here somewhere, it won’t be as fancy but it will be enough.” 

You walked up to Nico, staring directly into his eyes. 

“This one should do.” You brazed yourself, and pushed him to the ground. 

Nico woke up in a cold sweat, shaking. Why were you in his dreams- his nightmares? You seemed to be alright, but he knew this was not part of the discussed plan- you were in danger- what if-

Nico started to sit up, only to feel his hand press into another body. 

“Ouch-,” Will groaned as Nico recoiled, “Love?” Nico rested his back against the wall, counting the timing of his breaths- in for four, hold for five and out- in, hold out.

“Nico?” Will entered his vision, “Nightmare?” Nico nodded, reminding himself that you were alright even if you were in his dreams. Will positioned himself next to Nico, not touching him, but he could feel the bed shift. Will recounted a few times where Nico had nightmares, and he fell into a routine the three of you had set up. 

“Do you want to talk, or for me to try to guess what it is?” Will asked and Nico nodded, “Talk?” Nico shook his head.

“About down there?” Will asked, Nico signaled ‘no’, “Your past?” Nico shook his head again, “I don’t know uhm,” Will felt Nico nudge his hand, and he carefully grabbed it, “Can you help me out, love?” Nico licked his lips. 

“(Y/n),” his breath hitched. Will squeezed his hand as he tensed. “Are they alright?” he whispered, and Nico softly nodded, “But you’re scared because they’re in your dreams?” and Nico nodded again, leaning against Will now. Will engulfed his boyfriend in his arms. Will softly rubbed Nico’s back. “It’s okay to be scared,” Will whispered, “I am too,” and Will realized he could no longer promise Nico that you would be alright. He just hoped you would be. 

───────────

After the last nightmare, the nights became restless. If the planning would have been right, you should have been back two days ago but you were not. Nico was scared that the next time he would dream it would be about your dead body, and he continuously attempted to sense your soul. You were getting further away, but you were not dead.

Yet. 

He hadn’t had a new dream about you, and Will got permission form Chiron to stay over most nights. Together they talked, but whenever the topic turned to you the conversation quickly quieted, both of the boys in their own worlds of worry. At some point, Will had put on your favorite movie, putting out the snacks you normally ate. But, the gummy worms went untouched, and as Nico hugged Beanjamin close -his weighted goose plushie - he slowly dozed off. 

Will was worried. He noticed the growing bags under Nico’s eyes, but how could he help? Austin nowadays reassured him multiple times a day that you would be back any moment now, but would you? Will didn’t blame his boyfriend for having a nightmare about you, however Nico and nightmares were never a good sign. What if it just meant you were gone? 

As Will leaned closer, he could already hear Nico whimper from another nightmare. 

Oh no.

Nico turned around, suddenly face to face with his lover. You looked beaten, but not injured. Dirt stains covered your clothes and face, and Nico tried to reach out to you, only to phase right through you. 

“Why the fuck is this tunnel not ending yet!”  You huffed, before sitting down on the floor and leaning against the wall, “This will be easy they said,” you mumbled, holding in a sob, “easy my fucking ass” 

Nico stepped forward, “(Y/n), please” You closed your eyes in defeat. “keep going for me-” he begged you before the dream faded away. 

Will hated how deep Nico could sleep when he was having nightmares. Every time it felt like the dreams would suck Nico in, only letting him go when he had seen everything. “Nico please-” Will called out just as Nico shot up, hitting his head against Will’s head.

“Fuck!” both boys exclaimed. 

“Sorry,” Will said after a moment, “I should not have been hovering above you, I guess.” 

“What are you sorry for?” Nico sighed, “It’s not like you could’ve known.” They both sat in silence, not looking at one another. 

“I heard you say their name,” Will hesitated, “Are they alright?” Nico swallowed harshly. “They didn’t look injured-” Nico clenched his fists. “But?” Will prompted. “Something must be wrong.” Nico sighed, “They were crying, something about a tunnel- I don’t-” Nico looked Will in the eye, “I think we should go.” “Okay, but we need to discuss it with Chiron, tomorrow.” Will said. 

“But!” Nico shook his head, “I guess you are right, fuck.” 

“I know, I am sorry.”

─────────── 

The conversation with Chiron did not go well. Nico was seething, standing at the border of camp as Will held him tightly. 

“They are hurt Will! I can’t just sit here and wait for them to die!” 

“I promised them I wouldn’t let you do anything stupid!” Will tightened his grip, “I promised, Nico.” 

“But what about protecting them?” Nico was no longer yelling, “What about loving them?” Will tensed and he wished to fucking scream at Nico. Instead, he decided to be the bigger person and he took a deep breath. 

“I love them and I love you.” a pause, “and I cannot stand that you are making me choose.” Will felt his shirt slowly get damp. He hated it when Nico cried, but it was better than when he was angry. Will closed his eyes as he felt Nico’s arm sneak around his waist. 

“I can’t lose them,” Nico mumbled, “I can’t lose you but-” he gasped for air, “I’m sorry, I’m terrified.” Will held his boyfriend in silence, pressing his lips to the top of Nico’s head, as he slowly let his own tears flow. The wind blew around them, leaves rustling as they both tried to calm down. Slowly their breaths synchronized. 

And suddenly another pair of arms engulfed the two of them. 

“What-” Will quickly pushed the third person away, as Nico stepped back. “Geez guys, I know that I haven’t showered yet but this is excessive-” “It’s you,” Nico’s voice quivered. “It’s me,” You smiled painfully, “I need to go to the infirmary-” you clutched your side, and before you could even move Will and Nico were at your side, holding you up, “Sorry I took so long.” “I love you, and would love to talk,” Will grimaced, “But my priority is healing you, my love.” 

“Thank you.”

─────────── 

Much to Will’s chagrin, Austin stood on taking care of your wounds as he was on shift. He had tried to object, but Austin was right that perhaps he was not in the most emotionally stable state to professionally assess the injuries you had sustained. So, Nico and him were just standing outside of the infirmary until you were properly patched up. Next to him, Nico had his eyes closed, and if Will didn’t know better he would think Nico was relaxing. However, Will did know better, and the creasing of Nico’s eyebrows worried him. 

“How are they doing?” Will asked. Nico’s eyes sprung open, as he was surprised by the voice of his boyfriend. Nico had been concentrating on the feeling of your soul, which seemed too far away but so close. He had fully forgotten that Will was there with him, waiting on you too.

“Their souls wavers sometimes,” Nico let out a breath, “Which is normal for injured people, I guess.” Will nodded in response. He had to remind himself that Austin had as much skill as he had, and that you were not in any mortal danger when you arrived. You had to be fine, you would be fine. 

These thoughts did not stop Will’s heart from stopping when Austin walked out, looking a little dejected. “How’s-” Will started. “They kept correcting me on what I was doing,” Austin laughed, “A bit embarrassing for me, but they are alright.” 

“Thanks, can we go in?” Nico asked, ignoring Austin’s comment. Austin stepped aside, and Will and Nico made their way inside the infirmary. 

As your boyfriends approached you, they saw the awful state you were in. Nico went to stand on the right side of the infirmary bed you were in, and Will on the left.Neither of your boyfriends dared to step closer, as you were barely sitting upright. Instead they each grabbed a chair and sat down within reach of you, wordlessly.

“Did you get any ambrosia yet? Nectar?” Will slowly moved closer as his stomach churned at the sight of your weakened state. You tried to shake your head, but quickly stopped as you closed your eyes in pain. “I am at my limit already, didn’t really have time to properly heal up on my way here.” your voice came out rough, but steady, “How are you two holding up? Missed me?” Nico’s gaze went from your face to your hand. It was wrapped in a bandage, much like the rest of your upper arm. 

“We were worried about you, my love.” Nico heard Will speak as he softly grabbed the blanket instead of your hand. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt you, and your form seemed so bruised and broken. His ears still picked up Will, who was retelling all that happened since you were gone, but his brain did not process it. Instead, he feared that just being here was already weakening you. He knew his presence wouldn’t hurt but- but what if the essence of death brought you closer? What if he made his nightmares come true? 

“... has been having dreams about you. That’s why we were at the border.” At the mention of his name, Nico looked up, releasing the deathgrip he had on the blanket. 

“Oh?” you looked at the son of Hades, “all good dreams I hope?” Nico’s head stopped any thought it had when he looked into your eyes. Your shining, alive, eyes and your handsome face. “That doesn’t matter,” Nico muttered as he sat more upright, a feeling of ease coming over him, “Now that you’re back, it doesn’t matter.” Nico was never going to let you go alone again, as he promised himself to keep protecting you no matter what. 

Will looked at his boyfriend, as he smiled. The past few weeks had been rough on them, even worse on you, but the three of you were finally together. You still looked tired, but less so after your talk. Will knew that he would need to wait until you were better and as Austin walked back into the infirmary he stood up. 

“I think we should let (Y/n) rest, Nico.” he wanted to hold you in his arms until you fell asleep, but you needed uninterrupted sleep for now. Nico nodded as he too stood up. Tomorrow he would hold you, if you were better. He will wait until you are healed.

“Sleep well. Love you.” Will said as he waited for Nico to be at his side. “Love you, (Y/n). See you later.” Nico had a ghost of a smile on his face. 

You carefully laid down, before saying a final ‘I love you’ to your boyfriends, as you could finally relax.

But just before your boyfriends went away there was one more promise to be made to them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Will knew that he and Nico would wait forever for them, if they needed it to heal. He didn’t know when this journey would end, but he would walk besides you and Nico, hand in hand. Nico knew he couldn’t promise you a kind road, or a fair sky, but he knew that he would protect you and besides you in any way he can. 

“We will,” Will promised, a promise he can keep.

#request #requests #solangelo x reader #x reader #xreader #reader insert #x y/n #nico x reader #will x reader #will solace x reader #nico di angelo x reader #will solace x reader x nico di angelo #Poly!solangelo #poly!mc #polyamarous #poly fic #gn!reader #genderneutral #x you #cabinofimagines #admin asja #fanfiction #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #toa x reader #the sun and the star x reader i guess?? #asja writes #admin asnyox

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; jealousy; negative self-talk; talks of miscarriage and hysterical pregnancy; allusions to childhood abuse; talks of pregnancy; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; therapy; talks of grieving a baby; pregnancy hormones (just the beginning lol); reader checking Jake out and being sad while she does it (lmao) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+

a/n: sorry it took a month, besties... hopefully this angsty fucking chapter makes up for it lmao <3

and don't worry, i won't be gone long ;)

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 30, 2022

Birds were chirping. The melodies of an acoustic guitar playing lullabies made your heart warm in your chest. A baby’s cries were being mellowed by the sound of the guitar. A smile, reaching the baby’s face that matched the one on the man playing the strings.

But you couldn’t look at him. Only the bundle of pure, unadulterated, untouched love in your arms; her eyes, looking the same as his, caught yours, the color of caramel coffee. . . twinkling just like his. . .

All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.

Then, it was gone. 

No. Not again.

There was no more peace. No more lullabies. No more love from parent to child. . .

All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams. 

A sister, trying to cover your eyes from what was happening, just inches in front of you.

Then there were hands. Hands gripping at your arms, the sister screeching, yelling and clawing for you as she got ripped away. As you got picked up so harshly your head hit something hard, making you dizzy. . . 

When you closed your eyes from the dizziness, you opened them afterwards to see that your sister was back. But she was older this time. 

Elsie. She was stunningly beautiful, as you knew she would grow up to be. Put together in an outfit that resembled that of Rachel Green. Her hair, flowing in strawberry blonde, soft waves around her delicate features and her blue eyes were wide open and wondering. Searching your eyes for something hidden in them. . .

What was she wanting? You couldn’t tell . . . Just as you were about to speak to ask her, she was in front of you, nudging you, not nearly as abrasively as the hands from before. 

You studied her quizzically – why was she–?

“Wake up!”

And the next time you blinked, your eyes were opened wide. 

To reality. To Elsie, shaking your arm in the present. You were an adult, she was an adult. Things were okay.

Life was safe again.

Shit. I’m so tired of that fucking dream, you thought angrily, sitting up and letting the covers fall away from your sweaty, tensed body. 

Blinking furiously, you let yourself cling to the softness— the safety of your bed. The bed hugged you, cocooned you in the fluffy down comforter. You were in your clean, quiet apartment. . . the rays peeking through your bedroom windows the same as they’d been at the beginning of your dream. 

“Sis,” Elsie said your name, out of all of her patience. “Come the fuck on. I’m hungry and I need coffee so bad. You know me. You know I’m about to lose all ability in my limbs if I don’t have caffeine stat–I need it. To survive,” she clutched her chest dramatically. “Please. Get your lazy ass up.”

You rolled your eyes with a giant huff, throwing your covers off of you to try and hit her with them. When you heard her gasp and slap at the covers, you figured you succeeded. 

“Y/n!” She said, backing up from the bed. When you saw her next, her hair was sticking up on all sides from static. Success. But she was laughing, finding it funny nonetheless. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said, sitting up to stretch a little. You had to fight the urge to put a hand to your tummy. Not in front of Elsie. “Now leave, I have to change.”

“I’ve seen you naked a million times before,” she argued. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.”

There sure as hell is something you haven’t seen on me already. . . Albeit a little small, but rounder nonetheless. 

“Well I don’t want you to look at my naked body this morning, so get the fuck out.”

You were getting irritated. Just wanted to change in peace. Wanted to hold your belly to start the day. It was routine at this point.

She growled, opening your door. “You have five minutes, or I’m leaving your ass.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

As you pulled up to Waffle House, scream-singing Ariana Grande lyrics with Elsie at the top of your lungs, you were sincerely hoping that your stomach wouldn’t roll at the smell of the greasy breakfast food. 

The nostalgia of the morning was something you wanted to wrap up tight and not let flutter away in the crisp and cool October breeze.

Please, sweet baby, you pleaded. Love Waffle House with me. Don’t make me give this up.

You wanted this with Els. This particular establishment had been cathartic to you and your sister for several years. Talks that far surpassed therapy sessions occurred here, in the back booth, almost completely surrounded by windows. . . The thought of sitting in that back booth was enough to make you cry right on the spot. 

And the All Star Special sounded so fucking delicious. Good sign that it at least still sounded good, right? 

You just wanted scrambled eggs, ham, hash browns with ketchup, and a gigantic waffle with the restaurant name pressed in the middle. It was all you wanted at that moment. Truly. Nothing more, nothing less. . . Your mouth was watering.

Cheesy and strange as it was, you were quite literally crossing your fingers that the food wouldn’t make you projectile vomit as Elsie opened the door for you two. 

Please don’t make me sick, please don’t make me sick. . .

To your extreme relief, your tummy didn’t knot and squeeze. No bile came to the base of your throat. . . In fact, the vanilla waffle mixture, the sizzling, salty smell of the bacon and ham. . . it was better than before. Your heightened senses welcomed the scrumptious, sentimental scents that came with the establishment. 

And the back booth was open! 

Tears literally pricked your eyes at the sight. And you must’ve sniffled because Elsie spun around, where you waited to be seated, and checked on you with worried eyes.

“You okay?” She pondered, her tone light with a joke, but eyes still serious. 

Not able to fully collect yourself thanks to the fantastic hormonal effects of your pregnancy, you felt a tear hit your cheek when you sniffled once more. 

“Yeah,” goddamn, even your voice sounded fucking wet with emotion. “Just happy to be here with you.”

Tell her, y/n. Let her help you. . .Tell her.

Fuck that came out of nowhere. 

The soft, reassuring voice being the one to guide you would take a lot of getting used to if it was going to continue as the one to help you, rather than the harsh, critical one that’d taunted you since you were a child.

Honestly, when the calm voice came to you, your mind settled in the waves of reassurance. This was the voice you longed to hear anytime the dark one wanted to boss you around. . .wanted to push you down when you were up. 

It always spoke soft truths to you. This voice didn’t make you feel like utter shit; this was the one that sounded more like Elsie than you’d like to admit.

As you started walking to your beloved booth, you were trying to find a solid reason to not tell Elsie right now. . . You had to tell someone. Right? And it was killing you to be around her and keep her in the dark. She was safe. And, at that moment, the only person you really wanted to tell was your big sister. No matter how bossy she may get, it was worth it to have her know. She was your one and only safety net for years for good reason. 

And she was going to be leaving again tonight until Thanksgiving. There was no way you could wait to tell her until then. 

She’d also never forgive you if you kept it from her for too long. You couldn’t blame her. If roles were reversed, you’d kill her if she waited to tell you until she had a noticeably round belly. . .

You sat down at your booth. You, at the seat with your back to the big windows, her smile wide as she made small talk with the worn-out waitress. Elsie’s smile, though, was big enough it brought a smile to the tired woman’s face. Elsie got along with everybody, and the waitress was no different. 

God, she was sunshine for you. 

As the woman placed your menus down in front of you two, you immediately flipped it to the side with the All Star Special. You watched her kind face, aged from years of hard work, and found comfort in the thickness of her voice from even more years of smoke, as she asked for your drink orders. 

Elsie ordered her blessed coffee and you sat there, contemplating. . . stuck. Normally, you’d order a Mr. Pibb. . .but was that healthy for the baby?

Your sister stared at you, her brows wrinkled as she gave you a questioning smile. 

“Just get her a Mr. Pi–,” Elsie started.

“I’ll take an orange juice,” you finished. 

The sweet waitress left to get your orders ready, and when you looked up from your menu to Elsie’s face again, she was looking at you like you’d grown three heads.

 “Orange juice?!” She asked, as if you’d just insulted her on a great scale. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You felt nervous under her stare and questions. You were going to tell her anyway. . . why were you feeling your skin prick with nerves? 

“Just felt like getting an orange juice. . .,” you said, shrugging your shoulders to play it off. “No biggie.”

“I cannot remember one time we’ve come here– in the years we’ve come here– where you’ve gotten anything besides a Mr. Pibb.” She leaned across the table to put the back of her hand to your forehead. She then jokingly asked, “Are you well?”

You watched her laugh at her own joke, her eyes, smiling. The same ones you’d looked into when, for years, you’d told her your deepest secrets. . . A couple of things came to your mind. When you lost your virginity and felt like shit about it (for God knows what reason); she’d raised your spirits by telling you she’d felt the same at first, but it got better with time. Then there’d been when you’d smoked weed for the first time and you felt so horribly about it (again, why?); she told you it was not a bad thing to do and that you deserved to feel so free as the drug would make you feel. 

Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental. 

Right now, she was giving you yet another look of concern, though. . .So, you decided. It was time. Now or never.

“Sis, what’s–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

There it was. First time you’d said it out loud. Damn. In that moment, it felt even more real to you, too. 

You were with child. There was a baby in you. There was life growing inside of your uterus. 

Then the opposite train of thought rushed through you. . .were you pregnant? Was the baby still in there? You hadn’t really had time to obsessive-compulsively research any of that yet. Could your tummy still grow if you had a miscarriage? Was that possible? Was there a baby inside of you?

You had to shake your head from your sudden wave of unwelcome, anxious thoughts. There was no reason to believe you’d lost the baby. . . right? Surely. . . You wouldn’t let your anxiety get the best of you. Blinking a few times, you chanced a look at your sister again.

She gaped at you, staying that way until the waitress came back with your drinks, not saying a word. Didn’t even look away from you when the waitress spoke, asking for your orders. You had to tell the woman it would be a minute, while Elsie still zoned out on you. 

Her eyes just bored into yours until you started feeling uncomfortable and irritable. 

Talk, Elsie. Fuck.

You clasped your hands together under the table, over your tummy. . .had to do something with them. And after continuing to wait a couple more minutes, you decided if she wasn’t going to say anything, you would. “Can you say some–?”

“What the fuck?” She asked, voice much louder than it should be for a quiet Sunday morning at Waffle House. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the heads of patrons turn towards you. Inquiring eyes were not what you needed at the moment.

Your cheeks heated as you grit your teeth. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Elsie?” You fumed, automatically defensive for the life inside of you. “I had sex. I got pregnant. Simple as that.”

You’d never felt this sense of protection for anyone in your life. Not even your sister. No, at that moment, you were ready to go to bat for your baby against the woman who’d been your first line of defense your entire life. 

Thankfully the next time she talked, she sounded more subdued and understanding.

“I– I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, babe,” she said, shaking her head, laying a hand against her forehead. Her eyes searched for yours to believe her. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right response.”

“It’s oka–.”

“This is a sensitive time for you–for any woman–my god,” she continued, not letting you make any excuse. “I was just in shock–still am, obviously–but I’m not upset,” she said, pausing. Then she narrowed her eyes, testing you. “How far along are you though?”

You giggled, remembering your earlier thoughts. The two of you were so alike. More like twins than anything, honestly. “I’m only like ten weeks, I think,” you smoothly said. “I found out two weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it or not, and I didn’t want to tell anyone until I decided. It was my decision and I didn’t want anything or anyone to sway me.”

“That is all valid and correct,” she agreed, nodding her head. Then, she continued asking questions as she poured too much half and half in her coffee. “How do you feel about it? Good? Bad? Sad? Happy? Overjoyed? Utterly depressed?”

Your eyes bugged, and you waved your hands at her once she was drinking from her mug, watching you and waiting for a response. “Damn, slow down,” you began, entwining your hands again, on top of the table this time. “First of all, per usual, I don’t always know how I’m feeling. . . But–it’s strange,” you started, squinting out the window just next to her. “It’s like, this time, instead of bouncing back and forth between sad and mad and confused. . .I’m more bouncing between a variety of happy emotions for this life,” you untangled your hands to once again place them on your tummy, below the table. “The confusion is still there, but for this baby. . .the emotions are mostly positive ones full of hope and love,” you looked back at her. “It’s weird.”

She was squinting at you, nodding her head as she took everything in. 

Then the waitress was back, taking your orders. And just as soon, she was gone.

Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”

Snorting, you gave her a look. “Really, Els?”

Yet again, she narrowed her eyes, but this time it was out of annoyance. “You know what I mean.”

You did. She wanted to get to the heart of it. Not the situation. But what had changed inside of you to instigate your new, surprising view of things? You really weren’t sure . . . To be completely honest, this new feeling had just started yesterday. Less than 24 hours ago, you’d made the decision that would change your life forever.

But, you answered the best you could in spite of it all. 

“I don’t know,” you glanced down at your hands, holding your sweater-clad tummy. You hadn���t had to delve into oversized sweaters the past couple of weeks. Not quite yet. Your tummy wasn’t that round. “I just kind of started thinking on behalf of this life I made, and not really myself. I put him, her–whatever the fuck it is– first and doing that just gave me this new outlook. Like I didn’t have all of the time in the world to criticize myself anymore. Because I have someone else to look out for. Someone special–someone whose life I have to be careful with– a life I hold in my hands.”

She giggled. “Literally,” she motioned in the direction of your hand placement. You joined in on her little moment of humor, enjoying the feeling of normalcy with her. She knew, and things were still the same as always. You didn’t feel any weirdness emanating off of her. This moment was easing you and brought you a sense of undefinable calm. Something you’d needed so badly. She kept on, having more to say. “I’m so fucking glad you’re starting to feel lighter,” she stated, reaching a hand out towards you, palm up on the table. “You’ve always carried so much on your shoulders. Always. And it has sucked to watch helplessly. You have hurt for too damn long and you deserve more than anyone to feel this new happiness.” 

The tear that suddenly gathered at the corner of your eye and trickled down your cheek was unstoppable.  

You moved a hand to place in hers and you squeezed each other. “Thanks Els,” you wetly responded. And nothing more– just needed her to know you were thankful.

After a minute of just communicating with your eyes, your food was being brought in small increments. Her biscuits and gravy were placed at the same time as your plate of eggs, hash browns, and ham. 

“Your waffle will be out shortly, honey,” the waitress smokily said, tone sweet as could be. “You two enjoy.”

After you’d both responded with a nod and she was gone, there was no stopping you two from digging in. 

After swallowing her first bite of food with a moan, she looked at you, still chewing your hash browns, which now tasted more like the sugary, tomatoey ketchup you’d smothered them with. 

“God, I was starving,” she said, taking a little sip of her half and half with a dash of coffee. She squeaked a little as she set her coffee down, a smirk on her glossed lips. “Josh would not quit last night.” 

You made a gagging motion at the implication, your brow furrowed with disgust at her words. 

Then, you took your first sip of orange juice. 

Goddamn.

Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.

Coughing a little, your throat felt ready to reject the liquid right as it hit your uvula. Gross as it was, you put as much as you could back into the glass, not caring for Elsie’s reaction. 

“That’s not nasty at all,” she sarcastically noted, still chewing her food. 

You kept coughing into your hand, swallowing as much as you could, focusing on getting it down, not wanting to projectile vomit all over your breakfast. 

I’ll show you nasty, Elsie. Don’t test me.

You rolled your eyes at her remark, finally getting the remains of the drink down. You held your napkin to your face, coughing a bit. “Says the woman who’s talking and chewing,” you said, your voice weak to avoid any bile rising in your throat and at the sour, putrid taste still sitting on your tongue. “And you’re one to talk–telling me way more than I need to know about Josh.”

She snickered. “I’ll tell you more. Just say the word.”

Laughing once outright, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that won’t ever be happening,” you tried taking a bite of hash browns to get the taste of orange juice off your tongue. But it only made it worse. Your throat was not ready to accept any more at the moment. Spitting the mushy remains in your napkin, folding it up so as not to offend other customers. Your throat was tight as you responded. “I need water.”

“Here we go, babydoll! Waffles just for you,” the waitress returned, placing the food right in front of you. The waffle did not look appetizing in the slightest. You didn’t bother looking up to say anything, instead squeezing your eyes shut and willing the nausea away. “You okay, sweetie? D’ya need anything?”

“Can we get a water and a Sprite?” Elsie intervened, calmly requesting. “And like, ASAP, if that’s doable. . .”

“Sure thing! Back in a flash!” 

You kept your eyes closed, the twirling in your stomach not going away, but not intensifying either. You were scared to talk–afraid of what might come from your mouth if you did. 

“Here,” the sweet, older lady’s voice rang through, as you heard the plastic cups hit the table. She was rushing, her voice moving fast. “Gotta go to another table, but wave me down if ya need me, sugar.”

“I think we’re good for now,” Elsie reassured. You could hear the smile in her tone. “Thank you so much.” A few seconds passed, then your sister was tapping your hand that was still laid on the table. “Sis, please take a drink from one of them.”

Keeping one hand pressed to your mouth, you tapped the wrapper off of the straw. You chose the carbonated Sprite, banking on the carbonation and natural aid of Sprite for a sensitive stomach.

As soon as the ice cold, fizzing drink hit your tongue, you felt relief. The feeling hadn’t gone away in your tummy, but you also didn’t feel like you were going to hurl at any moment anymore either. You took a few short, yet healthy, sips, eyes closing again to center yourself. 

Your eyes trailed back to hers after you sat the cup down.

“You okay?” Elsie questioned, following you with her blue eyes, which swam with concern. You nodded, then she talked again. “Do you get sick a lot?”

Reaching for the water, you took one little drink of that, finally feeling able to talk. Your stomach was simmering slowly. You pushed the plates away, needing the food away from you for the time being.

“Not hungry?” 

You shook your head, your brows furrowed. “Not now. Fuckin’ orange juice,” you flipped off the offensively orange drink. Elsie snorted at you, and you grinned at her. “And to answer you, yes. I puke all of the time. Thought it was stress at first. Just throwing up because of all of my stress.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing her own food away. “You’re an idiot.” You scoffed at that, offended. “I’m just saying. You’ve never been a puker. Fevers and shit, yes. But never thrown up a whole lot. And you’ve had some terrible fucking stress in your life. . . never vomiting from any of it; just to remind you.”

“I guess I just wanted to stay ignorant,” you admitted. “And I didn’t think it was possible at all that I was pregnant.”

She hummed in understanding, then she leveled you with a stare as she took a drink of her coffee. 

“What now?” You groaned. “You fuckin’ weas–.”

“Does Jake know?”

Your stomach fell all the way to the bottom your feet. Fuck. What? How did she know?

Stupidly, you tried to reject it. Why would you try to hide it from her? You didn’t know. There was no point in trying to hide it. 

“Why would he need to know? This doesn’t concern him. He’s not the fath—.”

She practically honked with a huge laugh, blossoming from the back of her throat. You blushed, sinking back into your seat. Why would you even try to play dumb? You knew better than to do that with her. 

After wiping a little tear from below her eye, she sipped at her water. Sitting her glass down, she coughed a couple times and snorted with another giggle before continuing. “Please do not insult my intelligence like that.”

Weakly, you tried to defend yourself. “You believed me at the festival that we weren’t fucking anymore, so I just assumed–.”

“You think I believed that shit?!” She gawked at you– in disbelief that you’d thought that of her. “I just wasn’t going to push it out of you while you were so obviously in the depths of sorrow over that girl that was with him.”

Face flushing yet again, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “‘Depths of sorrow’ is dramatic.” And true, you silently agreed with her. So incredibly, stupidly true.

“And you’re pregnant with Jake’s kid,” she pushed, wanting to hear you say it yourself.

You looked up at her through your lashes, not ready to say it out loud. But definitely needing to. . . and who better than your sister to say it out loud to for the very first time?

“Jake is the baby’s father, yes,” you said plainly, looking directly in her eyes as you said it. Then, immediately peering out the window, directly to your right. “Half him, half me,” you murmured, under your breath.

You pressed your shoulder, clad in your fluffy sweater, against the chilled glass. You still felt the coldness from the brisk autumn day through the thick windows. It calmed your heart which beat frantically against your breastbone. Talking out loud about Jake being the father of your child made reality slap you in the face. You were carrying Jake’s baby. Inside your womb was half of Jake and half of you. Together. Something you’d made. . . together. 

The thought of a part of him just floating around in your uterus was honestly jarring. . . but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. No, in fact because the baby was half of him, you’d decided you had to keep it. Jake was the reason that the baby was a necessity to this world. A piece of the first man you’d ever. . . 

You shook your head amidst the raging thoughts, deciding to cut them off right. there. That was a path you did not want to venture down. 

Dangerous territory.

Knowing the baby was his and that fact being was the sole reason you had to keep it. . .that was big enough for you to acknowledge. Huge, actually. . . You couldn’t believe you’d let yourself face that so surely and honestly. But. . . that was something you refused to tell your sister. That was one thing for you and only you to know. It felt too personal to share–belonged in your heart alone.

The mother and child you were observing just outside Waffle House were about to get you lost in thought again . . . You could spend hours appreciating a true, authentic love between a mother and her child. You’d never had it, and it was just so unique in and of itself. A relationship that held its own definition of love. A love so lovely, precious, safe. . . wholesome.

You were desperate to create that for a child. Something you hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. And the baby in your womb deserved to feel it. . . But could you do it? Or were you too much like your mom?

Before you could fall down that depressing rabbit hole, you slowly swiveled your head back in the direction of your sister. 

Then, without much contemplation, you unloaded. Told her everything. Informed her of the situation between you and Jake, how you started feeling iffy about all of it towards the end, and then how you’d decided to cut it off due to your desire to protect him. It rushed out of your mouth, with almost no thought and you honestly didn’t have time to consider anything before it slipped from your lips and into the air between the two of you. 

Elsie was watching you, eyes attentively following your every word and movement. She looked ready to help. As always. Her eyes, the color of the ocean and just as deep and sure as the waves that enveloped it. The overwhelming calm you felt after telling her, also similar to the ocean in its ability to offer peace. . . 

What she said first was not what you were expecting. No counsel. Just humility. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about you watching that girl with Jake at the festival,” she started, tucking her hands in her lap, expression sincere. “That was callous. Not the time.”

Wrinkling your brow, you argued back, unnecessarily defensive and overwrought with emotion after spilling all of that and for the life in your belly (lovely hormones). “I’m still me, Elsie,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

She raised a brow, combatting you. “Fine. If you’re still you, then I can say this: get the fuck over yourself and just be with him,” taking a drink of her coffee, she made a face. “Room temperature coffee is absolute balls,” she looked over her shoulder, trying to connect eyes with the waitress. 

You saw the woman head your way, and immediately got the hint when Elsie held the cup out with puppy dog eyes. “You’ve got it, sweet baby.”

“Thank you,” Elsie said, her voice that of a grateful servant to the woman. 

“You, with your food and drinks that must be so hot they burn your mout–.”

“We’re not done with you. So, shut up.”

“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”

Holding a perfectly manicured hand up, black nails flashing in front of you briefly, she cut you off. “No! I don’t want to hear any more of the bullshit. You’re literally having his baby. Get over this. . . thing in your head, and just be with him. You obviously want it. And I think he does, too.”

You sighed, the breath coming fully from your lungs. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it, too. . . it was just complicated. “It’s not that easy, Elsie,” you lamented. “There are several pieces to the puzzle.”

“Liiiiike . . .?” 

“Well, for one,” you held up a finger to start the count. “He has a girlfriend now.”

“No he doesn’t,” she scrunched her face, completely disagreeing. “He’s not with any–.”

“They showed up to the party together, Elsie. The girl from the festival. And they have a past. He was groping her all night last night and she never left his side,” you repeated the events aloud, your stomach rolling at the heinous thoughts. 

“Oh, shit,” her eyes got big, blowing out a slow breath. “I didn’t even realize. Josh and I–.”

“Were roaming the room for half of the night and preoccupied for the rest of it,” you said, shivering at the deplorable thought of your friend and sister. 

“I was with you for a good chunk of it, too, bitch,” she corrected, pointing at you. 

You stuck out your lip, nodding to agree. “You’re right. . .but you were also way too distracted by Josh to notice.”

She made the same face, mirroring you. “You are not wrong,” she grinned smartly, winking suggestively. “No regrets.”

“I’m going to puke on you.”

“Oh my god, please don’t,” she gagged. And then started singing a thank you as the waitress came back with your tickets and a fresh coffee. After dumping one million half and half cups into her mug, she took a hearty sip. When she sat it down, she practically vibrated in delight. “Oh hell yeah.”

“You know Josh hates coffee,” you noted. “Prefers tea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. We’ve had many long debates over the ridiculous fact,” she growled. “He’s a miscreant when he wants to be.”

You laughed outright. “Yes he is. Little fuckin’ gremlin.” 

The sound that roared out of her was more reminiscent of a yell than a laugh, but it became a string of snorting and giggles that you joined in on. After a few minutes of enjoying the sound of the other’s laughter, you shook your head and scratched your brow before seeing your phone light up with a notification. 

Stupidly, your tummy fluttered at the possibility of it being Jake texting you. But then you remembered that he would absolutely not be texting you in his right mind. . . that was not where you were with him right now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be there with him again. And that thought made your tummy sink as soon as it’d fluttered. 

Though, the notification on your screen was enough to bring a little grin to your face, your eyes watering with the overwhelming excitement and joy that ignited in your heart at the update from your Ovia Pregnancy app. 

Week 10: Congratulations, y/n! You’re heading into the tail end of your first trimester. Your baby is now the size of a kumquat and almost 1 ¼ inches long!

Not being able to help it, you turned your phone to Elsie so she could see the notification as well. 

She read through it, her mouth moving as she took in the words. A wide, toothy smile made its way to her face–her entire demeanor lighting up with you. Clutching both hands to her chest, her eyes were wet next time you saw them. Your own eyes filled with more tears at her reaction to it. 

“I’m so proud to be an aunt to your little kumquat baby!” She said, her voice actually quivering with emotion. 

“I’m glad you’re proud,” you responded with a sniffle, drying your undereyes with a Waffle House napkin. “I’m proud, too.”

Her smile turned close-mouthed, yet no less sincere and delighted. “You should be,” she paused, then her crying eyes dried a bit as her tone turned serious. “And Jake will be, too. I know it, babe,” she stopped, pondering a thought. “You are going to tell him, right?”

You didn’t have to think about your answer. He had to know. You wanted him too, really. “Yes.” Then, your tummy flipped. “ But I don’t know if he’ll be super excited when I do,” you shook your head. “This was not in the cards for him this year. . . I wouldn’t blame him if he rejected the idea of me being pregnant with his baby.”

“Well, he wouldn’t reject it. I can say that for certain–I’m dating his twin and I know Josh would never reject a baby,” she said, wiping at her face with her own napkin. “And, I’m going to argue the other part, too. . . it obviously was in the cards for him,” she reached a hand out towards you and you took it. “This happened for a reason, sis. A good one. And Jake will view it as such.”

“I just don’t want it to slow him down,” you squeezed her hand, looking down to where they entwined on the gray table. “I need him to keep going and chase his dream.”

She raised a brow, shook her head from side to side, once again disbelieving. “He will, y/n. He’ll keep going. Josh is– and he and I are dating?. . . What’s the difference?”

“Where do I start? Most importantly, I’m messed up in the head and I need to work on myself before I expose him to myself,” you insisted, bringing your hand back to place on your tummy. “And he and Josh are different. . .Josh has a drive that Jake doesn’t. Jake gave up his dream before and he’ll do it again if he’s allowed. And a baby is already damn near the most drastically life changing thing that could happen to a person. Could completely screw up his plans,” you sighed resolutely. It was clear to her that you were firm on this, so she sat back with open and considerate eyes to let you finish. “Best to keep things separate between us so he has one less thing that is tempting him to put himself last. A baby is enough.”

She hummed, taking it all in. After taking a moment, she gave a response. “I just have one question.”

“Yes?” You prepared yourself, raising a brow.

“What’s the difference between you and the girl?-- What’s her name anyway?”

“Maya,” ugh. Hate that name. “Her name is Maya. And she is normal where I am not.”

“O-kaaaay,” she replied, still unsure of the validity in your response. You didn’t know why she seemed so unsure. She knew you better than you knew yourself. She knew you were jacked up. She let out a massive sigh, then continued. “Well, I don’t personally think you know her well enough to make that assumption. She could be more detrimental to him than you–.”

“Not possib–.”

“And you could be exactly what he needs,” she said, almost in finality, though it was obvious she wasn’t done when she leaned forward, her tone hard and steadfast. “You’re also not as “jacked up” as you seem to believe you are. Have you got things to heal? Yes. But are you still one of the most incredible people that has ever walked this planet–if not the most incredible? Even more so, yes,” her eyes watered again, but she sniffed the tears away to say her last piece. “I think you could very well be exactly what Jake Kiszka needs to be complete. And even though I wasn’t around for all of the intricacies of you two, I should’ve caught on. Because I do know the way that man fucking looks at you. . . and dammit if I’ve ever seen another man look at a woman the way he looks at you. . . not even Josh with me or Grandpa with Grandma.”

Your heart swelled and your cheeks grew instantly red. Your blood buzzed in your veins. . . did he really look at you like that? 

Then, selfishly, you wondered if anyone else had noticed like Elsie had. . . like Josh. Fuck. Did he see how Jake looked at you? Had he already presumed things about you and Jake based on how his twin apparently, blatantly, ogled you? And then you realized, yet again, how you would have to obviously tell Josh of the baby. . . oh god; how would he react?

“I wish he wouldn’t,” you muttered. “I don’t need anyone to–.”

“To know?” She squeaked a giggle. “I’m sorry, babe. . . but I think your cover’s about to be totally blown within the next nine months.”

You groaned, placing your forehead in your hand as you blew your hair away from your face. “How will Josh react?” You moaned, halfway to yourself and halfway to her. 

“What?” 

You snapped up. “How in the hell is Josh going to react?!” You anxiously quizzed her, eyes wild. “He is already going to be hurt that I kept it from him. And then there’s the reason I kept it from him in the first place. . .,” you felt tears well in your throat right before you nearly slammed your head on your crossed arms, which laid against the table, dramatically. 

Okay, these hormones can fuck right off. 

“Why’s that, sissy?” She carefully inquired, tone soft, not judging your reaction the way you internally were. “Remind me again.”

You moaned, raising your head and willing the tears away. “He made it so incredibly clear to me how Jake didn’t need another woman infiltrating his life and distracting him. And how Jake needed this time to discover himself for the first time in his life. . . and I’ve completely ignored that desire of his,” a lone tear slipped from your ducts. “I’ve betrayed him. Selfishly.”

Letting the words sit in the air between you, she waited a couple of beats before inserting her two cents. “When does Jake finally get what he wants?”

You wrinkled a brow, tears completely dissipating out of curiosity for her next words.

“I mean. . .” she started, making a thoughtful smacking sound with her mouth. “Josh thinks he can call the shots. You think you can just decide to not let yourself ruin his life? Like, what the hell, first of all? And second of all. . . what if he doesn’t care about any of that shit and just wants you? Did you ever take a second to consider that?”

“Yes, Elsie,” you growled, defensive once again. “And that’s why I’m keeping the ball in my court. I’m protecting him. And that was Josh’s intent, too.”

“I don’t know where you two get off acting like Jake isn’t a grown ass man who can make his own decisions. . .,” she trailed off, flashing an irritated look out the window. 

You did not want to get into this right now. The conversation was trailing much further than you fucking wanted. Your nerves were practically electrifying you and your head felt heavy.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Elsie,” you shortly bit out at her. She snapped her head back at you, her eyes still on fire. You stayed firm. “I’m done talking about all of that shit,” your hands laid safely on your lower, swelling tummy. “I have bigger things to consider now,” after glancing down at your stomach, you hit her with another stern glare. “So drop it.”

Her chest was heaving. 

You were not sure what was happening; why was she suddenly so “Team Jake”? When had that happened? And again, why? 

“Fine,” she conceded, sniffing resolutely once and then went to sip her coffee. Which, by the look on her face, was cold again. “Yuck. Can we bust this joint and go to Starbs? I need the sweet stuff.”

You sighed with relief at the change in subject. “Yes,” you smiled. “Let’s.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was just you and your sister in the open apartment, which was now completely cleaned from last night’s festivities due to your obsessive-compulsive cleaning. Though, you couldn’t help but notice when you’d come back from breakfast, Jake had been gone and the apartment looked much better than when you’d left with Elsie. It felt nice that he cared for the apartment, too–enough to try to keep it clean. 

You trained your thoughts on Elsie, as she waited at the door to leave, bags completely packed, awaiting her Uber to the airport (you were, unfortunately, so suddenly fucking tired that you had decided you weren’t fit to drive her). 

You didn’t want to let her go. She was your one person who knew now, and no matter how much she challenged your stance on Jake, she was still your sister and your person and you needed her with you during this time. . .

“Can you not just stay for a couple more days?” You tried once more, knowing better than to ask, as she’d repeated the words more than once now. “Let them know your sister is having an existential crisis and needs you?”

She huffed with a grin, rolling her eyes. “You are literally fine,” she reassured, reaching a hand out to hold your arm. But instead of letting it stop there, you fell into it and let yourself fall into her–let yourself wrap both of your arms around her shoulders, hugging yourself tightly to her. 

“Please don’t leave,” you moaned, your voice so meek it was straight up depressing. “I need you.”

She hugged you back, dropped her duffel off her shoulder in the process of embracing you. “I always need you, sissy,” she agreed. “But I’m just a FaceTime or text away,” she assured you, combing her hands through your wet hair, having taken a shower while she’d been gone saying her goodbyes to Josh. “I’m here. And you have people here. You just need to let. them. in.”

“I know. . .,” you sighed hotly into her natural curls. “I’m just so scared to tell Jo–.”

“I’m tired of hearing that, babe,” she asserted firmly. “Because the last person you need to be scared to tell is Joshua,” she stated, leaving no room for argument, right in your ear. “And if you think about it, you know him well enough to fucking know that. So get out of your maze of thoughts and know the truth.”

She was right. . . Truly, you knew she was. You knew his heart. But. . . “How will I even. . .?” 

Pulling away from you, she kept her hands wrapped around your forearms, keeping a caring hold on you. Keeping you near. “I’ve actually been thinking about this, like, all day. . . but the first thing that came to my mind is what I keep going back to.”

You waited for more, but she didn’t continue her thought. Impatient, you asked. “Which is. . .?”

“Invite him to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe your. . .first?” she offered, questioning the last part. But sounded completely sure of her idea. “It’s the perfect way to break it to him. And. . .if I’m correct, I’m assuming you haven’t had one yet since you just decided to keep it?”

“Yeah. . . no appointment yet. So, I could. . .ugh,” you answered. “But– why? How–? Will he–?”

“It’s the ideal situation because he will feel like he’s being helpful and loving. He’ll be able to be there for you. He’ll feel needed and involved and that is literally all Josh wants in general in life, so. . .”

“It’s perfect,” you weakly agreed. It really was. You couldn’t deny it.

“Yes, it is,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her duffel bag back over her shoulder. “I came up with it.”

You scoffed. “Okay, now. Don’t get a big fuckin’ head, loser.”

“Bitch,” she bit back, shoving your shoulder. 

Rubbing your shoulder in faux pain, you gave her a pitiful expression. “Elsie. I am with child, you need to be careful with me now.”

Bursting with a chuckle, straight from her chest, she shoved your other shoulder. “I’m not touching the damn stomach, so I’m good.” 

You shoved her back, dropping the act and giggling with her. “You right, you right,” you said. Then, your thoughts came back to the task at hand. The baby that was squirming around in you. “I’m still scared.”

“That’s another perfect aspect of telling him in that scenario though,” she added, assuring you with her opinion. “You can’t back out. You’ll have to tell him if he meets you at the doctor’s office or takes you there or whatever the hell he does. . . you’ll have no choice but to tell him before you go in. And he’ll just have to take it,” she said, her plan sounding, admittedly, concrete. “He will survive,” she dropped her hands from your arms and looped her belt bag around her chest before placing a hand delicately to your cheek. “I promise he’ll survive.”

Just then, her phone dinged, indicating her Uber had arrived. So, with many “I love you’s” and a few curse words, you were following her down the stairs, then hugging her tightly once more outside of her awaiting Uber. 

And as you watched her leave the parking lot, the tears started to flow. So. many. tears. Steady, hard, relentless weeping. . . 

The emotions were obviously true, yes, but the hormones–and your current, lonely headspace– were amplifying the already-existing emotions of her leaving to an incredibly irritating degree.

But before you could lose yourself in them any more, you heard a door to a car shut to your left, along with a laugh you knew all too well. Jake was home. 

And if you didn’t move, he was going to see you as a hysterical mess and you did not want his fucking pity right now. Last thing you needed. And worse, you also didn’t want to see his expression, for the chance it might be hard and uncaring. You also didn’t want to possibly see a certain woman arrive with him. 

You were sure she was with him. The feminine giggle you heard accompanying his endearing chuckles could be no one else.

So, instead of looking in his direction, you turned quickly on your heel and speed-walked up the stairs, a hand on your tummy to avoid any hurt to the kumquat baby. 

As soon as your back hit the closed door, you breathed a sigh, which turned into a long yawn. The kind that made you shiver with a sudden, urgent desire to sleep. You didn’t have to work today, you’d canceled study plans. . . So suddenly, you felt abundantly free and a nap sounded like the perfect remedy to the overwhelming emotions of your day.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Monday came and went before you even knew it was happening. As did Tuesday. As did Wednesday. And when Thursday came around, you had your Modern Poetry elective. The one class you had with someone you knew relatively well. 

You hadn’t made it a priority to make tons of friends while in school to get your degree–you’d had Josh and Elsie, and eventually Sammy and Danny. . .and that had been enough. 

But, when Theo had popped back up into your life, anytime you saw him in a class, it really did feel nice to be around someone familiar at school. Even though he was on the more annoying side, he was still a good confidant.

And especially with the massive course load this semester, having someone you knew around was helpful. Good for feeling less alone. He was somebody who was going through school with you; he got the overwhelming amount of pressure from school, too. He felt the senioritis, too. . . but, his case was slightly different. 

He was ready to be done with school so he could pursue this career he longed to have in writing, while you were just ready to be done. 

Initially, when you had started the semester, you were just ready to be out of Pratt because you felt like you were wasting your time on a degree you’d lost passion for (save for your minor in media studies which gave you the occasional music-related course).

Now you weren’t sure why you were ready to be done. What made you feel more anxious to put Pratt in the past now? Was it the burning desire to be done with a passionless major? Or did the life in your tummy have something to do with it? The thought of the baby you held inside honestly got your blood pumping more excitedly in your veins than a college degree ever could. 

You really only cared about ascertaining a healthy baby– no longer caring much for a piece of paper saying you had studied writing, uselessly, for four long years. 

But you had to make it through school. If not for you, for your baby. You didn’t have much longer left, and you owed it to that child to see this through. You had to find some drive though. So, in came Theo to help with that. He was great at encouraging others, and that was exactly what you needed while trudging through the sixteen hours of classes you’d enrolled in this semester. 

When you were getting up to leave for class that afternoon, you had your mind set on a big jar of baby pickles (stereotypical pregnant woman, much?). You were ready to get off campus and to the nearest grocery store for the deliciously tangy food. 

Before you could leave your two-person table, though, a hand came out to grab your arm as a way of stopping you. If you had acted on impulse, you would have whined and stomped your foot in protest at being kept from satisfying your pickle craving. 

But you didn’t act like a petulant child. Instead, you turned around, eyes opened and ready for whatever was needed from you. 

And when you looked behind your shoulder, Theo was there, a head or so above you, smiling and waiting for a response. 

“Yes?” You asked, semi-irritatedly, semi-sweetly. “What’s up?”

He just stared a little while longer, blinking rapidly before shaking his head. His blonde hair had grown out a bit and shook with the movement, eyes twinkling just enough, making your heart thump a little harder in your chest. 

Why in the hell? 

“I meant to ask you Tuesday, but you were gone before I could,” he started, adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder. He shifted on his feet a little before peering curiously into your eyes. “Are you okay? I missed seeing you for our usual Sunday study time. . .”

You swallowed, slightly grumpy that he felt the need to pry. 

He’s just showing he cares, y/n, the angelic voice said, which now stopped by more occasionally than the negative one. 

Not wanting to tell him anything too personal (God, no), you went with the bare minimum. “A friend hosted a Halloween party at my place on Saturday, and my sister was actually in town for it,” you divulged, wrapping your fists tighter around the straps of your backpack. Please let me leave after this. “So I hung out with her yesterday while she was still in town.”

Not the whole truth, but not so much dishonesty to  me feel bad.

“Oh!” He said, a light hearted laugh accompanying his tone. “Cool. I remember from high school how close you two were.”

I remember how much she didn’t like you, you thought, feeling uneasy at past-Elsie’s opinion of the guy.

Was he really that bad though? He’d been great for you during high school. Even though it had only been a year of time with him, he had still been a decent person to have around during those formative years of your life. He had been considerate, kind, helpful. . . the only negative things you could remember were the few times he’d try to get you to calm down on unnecessary occasions. He could be occasionally judgmental, but wasn’t everyone to an extent?

And maybe you and Elsie had only been your average, overly sensitive high school girls and had thought he was worse than he actually was.

Because at this moment, all you could see were the green flecks in his blue eyes and how they caught the sun that shone in from the window behind you, and onto his pale face. The way he waited earnestly to hear your response made you feel special and valuable to him at this moment and what woman didn’t like that?

“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear before folding your hands over your chest. Aaand, wincing, you quickly moved them away. Your boobs were especially tender with the extra pressure against them. Every day they seemed to get more sensitive to the touch, feeling heavier–fuller. “We’re still that close. Probably closer now, actually. After living together, and then her job forcing her to be far away often. . .,” you trailed off, sad at the thought of her being so far away all the damn time. “We’re forced to communicate way more than we ever have before.”

He nodded, winking at you. And although he was cute, you didn’t feel anything at the wink, really. It didn’t swirl your tummy with nerves like it would with someone. . .else. You chalked it up to the craving that was still distracting you, making your tummy growl. 

He cleared his throat before he tucked one hand in a jeans pocket and one tighter around the strap of his bag. “Intentional is the word,” he added with another wink, seeming to understand to a degree. But you caught the aggravating ‘know-it-all’ attitude. Tipping his head, he looked at you with smiling eyes. “You okay?” He motioned with his hand at your neck-chest region.

Your brow furrowed, confused. Defenses were instantly raised and you took a step back, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “Yes?” You retorted, tilting your head to challenge him. “Why?”

“Just saw you flinch and all,” he said, in wonder at your tone. When he spoke next, he no longer seemed understanding, only misunderstanding. “Nothing big. Don’t worry,” he held his hands out, as if calming a tiger. 

You felt stupid for overreacting, so you covered your tracks with a forced giggle, masking the situation the best you could with a straight-up (ironic) lie. “Just a certain time of the month,” you explained extremely falsely. “Overly reactive to everything right now.” That was true. 

“Oh,” he pointed a finger at you, pretending to get it. “Makes sense.”

Okay, you thought, squinting at him as he looked to the side with a sort of confidence. Maybe Elsie had been onto something. . . 

But then he peered down at you again with his sparkly eyes and shaggy, naturally blonde hair.  It made you feel a little weak for the guy, even with him irritating you.

But why was he irritating you, exactly? Maybe your emotions were controlling you a little too much– getting too easily offended thanks to the hormones. . . Perhaps he was just acting like a normal human, while you were the one who wasn't reacting like a normal human.

Your stomach was fucking growling though. . .Theo didn’t matter worth fuck at that moment. What did matter was how badly your body was craving eating for two. If you didn’t eat soon, you were afraid you would faint from lack of sustenance (you definitely wouldn’t, but there were the over-reactive feelings again). 

You started backing up, and made it just next to the table when you were saying your next words. “I’m going to go ahead and get out of her–.”

“Wait!”

Having just turned on your heel, your face was hidden from view, and you were able to roll your eyes when you heard him. You weren’t going to stop though. He could follow you to the parking lot. You were hungry and grouchy and ready to eat an entire jar of pickles before crashing hard against your sheets. Before you had to show up at the B&G for the evening shift.

“Follow me,” you said, short, only looking over your shoulder at him briefly before continuing your trek. But please don’t talk for long. 

You were just outside North Hall when you decided to stop, so you wouldn’t have to fear him stalling you at your car.

“What’s up?” You asked, playing cool despite your desire to grumble. 

“I actually– I just thought–,” he laughed, seemingly at himself. He scratched behind his ear. Then he stood up straight, determined after tucking both hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat for the second time that day. You noticed his jeans, dark wash, skinny, and complimenting his firm thighs. “I wanted to ask you to hang out with me sometime– outside of here.”

Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?

You couldn’t help the snicker that escaped you, confused. “We do hang out,” you grasped tightly to the straps of your backpack again, anxious to get food. Already tired of him. “Every Sunday.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, pausing. Then he grinned in a way you assumed he thought was cute. But all it really did was make your eyes hurt from the inability to roll, out of courtesy for him. He continued, taking a step closer. Your hands did start perspiring and your heart sped up positively at his proximity. “But I thought maybe we could do something not related to school?”

You opened your mouth to reject it–you were not interested. For many reasons. The biggest being the baby in your belly. . .

Although, the more you pondered the baby, you realized more than that, you were hesitant because of his or her father.

Not the child, but Jake. The man that was ever-present in your mind– with his beautiful, brunette hair, eyes the color of understanding, easing you in the most complex situations. . . and the heart that’d made the world suddenly make sense. . . (Which still scared the hell out of you, by the way.)

But. . .as the thoughts spiraled, it all started to have the opposite effect. Made you want to agree.

So, you did.

You said yes to hanging out with Theo. Because, as soon as that thought process had started derailing, you knew it was best to agree. The idea of hanging out with him seemed like a great distraction from Jake. A much needed one.

What you had with Jake was nothing and it was in the past. For a reason. 

After you watched him smile wide and say he’d text you, he went to join a heap of Pratt’s fraternity boys. You could only hope that maybe getting out there and hanging out with someone else would get your mind off of Jake. 

You did not want it going further than a few dates with Theo. Just a little time with Theo would surely be all it took to get your headspace cleared and make it easier to navigate life. 

The repercussions to its ending were literally nothing. You’d switch seats in class and force yourself through school with the occasional encouragement from Elsie. Theo was not a necessary addition to your life long-term, but you figured he could help you short-term, while also creating long lasting benefits.

Surely you could divert your thoughts from Jake. Think of the child first, and put its father on the backburner as you weaved through this next chapter in your life. . . No matter how badly you wanted him with you through all of it, experiencing it all first hand with you, it was the wiser decision to keep things separate. 

And, as an additional help, Theo would make it obvious to Jake that you were willing to keep your life separate. 

So, when you did eventually tell Jake (dear fucking God), there would be an additional party that emphasized you’d moved on and all that mattered now was the baby. 

Not the two of you. That ship needed to sail. 

Even though the thought made your stomach hurt like hell and tears well in your eyes as you pulled into the nearest Trader Joe’s for pickles. . . you knew it was the truth.

-🌼🌼🌼-

That evening, you took a longer route to work, choosing to listen to a podcast you’d found. 

Having listened to the first episode on the way to school that morning, you decided to fill your cup with another episode on the way to work. 

It was a magnificent podcast that was all about the ‘ins and outs’ of pregnancy, being a new mother, and how to grow mentally and emotionally during such a unique time.

The second episode was going just as well as the first until you heard one of the moderators’ voices get low and forlorn. 

“You know ladies. . . the first time I got pregnant is planted firmer in my memory than any of my other pregnancies,” she said, sighing heavily. 

“Oh, yeah, Jen,” another moderator said, voice growing dim with Jen’s, apparently (you were still getting accustomed to their names). “I bet, babe. . . The ones that are lost are the ones that stick so close it fuckin’ hurts and heals at the same time. . .”

“Agreed, Tally,” the third—and last—speaker on the podcast chimed in. “I’ll touch on my story after Jen.” 

“Thanks, Molly,” Jen’s voice rang through your speakers again. “Yeah, it’s just a different feeling when they’re there and then suddenly they’re not. . . When you imagine holding them in your arms for God knows how long and then it suddenly becomes impossible to do so,” Jen sniffed, and just as she did, you felt a tear hit your own cheek. God, you were hurting with her. “Every woman is different, but I just hang onto my loss like nothing else. And not necessarily in a bad way— just in an attempt to sort of keep the baby here with me— Give her the life she never got to fully live.”

Dammit, the tears wouldn’t let up. They were trailing down your cheeks steadily. When you got to the next stop light, you had to grab a napkin from your glovebox to blot at your cheeks, already marked with black streaks of mascara. Thankfully you could still wipe them up easily, not dried to your skin quite yet. But you knew the crying wouldn’t be letting up soon. Your emotions had been triggered and you would be seeing this sadness through. (Hello, pregnancy hormones.) 

You took turns holding the napkin under each eye, making sure to catch the tears as they continued. 

“I’m right there with you, Jenny,” a voice you now recognized as Molly’s said. “Even though my stories are a little different.”

Stories? 

God. You kept your eyes on the road as you popped open the glovebox once more, grabbing a fistful of left-over restaurant napkins. 

Sitting them on top of your legging-clad thighs, right where you could reach them, you took a right turn towards the B&G. 

“I’m sure we have listeners who will relate to all of these stories,” Tally interjected, sniffing. “Both of you girls.”

“I hope we’re able to help someone,” Jen responded, voice still thick, but not so bad as before. 

You heard a sigh before Molly started speaking again. “The first time I carried was very similar to Jenny’s. Lost the baby. Early on. The worst loss I’ve ever experienced—I will never understand why we lose them,” her voice shook with sadness. But, it soon transitioned to a hot flash of irate frustration when she spoke next. “I will also never understand the people who invalidate our experiences just because they were lost in the womb or lost as little tiny babies. . . Just because they weren’t full grown people, outside of the womb, when it happened. . . doesn’t make it hurt any less. You have just as much to mourn for the life they completely lost.” And just as soon as she was firm, her voice was soft again. “The life we lost before it was time.”

The other two agreed, voices low out of respect for the moment. 

“Then there was my second. . .,” she blew out a breath, as if preparing. She gave a half-laugh. “Strange occurrence. . .”

“But it happens!” One of the other two chimed in. 

“Sure as hell does,” Molly said. “The second time I carried, I had a hysterical pregnancy– a case that only 6 women in 22,000 experience. . .”

“I can’t imagine. . .,” Tally breathed a sigh out. “Your body, tricking you like that.”

“Yeah, and it felt completely real– like everything you’d expect,” she replied, thoughtful. “Like everything I experienced with the one I’d lost before. . . And, God, it was so incredibly hard to get through once I found out what my body had done to me. . . I just wanted a healthy baby–especially after the loss. I was still hurting badly from losing the first when it happened. Almost like my body was playing tricks on me just to see how far I could stretch mentally and emotionally,” she laughed under her breath, in spite of it all. 

“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”

But you weren’t focusing hard enough to know who was talking anymore. You’d caught on to the stories they’d told and now you were over analyzing your situation. . . Questioning everything. . . Was this real? Was there a baby there? Were you having a hysterical pregnancy? Was your body playing tricks on you? 

Or, had you been pregnant, and had now lost the baby like those women had? Were you still carrying the life you’d started planning around? The little life you were becoming more and more attached to by the day?

Had you ever been carrying it? 

As you pulled into work, you put one shaking hand on your rounded lower belly.

- 🌼🌼🌼-

Suffice to say, your entire evening shift was spent in over-contemplation and searching miscarriages, hysterical pregnancies, and semi-local OBGYN’s during the lull of customers. 

As you’d searched online for a clinic, you were not looking for places too close, as you didn’t want God and everybody seeing you enter the clinic on a regular basis (if you, in fact, were to find out you were carrying a tiny little bean-baby). You sure as hell didn’t need anyone to start questioning you before you were ready to offer up answers. 

Once you finally left your longest shift ever, you drove home in deep thought and drowning silence. 

Your research over miscarriages and hysterical pregnancies had done you very little good. They’d actually done you no good at all, if you were being honest. Everything you’d read made you question a lot.

Because, everything that could possibly reassure you was also possible in a hysterical pregnancy or a miscarriage.

One: your growing tummy (which could continue growing in both of the sad, unwanted instances). Two: your hurting breasts (which could still hurt in both sad, unwanted instances). And three: your nausea (which could still occur in both sad, unwanted instances).

Once at home, you took a hot second getting ready for bed— lost in thought, you decided to try to tiring yourself with a bath, complete with lavender scented bath salts and bubbles. Once you were finally in bed, cozy in your softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, you tried so hard to force yourself to sleep. You didn’t want to have to wait any longer to call the nice little clinic you’d found. 

And you sure as hell weren’t hungry. Didn’t want to eat with your stomach spinning with so many nerves.

And, the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you could call the clinic and schedule an appointment. 

- 🌼🌼🌼-

But, after laying there for what felt like hours– the sounds of calming ocean waves playing through your phone and everything– you were still awake. 

You were drowning in all of the thoughts. Drown-ing. 

One that was flashing brightly at the front of your mind was why you even cared so much. And, the more you thought about it, tossing and turning, you realized you’d found the most unique, fulfilling form of reassurance in carrying the child. You wanted this baby. It had happened without you even meaning it to. . . but you wanted this baby so. fucking. badly. You’d tried damn hard not to want the little thing, but now that you’d spent so much time pondering it and holding your tummy? There was no question about any of it. You just wanted your baby and you couldn’t figure out how to explain it.

After rolling around far too much in bed, you realized you still hadn’t heard the telling sounds of Jake coming home. So, you decided to venture out into the living room to let a TV show distract you. Hopefully distract you enough to go to sleep. Pillow, Stanley, and phone in hand, you grabbed the fluffiest blanket from your blanket basket and nestled into your couch. 

Just as you’d turned the TV to Friends–wanting to feel closer to Elsie, but not feeling brave enough to talk to her whilst already being so emotional–, you heard the sound of a key jingling in the locked doorknob. And then the door was opening and you were looking behind you at the sound— for God knows what reason.

Then he was all you saw.

Jake.

Clad in the most handsome black, felt peacoat, the top of his head hidden by a black beanie. . . the chilly evening’s attire suited him so well that it brought a ridiculous tear to your eye. 

So devastatingly handsome and not at all mine, your thoughts became enveloped with storm clouds.

Thankfully he didn’t see you staring, as he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact as he went about setting his keys in the bowl and taking his coat off to hang it on the rack by the door. And, as his actions cemented your thoughts, your eyes became wetter, a tear falling down your cheek for this stupid ass, cruel reality that you’d created. Even if you had done it for a good reason—and you had—it still sucked big ass. 

But, just as soon as your eyes were growing teary, your heart was beating erratically in your chest. The sight of the soft, tanned skin between the opened lapels of his shirt— exposed after taking off the coat. And the silver necklaces that clanged against his bare chest were the same he’d worn for Halloween. . . Your mouth watered as you observed the way they fell between his pecs which rose and fell with balanced breaths. . . 

Seriously, fuck these hormones.

Before you could get lost in the roundness of his ass through his jeans, he turned to the counter once more. You flipped back to your original spot on the couch. You decided to 

feign any knowledge of him being home, curling into a little ball on the couch and closing your eyes to fake sleep. 

When you heard him make a stop at his bedroom and then heard the bathroom door click shut, you stayed wrapped in your cocoon on the couch. And before too long, you felt yourself fading to black, one final tear slipping past your closed lids as Rachel and Ross argued over being on a break.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Initially, you weren’t sure what it was that brought you back from such a deep slumber. But, once you heard him, you knew. The deep, raspy laugh that was slightly muffled through you gaining consciousness. 

Why was he in the living room? Was he? Was this your imagination? A taunting dream?

You cracked an eye open the slightest bit to allow some adjustment to the light you’d shut your eyes to. But. . . There was no overhead light. It was off. The room would’ve been pitch black, save for your standing lamp’s yellow glow and the blue light from your TV. 

More importantly, the warning feeling of a crick in your neck was suddenly catching your attention. So, without worrying about your company, you quickly sat up to attempt getting more comfortable. You didn’t want to feel awkward around him, but you also didn’t want to deal with a hitch in your neck or a migraine in the morning. 

The loud yawn that escaped you once you’d sat up couldn’t be helped. You were slightly embarrassed at the obnoxiously loud noise that emitted from your mouth as you stretched. Blushing, you glanced over at your fellow living room occupant to see if he’d even noticed. 

And, of course, he had. 

He was staring at you—but. . . not judgmentally. Not at all. In fact, his eyes held the natural, reassuring lightness that occupied your sweetest recent memories. And the small grin on his face. . . was shocking, to say the least. 

Why was he acting so okay with you? He’d been so distant recently. . .

You knit your eyebrows together, hyper aware of his presence and needing answers as to why he had decided to sit next to you. 

“What are you doing here?” You clipped, tone sharp. You brought your blanket all the way up to your chin and around your shoulders, as a way to protect yourself from the (obviously) harmless man. 

Although, you instantly regretted it as his expression became apprehensive rather than open like seconds before. 

Why do you have to go and ruin everything, y/n? 

He leaned back, his eyebrows furrowed as he balanced a bowl of (. . . macaroni and cheese? Fuck, that looked good.) on his knee, holding onto it with one hand. “I live here, y/n.”

And yet another memory was flashing back to you from the night you got high. . . his breath, hot on your neck, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he said similar words then– your skin flaming now, too. Just the sound of his voice could elicit the most from you. Fuck your pregnant feelings.

Or were they just feelings? The fear came rushing back the moment you thought yourself pregnant. . . was there a baby in there? God, fuck. . . you really didn’t want to sit in this train of thought again. 

You figured you might as well use your company to distract you. . . .You missed talking to him anyways–missed it so damn bad. 

But your tummy interrupted you. The growl that emitted from it was fucking humiliating, honestly, but it had happened. And after eyeing you curiously for a minute, Jake’s lips turned up with a one breathy laugh, his beautiful pearly whites on full display. God, he was handsome.

“You hungry?” He questioned, lifting his mac and cheese. “I made more of this. It’s just the shit Kraft, but it still hits the spot.”

Nodding, you went to hesitantly get up to get some. You really didn’t want to move from under the security of your warm, cozy blanket. 

“No, just wait here,” he insisted, standing. His pajama pants were your favorites (the ones he didn’t normally wear underwear with). But you did not watch his crotch for movement. Your eyes were just staring at the wrong place at the wrong time. Really. “I have to wash my bowl anyway. I’ll put the rest in a bowl for you while I’m up.” 

Again, why was he being so fucking nice? But you weren’t about to disagree. You were comfy and hungry and he was offering. It felt like old times and you felt like being momentarily delusional.

“Okay,” you quietly agreed, your eyes shifted, unsure to his face. But he was moving before you could look at him. Back to the kitchen. After a few moments, he was back, handing you a little white bowl with a spoon. The scrumptious, cheesy noodles made your eyes light up. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, responding as though elsewhere. This was weird and you hated how it all felt. But he kept talking, filling the air as he sat a beer on the end table beside him, before sitting back down in the chair. “I had to get a beer anyway. Long day with the guys and May–,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head.

Fuck. Thanks, Jake, you thought, your eyes on the verge of welling with tears. The moments of silence, hanging in the air, closing in around you. Not fucking now, hormones.

All you wanted to do was ask why it had been a long day. Get more information that might hurt you. Why did you do that to yourself? 

Though, before you could say anything, he continued. Awkwardly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the TV to reset as he spoke. “Long day. I should’ve asked if you wanted one.”

Your cheeks heated. . . little did he know. “I’m good,” you mumbled, looking down at your bowl. Stomach sinking with your thoughts from earlier, you decided to eat before you lost your appetite again. Not the time to be sad. “Thanks though.”

The next few minutes went by in a silence you wanted to stab with a fucking knife. It was seriously unpleasant and sucked ass. After you both laughed at a certain thing Joey said, you figured you might as well try to keep some sort of conversation going. Because, god, you missed him. 

“I meant in here, by the way,” you motioned with your head to the space around you, mouth full. (Ladylike.) 

His brow raised as he looked from the screen to you, setting his gaze on you. “What are you–?”

“My question. Why you were here,” you embarrassingly restated, hearing how it must’ve sounded. “In the living room. With me. Why you were in here, in the living room, with me, of all places.”

He sat further back, but this time going to sit in the armchair comfortably. His feet propped up on the ottoman across from him. “Well,” he covered his mouth, coughing briefly into his fist. “To be fair– you were sleeping when I came to sit down in here.” 

Rather than being unnecessarily hurt over him only wanting to be in the same room as a sleeping version of you, you let yourself give in to the temptation and take advantage of him being distracted by his next task. You missed everything about him. . . even such a simple thing as watching him move.

Pathetic. And, because your mind hated you, it felt like you were watching him move in slow motion.

You watched in a daze as he leaned over to the tall lamp’s attached table, his self-cut gray t-shirt rising up at his hips to show his firm abdomen flex with the stretch. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot to watch someone reach for a fucking beer bottle. But, the sight that greeted you next was worse than seeing his side peeking from his shirt. What you saw next were his full, pink lips, wrapping just right around the glass top of his beer bottle as he took a generous sip of his Miller Lite. You admired, mouth open as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp of the beer. 

But when he went to repeat his action of leaning over the chair to set the bottle back, you decided to look away so as to save yourself from the torture (or, from the possibility of being caught). You took a bite of the mac and cheese, growing cold in your bowl.

Your heart was already hammering much too erratically from glimpsing these ridiculously mundane motions. . . fuck it all. The heat from being so near to him and watching him settled from your head all the way to the pit of your tummy. You swallowed down your bite thickly.

Your tummy.

“Yeah,” you muttered, awkwardly – you just wanted to have a conversation to get your mind off things. Problem was, you didn’t know where to necessarily start with him these days. . . Work? The band? Maya? God, no. . . gag.

Lucky for you, he took the initiative before you had much longer to overthink it. “I’m glad you woke up, though.” He pulled at his plaid pajama bottoms as he scooted up again, going back to get comfortable on the ottoman. Sitting with his legs spread (dammit), he balanced his elbows on his knees as he reached for his phone in his pocket. “I actually wanted to run something past you.”

God, please don’t say you found a place and you’re moving out. . . you thought, suddenly downcast and dreading what he was about to say. Or that you’re moving out to live with her.

You swallowed the thickness in your throat, trying to alleviate the unwarranted nerves before responding. Dispelling them with food, you took one more bite before swallowing it to talk. “And what’s that?” 

So what if he wanted to move out? He damn well could. He surely had the money and you two weren’t involved. 

He scrolled for a few more moments, your heart thump-thump-thumping without relenting. . . And finally, he found what he was looking for and before you had time to prepare, his eyes were sinking into yours earnestly. 

God. . . what is he about to sa–?

“I found a place for you to get therapy,” he stated, tone soft and careful. 

Therapy? Safe to say you were not expecting those words. 

And rather than being nervous, your emotions shifted to defensiveness. Where did he get off looking into that for you? Why was he . . .? Was he talking about the promise he’d made in his bed? That same night you’d panicked at your grandparents’? He’d remembered to do that? Why did he even care, still? You didn’t deserve for him to care– didn’t want him to care. It felt uncomfortable. 

“Why?” You sharply asked, holding your bowl in stiff hands on your lap. 

He leveled you with a look that said ‘cut it out.’ Did he really know where your thoughts were trailing? Was he still that in tune with you? Surely not. He was probably just irritated with your tone of voice. “I told you I would look for you, so I’ve been keeping up my end of the deal. I’ve actually asked a few clients if they knew of any nearby therapists worth their salt,” he peeked back at his phone, scrolling on it when he spoke next. “And there are actually quite a few good ones in the area.”

Your heart still beat harshly in your chest as you felt your skin heat with rage. You set your bowl down on the coffee table. And, the blanket, suddenly suffocating you, was flung off without a thought. “So, what is this? Is this you saying I’m a fucking loony, Jake? I’m sure you’ve been desperate as fucking hell to get me help because you think I’m such a nutcase,” you spit. You sounded dramatic (and, admittedly, like a deranged woman). You knew that. If you were thinking sensibly, you’d know he didn’t believe those things. . . but you were embarrassed that he’d been thinking so hard about this. It hurt your feelings that he thought you needed help that badly. “I’m just so broken and damaged and insane that you’ve decided you need to get a damn shrink to fix me.” Your lap was a sudden magnet for your eyes, your hands entangled on your pajama bottoms. Now, the hot teardrop that hit your interlocked hands was not expected and you swiftly swiped at your cheek. “Thanks for thinking so long and hard and asking God and everybody to find the most qualified person to psychoanalyze the shit out of me,” you sniffled, a couple more tears falling before you willed them away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Jake.”

But he wasn’t flustered. . . no, he actually sat there and took it. The brow that had raised on his face as you spoke was the only indicator that he’d heard you. 

The emotions you were experiencing were big and uncalled for. . . but, you were stressed. Over a lot of things. Doubting a lot of things. Your life seemed like one humongous question mark and you were sleepy as fuck and it was all just catching the fuck up with you. 

He cleared his throat, glancing once more at his phone before setting it on the arm of the chair. A tiny smirk ghosted briefly over his lips before they were set in a flat line again as he spoke next. His eyes stayed trained on his own hands, now clasped as well. “Y/n. . . Please. You know I don’t fuckin’ think those things,” he tried quietly, slightly testy, but not harsh. Then his irises found yours once more, making your heart rate speed up. You did know that. . . You knew better. He was right. “You agreed to this. I wouldn’t have made a point to look into this if you hadn’t okayed it,” he stretched his hands out and then combed them through his long, chestnut locks. 

His jaw flexed and he eyed you once more, digging into the heart of this before going any deeper. “I don’t want to force it on you. I won’t go any further in this conversation if you don’t want it. This is your decision. You know I looked into therapists. That’s it. You choose where you want this to go and then I’ll either leave you alone or tell you what I found out.”

You felt bit by bit of your current guard break down as you slowly relented. Because, well, you did want to know what he’d found out. Absentmindedly, you glanced down at where you’d subconsciously placed your hands over your stomach. It was habit at this point. That one reason underneath your fingertips was pushing you to know what he’d come to know. If you were, in fact, with child, you were desperate to start therapy. Yeah, sure, you wanted to get help for your sake. . . but more-so the child’s sake. Because, honestly, if you were not with child, you weren’t really sure if you’d want to push yourself to do that– go through all of those intense measures and changes and emotions that you knew only therapy could bring.

There was a ginormous sneaking, sinking suspicion in your gut. The one that was telling you there was a helluva lot more simmering, boiling beneath the surface than you knew. There had to be. For all the blaming you’d put on Jake just now, you knew you were a basket case. And there were some good fucking reasons behind it that you had to get to the bottom of. 

You had to do it for your child. And, on the off chance that your worst fears would come to light and you weren’t actually pregnant, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear Jake out. Listen to what he’d found. 

You mumbled your next words. “Do you think I need fixing?” Dear God–where had that vulnerability come from? Did you want to know his answer?

Jake brought a thumb and forefinger up to his chin as he scratched it in contemplation, still measuring you with a long look. “I think it’s more complex than that, y/n,” he breathed a sigh out, as if not sure how to say what he was actually thinking. 

And dammit– it hurt for him to not just respond with a simple “no, I don’t think you need fixing.” More complex? What the hell did that even mean? 

“Do you think I’m brok–?”

“No,” he sighed. Then, he had your heart leaping into your throat when, in one swift motion, he was standing and walking the ottoman closer to where you sat on the couch. When he plopped down, he didn’t touch you. . . but the closer proximity was enough. The way your eyes naturally flitted momentarily to where his chest steadily rose and fell. You breathed with him. He spoke his next words with a low rasp, eyes serious as they pored into yours. “You are not broken.”

Your heart fluttered, making its way back to its home in your chest. “Okay,” you muttered. You needed to hear him say that– more than you’d ever be comfortable admitting. Finally, you responded to his prior offer. You knew what you wanted. “Tell me what you found out.”

Jake watched you for a few more seconds before leaning back a little, reaching back to grab his phone from the arm of the chair he’d been sitting in. You averted your sight to your hands this time, not watching his movements. Your hands, which were still nestled nonchalantly on your tummy. 

“So,” he started. Your gaze flickered up to him, a lazy smile fitting to your face. You watched his lips move as he spoke. Honestly, you hated how safe he felt. It wrapped you up cozier than the blanket that’d been around you moments ago. And the sad reality: you couldn’t wrap yourself up in him. You’d have to take what you could get. “I found this place. About 30 minutes from us. It’s a bit of a lengthy drive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s a clinic that’s very well known by many people around here, I’ve found out.”

“Expensive?” 

“Eh. Yeah. Pricier than others,” he clicked his tongue, raised his brow. “But– I asked Josh offhandedly the other day what the insurance was like at the B&G to figure out if it was covered by your–.”

“What do you mean offhandedly?” You nudged, hoping he hadn’t divulged that it was about you. “You didn’t tell him–?”

“No. I just asked him as if I was comparing it to mine at the agency that I teach lessons through,” he reassured. You breathed in relief. He snickered. “I wouldn’t tell him anything about. . .,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from your face to the wall behind your head and then to his phone again. “Anyways. . . they’re covered by your insurance.”

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if Josh found out. . . he was about to have a massive bomb dropped on him (by you, of course). But. . . you still didn’t really want him finding anything out from Jake. Didn’t want him hearing anything before you were ready. 

“Cool,” you grinned, trying to ease the tension. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stopped him before he could. “Thank you, by the way. For looking into this.”

He looked surprised and you hated that he seemed that way. You should have been more appreciative to begin with. . . this was such a selfless thing for him to do and you’d reacted by getting defensive and snapping. When that was the last thing he deserved. God, you were awful sometimes. 

He smiled, wide and close-lipped. “Of course. I told you I would.”

You nodded, looking back to your hands, which you’d let move to your lap. Didn’t want him catching on to you holding your stomach. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” he began, hesitantly. “I called them for a quote and asked about a specific therapist.”

“Why specific?” You questioned, scrunching your brows. 

“That leads into the next part, actually. . .,” he slowly continued, “She’s the only one at their practice that specializes in this unique form of therapy. A type I’ve read and researched on a fuck ton. . . I wanted to find the perfect method for your specific traumatic effects. So, I thought of the dreams. . . how you like control. . . I think it’s the type of therapy you could benefit most from.”

Damn. Way to call you out on your need for control. If anyone knew how much you desired control, though, you figured he did. But. . .now you were even more curious. . . because. . . you were venturing into different types? Wouldn’t just be sitting down with a shrink? What did he have in mind?

“And this type is. . .?”

His eyes light up, excitedly, as if he’s been dying to get to this part. “It’s called EMDR,” he voiced with a tinge of apprehension and elated anticipation. As you mouthed the letters under your breath, he clarified further. “Eye, E. Movement, M. Desensitization, D. And Reprocessing, R.”

You blinked a few times and shook your head. “Okay,” you stated slowly, placing your hands in front of you to indicate he needed to slow down. “What the fuck does all of that mean though?”

“Before I continue, I need you to know: I’ve done a shit ton of research and out of all of it, I’ve become really invested and interested in this type of therapy specifically. . . and for good reason. I’m really hopeful that it will help you,” he emphasized, eyes sincere. 

Your tummy did somersaults at how invested he’d become in all of this . . . but your mind stuttered momentarily at the flutter. You couldn’t help but get lost in the thought of a little bean in there and how you hoped to feel little kicks someday (obviously not yet, Jesus Christ), not just Jake-induced butterflies. God, you hoped there was a little thing in there. . . 

Jake’s steady, soft voice brought you back to the present and to his face that peered down at his phone, reading carefully. “To put it simply: it’s like a form of hypnosis. A way to force you to remember certain things so you can finally move on and heal from them.”

You blanched at that. “I’m going to be hypnotized?” To say you were second guessing this was a massive understatement. This EMDR shit could take a back seat. You were already apprehensive about getting help–even with the traditional approach. “I’m not down for hyp-fucking-nosis. Hell no. And all for the sake of remembering things I don’t really care to remember in the first place? I don’t think so, Jake,” you shook your head, toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your t-shirt. “I’m already taking a hugeass leap by being willing to go to therapy itself. I don’t need the voodoo shit . . . I’ll settle for the traditional approach,” you paused, not wanting to get too far ahead before showing your thanks. “But. . . thank you for–.”

“No, no. Listen,” he said, laying one hand on your knee for a blip of a second, your mind short-circuited at the touch. He damn sure had your attention now. “It’s different. Yes, you’ll remember things. But . . . well. . . Shit, I don’t know how to explain it in my own words. 

“Well, just send me a link and I’ll give it a read and we’ll settle–.”

“Quit,” he sternly said. “Quit saying that you’re going to settle. I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get to the root of this. . . so you can heal. Please. Hear me out,” he pleaded, the hand going back to rest on your knee for a few moments longer than last time before he removed it again. “It's–it’s more than remembering. It’s like— like your mind takes you back to the memory. You’re there all over again, living it a second time.”

“Yeah,” you went to stand up, but he moved with you, showing you he would follow you. So, you stayed put. Dear God, Jacob. “I don’t want to live the shit for a second time. Why the hell would I want to do that?“

“Do you want to fucking heal?” He snapped, his eyes searching yours for any sort of bullshit.

You blinked, “Damn,” you began, a sarcastic, irritated smirk on your face when you shook your head. Could he give you a break, maybe? Shit. But, still, you answered him. And his impatient, waiting eyes. Your answer was a no-brainer for you at this point. “Yes, Jake. I want to fucking heal.”

His jaw flexed as he let out a deep breath, through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “So, please, y/n. . . just listen to me. Hear me out. You don’t have to do it. I just want you to let me explain it first,” he begged, eyes trained on yours, following every flicker of them. The unsureness you communicated through your gaze was balanced by the overwhelming sureness in his. You nodded for him to continue. He reciprocated the action, continuing with a deep breath in and and a deep breath out. “EMDR allows you to heal by letting you be in charge of your healing. You have the power to leave the situation this time. You’re in control of it now. It’s the past. But you have to face it. . . That’s part of it. . . The cool thing is, though. . . you can control whether you stay or leave a memory; you control how you move on from it.”

Well, goddammit. . . Of course he’d know just what to say to get you to finally listen to him. 

Control. That single word finally flicked the lightbulb on in your stubborn, jaded head. 

You paused heavily in your opposition, taking note of his far too sincere features. Perhaps he truly was just trying to help you, a sentiment that had always felt utterly foreign to you throughout your life. You’d held all of your guards up so high for so indescribably long. It took a lot for you to dare let anyone in aside from your sister (who, if you had to be honest, simply didn’t have a choice being your own flesh and blood. . .And given the fact that she lived it, too). 

But the harsh reality of the matter was, you had let Jake in. Too much. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment, you could’ve smirked at the irony of just how much– the possible little life in your tummy, a constant reminder in recent times. And, well, you’d definitely let him in enough that he knew you came with some serious trauma.

You watched him carefully, suddenly beginning to realize that the only reason you’d felt so reluctant to heed his guidance with this bizarre form of therapy. The reason you always doubted him– you couldn’t fathom the fact that he truly wanted to help you. 

But, time and again he seemed to prove you wrong. Even after you’d bitched him out to kingdom come in the kitchen months ago. There was no reason for him to want to help you. But here he was. With his research, his beautiful and honest eyes, the phone that he gripped with purpose with explanation after explanation, as if a lifeline. . .

He cared. Whether you could accept it or not. . .it didn’t change the fact that he actually cared. 

“I’ll go talk to the therapist,” you finally offered, relenting as much as you could at that moment. “I’ll feel it all out after I talk to her about it. . .,” you leveled, feeling fair in that decision. 

And he didn’t question, just shook his head with a lip stuck out. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”

“How do I schedule the appointment?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next day was spent making strides towards your future. You scheduled the OBGYN appointment as soon as the clinic opened— being as that was the first, major priority. Setting that up had been simple. A date and time. The insurance you’d be using. Then, you’d hung up.

But, as soon as you’d set that up (and felt utter relief at having that panned out), you called the counseling practice Jake had told you about. And, you set up a therapy session with the woman Jake had given you the name of for the day before your first OB appointment. . . 

The counseling appointment was set up for the upcoming Monday. . . For some reason, when you’d been on the phone, scheduling for the nearest date available had seemed like the only logical option. But, it hadn’t been as cut and dry as your scheduling for the doctor’s appointment. There’d been a form. They’d informed you that they would email it for you to fill out with some general information (and a picture) before your first appointment. It was slightly daunting, but not totally unexpected, the more you’d thought about it. It was an understandably reasonable precursor to your first session. Just a few minor things to assist in your therapist knowing the most basic things about you before beginning. 

Doing it before the OB appointment had also seemed like a good idea. Talking to someone about the newfound worries to help you wade through the days to seeing the obstetrician. . . It seemed like a good plan of action. Made you feel more peace for the whole situation, honestly. 

So, that Friday, as you settled into your seat for a stupid ass writing course, you didn’t even care as you felt like other things were on the move. Honestly, at this point, you wanted to say fuck school and your distaste for the major you’d chosen. . . As they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all. Bigger things were about to start happening. 

And you could only hope that what awaited you would be positive. . . Positive bigger things ahead. 

Bigger things that looked like real healing and a baby with Jake’s eyes.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The couch was leather and a little cold, even through your leggings. . . and the small office-room smelled like essential oils. It was reminiscent of a spa without the ambience music. 

The place didn’t need the music, though. . . the oils and general atmosphere were the perfect, calming mixture. . . Well thought out combination of smells and colors to ease the mind. 

But no therapist. Not yet. You’d been led by the secretary into a room where you now sat by yourself. She’d offered tea, coffee, and water, with a large, welcoming smile on her freckled face. You couldn’t refuse the offer, so you’d accepted the option of water. 

It had been in a bottle, and you clutched it tightly, opened only for the tiniest sip as you let your body relax as much as it could, leaning the slightest bit back into the couch. 

And you continued to wait. 

You watched the closed wooden door, your eyes wandering every now and then to the artwork that depicted gardens and fresh flowers. . . Some were beautiful paintings, while others were simple little drawings, or even real flowers, pressed in a glass frame. 

The walls were tinged with a light sage—the color, oddly easing to the mind. 

Then the knob was twisting open, matching the feeling of your nervous tummy. The muscles at the pit of your stomach flexed and flinched at the prospect of the therapist. What was she going to be like? Would she match the cool, relaxing environment of her office? You could only fucking hope. . .

Looking down at your hands to avoid any awkward eye contact, you took note of how badly you needed a manicure. . . damn. 

“Y/n?” A reposeful, gentle voice interrupted your nail critique. You looked up to acknowledge your long-awaited company. . . and man, was she completely different from your last therapist. The first thing you noticed was that she was. . . young. Mid-thirties at the very oldest. She was much younger than your aging counselor from the past. How long had she been doing this? “I’m Gianna. But all of my clients and closest friends call me Gia.”

“Gia,” you tried it out, letting a small smile fit to your face. It was a genuine smile– you were relieved. Without even really knowing her, you already felt so at ease with her. She was one of those people–like Elsie or Josh–who just carried a naturally empathetic, calming air. Made you feel like you were standing in the breeze on a warm spring day. “Nice to meet you.”

Her hair, naturally dark, but dyed beautifully to be a blonde-gray, was up in a styled messy bun. Lips, painted in the most beautiful naturally red tint. . . and the round, wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose complimented her soft features so incredibly well. The freckles on her pale face, visible through the circular frames. Her cheeks were tinged with a perfectly rosy blush, and they swelled with your greeting. 

She adjusted her loose, beige overalls over her off-white, long-sleeved mock neck. The overalls were the fabric ones that’d gone viral (which helped you to note how incredibly trendy she was, if you hadn’t already been able to guess that). She inhaled and exhaled easily, her lips quirking even more than before. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she repeated back to you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to make my entrance. I like to give my people some time to adjust to the space before they’re bombarded with all of the therapy stuff. It’s an important thing to me.” Then her leg was being bent to balance her white, platform converse on the seat of her pale pink rolling chair. “Before we begin. . . I also need you to know that my office has a completely open door policy. If, at any moment, you start feeling uncomfortable, please let me know and you may leave to take a break, or simply leave the practice to adjust your thoughts before the next session. Won’t charge you for the whole time or anything. . .,” she added the last part, surely as another financially conscientious adult. “I just know that sometimes this shit gets tough–baring all of it and having to get through it. . . it’s rarely easy, and I want to be able to foster a healthy, resting environment for you as you wade through all of it.”

“Wow,” you blinked, your heart warm in your chest as you let yourself sink a little further into the couch, shoulders loosening just a bit. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

Winking, she brought the mug up to her lips that she’d carried in with her. After taking a sip, she sat it on her desk and then wrapped both arms around her bent leg. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me and my profession before we begin?”

You pondered that, always having questions swirling in your head. “Just general things,” you snorted, playing it off. “Stupid, basic shit that I don’t need answered.”

“Nothing is stupid in here, sweets,” she said firmly, her eyes communicating more than the words she’d said. “Sometimes misguided and confused, yes, but never stupid.” She used the foot on the ground to swing the chair from side to side, ever-so-slightly. “Sooo, shoot. Ask anything you’d like–basic or not.”

Blinking at her again, you let your grip on your water bottle ease up. “Oh, um,” you quietly began. You scrambled for the right words. “Well, I guess I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this?”

She giggled. “Oh, sure. . . I’ve been practicing for about five years. Administered EMDR for the past two or so. . .” Her cheeks were still rosy with a gentle smile when she spoke next. “I will ask, though. . . did you not check out the website prior to this?”

Fuck. You hadn’t thought to do that. That was strange. . . usually you’d jump at the chance of looking into anything and everything before diving head first into something. Especially something as serious as a life-changing thing like therapy and the person you’d be inevitably baring your soul to. What in the fuck? Why hadn’t you thought to do that?

“I– um,” you searched her eyes, as if they held your answer. “I didn’t. Which is strange for me.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said, grabbing her mug from her desk again. But before taking a sip, she continued. “I just noted on your form that you like having control over the things that transpire in your life. And checking the website to do some solid research seems like just the way to do that.” She took a sip, humming as she took it away from her full lips. “But there’s my thoughts going to crazy places based primarily on black and white principles. And we’re definitely not here to do that,” she shook her body as if shaking it off, putting her leg down and nestling her mug between her hands. “I don’t look at shit in black and white. That’s something that, as your therapist, I need you to know. There’s a lot of healing properties found in the gray.”

You couldn’t explain it, but the last sentence left you feeling this overwhelming sense of hope and understanding. Without even knowing you, she seemed to get the fact that you came with a lot of fuckin’ gray. All kinds of shades of the color. Had you been that transparent on your form? Not able to remember it, you just pushed it to the side as you figured it didn’t really matter. Because even if you had been open on the form, you were about to get much more transparent.

“Thank you,” was all you said, the water bottle held in loose hands as you comfortably crossed your legs. “My life has left me pretty fucking gray, so that’s a relief.”

“There’s beauty in the gray, love,” she noted, leaning forward as if engaging even further in the conversation (as if she wasn’t already remarkably with-it). She held her tea steady in her hands, and you couldn’t help but look down at the mug to see what it looked like. And, of course, it was covered in pale flowers, just like her office. “I’m down for any more questions you may have.”

“Family?”

“Just a fiancé, but other than her, I’m pretty estranged from much more family. Boundaries are a specialty of mine, and I’ve had to set a few in my life,” she said, assured and confident. “No kids yet. We aren’t quite sure if we want them or not.”

You nodded. But, you were not able to hold back the wetness that gathered in your eyes. The tears settled at your ducts and if you blinked, you knew they’d fall. The way you were feeling at the moment was unexplainable. So many things at once. But, most importantly, you were thankful. Thankful for people like Gia. The woman exuded peace and you weren’t sure why you’d ever questioned trying therapy again when there were women like her in this profession. 

“Thank you,” you said again, as if you were a manufactured robot. Then you shook your head, embarrassed at your currently tiny vocabulary. “I’m sorry I keep saying that. I’m just grateful there’s people like you in this world.”

Wow. Okay. So we’re getting real honest and sentimental now, huh? A good-humored voice asked you. Here for it.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said quietly, respecting the new emotions in the room. “Are you ready to tell me a bit about you?”

Letting the tears fall with a blink, you wiped at them with a breathy laugh. She grabbed the nearest tissue box and handed it to you. You wiped under your eyes and dabbed at your cheeks. “Chose to not wear makeup for a reason,” you chuckled, internally thanking past-you. She laughed with you, placing the Kleenex on the couch next to you for proper access, then sat back, balancing her elbows on her thighs as she held her face up with open palms. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said once you’d settled. “We’ve got the next hour and a half.”

“How much do you wanna know?” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed your locked hands over your tummy. “I’m a basket case.”

Her eyes sparkled. “As much as you’re willing to tell me,” she affirmed with a wink behind her glasses. “I’m all ears.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

So, as you left that day, you were absolutely confident in saying Gia knew about as much of your life as Elsie did. And that was saying something.

She’d just been so receptive, and had kept encouraging you– as you cried and laughed and sighed and growled. She kept reminding you that she wanted to ‘hear as much as you’d give her’. That she was ‘in your corner’ and that she was ‘there for you.’ And her words and kind eyes were enough to spur you on. Continue to the point of her knowing nearly everything there was to know about your life. 

From your childhood to now, Gia was now totally knowledgeable in the realm of Y/n. 

Thankfully, there’d been no EMDR, as she informed you that next session you’d begin talking about the intricacies of the practice and whether or not you wanted to begin with it the session after your next. She wanted to take time to adjust and ‘simply be’ before introducing the innovative method of therapy.

She’d given a couple of tidbits about it, just for you to think about before the next session, but not too much, since the next session was dedicated to her actually breaking it down for you. 

“Now, before you leave, I want you to know that we can locate your safe place next time. The place in your mind where you’ll return when you need a breath of fresh air amidst the memories,” she’d offered, hands in her pockets, tea cup abandoned as you stood up alongside her to follow her out of the office. But before you two left the office space, she took the time to assure you once more. “But only if that is what you decide you want. This is your life, sweets, and I’m just here to help you through it.”

And, for the eighty-millionth time that day, you’d told her ‘thank you.’ You were going to take a bit of time to consider it. 

She’d also given you a few nuggets of wisdom. 

They’d specifically followed the end of your session, when you’d broken down about the unsureness of your pregnancy (but easily applied to the rest of your messy ass life). 

One thing she said to do: “Slow down your thoughts. Do not let them take control. Slow them down and figure them out with what you know. Piece by piece, break them down before they get too astronomically crazy.”

Another being: “Let yourself feel peace. Just every once in a while, let yourself feel it and don’t let guilt eat you alive for it.” (When you’d laughed sarcastically, she’d nodded, agreeing that it was “most definitely easier said than done.”)

She had been wonderful at assuring you that it was most definitely a product of your trauma to react so preposterously. How you thought certain decisions and thoughts might give you peace, yet always resulted in the opposite. But, she’d also told you that you’d “figure it out bit by bit” as you move along and to “give yourself grace” as you navigate it all on your own, in your day-to-day life.

But, there was one singular, specific piece of advice she’d offered that was sticking out more than much else. 

Of course, you’d filled her in all the way up to your appointment tomorrow and Elsie’s idea for Josh to attend with you. You wanted her opinion on it, asking for as much, and she’d been firm in her opinion. Her words rang in your head as you navigated the late afternoon New York traffic on your way back home.

“Your sister is a genius,” she’d said astonishingly, blowing out a breath from between her naturally full lips. “Everything she said is exactly what I’d tell you, too, sweets. And if it helps to hear this, even as an outside party, Josh sounds like the type of person to receive it in a non-traumatizing manner. He will, most definitely, be sensitive to your feelings. And, having him there will help you feel less alone and calm in your worries. . . and it will help him feel needed–like Elsie said. So, truly, it’s a win-win. If I had my way, I’d make sure Josh is there tomorrow. But, again, it’s your life and it’s up to you.”

“How do I even ask, though?” You asked pathetically, pulling your sleeves down over your hands as you began to get nervous at the prospect. 

“Take a deep breath,” she calmly recited (as she’d done a time or two during your life lament). After doing it with you, she settled you with an understanding gaze. “Just text him. Tell him you have an important appointment tomorrow and that you need him there with you.”

“And if he asks what it’s for?”

“I’d say you tell him that you’ll tell him when you see him or when you get there,” she advised. “But, I don’t think he’s the type of person to question when you’re being vulnerable like that. I’d bet you he just agrees to it, no questions asked– if he’s free, that is,” she winked. 

So, with her sitting there, you’d texted him and asked exactly what she’d told you to. The thing about having an “important appointment.”

And even though he hadn’t responded, you tried to not overthink it as you calmed down from telling your entire life story to your therapist.

When you’d pulled into the apartment complex, your stomach sank at the sight that greeted you. Your space was awaiting you, but Jake’s, next to yours, was empty. Per usual these days, his new purchase of a used car was not at home at the same time as you. Really, you’d gotten used to his lack of presence. But it always made you sadder than you wanted to admit. Because, well, you knew if he wasn’t at the studio or some rehearsal, he was most likely with Maya (you were awfully glad he didn’t bring her around the apartment too much, but still. . .your mind went crazy at the other prospects of what they were doing). 

But today, it was worse. You were sad for more than your assumptions about his whereabouts. Today, you desperately wanted to tell him thank you– wanted to fill him in on how it had gone so great. But he wasn’t there. Because you’d pushed him away (something that Gia told you you’d ‘navigate the reasoning for’).

So, as you trudged up the steps, instead of walking in to tell Jake, you just took time to relax as much as you could. And you figured a good way to do that was to give yourself a long ‘everything shower,’ with your most favorite R&B playlist playing as background noise. 

And when you’d gotten out, the screen that you opened your phone to was something that brought a swarm of anxiously joyous butterflies. Under his name, there was a ‘Yes, of course!’ from Josh. And below his text, was a notification for your next appointment with Gia. One week from today. 

Everything would be okay. It would. You recited this as you responded to him, deciding to try your best not to think of telling him until you absolutely had to tomorrow, after hitting send with a simple ‘thank you :)’.

You kept reciting that everything would ‘be okay’ as you put a hand to the firm little bump, growing steadily at the bottom of your tummy. And you contemplated as much as you were willing to, without reducing yourself to any more tears (you’d cried enough already for one day). Because now all you were going to be plagued with for the next several hours until your OB appointment was whether there was actually a baby in your growing belly. 

You then ate a giant salad (everything else you wanted to eat had made you feel nauseous as hell), as you’d watched Friends. Your thoughts were subdued, but still spiraled a tad. . .though, you took Gia’s advice and tried to slow them down to navigate each one with what you genuinely knew. There was nothing telling you that you weren’t with child besides your own convoluted mess of negative thought. More signs were pointing to that you still were. One piece of truth keeping you going was your growing belly. And even though bellies could still grow after miscarriage or in the case of hysterical pregnancy, the probability of that being your situation was very, very slim. Right?

You knew that. 

Before too long, you were standing in front of your vanity, braiding your wet hair and laying down to find rest much easier than many nights in recent times. . . the only thing that kept you up for a bit longer than you wanted was wondering why Jake hadn’t come home yet.

But, again, you knew it was none of your fucking business.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next afternoon had you waiting outside of your apartment as soon as Josh said he was about five minutes away. Your apartment had started to feel absolutely insufferable, closing in around you as your mind went crazy with scenarios.

The autumn day was lovely, sun shining, but warmer today than it’d been yet this season. With no breeze. And, the lack of breeze was not aiding in your already-sweaty palms, wet with nerves. Or your upset stomach—your current nausea induced by your anxiety more than the (hopeful) baby in your tummy.

Your stomach was fucking rolling as you waited for Josh to pull up to the complex. 

Dramatic as it may have sounded, you felt as if you were on the verge of a heatstroke when he eventually showed up in his little car, which was literally squeaking and creaking as it sat still. The exhaust emitted from the back of the car was enough to make you feel like you were actually going to blow chunks, and you instantly decided you could not ride thirty minutes to the clinic in his little hunk of metal.

Sending a quick text, you made up an excuse to take your car. To emphasize the text, you went ahead and started walking to your Jetta, parked in its usual spot.

You, 11:49 p.m.: I need to get gas… Can we take my car? 

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Of course.

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Are you ready?

You smiled, looking over to where he was still parked in his visitor space. His eyebrows crinkled in concentration to the device in his hand as he watched the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You, 11:51 p.m.: Yes, Joshua. I’m at my car and staring right at you.

As soon as he got the text, you waited for what you knew was coming. He looked up from his phone, through his windshield, and at you with a giant grin painted across his features. It didn’t take him long to get out of his car, lightly jogging as he came over to you. 

“You creep,” he smiled, slightly out of breath. “Peeking through my windows.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach started aching, yet again, at the prospect of what you were about to tell him. Honestly, at this point, you were just ready to get it over. The longer you kept it to yourself, the more you were worrying about it and his possible reaction. And the sooner you could just tell him, you’d see his honest, real reaction. . . and then you could deal with the rest from there. 

It also helped that his girlfriend and your certified therapist thought that it would go okay. They were the practical thinkers in this situation, whereas you were an overthinker to the highest degree. And, if you could just get it out–just fucking tell him–you could (hopefully) validate their predictions of how the situation would play out. 

“Am I driving or are you?” He asked, bringing your thoughts back to the present. 

To current Josh. Josh who didn’t know anything yet. Completely ignorant Josh. . . fuck. The last moments of keeping him in the dark.

“You,” was all you said before you unlocked the car and made your way to the passenger side. Once you were both inside, you handed him the keys as he started the engine.

Your stomach fucking dropped as he backed out of the space. . . what was about to come out would literally change you and Josh forever.

Would it be for good? Would it be for bad? If he was going to be mad at you, how long would he stay that way?

You couldn’t be upset with him if he got angry. For everything. Like distracting Jake when Josh had specifically told you he didn’t want that for his twin. Or for simply keeping this giant ass secret from him about it all. The more you thought about it, you thought that perhaps the reason you were so scared was because of how completely validated he would be if he did end up being pissed as hell with you. . .

But. . . you just couldn’t stand losing him. Especially at such a time as this. . . you needed him. 

And that’s why you just needed to fucking tell him. It was inevitable for him to find out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner you weren’t lying to him anymore. Because that’s exactly what you’d been doing. You’d been fucking lying. For months. To your best friend.

“So,” he began, excited–the complete opposite of how you were feeling. “Where are we going?” 

Plugging your phone into the CarPlay, you turned off Siri’s voice before you did anything since you didn’t want her blurting out your destination before you were ready to tell him. Once she was silenced, you pulled up the directions to the clinic you’d carefully chosen. 

You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.

You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”

Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.

He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction. 

Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm. 

And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail. 

So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs. 

In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”

And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.

The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway. 

And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.

Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach. 

Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.

You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).

And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each. 

Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?” 

“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder. 

“How did you–?”

“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”

You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea. 

The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness. 

“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.

Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”

His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”

You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”

Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.

His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”

I have to.

“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do. 

Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3

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[your-regular-toast-enjoyer]

Hello can i get headcanons for damian al ghul and garfield? How do they react to a reader who has the same ice powers as Frozen Elsa?

Damian Wayne and Garfield Logan x reader with Ice Powers

Damian Wayne x reader or Damian Wayne/reader

Garfield Logan x reader or Beastboy Wayne x reader

Word count: 3829 words

TW: GN reader, adult Damian Wayne (inspired and mostly based off of Damian in Batman beyond & Injustice 2: Gods among us), adult Garfield Logan, angst (kinda), fluff, Damian might be a TW of his own at this point...

Damian:

I imagine that you two met back in the Teen Titans, right when Damian just entered. Back then you were just kids and Damian was a well-known prick. You barely conversed for the first long while, the stories you heard from both Rachel (Raven) and Jaime (Blue beetle) made you nervous to be in the same room as the green-eyed Robin.

Damian was known for being wary of humans with powers above the natural, he had learned to not trust metahumans from his father, who had a well-known distaste for them. So, you considered it best to keep your distance from him lest he lashed out at you.

 Damian doesn’t notice or care much for you either in the beginning, but he does want to be a good superhero. To achieve that goal he has to at least know and, preferably, be able to work with all of his teammates, you included.

However, as Damian tries to approach you, he realises that his reputation precedes him. You leave the room as soon as he arrives, and any time he catches you alone, you’re quick to drag in Jaime or Koriand’r as a barrier between you two.

Damian doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant about not conversing with him and he gets angry at you for being unprofessional. He tries to look at your files through a copy of Koriand’r’s hard drive, (which he made as soon as he joined the Teen Titans), and he finds very little about you. You’re a meta human with ice abilities, nothing special there, your past is a bit murky, but ultimately nothing too out of the ordinary. He finds nothing that would pit the two of you as natural enemies. What is it that you dislike so much about him?

Damian doesn’t realise that his predisposition to be cautious of Meta humans and his aggressive personality has effectively scared you off.

It might take a few years of him slowly chipping away at your defences for the two of you to actually have a proper conversation, and when you finally do, I can imagine that it is after a harsh mission. 

Perhaps the mission was one of those where everyone’s lives hung by a thin thread, where one wrong move could mean the difference between life and death. You and Robin were the only ones with a chance of fighting back, the others were either held down or in such bad states that their survival afterwards wasn’t even guaranteed. You ran in with your ice powers, making slides, platforms and other useful props for Robin to use.

The two of you discover how well you actually work together. It’s not something anyone would have predicted, Damian’s aggressive attacks with his katana and your snow-themed meta abilities don’t seem like the perfect matchup. Like ketchup and ice cream, good individually but not together. Well, you were! You were a dream team, with you creating protective ice shields for Damian as he took the role of the more confrontational attacker, and together you managed to defeat the enemy which had taken down the entire rest of the team.

For the first time since getting to know each other, you both let down your guards. Damian practically runs to you after the fight, filled with so much adrenaline that he can barely contain himself as he wraps you up in a tight bone-crushing hug. You reciprocate it, so out of it and ecstatic you’ve saved your friends/second family that you don’t even remember why you were ever so apprehensive of Damian.

After the fight, the two of you slowly start to hang out around the Teen Titans tower, with and without the others. You gain a tradition of getting ice cream together every Saturday in one of the nearby parlours. Sometimes, Rachel and Jaime join you. When they do, you guys usually all go to your favourite restaurants and just relax, the four of you might be the least chaotic of the group… Although, but that's not saying a whole lot. However, it still creates an atmosphere of calmness, which ou all appreciate.

You would probably consider Damian your best friend after a while, and he feels the same way. You ironically end up becoming the person he trusts the very most on the team. Whenever there’s trouble, you two instinctively group together to solve it.

On a dark summer night, you and Damian open up to each other about your past. You pity his harsh upbringing and he makes you promise to never stop being his friend, you do, and he returns the promise. It feels nice to have someone who you can rely on, especially in a world so ever-changing as the vigilante circles.  

One day, on a holiday trip back to Gotham, Damian gets into a fight with his father. It’s over something stupid, but Bruce makes a big deal out of it since it’s his youngest son. Damian becomes so enraged that he rips off the Robin logo from his costume, throwing it in Bruce’s face, before vowing to return to his mother. His father doesn’t stop him, Dick tries to convince him to stay, but Damian is too filled with wrath to think clearly. He packs his stuff, takes Titus and leaves the Wayne manor full of negative emotions.

It isn’t until he has walked around half of Gotham, waiting for his mother, whom he knows is already aware of the fight, (the assassin she sent to spy on him wasn’t discreet enough to escape Damian’s peripheral gaze), that he realises he has no way to get back to the team after this. 

He calls you on a whim, he may not be able to bring the entire Teen Titans team, but maybe he’ll be able to bring you. 

You pick up his call immediately and Damian is relieved, even if you’re about to refuse the offer he’ll give, at least he gets to hear your voice one last time. The offer is, of course, to join him at the League of Assassins. He covers up the real reason behind his proposition with a bunch of excuses like, “Oh, the League could really use someone with Ice powers, it’s unbearably hot in Eth Alth'eban!” or “Yeah, you’re a great fighter and with your ice meta-ability, you could be a great asset to the league”.

Damian’s excuses are a waste of time, however. As soon as you hear Damian explain why he’s leaving, you’re on board. The Titans were getting a little boring anyway.

So, both of you leave for Eth Alth'eban. Talia is initially not too keen on Damian having brought his friend. She’s all too ready to throw you back to the Teen Titans. That is until Damian explains your ice powers to her. Then she relents, she’s still not appreciative of you, but she’ll let you stay, for her son’s sake.

You start to work for the League and Damian changes from Damian Wayne to Damian Al Ghul. It’s stressful for you in the beginning, it’s a new country, a new side of the fight and you’re so far removed from your friends at Teen Titans. You never regret your decision to join Damian, but sometimes you miss what once was. On top of that, you also come to realise that your ice powers have been weakened by the new climate, it takes you quite a while until you learn how to adapt. Once you do, though, you come to realise just how strong your powers have always been.

You and Damian don’t start to become anything romantic until you’ve both turned eighteen. At this point, Damian has become the new Demon’s head, and you’re right at his side… His right-hand man/woman/person.

It starts off as small romantic and cute gestures, which makes both of you feel butterflies eating your stomachs from the inside out. Damian picking a flower and tucking it behind your ear on a mission. You do all his paperwork for him one evening and tell him with a sticky note that you’ve drawn a heart. Him baking you Baklava on your birthday. They’re small gestures, but they’re invaluable to both of you. 

If any of the assassins or Talia gives you a hard time because of your powers, Damian will immediately back you up, verbally assault them and, (if they don’t back down), fight them on the spot. He doesn’t let anyone speak ill of you. If anyone ever voices discontent over your presence, Damian will take it as a personal insult.

When your romantic escapades have gone on for a while, Damian will start gifting you expensive gifts, (even if you don’t want them), it’s the Al Ghul way. 

Once Damian feels he has buttered you up well enough with gifts galore and all the sweet romantic gestures he can think of, he will finally ask you out. He doesn’t bother with dates and all that, you’ve known each other for years. For Damian, dates are for getting to know people, but you two already know each other in and out, so logically he’d skip that step, they’d just be a waste of time. 

Luckily for Damian, you like him too, so much so that you’re willing to skip all the steps one would usually take before calling someone their significant other.

It doesn’t take more than a year or two before Damian proposes to you. He’s afraid that you might regret a marriage with him, though, and he voices these concerns before letting you give him an answer. He looks a little pathetic as he sits on one knee on the sandy floors of the League’s barracks, ring in hand and listing all the reasons why it would be totally okay if you said no, but also attempting to convince you that he’ll do everything to not make that happen… You don’t doubt his words, you know Damian well enough to know that he’d never intentionally hurt you.

Your time spent engaged is short. Talia is horrified, at first, when she learns that you will be the one to carry the title of the Demon’s spouse, but she lets up once she starts to outweigh the pros and cons of other possible marriage candidates for her son. She will never think that you’re entirely good enough for her son, but given your strong meta-abilities, she’ll relent and even admit to you that you’re probably the best choice for her son. Don’t take her apprehension personally, it wouldn’t have mattered who you are, she simply doesn’t think anyone could ever be nearly good enough for her only son.

When you and Damian get married, you might invite your entire team to the wedding. I mean, just for one day you can bury the axe and forget that you and Damian are technically their enemies now, on what you once would’ve considered the bad side.

So, in conclusion. Damian and you would have a rocky start as a result of your powers, but you would slowly become inseparable. After your marriage, Damian would never be able to even consider a life without you.

Garfield Logan/Beast Boy:

I imagine that the two of you met while in Doom Patrol. Garfield had just lost his real parents and gotten adopted by Rita Farr (Elasti-girl) and Steve Dayton (Mento). He was in a rough place and with his meta-abilities growing at a fast pace, he was in desperate need of a friend his age. Well, you were the only one on Doom Patrol that wasn’t already an adult.

I can imagine that you had been picked up by the chief (the co-leader and advisor of the Doom Patrol) at an incredibly young age after you froze one of your family members to the point of near death. It was all an accident, of course. But your parent(s) realised that they couldn’t have you any longer after that. You were too powerful for them to handle.

You had been on Doom Patrol for a while when Garfield came along and you received him with open arms, happy to finally have someone your age to fight alongside. You two become fast friends, his chatty nature is hard to not be charmed by and he absolutely adored your personality. You helped him forget the tragedy that tore his birth parents from him, even if only for a moment and he is profoundly grateful for that.

When Mento goes insane as a result of prolonged exposure to his power helmet, joining the side of evil. Beast Boy is quick to pack his stuff, grab you and join the Teen Titans.

The breakdown of his adoptive father’s mental health is yet another blow to Garfield. First, both of his real parents died and now his adoptive father is insane and ready to kill him at any given moment. Still, in true Beast Boy fashion, he refuses to let anyone see him hurting, instead covering it up with an even more jovial attitude.

Sometimes though, late at night, he’ll knock on the door to your room. When you answer and let him in, closing the door behind you, he’ll break down and cry into your shoulder for hours. He feels like you and his adoptive mother are the only two people he has left. That is one of the reasons why he treasures you deeply. 

While on the Teen Titans, your ice-wielding abilities develop massively. Starfire is your natural sparring partner, after all, she can shoot out flames, powered by the sun itself. You’ll develop a great friendship with Koriand’r, which Garfield won’t admit that he’s a little jealous of. But he quickly gets over himself when he realises that what you and he have is unlike anything you could ever gain with the other Titans. 

You two know each other so well that you always order for each other in restaurants, with Garfield always throwing in a quick jab at whatever food you like. Still, he’ll both order and pay for you. As a matter of fact, I can see the two of you just sharing whatever money Rita sends Garfield and Chief sends you. The closest thing to a shared bank account for teens. 

Since Garfield’s adoptive mother, Rita, was an actress back before she joined Doom Patrol, the green boy has actually picked up on her skills pretty well, being a rather good actor himself. He’ll act out the scenes of your favourite movies, expecting you to recreate some of the props in ice so that he can truly reenact the scene. The other Titans find him a little odd for doing so, but you find it delightful, that’s just how Garfield is and you’ve always enjoyed his company.

Sometimes, Garfield might ask you to make an ice rink outside, in front of the Titans tower, especially around winter time. Then, he’ll tentatively drag you out on the ice. If you can’t ice skate, he’ll teach you patiently. If you do know how, he’ll start to race you from one side to another, for hours.

The thing about Garfield is that he has endless energy, especially back when you’re both still teens. He’s used to people finding it off-putting. However, you’ve grown up with him, and you can’t imagine a world where he’s any different. Garfield is so grateful that he can simply be himself around you without worrying about scaring you away. It's one of the things that bring you guys so close together. The fact that you’re both meta-humans just adds to this sense of comfort and solidarity he feels around you as well. The other Titans sometimes envy your relationship, the way you two always have each others’ back and the way that you will sometimes just make eye contact and, as if one of you told a silent joke, burst into loud laughter that breaks up any tension that might’ve been previously.

If you have any favourite animals, he’ll constantly turn into them, just to see you smile. There’s nothing he loves more than to make his best friends, you and cyborg, laugh and smile. It makes him feel accomplished... like he isn’t totally useless or a bad omen. On rainy days he loves to turn into a soft cat, a cute rabbit or any other fluffy animal, and then curl up on your lap, relaxing as the sound of rain pelts the many windows of the Titans Tower.

As you two grow up and become adults, Garfield slowly starts to feel magnetised by you. You’re not the first one he felt like this with, there was Terra and other brief crushes, but this one is the most intense he has had yet.  

Still, he is afraid of your reaction. What if you don’t like him like that? What if you go back to Doom Patrol just to get away from the awkwardness that would arrive if you don’t reciprocate his feelings? No! Garfield can’t risk losing you! You mean too much to him, you’re the only one who understands everything he feels! Losing you would be to lose his other half! … There’s also the slight fear that you might shoot icicles after him if he manages to offend you with his confession… He believes that if anyone would be able to do that, it would be him.

To cover up for his passionate crush on you, he’ll start acting goofier, and you’ll be none the wiser, (as explained before, he’s a great actor). He’ll also start to take up weirdly domestic habits like cooking for you, cleaning up both of your rooms and … sewing your suit back together after a fight? How in the world he learned that, you have no idea. It is these habits which tune you into the fact that something is off with him. You at first believe it to be a sort of coping mechanism. In reality, though, he’s trying to prove to you that he’d be a good boyfriend.

If you confront him about it, he might crack a little and admit that he simply likes you a lot and wants to help you in any way he can. I imagine that this is when you slowly start to see your old friend in a different light… Was he always that adorable? That good-looking? You never really noticed before.

Garfield will definitely be the one confessing his feelings first. It’ll be during the wind-down period after a particularly harsh mission. You and Beast Boy will be relaxing in your room, both playing video games. When you manage to beat Garfield, he pretends to accuse you of cheating. Even though you both know it’s just for fun, you still shoot a weak ice ray at his feet, in retaliation, causing him to stumble to the ground, dragging you down with him. 

You’ll end up colliding with his chest and Garfield will have turned into a big and squishy animal to soften your fall, perhaps a brown bear? … Well, a green bear. When he turns back into himself, you both realise how close your faces are. When you don’t pull away, Garfield will confess on accident. Something like him whispering “You’re so beautiful, you know?” Of course, you’ll end up a blushing mess with the way he simply doubles down and keeps complimenting you. You have no flaws in Garfield’s eyes, you were simply created to be the perfect example of a person.

At the end of his rant about how wonderful you are, Garfield will finally confess, asking if you would perhaps… just maybe…if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience… go out with him? He’ll rant about how he knows that his green skin might be a turn-off for you, how he knows he can be too energetic sometimes, and how he understands that he isn’t necessarily the most stable of people… But he’ll do his best to improve, he promises!

You cut his rant short, crashing your lips into his with a passion you weren’t even aware that you possessed. Garfield is so stunned that it takes him a good while to reciprocate, but when he does? Oh wow… You never realised how good of a kisser your best friend was… So good, in fact, that you totally forget to defrost his feet until he has to ask you to please do so before he gets major frostbites. You both laugh at that, but you concede to his request. After all, it’s probably not a good beginning to a romantic relationship to freeze off your boyfriend’s feet…

That’s how the two of you start going out with each other. Those in the team who have known you guys for years are not surprised in the least that you ended up together… They’re more astonished that it took so long.  

You two stay together as partners for years. When you turn too old to stay in the Teen Titans, you decide to venture out as heroes on your own… perhaps you’ll rejoin Rita and the others in the Doom Patrol, or perhaps you’ll do something entirely on your own, as long as you’re together, it doesn’t matter. But on your last day with the Titans, you notice how Garfield isn’t acting like he normally does. It makes you nervous for him, you know that you two are about to experience big changes in your lives, but you’ll do them together, so you thought he would be okay with it… 

Well, it turns out that your worries were unfounded because as you are about to raise a toast with your former teammates, Garfield drops down to one knee. At first, you’re unsure of what is happening, and your powers kick into gear, making the room freezingly cold, despite the warm weather outside. Then, Garfield pulls out a ring, asking you to marry him. The room’s temperature returns to normal, and without any thought given to your answer, you exclaim a loud “Yes!” quickly covering your mouth with both hands as you realise that you practically screamed it out.

Everyone is happy for the two of you, none more than Garfield’s adoptive mother, Rita Farr. When the green boy tells her the news, she cries uncontrollably from pure joy. She’ll hug you both close and congratulate you over and over, to the point where it’s almost a tad embarrassing.

Your wedding will be attended by all of your old teammates, the remaining members of the Doom Patrol and any other friends the two of you may have. It’s beautiful, and you both decided to do it during the winter, just as a quiet reference to your powers. It was Garfield’s idea. You thought it was a bit too mushy when he first suggested the idea, but it slowly grew on you, as you decorated the venue yourself with ice crystals and snowflake-inspired decorations galore. Rita helps hang everything up, she is after all Elasti-girl.

It’s a beautiful event and the two of you become a powerhouse within the vigilante circles, you’ll rarely see one without the other, and if any of your allies ever need help, they know they can count on the two of you.

#damian wayne x reader #beast boy x reader #garfield logan x reader #robin x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #beast boy #teen titans #batboys x reader #damian al ghul

[ichorai]

blueberries ; five.

pairing ; joey tribbiani x gn!reader x rachel green chapter synopsis ; the one with accidental love confessions, friendly one night stands, and marinara sauce. wc ; 10.0k warnings / includes ; talks of sex/suggestive content, cursing, ross is an asshole in this one, a tiny connor cameo, rachel is a mess </3 and joey finally Realizes how he feels !!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

“I’ll pay you back this time, I promise!” Joey begged, clasping his hands together with a pleading pout. 

With a sigh, Chandler pulled his wallet out, slapping a crisp, five dollar bill onto the table. “Yeah? Where’s all this money coming from, then?”

Lowering his voice, Joey leaned forward to whisper, “I’m helpin’ out at the NYU Med School with some… research.”

Obviously not whispering quietly enough, the entire group turned to him, interests piqued. 

“What kind of research?” you asked, which made Joey flinch and snap his head to you.

“Oh, uh… just… you know! Science, and stuff.”

The rest of you stared at him with skeptical expressions.

“Science?” parroted Ross. “Hm, don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

Relenting, Joey sank lower into the cafe’s seat. “Alright, alright—it’s a fertility study.”

Snorting, Monica chimed, “Please tell me you’re only donating your time.” The rest of you chuckled along with her.

“Come on, you guys, it’s not that big of a deal,” huffed Joey. “Really, I just go down there every other day and… make my contribution to the project. At the end of two weeks, I’ll get seven hundred bucks!”

“Wow,” said Phoebe. “You’re gonna be making money hand over fist!”

You choked on your sip of coffee, and Chandler had to sympathetically pound your back to get you to stop.

It was Rachel’s birthday, and you were in Monica’s kitchen, helping her chop up some vegetables for the birthday barbecue the group was throwing. Joey and Chandler strode in shortly after, reenacting cavemen with stupid accents. 

“Hey,” you interrupted, which made the two freeze mid-chest pound. “Your girlfriend called, Joe. She’s gonna be late.”

A couple days ago, Joey and Melanie started casually dating. Though, much to your dismay, he seemed to really like her. Not that you didn’t want Joey to be happy or anything… you just weren’t all that fond of Melanie. She was rather dull, if you had to put it bluntly. All she really seemed to care about were fruit baskets and, from what Joey’s told you, sex.

“How’s it going with her?” Phoebe queried. “Is she becoming your special someone?” 

A grin crossed over Joey’s features. “I don’t know, she’s… she’s pretty great!” 

“Yeah, pretty great with fruit baskets,” you mumbled under your breath, loud enough for Joey to catch.

“Sure, she can be a bit… one-dimensional, but it’s been going really well!” he defended, grabbing a piece of carrot from your cutting board and popping it into his mouth.

Monica grinned. “Yeah? What’s she think of your little science project?”

Joey scoffed at the notion. “You really think I’m gonna tell a girl I like that I’m also seein’ a cup?” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tough thing is, she really wants to have sex with me.”

Taking a swig of beer, Chandler sardonically noted, “Crazy bitch.”

You rolled your eyes. “She cornered me the other day asking if I’ve ever slept with you, you know.”

Stiffening, Joey tilted his head. “What? What did you say?”

“Obviously, I told her no!” you shot back. “I asked her why, and she said she thought we were together at one point and thereby assumed we’ve had sex, so she wanted my advice, because you always seemed to push her away.”

The Italian crossed his arms in thought. “Huh. Weird.”

“Hm, I wonder why she thought the two of you were together at one point,” Chandler postulated, staring pointedly at Joey. 

“What happened then?” Phoebe asked.

“What do you think happened?” you sighed, washing your hands off and flicking the excess water away once you were done chopping up the vegetables. “She sent me a fruit basket.”

The two girls snickered.

“Hey, why haven’t you slept with her yet?” Monica tilted her head at Joey. “Normally, you don’t last the first night with someone you’re going out with.”

“Well, I’ve still got a week left to go on the program, and according to the rules, if I want to get the money, I’m not allowed to conduct any personal experiments, if you know what I mean,” he said.

Twisting her face with disgust, Monica shook her head. “Joey, we always know what you mean.”

A part of you wanted to say that having sex really didn’t affect sperm count in the long run—you’d known thanks to an ex-boyfriend of yours who had been a urologist—but, much to your surprise, you bit your tongue and withheld the information. 

Chandler and Joey were off to the balcony to start the grill’s fire, and not long after, Ross appeared through the door, looking despondent. He was clutching a large bag that looked nearly twice your weight.

“Woah,” said Phoebe. “How long did you think this barbecue was going to last?”

The tall man blew out a long exhale. “I’m going to China,” he mumbled, setting the bag down with a loud thud.

“What?” his sister asked. “You’re going to China?”

“It’s for the museum!” replied Ross. “Someone found a bone, we want the bone, and they don’t want us to have the bone—so I’m going to try to persuade them to give it to us—really, it’s a whole big boner thing. I shouldn’t have said boner. You get what I mean.”

Narrowing your eyes, you hummed, “Maybe if they found it in China, don’t you think it should stay there with the Chinese? I mean, it’s rightfully theirs.”

Ross was about to counter, mouth hanging open, but found no words to argue with.

You rolled your eyes. “Gosh, Ross, you’ll be just as bad as the British Museum stealing from people of color. Way to go.”

You turned, about to march away from him, but he called out after you, “I’m gonna be gone for a week! Won’t you at least say goodbye?”

“Bye!” you barked out, striding out to the balcony with Chandler and Joey.

“Hey, you okay? You look all…” Chandler trailed off to impersonate a snarl and raised his hands to form claws. 

“Charming as ever, my dear Chandler. It’s a wonder you’re still single,” you mock-sighed dreamily, leaning against him and batting your eyelashes. The two of you laughed, and you pulled away. “Ross is going to China.”

Joey’s eyebrows rose. “The country?”

“No, the broken pile of dishes in his mom’s yard,” Chandler sarcastically quipped. 

“Yeah, and he’s being a real dick,” you muttered, crossing your arms. 

It was then that Ross peeked his head through the window, stepping out with mild difficulty due to his gangly limbs. 

“Did Y/N tell you guys I’m going to China?” he asked, which earned him a sharp glare from you. The other two men nodded their heads. “Also, do you guys know who Carl is?”

“Hm, let’s see—Alvin, Simon, Theodore… nope, ‘fraid I don’t know him,” said Chandler.

Ross pulled a sour face. “Apparently Rachel’s out having drinks with him.”

“Oh, no, how can she do that when she’s never shown any interest in you whatsoever?” said Joey, and you high-fived him with an amused chortle.

Sick of Ross moping around and pining over Rachel, Chandler admonished, “Just forget about her, man! You’ve been stuck in the friendzone for way too long for anything to happen.”

“He’s right,” added Joey. “Please, just move on. Go to China, eat Chinese food!”

“I don’t know… I guess I have no choice,” Ross lamented, fiddling with the small, wrapped gift. “Listen, Y/N, I know you’re pissed at me, but will you please make sure Rachel gets this? And that she knows it’s from me?”

Rolling your eyes, you snatched the gift from him and tucked it safely into the pockets of your baggy jeans, refusing to meet his gaze. “When does your plane leave?”

“In two hours, but I should get going now if I wanna catch it.”

“Well, bye then. Travel safely.”

“I don’t want to leave knowing you’re mad—”

You blew out a deep sigh. “It’s fine, Ross. Just go. We’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t—”

“Just go!” the other two guys exclaimed, shooing Ross out. The taller man relented, and climbed back into the apartment. 

Joey wrapped his arms around you from behind, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable. Sure, it was alright when he wasn’t dating anyone but now, knowing that he was doing this with you when he had a girlfriend he very much liked—it made your chest feel tight, like a large stone was weighing down on your lungs. 

“Yikes, that was hard to watch. Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he said, amused.

“You have, Joey.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side again,” he clarified. 

Clearing his throat, Chandler propped his hands on his hips. “Hey, lovebirds. Are we going to get the fire started, or what?”

“Anyway, that’s when me and my friends started this fruit-basket business!” explained Joey’s girlfriend, who was precariously perched on his lap and gesturing wildly with her hands. “We call ourselves The Three Basketeers.”

Awkwardly, the rest of you let out a couple of forced chuckles. You had to swallow down the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Can we open my presents now?” Rachel whined, bouncing in her spot with excitement. Normally, you would’ve wanted to have dinner first and save presents for last, but you were eager to get away from the topic of fruit baskets. 

The group headed over to the couches, but you held Joey back, a small smile across your lips. 

“Hold on there, hot shot. How’s it going, how are you holding up with Melanie?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Joey winced. “Ugh, not so good, to be honest. She thinks tonight’s the night we’re gonna complete the transaction, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean, Jo,” you bit out, rolling your eyes. “Well, have you ever thought about… you know, just giving instead of receiving?”

There was a brief moment of silence. “What do you mean?” His voice lowered, and he leaned closer to you.

Cocking an eyebrow, you whispered, “Well, there’s oral, there’s fingering, there’s thigh riding… toys work too, if you’ve got any of those. Which, if you don’t, I know for a fact Chandler has some.”

The man across from you ogled you with wide eyes. “Oh. Oh.”

“Just think about it, okay? I promise, she’ll be completely smitten with you by the time you’re done.” 

You were just about to head to the couches to watch Rachel open her gifts before he loosely caught your wrist.

“Thanks,” he said, wholly sincere. You smiled at him, patting his cheek affectionately, before heading off. A second later, he called out, “Wait, why do you know that Chandler has sex toys?!”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess here,” said the birthday girl, holding a fruit basket, “this is from Melanie?”

Joey’s girlfriend clapped excitedly, just about to launch into a tirade about the perfectly curated fruits she had selected, but was promptly interrupted when Rachel grabbed another gift.

“Ooh, this one’s light. It rattles… it’s—” She pulled a box out of the bag. “Travel scrabble.” 

Joey and Chandler grinned at each other, but you could already see the disappointment in Rachel’s eyes.

“Thanks,” she said, dryly, before shoving the box to the side, much to Chandler’s dismay.

The rest of the presents were opened one by one—Monica had gotten Rachel a cute blouse that you just knew she would return for a different piece later, Phoebe got her about a dozen charm bracelets, claiming she didn’t know which one Rachel would like the most, so she just got her all of them, and Joey got her a Dr. Seuss book, much to her dismay. Rachel got around to your bag, which held a pack of scented candles, and bundles of fairy lights for her to hang in her room. 

She looked pretty happy with those, which made you sigh out in relief. Rachel was a bit hard to get gifts for, considering she already had practically everything.

Finally, you pulled out Ross’ gift from your pocket, handing it to her. “Here, Rach. This is from Ross.”

The brunette grinned, tearing the little package open thinking it’d be something nerdy, like a magnifying glass or a miniature dinosaur figure from the museum. 

“Oh, my God,” she said when she finally opened it. “He remembered!”

You peered over to see a large, bejeweled pin held precariously between her fingers.

“Remembered what?” Phoebe asked.

“It was like, months ago, we were walking by this antique store, and I saw this exact pin in the window and I told him it was just like the one my grandmother had when I was a little girl—and… oh, I just can’t believe he got it for me!” 

Chandler scoffed. “Sure, it’s nice, but can you play it on a plane?” he drummed his hands along the Travel Scrabble box, before sinking further into his seat when you glared at him.

“Oh, it’s so pretty,” Phoebe chimed when Rachel reached out to give her a closer look. “That must’ve cost him a fortune!”

“I can’t believe he got you that,” said Monica.

“What, Ross? Remember in college when he fell in love with Carol and bought her that ridiculously expensive crystal duck?” Chandler commented, completely unaware of what he’d just said.

The rest of you stared at him with wide eyes.

“What did you just say?” whispered Rachel.

It took a second for Chandler to realize where he’d gone wrong. He sat upright, spluttering and coughing out simultaneously, “Crystal duck?”

“No,” Rachel said. “No, no… the, uhm, the ‘love’ part?”

Chandler struggled to find his tongue, eventually giving up and sinking his face into his hands.

“Oh, my God,” Rachel softly whispered. “This is just… this is unbelievable! I just—I can’t believe Ross is… oh, my God. This is huge.”

“No, it’s not! It’s small, it’s tiny, it’s petite, it’s wee!” Chandler pleaded, trying to get her to calm down. 

“I think this is so great,” said Monica, clasping her hands together. “I mean, you and Ross! Did you have any idea?”

Still stunned, Rachel shook her head. “No, none at all. I mean, my first night in the city, he mentioned something about asking me out, but nothing ever happened, so I just…” She turned to you. “What else did he say? Does he want to go out with me?”

“Considering that he’s desperately in love with you, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that he wouldn’t mind getting a cup of coffee, or something,” you replied, grasping her shoulders. “Listen, Rachel, don’t freak out about this. Take some time to think it over, and you can talk to Ross when he gets back.”

All of a sudden, she jerked away from you, standing up. “What do you mean when he gets back? Where is he? I need to talk to him!”

“He’s in China!” Chandler stepped in. 

“The country,” Joey clarified.

Checking the flight information, Monica told her, “His flight doesn’t leave for another forty-five minutes.”

“What about the time difference?” cried Chandler, desperate to keep Rachel from confronting Ross, knowing that it was his fault that she knew in the first place.

“From here to the airport?” you asked, scoffing. “Rachel, he’ll be back in a week—that’s basically nothing! Just take this time to think it over—”

Already determinedly striding to the door, Rachel called over her shoulder, “I have to try and get to him before he goes. It’s just… too big to not talk about right now.”

“What are you gonna say?” asked Monica.

“I don’t know!” she replied, breathless.

Though you were still quite pissed with Ross, you put a hand on Rachel’s forearm. “Honey, if you’re going to break his heart, that can wait until after he’s back.”

Rachel’s eyes met yours, uncertain. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “Maybe I’ll know when I see him. All I know is that I can’t wait a week. This is just too big of something to sit on.”

More protests were on the tip of your tongue, but you held them down, well aware that your words would only fall upon deaf ears.

She already had a foot out the door when Chandler screamed, “Rachel, I love you! Deal with me first!”

Exasperated, Rachel huffed out a sigh, and stomped out the door, on her way to go see Ross.

She didn’t make it. 

Ross had already gotten on the plane by the time Rachel arrived at the airport.

When she got back, Chandler and Joey and Melanie had already left, leaving just you, Phoebe, and Monica in the apartment. Monica had asked her again what she was planning on telling him when he got back. When Rachel finally admitted that the idea of dating Ross sounded really nice, Monica jumped up to wrap her arms around her, smiling widely.

“Oh, we’d be like friends-in-law!” she exclaimed, beaming. “The best part is that you already know everything about him! It’s like starting out on the fifteenth date.”

Phoebe countered, “Well, at the fifteenth date, you’re already in such a relationship-y place. You’re super committed at that point. You know, what happens if it doesn’t work out?”

“Why isn’t it working out?” Monica shot back, bristling. “Is he not cute enough for you? Does he not make enough money? Is there someone else?”

Rachel opened and closed her mouth several times, flubbering for words, before placatingly placing her hands on Monica’s shoulders. “Okay, Mon, you need to calm down. No, there is no one else.” Taking a pause, she looked to you. “Y/N, you’re the closest to Ross out of all of us. What do you think?”

Surprised at the sudden question, you could only offer her a gentle suggestion. “Rach, as much as I love the idea of two of my friends getting together—I just don’t think it’d be a good idea. Obviously, if you like him, you should go for it, but… think about it. You wouldn’t even be thinking twice about dating him if Chandler hadn’t let it slip that he loved you. Just think about your own feelings towards him—don’t get with him just because he loves you. That’s not fair to either of you.”

Though that wasn’t the answer that she was probably looking for, Rachel nodded, pursing her lips to the side. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Y/N. I’ll think about it.” She stood up, teeth worrying into her bottom lip. “I’m gonna go to bed now. Thank you for the party and the gifts, guys.”

With that, she turned and strode back into her room, softly shutting the door behind her.

“It was amazing!” Joey gushed, thanking you profusely. “That thing you told me about thigh-riding! Man, oh man!”

You huffed, setting down the sandwich you were having, not feeling very hungry anymore. “Too much information, Joe. I’m eating here!”

Your complaint falling upon deaf ears, he carried on, “It was just amazing. Not just for her—for me, too. It’s like, all of a sudden, I’m blind, but all my other senses are heightened, you know? It’s like I was able to appreciate it on another level.”

From beside you, Chandler snorted into his coffee. “I didn’t even know you had another level.”

“I know!” Joey exclaimed. “Neither did I! Say, Y/N, you have any more advice for me?”

If you went back in time a year ago and told your past-self that Joey Tribbiani came to you for sex advice, you would’ve laughed right in your future-self’s face. 

“Praise goes a long way,” you said, absentmindedly toying with the bread of your sandwich. “Or degrade her, if she likes it better that way. A little hand action and some sweet talk is very effective. Now, can we stop talking about sex? I’m trying to have my lunch here!”

A week passed by in a breeze. You were in Monica’s apartment, listening to Joey and Chandler rave about the haircuts Phoebe had given them. 

“You look nice,” you told Joey, reaching over to trace the freshly-cut strands. “Though, I do have to say that I’ll miss the long hair.”

“I’ll grow it out for you,” he promised, grasping your hand within his. 

The door swung open then, and in tumbled an out-of-breath Rachel, who had a zebra-print plaster over her forehead. 

“Airport! Airport!” she screeched, panting. “Ross… not alone! Julie—arm around her! Flowers! Oh, cramp! Cramp!” She clutched her side and doubled over in pain. 

“Okay, I think she’s trying to tell us something!” Chandler sarcastically told the rest of the group. You shoved him to the side with a roll of your eyes and made your way to Rachel, gently asking if she was alright. 

Completely ignoring your question, Rachel pointed an accusing finger at Chandler, jabbing it into his chest. “You said he liked me!” she shrieked. “You… you—!”

As if on cue, Ross strode into the open apartment, large bag in hand, and a woman on the other. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Why’d you run up so fast, Rach?” asked Ross, laughing slightly. 

“I, uhm… I thought we were racing?” she replied, eye visibly twitching. You patted her shoulder sympathetically.

Shrugging off the weird response, Ross greeted the rest of you, giving his sister a hug, clapped Joey and Chandler on the backs, and gave Phoebe a kiss on the cheek. He stopped in front of you, spreading his arms sheepishly.

Though the two of you separated on not-so-great terms, you didn’t have the heart to be angry at him for an entire week.

You stepped forward and gave him a brief embrace, before pulling away and patting his cheek with a little more force than necessary.

“You still mad at me?” he asked, looking genuinely uncertain.

“When am I not, Ross?” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s good to have you back.”

He smiled in relief, before stepping away to introduce his new girlfriend, wrapping an arm around her. “Okay, everyone, this is Julie.”

The rest of you chimed your hellos, though not without sending worried glances to Rachel.

“Hi,” said Julie, smiling tiredly. “But I’m not here, you haven’t met me. I’ll make a much better first impression tomorrow when I don’t have twenty hours of cab and plane on me.”

“And bus!” Ross added.

“Oh, my God, right? The spitting guy, and the screaming… it was terrible!”

“Yeah, you guys have to hear this story,” said Ross.

Julie nodded emphatically. “Right, we’re on this bus that’s easily two-hundred years old. And this guy—”

“And the chicken poops in her lap,” Rachel interrupted, deadpan. 

Everybody stared at her, mildly confused. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the brunette said, looking shocked at herself. “I just gave away the ending, didn’t I? Oh, it’s just that I heard this story in the cab, like, three times and it’s all I can think about.” She grimaced, turning to rest her forehead against your shoulder in embarrassment.

In an effort to divert the attention away from Rachel, Monica clapped her hands. “Wow, this is… how did this happen, Ross?”

“Oh, Ross and I were in grad school together!” said Julie, brightening at the memory.

“But we haven’t seen each other since then. Well, I land in China, and guess who’s in charge of the dig?”

“Julie!” Rachel exclaimed, a strained edge to her voice. “I mean, isn’t that just hit-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?”

The couple stared at her strangely.

“It’s an inside joke,” you awkwardly chuckled, waving it away with a convincing grin. 

“Alright, well, we’re gonna go see the baby,” said Ross. 

Julie hummed in agreement. “Then we gotta get some sleep. I’m exhausted!”

“Yeah, it’s really six o’clock tomorrow night our time.”

The couple bid their goodbyes, before heading out the door. 

Rachel let out a soft exhale, and you roped her into a proper hug, stroking the back of her head comfortingly. 

“Hey, does anybody know a good tailor?” asked Chandler as he ambled into Monica’s apartment. 

“You need some clothes altered?” said Joey, aimlessly flipping through a magazine on the couch, resting his head in your lap. He’d recently been more clingy because he’d broken up with Melanie the day before. According to him, all she really ever talked about were fruit baskets—which were his words, not yours. Though, you were thinking the same thing.

Chandler huffed, “No, no, I’m just looking for a man to draw on me with chalk,” he deadpanned. 

Lifting his head slightly, Joey peered over the couch to look at his roommate. “Why don’t you go see Frankie? My family’s been going to him forever. He did my first suit when I was fifteen. No, wait, sorry. Sixteen. No—fifteen. No!” He looked to you, brows furrowed. “When was 1990 again?”

Chandler snorted, gesturing to his ears. “Okay, buddy, you have to stop the q-tip when there’s resistance!”

From across the room, Ross was on the phone with his new girlfriend he seemed completely smitten with, much to Rachel’s dismay. Rachel visibly rolled her eyes when Ross cooed lovingly into the phone, before getting up and storming into the kitchen. You and Joey locked eyes, before hurrying after her, not wanting to miss out on any drama.

“How is this happening to me?” the brunette softly cried to Monica. “A week ago, Ross was just Ross—he was just this guy! Now, all of a sudden, he’s… he’s Ross! This really great guy that I can’t have.”

Sympathetic, Monica placed an arm over her roommate’s shoulder. As if on cue, Ross came strolling into the kitchen to grab a banana from the fruit bowl, phone wedged between his shoulder and the side of his head, making gross kissing noises. 

Rachel bolted up, squaring her jaw.

“I gotta get out of here,” she bit out, before grabbing her bag and striding right out the door. 

“Okay, I don’t care what you guys say, but something’s bothering her!” Chandler sarcastically quipped.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way to the door. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“Hey,” you said, gently brushing your fingers against Rachel’s shoulder to alert her of your presence. She was sitting on the apartment building’s short stairs, hunched over her knees as she hugged them against her chest. She turned to look at you, a forlorn expression melded over her features. Softening, you tugged her into a hug, rubbing your palm up and down her back. “I’m sorry, Rach. I wish I could do something to help. You wanna talk about it?”

When she pulled away, her eyes were glassy with a thin, warbling film of unshed tears.

“I just… I don’t know what’s going on with me, you know? I never really thought about Ross in that way and the one time I do… he’s with someone else and it hurts. When I saw Ross get off that plane with her, I really thought I’d just hit rock bottom. And you know how people always tell you that it gets better? Well, today I feel more shitty than I did the day before.” Rachel buried her face into her palms, tears streaking down her cheeks. 

“Oh, honey, why don’t you just tell him?” you asked. “He’s barely been with Julie for two weeks, and that’s nothing compared to how long Ross has been in love with you.”

Rachel let out a long sigh, lifting her damp face away from her hands. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just so confused. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” you said softly, moving closer to rope your arm over her shoulders, and pressed a gentle kiss to her warm forehead. “What do you say you come over to my place and we watch a movie, hm? I’ll let you pick.”

“Can we watch The Princess Bride?”

“Sure,” you said, taking her hands to pull her up with you. “Whatever you want.”

It shouldn’t have happened.

One moment, the two of you were cuddled up on your couch, preening over how good Westley looked, and the other, Rachel was on top of you, her lips frantically moving against yours. 

It was your fault, really. Rachel was vulnerable, and obviously needed a distraction, and so, like a fool, you let her use you as one. You let her unbutton your shirt. You let her desperately tug against your hair. You let her kiss you, and you let her shove you into your bedroom.

 At one point, you managed to pull away for a second, breathless and entirely conflicted about the situation. She looked so beautiful spread over the sheets of your bed, and it made your heart sink at the thought that she wasn’t doing this because she really wanted to—she was doing this because she was looking for something to make her forget. Even for just a little bit. “Rach, don’t you think we should slow down a bit? I know you’re hurting, but—”

She shook her head firmly, roping her arms over your neck and yanking you back down, kissing you hard. You froze against her, and the brunette sighed against you. 

“Please?” she whispered, all soft and broken and devastating.

You could practically feel yourself caving. 

No more words were exchanged. 

You leaned back down to kiss her.

It was the next day. You were still sleeping in bed, most likely exhausted from all the activities you’d been up to the night before, and Rachel slipped out as soon as she’d woken up beside you. Naked and aching. Oh, what has she done?

Rachel winced as she tried to quietly open the door to Monica’s apartment, but it creaked, alerting everybody of her return. She was only grateful that Ross wasn’t there—probably off canoodling with his new girlfriend.

Monica’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God, Rachel, what happened? I was worried sick about you! Where’d you go last night?” After another moment, she narrowed her eyes, surveying her roommate’s disheveled appearance. “You slept with somebody, didn’t you?”

Clearing her throat, Rachel straightened her posture, pointedly ignoring Monica’s question. “I stayed over at Y/N’s place. Is there something wrong with that?”

At first, Monica nodded, relieved. “Oh, okay,” she said. Another second past, and her eyes widened, just about bugging out of her head at the realization. “Wait, you didn’t say no to my question. OH, MY GOD!”

From the couches, Joey turned his head at the commotion. “What’s going on?”

“RACHEL AND Y/N SLEPT TOGETHER!” shrieked Monica. Rachel fruitlessly tried to shush her, spewing out that it wasn’t that big of a deal and that it was a mistake.

From behind the closed bathroom door, Chandler’s voice echoed, “WHAT? RACHEL AND Y/N SLEPT TOGETHER?!” He came out a moment later, face colored red with shock.

Rachel pulled at the skin of her face in frustration and faced all her friends as they expectantly watched her, waiting for an explanation.

“How did this happen?” demanded Joey, seeming lost. “I thought you were… you were… Ross…”

“I am,” sighed Rachel, massaging her pulsing temples. “It was a mistake. A really wonderful one, sure, but still a mistake. Y/N was being so nice and it just happened, okay? I was the one that kissed them—so Y/N wasn’t taking advantage of me or anything. They tried to stop me at one point and I—I don’t know, I asked if we could keep going and Y/N gave in.” Her cheeks colored hotly at the memory. 

The rest of them stared at her, speechless.

“Where is Y/N?” asked Joey, crossing his arms.

“Still sleeping,” whispered Rachel, feeling ashamed of herself. “I’m gonna go get changed. Excuse me.”

She left in a hurry, leaving the rest of them puzzled and unsure of what to make of things.

“So, you and Rachel, huh?” Joey leaned against your kitchen counter as you fixed yourself (and him) a sandwich, raising his eyebrows. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was a one night stand, Joey—a fling, if you will. You know that better than anybody.”

“Yeah, but it’s different,” he said, grabbing half of the cut sandwich and taking a large bite. “Because you were friends with her before. Don’t you think it’ll be weird going back to being friends?”

A part of you was a bit worried that Rachel would act weird about it, but you personally didn’t really see a problem with it—you knew Rachel had feelings for Ross and you didn’t want to get in the way of that any more than you already have.

“It’ll be fine,” you reassured him, bumping the side of your hip against his. “We’re both mature adults—besides, I love Rachel too much to let this ruin our friendship.”

With a teasing hum, Joey leaned in closer to you. “Oh, yeah? Do you love me enough to sleep with me and not let it ruin our friendship?”

With a scoff, you patted his chest and walked away, sandwich wedged between your teeth as you called out, “In your dreams, Tribbiani.”

Rachel showed up to your apartment again the next night, promising not to make any advances on you this time. She apologized profusely and the two of you had talked it out. It ended in tears (Rachel) and yawns (you) because it was way too late for you to get emotional. The two of you hugged it out, promising each other that this wouldn’t get weird, and before you knew it, she was getting up to go back.

“Oh, just so you know,” she said, hanging halfway out your doorway, “you’re really great in bed.”

Surprise colored your expression when she dipped forward to kiss you softly on the cheek, and sauntered away, humming gently under her breath. You blinked, before rubbing your fists into your eyes.

“I really need to get some sleep,” you thought to yourself dazedly, partially wondering if this was a dream.

“This is unbelievable, Pheebs. How can you be married?” Joey asked the blonde from Monica’s dining table.

Patting his shoulder you began to say, “See, Joe, when two people love each other very much—” You cut yourself off with a laugh when he began swatting at you, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well, I’m not, like, married married. He was just a friend, and he’s gay! He’s from Canada, and he just needed a green card,” Phoebe defensively stated. 

Monica shook her head. “I can’t believe you married Duncan. How could you not tell me! I mean, we lived together—we told each other everything!”

“Sorry, Mon, but if I told you, you would’ve gotten super judgemental and you wouldn’t have approved!”

Your raven-headed friend’s voice began to grow shrill as she said, “Of course I wouldn’t have approved! You were totally in love with this guy, who, hello, was gay! I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

From across the table, Ross snorted. “See, Pheebs, and you thought she’d be judgemental.”

“Okay, I wasn’t in love with him, I was just helping out a friend!”

Accusingly, Monica shot back, “Please, when he left town, you stayed in your pajamas for a month! And I saw you eat a cheeseburger!”

The rest of you gasped. 

“Phoebe, is that true?” Rachel asked, aghast.

Avoiding eye contact, the blonde poured herself a cup of tea. “I might’ve.”

“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” said Monica. “Getting married is a big thing!”

Narrowing her eyes, Phoebe retorted, “Oh, come on. As if you tell me everything?”

“What have I not told you?” challenged Monica.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about the fact that the underwear out there on the telephone pole is yours from when you were having sex with Fun Bobby out on the terrace!” Phoebe exclaimed, pointing out the window. 

The rest of you rushed to press your faces into the glass, eager to see what she was on about. 

Offended, Monica slapped Chandler on the arm. “You told her?!”

Recoiling, Chandler bit out, “I didn’t know it was a big secret!”

“Oh, no of course not—at least not as big as having a third nipple!” she screeched, which brought all of your attention away from the underwear dangling outside to Chandler, who was tomato-faced and grimacing. 

“You have a third nipple?” asked Phoebe.

“You bitch,” Chandler hissed to Monica, who only stuck her tongue out childishly.

Excited, Ross exclaimed, “Whip it out, Chandler!”

“Ew, guys! There’s nothing to see, it’s just a tiny bump, it’s totally useless!” He rounded to the living room to put some distance between the rest of you, but you all followed behind him anyways.

Cocking your head, you sarcastically put forth, “Right, as opposed to your other multifunctional nipples!”

“I can’t believe you! You told me it was a nubbin,” said Joey. 

“Joe, what did you think a nubbin was?” Ross responded.

“I don’t know—you see something, you hear a word—I thought that’s what it was! Let me see it again, Chandler—”

Desperate to divert the attention away from him, Chandler pointed a finger at you. “Y/N and Rachel slept together!”

Most of the group waved him away, having already known that fact, but Ross blanched, eyes darting between you and Rachel.

“What?” he said. “You… you—you slept with her?” he said, an accusing lilt to his tone, bordering on anger. You blinked, brows creasing. 

“Yeah,” you carefully said. “It was one time. We’re both grown adults, Ross, we’re allowed to do whatever we want to each other. Besides, you’re with Julie. What’s got your pickle in such a twist?” 

Ross was close to belittling you, wanting to ask how could you? You know that I was in love with Rachel.

But he didn’t, because Rachel was right there, watching the two of you with worried eyes. And you were right—Rachel wasn’t his property. She was free to sleep with whoever she wanted, which included you. Not even mentioning that he had a girlfriend right now and had no right to be jealous for someone he wasn’t even dating.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You gonna drop it, Ross? Or is this gonna be a problem?”

“Nope. No problem,” Ross chuckled hoarsely, clearly having a problem with it. 

Satisfied, you rolled your shoulders back and sent Chandler a withering glare. “Alright… since we’re dragging other people into this—Joey was in a porno!”

The group gasped at your revelation. 

Jaw dropping, Joey glared at you with wide eyes, as if to say, how could you?

Chandler guffawed, clapping his hands together, relishing the chaos. “Yeah, that’s right! If I’m going down, I’m taking everybody with me!” This earned him a cuff to the back of his head, and he turned, only to cower away from your burning stare.

“Oh, my God! You were in a porno?” squawked Phoebe.

“Tell us about it, tell us about it!” chimed Monica.

Waving them away, Joey was quick to say, “Alright, alright! I was young and I just wanted a job, okay? But at the last minute, I couldn’t go through with it—my uh… my thing got stage fright, see? So they let me be the guy who comes in to fix the copier but can’t because—well, because there’s people havin’ sex on it.”

You snorted. “Never gets old.”

“That’s wild!” said Rachel. Then, she promptly turned back to Chandler, pointing at his chest. “So, what’s it shaped like?”

It was around a week later—and you strode into Monica’s apartment, exhausted from working a full day in the lab, only to be met by three squealing women with sloshing glasses of wine.

“Ross and Rachel kissed!” exclaimed Monica, flushed a bright shade of pink and grinning widely. 

Your eyes widened. “What? Oh, my God… uhm, congrats?” you tentatively said, judging from their gleeful celebratory expressions. “What about Julie?”

The drunken atmosphere seemed to dwindle away at your question. Rachel sat up straight, expression crumbling. “Right… Julie…” 

You strode to her and wrapped her into a warm embrace. There was so much that you wanted to stay, but you bit down on your tongue and just held her all the tighter.

The next day, you had to watch the excruciating exchange between Julie and Ross—the former having no clue about the kiss, and the latter looking as guilty as a child caught stealing cookies.

You decided you wanted no part in it, despite both Ross and Rachel constantly asking you for advice.

“This is like a complete nightmare!” Ross stressed from the privacy of Chandler’s apartment, pacing back and forth in front of the tv. 

Rolling his eyes, Chandler sardonically bit out, “Oh, I know, it must be so hard having two women in love with you! They’re both gorgeous, my wallet’s too small for my fifties, and my diamond shoes are too tight!”

The taller man glared at him, crossing his arms.

“Listen, Ross, I got two words for you,” interjected Joey, holding up two fingers. “Threesome!”

You pinched his cheek with a scoff of a laugh. “That’s one word.”

“This isn’t helping!” Ross practically screeched. “Y/N, come on, you’re the most sensible out of all of us. Help me! What do I do?”

Feeling a bit guilty, you just shook your head. “Ross, either way, you’re going to hurt someone. You have two options—you break up with Julie and you get with Rachel, or you get firm with Rachel and tell her you’re staying with Julie. There’s no secret third option, because that’ll only lead to even more disaster and you’ll end up losing them both. Just don’t be a dick to either of them, okay? I care about Rachel a lot, and I don’t want to see her hurt because of you.”

Ross blinked at you. “So what I’m hearing is… Rachel?”

Throwing your hands up in the air, you wrinkled your nose at him in disgust, furrowing your brows. “Ugh, no! Damn it, Ross—”

“Let’s be logical about this,” interjected Chandler. “We’ll make a list—pros and cons for both Rachel and Julie.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s a terrible idea. Why are you treating them like objects for bartering?”

Huffing, Ross merely shook his head. “It’s not a half-bad idea, though. Might help me make a smart choice.”

“Great!” exclaimed Chandler. “Let’s start with the cons—Rachel first.”

Ross’ expression twisted hesitantly. “I don’t know… I guess you could say she’s a little spoiled sometimes. And you know, sometimes she’s a little ditzy—and I’ve seen her be a little too into her looks. Julie and I—we have a lot in common because we’re both paleontologists, but you know, Rachel’s just… she’s a waitress.”

Disgusted, you scoffed. “God, you’re such an asshole, Ross. Are you serious? The nerve of you…” you trailed off, pushing yourself away from Joey’s side to grab your coat on the back of the couch, already heading for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” asked Joey. “Y/N, come back, he doesn’t mean it!” Pointedly, Joey jabbed Ross in the side, but he just guiltily looked to the ground.

“Fuck you, Ross. She’s my friend too, you know. Shame on you two, as well,” you chastised, glaring at the three men, before storming out of the apartment, making sure to slam the door hard behind you.

The next day, Ross broke up with Julie.

And just a bit after that, Rachel saw the list he’d made of her as she slipped into Chandler’s apartment to steal some of his moisturizer. 

God, you knew something like this would happen.

You stumbled into Monica’s apartment with the rest of the group, laughter from a story Joey was telling ebbing away upon the sight of Ross begging Rachel to open the bedroom door.

Before anyone could step in and ask what was going on, Rachel swung the door open, face blotchy from crying and crimson with fury.

“Rach, come on—you gotta give me another chance.”

“No!” firmly exclaimed the brunette. 

“No?”

“That’s what I said. No.”

Awkward, Chandler took a step closer to the door. “Look, maybe we should go—”

“No, you guys shouldn’t go, because Ross and I are done talking.”

“Rach, look, I know how this must—”

Holding up a hand, Rachel squared her jaw and coldly replied, “No, you don’t, Ross. Imagine… the worst things you’d think about yourself. Now, how would you feel if the one person that you trusted the most in the world not only thinks it too, but actually uses it as reasons not to be with you!” 

Faltering, Ross stammered out, “No, but—but, see, I wanna be with you in spite of all those things.”

What an asshole, you thought.

Slowly, the five of you began inching to the door.

Anger flickered across her expression. “Oh, well, that’s mighty big of you, Ross.” She momentarily snapped her gaze towards you. “I said don’t go!” she barked.

All of you froze like deer in the headlights.

Voice breaking, Ross replied in a panicked manner, “You know… if—if things were the other way around, there is nothing that you could put on a list that would ever make me not want to be with you!” 

Rachel’s tense shoulders dropped, as if she was totally and utterly done with this conversation. “Well, see, that’s the difference between us. I’d never make a list.”

With that, she shut the door in Ross’ face. 

All of you stared, wide-eyed, as he slowly backed away from her bedroom, and sank down to slump on the coffee table. 

“I never know how long you’re supposed to wait in this type of situation until you can talk again,” Joey whispered into your ear. You pinched his side, sending him a glare. “Oh, okay, I guess we’re waiting a bit longer, then.”

You wrapped the scarf tighter around your neck, blowing out a breath that misted into the cold air in front of you. 

“Joey, slow down!” you called out, lightly jogging after the man who was practically sprinting down to the newspaper stand down the street. “They won’t be sold out of papers at one in the morning!”

“I’m just excited!” he exclaimed, grabbing your hand and yanking you along, much to your dismay. “I’ve never gotten reviewed before!”

“You were really great, Joe—I’m being serious! You make a good king,” you said genuinely, smiling at him when he halted in front of the stall, sending you a grateful grin. “Though, you might wanna consider wearing underwear next time—when you sat down everyone could see your uh… your royal subjects.”

You broke out into a fit of laughter, which you tried to hide away into coughing when Joey rolled his eyes and turned away from you.

Shucking a couple of coins from his mostly-empty wallet, he tossed them to the vendor and grabbed a couple papers, handing you one. The rest of the group caught up to the two of you moments later, taking a couple papers to see for themselves.

Your heart dropped upon reading the first few lines of the review. Sending a glance over at Joey, you could see his shoulders begin to droop.

“The only thing worse than the mindless adolescent direction is Joseph Tribbiani’s disturbingly unskilled portrayal of the king…” he mumbled, downtrodden. 

Chandler clapped his roommate’s shoulder. “Hey, look, that’s just one douchebag’s opinion! Alright, Pheebs, read yours.”

The blonde perked up, clearing her throat before reading aloud, “The only thing worse than the mindless adolescent direction—”

“Alright, does anybody have a different paper?” intervened Chandler. “Ross, read yours.”

The taller man winced at the colorful insults on his paper, shooting Joey an apologetic glance. “I don’t think I want to.”

Huffing, Joey handed you his paper, and sank down onto the curb of the sidewalk, hanging his head. 

“Oh, Joe,” you said, kneeling down beside him. “They don’t know what they’re talking about—critics always have a stick up their ass! They never know how to have fun and they’re always reviewing things with tunnel vision for snobbish pish-posh elegance that nobody gives a shit about!”

The Italian sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe they have a point. I’ve been doing this for ten years and I haven’t gotten anywhere! There’s gotta be a reason.”

Rachel reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Joey—”

“No, no, I’m quitting. It’s just too hard.”

The rest of you blanched at his sudden declaration, each of you erupting with protests. 

When Joey just shook his head, you all fell silent, and you took his hand, holding it tight to your chest. “Joey, and I say this from the bottom of my heart, I really enjoyed your play. I know the critics don’t, but I had so much fun watching you, and I know the rest of the audience did, too. This might not mean anything to you, but I’m really proud of you. You’ve come a long way since you started, and you should be proud of yourself, too.”

Joey was silent for a moment. Then he looked to you, a glimmer of appreciation behind his irises. “Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot, it does.”

You grinned. “Alright. What does everyone say to midnight pizza?”

“It’s nearly two in the morning,” deadpanned Rachel, hiding a yawn behind her fist. When she saw Joey’s pouting face, she huffed, relenting. “Oh, fine, fine. But no pineapples!”

You sauntered into Joey and Chandler’s apartment, about to ask them if they wanted to go catch a movie starting in half an hour, but your question faltered on your tongue upon seeing Joey bustling in the kitchen, about two dozen jars of homemade marinara sauce strewn all over the counter. He was furiously chopping more tomatoes, looking as stressed as ever. 

Blinking, you gently said his name, which made him grunt distantly in reply. You took a seat by the counter, reaching forward to swipe some marinara off his cheek and licked it off your thumb. 

“Hm,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “That’s good, Joey! What’s all this for?”

Before he could respond, Chandler trudged out of his bedroom, rubbing the nap away from his droopy eyes, mumbling, “Italy called and said it was hungry.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get the part, then?” you asked sympathetically, referring to the Days of Our Lives call-back audition he had earlier today that he simply couldn’t pass up, despite claiming that he quit being an actor no less than a week ago. 

Your friend shook his head. “No, the part’s mine if I want it.”

Both you and Chandler blanched. “Oh, my God!”

“Yeah, well, that’s only if I’m willing to sleep with the casting lady,” huffed Joey. 

“Oh…” you said, finally understanding his dilemma.

Joey nodded. “Ten years I’ve been waiting for a break like this. Ten years! I mean, Days of our Lives—that’s actually on television!”

“So… what are you gonna do?” asked Chandler, glancing to you and noticing your suddenly uncomfortable expression.

“I don’t know,” his roommate admitted. “I mean, I guess I could sleep with her…”

Clearing your throat, you pulled up your sleeve slightly to check your wristwatch, hastily getting up from the stool and heading for the door. “So sorry to leave, but I’ve got a movie to catch. So, uh, good luck with the, uh, the audition.” You winced, before awkwardly rushing out. 

Chandler crossed his arms over his chest. “So what’s got you so stressed out? Is she pretty?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Joey reluctantly responded.

“Honestly surprised you haven’t slept with her already. Usually you’d jump at an opportunity like this. I mean, it’s not like you’re in love with anyone, so nothing’s really holding you back—” Chandler halted himself in his words. “Is this about Y/N? You never actually told them how you felt, did you—?”

Quick to cut him off, Joey snapped, “I’m not in love with Y/N!” Then, he hesitated, face screwing into one of confusion as he rinsed all the tomato juice off his hands. “At least… I don’t think I am. But anyways, this isn’t about them. I’ve never had to sleep with someone to get a job before.”

Obviously still dubious, Chandler just let out a little uhuh, and sat down by the counter. “Maybe this isn’t such a big deal, Joey. The way I see it, you get a great job, and you get to have sex with a nice girl!”

Joey’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just don’t think I want it that way, you know? Let’s say I make it—I’m always gonna wonder if it was because of my talent, or because of my dick!”

Chandler nodded. He was still quite miffed as to why Joey hadn’t already jumped on the opportunity, but he had a feeling it was because of—

“Can I tell you something?” asked Joey.

“Shoot.”

“I’ve barely been sleeping with anybody lately, I’m sure you’ve noticed—”

“I try to enjoy it while it lasts,” Chandler dryly replied. “Our walls are thin, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Joey continued, “The last person I was properly dating was Melanie, and that felt like ages ago. And, uh… when I found out about Y/N and Rachel sleepin’ together it just kinda felt… I felt…”

“Jealous?��

Joey bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah,” he reluctantly sighed out. “I don’t know. Maybe I am in love with Y/N.”

“Woah,” said Chandler, raising both hands in surprise as his eyes widened at Joey’s confession. 

“Woah!” parroted Joey, matching his roommate’s energy. “I said maybe. Maybe! I don’t know yet!”

“No, I just… I didn’t think you’d… you know, I always had a feeling but I never really expected you to admit it. That’s, uh, that’s great, Joe! Are you gonna tell them?”

Joey had to admit, he was absolutely terrified at the prospect of confessing his feelings to you. Usually, he wasn’t afraid of rejection because it never really was something he had to worry about but with you—he never, ever wanted to lose you. The very idea of not being friends with you anymore ripped him apart to pieces. 

But he had to try, didn’t he?

“Yeah,” replied Joey, glancing down at all the marinara he’d made, thinking back to the way you’d gently swiped some sauce off of his cheek. “I think I will.”

Joey whistled happily as he strode down the halls of the physics institution, not even caring that he’d walked into the wrong room three times in a row (the scientists in the second lab definitely weren’t happy with that), before finally finding your office. He’d gotten the job—without sleeping with the casting agent—and since you were so busy with work, he thought he’d stop by and tell you the good news because he just couldn’t wait until you got off.

Though, now that he stood in front of your door, he wished he’d waited.

Because then he wouldn’t have to see you with Connor—and how the two of you seemed awfully close, with his hand settled over your hip and yours gripping the front of his shirt as the two of you spoke lowly to each other.

A part of Joey wanted to turn tail and run, but he found himself rooted to the spot, mouth opening and closing silently. 

Finally, you caught sight of him in the doorway, and you practically sprang away from Connor, eyes wide and expression coloring with shock.

“Joey! What are you doing here?” you asked, slightly breathless and evidently flustered. 

The excitement he once felt began to dwindle away the longer he stood there, grappling for words. “I, uh… just wanted to come by and see how you’re doing! But I see you’re pretty busy and, uhm, I’m just gonna get going now! Bye!” With that, he turned on his heel and sprinted out of your office, before you could even begin to protest.

“That was weird,” said Connor, mildly confused. “What’s up with your friend?”

You stared at the open doorway for a second longer, brows furrowed. “I don’t know,” you replied distantly, before turning back to him with a smile. “Now, where were we?”

Later that night, Monica had invited everyone over to play some board games and drink a little bit of wine she’d been saving for over a year by now. You were glad for the break, having exhausted yourself working for the past few days. 

Halfway through your third round of Monopoly (the last two rounds had to be halted because Ross and Phoebe looked like they were about to tear each other’s throats out), Joey excused himself to take a quick breather on the balcony, and you followed suit after making sure Chandler wouldn’t steal any of your fake Monopoly money. As you were clambering out the window to join him, you caught sight of Chandler sneaking some of your dollar bills into his stack, and you rolled your eyes but let it go anyway.

“Hey,” you murmured, nudging Joey’s side with your elbow. “You okay? It’s cold out here.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling down at you briefly, though you noticed that it didn’t truly reach his eyes. “Just… thinking.”

A soft hum fell from you. “That doesn’t happen often, huh? What about?” You leaned your head against his shoulder, tilting your gaze up to New York’s starless night skies. The moon shone dimly behind a hazy city smog, one that seemed to never lift this time of year.

“I got the part,” he said.

“Oh, my God,” you whispered, pulling away for a second to stare at him with parted lips. “That’s amazing, Joey, congrats! I’m really proud of you, you know that?”

Something sickly twisted in his stomach at your words. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You settled back down against his shoulder, stray strands of your hair tickling his cheek. “So did you sleep with the casting agent? I won’t judge if you did, I promise.”

There was a short pause before he responded, a little hesitantly, “Nah—I was offered the part because I refused to sleep with them. I guess they liked my guts and wanted me in the show.”

You lifted your head to grin at him, nose wrinkling fondly. It did Joey’s heart no favors when you leaned forward and pressed a chaste, friendly kiss to his cheek, before resting your head back down. He inhaled sharply, the smell of your blueberry-scented shampoo making his chest ache with an itch that he just couldn’t seem to scratch away.

“Why didn’t you do it?” you asked, cold fingers moving down his arm to lace with his. “Sleep with the casting agent, that is.”

“Well… I don’t want to make up my career through sex and sex alone,” he said, carefully avoiding the glaringly obvious other reason why. “I would want to know at least some of it was because of my talent.”

You hummed again. The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. From the distance, a car honked. 

“What… uh, what were you and Connor doin’ earlier today when I came by?” he asked, trying to play it cool.

“Oh, he was just there to ask for some advice on his research paper. He just got a little flirty, really, nothing happened between us—it was nice and all, but… oh, I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m really looking for a serious relationship right now.”

Joey could feel his heart crumble into a million pieces and fall through the gaps between his ribs. Well, there goes any prospect of confessing his feelings to you tonight. He supposed it was for the better—if you’d rejected him, Joey didn’t think he could ever properly look you in the eye again and just continue to be friends as if nothing had happened. 

“Oh,” he said, voice cracking minutely. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” you told him genuinely, fondness seeping through your tone. “I’ve got great friends.”

“Yeah,” said Joey, lifting an arm to sling around your waist to give you a loose side-hug. If he couldn’t be with you in a romantic relationship, he was more than willing to be with you in a platonic one.

#joey tribbiani x reader #friends fanfiction #joey tribbiani fanfiction #joey tribbiani fluff #joey tribbiani angst #joey tribbiani smut #rachel green x reader #rachel green angst #rachel green fluff #rachel green smut #joey tribbiani imagines #joey tribbiani drabbles #rachel green imagines #rachel green drabbles #friends x reader #friends joey x reader #friends rachel x reader

[tryingtodotheright-thing]

Hello Sunset - 2

AN: None of this is proof read so please excuse any errors and do point them out to me. Also, if there's ever any warnings you think I should be adding, please send me an ask. I would love yo hear everyone's thoughts :)

PAIRING: Seungcheol x fem!reader

GENRE: exes to lovers, idol verse, angst

WORD COUNT: 2,574

WARNINGS: reader has anxiety and depression, swearing

PREVIOUS / NEXT

Y/N couldn’t remember the car journey but she was now sitting on Sian’s expensive sofa. Rachel had left after making sure Y/N made it to the office safely, promising to meet her at Y/N’s flat in the evening after finishing some errands. 

Y/N clutched the cup of tea that was piping hot and kept her focus on the heat seeping through to her fingertips. In true British style, Sian had made her a cuppa as soon as she’d walked through, reassuring her that tea would make her feel better. The steam continued to rise up and fogged up the sunglasses she still had on. Pushing the Ray Bans off her face, she slid them up to rest on top of her head. The movement seemed to startle Sian into action as she’d been hovering behind Y/N till then, which was so unlike her and spoke volumes of how worried she was about the situation. Sian moved to sit beside her on the forest green velvet sofa, turning her body so she sat facing Y/N. She took a second to observe Y/N as she continued to stare into her cup of tea as if it held all the answers to her problems. Sighing, Sian took the mug from Y/N’s hand and placed it on the coster sat on top of the nearby coffee stool. 

“Y/N, honey, I need you to be strong for me. I need you to fight this time, okay?”

Sian knew to wait for a response and without it, her artist would weasel her way out of the limelight and hide in some semblance of her previous life, as she had been doing for the past five months. Y/N was too fragile last time and Sian had let her wallow long enough. It was time for her to gear up. Sian hadn’t been doing her job as a manager in the entertainment world for the past 15 years and doing it well, only to let her artist be affected by the backlash from angry, disappointed fangirls of a cowardly man. 

If it wasn’t for the broken woman Sian had to prioritise and piece together back in March 2025, Sian would have done something sooner. In fact, a word to Sian’s contacts, most of whom were family members in key places, would have put a stopper to the ridiculous attacks. No KPOP artist, even if they were part of a global and growing company, could enter the Western market without the backing of one of the many subsidiaries Sian’s family owned in the music industry. They dominated the music industry in the background and whilst Sian made sure to not abuse this power for her own benefit, she couldn’t sit back and watch as the woman she’d grown to adore as a younger sister continued to suffer. Y/N was ill equipped to deal with it all since she was still new to the celebrity world. 

8 September 2023

Y/N went viral. It was unexpected and so sudden. 

She was a month into her new job as HR Business Partner at a global consulting firm, focused on serving technological and data insights to its clientele. It was a big move for Y/N and she’d just started to feel comfortable in the new environment. Her new manager had done much to welcome her and ease her in, but everything was new and things moved at such a fast pace, she gave up trying to keep up and was hoping things would start to make sense soon. 

It was a Friday and the weather was still warm, the after effects of the heatwave still lingering. Y/N was ready to wrap up for the day and spend the weekend in bed. She’d finished all the calls she’d had planned for the day and in her check in with her manager, he’d given her great feedback so Y/N couldn’t be happier it was a Friday. She’d packed her laptop in her backpack and was heading out of the office located in the business park. She was still admiring the waterfalls and greenery that surrounded the buildings even though she’d been making the commute for a month now. Earbuds in and her playlist turned on, she hummed along to the music as she walked towards the Tube station and debated whether to head to the gym tonight or have a lazy evening. The vibration of her phone interrupted her pondering and saw that she was getting a phone call from Sian Doyle. 

Y/N had met Sian a few months ago, when she had approached her after seeing Y/N’s old Youtube videos during her teen years. Sian sent her a message on Instagram asking if Y/N still pursued a career in music and was interested in meeting with her to discuss an opportunity. Y/N had thought it was a hoax, and had ignored the message. She hadn’t seriously thought about a career in music, knowing that her parents would have never allowed her to do that when she was growing up. Now in her mid 20s, she knew she’d missed the chance though the odd daydreams and what ifs had crossed her mind. Y/N had grown apart from music when she had started working six years ago, not having the energy nor time to dedicate to her passion. However, sitting at home and not being able to leave the house, with just herself for company during the pandemic gave her plenty of time to re-embrace it and she fell in love with music again. Although she hadn’t replied to Sian’s message after reading it, she kept going back to it all weekend before gathering her courage and agreeing to a meeting. 

Three months later, Y/N was an artist signed to a label and had released a single that had charted in the top 100 of the UK music charts. It wasn’t too bad (read as great) for a brand new artist that the music world had no expectations for and who didn’t fit the look nor style of the typical musicians the industry usually produced. She was even going to be singing an OST for a Korean TV drama that will be released in December. Y/N was surprised when she heard that news. She didn’t expect her music to be popular, let alone be heard and liked by people in another part of the world. Thinking that’s what Sian was contacting her about, Y/N accepted the call and entered the working pod that was outdoors in the business park to take the call in private. 

“Hey Sian, how are you doing? Did I have any plans I’ve forgotten?” Y/N was balancing her commitments in the corporate world and music world, not quite confident to give up her safety net when her success wasn’t guaranteed. 

“I’m splendid, darling and do you know why? It’s because I’m the manager of the young woman who is going viral featuring on all the reels on Tik Tok right now.” Y/N could feel the excitement in Sian’s voice and was slightly envious of the person who’d made Sian this proud and animated. The woman was always composed and today, she’d not spoken in her “I'm-all-business-and-I'm-the-boss” voice.

“Oh how exciting for you! Which artist is that, I know you have a few?”

Letting out a chuckle, Sian responded, “Y/N, honey, I’m talking about you!”

Y/N’s response came out as something between a squeal and a shout in that instant, the thrill and happiness she’d felt in that moment was unforgettable.

Current

“Tell me what the plan is. I know you have one.”

Sian wanted to clap her hands in glee but held herself back. She got up from the sofa to pick up the iPad that sat on her desk and returned to the velvet sofa. Sinking down right next to Y/N this time, she handed the iPad over to the singer. With hands that were still trembling though much less than when she was holding the tea cup, Y/N took the tablet into her hands and tapped on the screen. The screen blinked at her, opening on Naver, a blurry picture of a man and woman walking in close proximity out of a restaurant. It was obvious the woman wasn’t a Korean celebrity due to the darker skin tone and the build of the woman. The zoomed in version of the same picture on the article focused on the faces of the pair. Y/N obviously recognised the people in the picture, being the woman in the picture. The zoomed version helped narrow down when the picture was taken. Both of them were wearing black masks and Y/N/s hands were tucking her hair behind her ears, there was an indent on her left ring finger and she could just make out a pink line of a cut on her palm. 

The picture was taken on their last date. It was a Thursday evening and they were in Daegu because he was on leave and was allowed to leave the base so he wanted to visit his parents. They’d been bickering all night and in the end, hadn’t finished their meal and had decided to just leave. Y/N was due to fly back to London the next day and he was due to return to his base at the end of the weekend. It had been roughly two weeks after her birthday and Y/N had been looking forward to the late celebration but the entire visit was a mess. He broke up with her two days later in response to her text ‘Just landed, will call later. Love you x’. The picture was taken two months ago, just before the world as she knew it collapsed. 

“Whoever sent this photo through obviously has more and it’s most likely the same person who sent Dispatch the picture at the beginning of the year. HYBE and Pledis can’t keep denying the relationship, saying you were acquaintances or just friends and they definitely can’t spin the whole narrative of you being an overzealous fan anymore. Right now, they’re looking like the biggest liars and the public opinion is on your side.”

“What’s your plan?” Y/N repeated, knowing that Sian hasn’t finished. 

“We need to put out a statement to be released in Korean media. I’ve already drafted it; I just need you to read it and let me know if there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with. We’re also not going to keep quiet anymore. You need to come out of hiding and you need to take back control.”

Not pausing for acknowledgement, Sian continued, “I’ve booked you to be on Jimmy Fallon’s, taping Thursday night and airing Friday so we’ll be flying to New York tomorrow. You’ll use the opportunity to promote the upcoming tour and it matches with The Voice US guest appearance episodes releasing this week. Jimmy will bring up the news, I’ve asked him to. I want you to make a joke and brush past it as if the whole matter is insignificant and an inconvenience. Channel that anger that’s underneath that hurt and don’t forget that you’re the victim in this situation. I need you to emphasise that.”

With that said, Sian leaned over and opened the Mail app on the iPad, selecting the first email which contained the drafted statement.

‘This is W Music Group. We have confirmed with our artist regarding the recent allegations and can confirm that Y/N and S.Coups of SEVENTEEN did briefly date but have since parted ways. Our artist was keen to keep her personal life private and we ask people to avoid speculation. No statements released by HYBE or Pledis about Y/N have been made in conjunction with W Music Group or with Y/N’s consent.  We are currently taking legal action against those who posted malicious posts including defamation, insults, sexual harassment, spread of false information, and malicious slander against Y/N. We are preparing to submit multiple complaints to investigative agencies by collecting evidence of acts that violate Y/N’s rights and interests such as insults and defamation through self-monitoring and reports from fans, and we plan to respond with a no-tolerance policy. We will continue to hold the suspects accountable and take strong action without any settlement or leniency. Y/N’s planning to greet the public soon with a new album to be released on 2 October 2025.’

Y/N read the statement and read it again. She knew this was the best thing to do for herself and it wasn’t fair to Sian and everyone around her, everyone who depended on and cheered for her success, if she didn’t release the statement. Despite knowing this was the best choice, Y/N still hesitated.

“Do we have to mention the statements from HYBE?”

“Yes.” Sian’s reply was immediate and clipped. “I hope you’re not still worrying about him.”

Sian’s tone grew more sharp. “You can’t be! Wake up and smell the coffee for what it is, Y/N. If he had cared even the smallest ounce for you, he wouldn’t have agreed to his company releasing a statement that you had approached him as a fan when the first picture was released in January. Do you not remember how his fans called you a stalker and sent you hate messages all over social media? Do you not remember the times they sent you broken glass and blades packaged up as gifts so you’d hurt yourself?” 

Sian grew more frustrated and tossed the iPad on the space next to her on the sofa.

“I don’t know how to talk sense into you. Honestly, Y/N, I’m doing this for your benefit.”

“I know, I know that. Please don’t think that I don’t appreciate everything you do and have done for me.” Y/N’s words kept getting stuck and she was struggling to articulate herself.

“I just don’t want other people to be hurt by this. Josh and the others haven’t done anything wrong.”

After a pause, she consented, “I’ll take your guidance as final, Sian. Let’s release the statement.”

Y/N grasped Sian’s hands in hers for reassurance. “I promise I’ll do what you ask of me this time.” 

Sian patted Y/N’s hands as she soothed Y/N’s nerves by saying, “It’ll all be fine, darling. Trust that I know what I’m doing. You’ll come out of this stronger. I know you will.”

With a final pat, Sian got up from the sofa and walked to the door of her office, her black heels clacking against the floor. She opened the door and spoke to her assistant, whose desk was placed opposite the doorway. 

“Send it out now.”

That’s all she said before closing the door and turning back to Y/N. 

“Now, about the Tonight Show ..” 

Sian continued with her briefing for Y/N’s schedules. Y/N listened and did her best to pay attention and soak in the advice but the tension in her stomach distracted her, the jitters making her queasy. She moved to pick up her now lukewarm water bottle that she’d bought earlier from her handbag when she noticed that her phone was blinking. She took the phone out first, tapping on the screen to read.

Joshie 🦌

Just saw it. Are you okay?

#caratsland #seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol angst #scoups x reader #scoups imagines #svt #seventeen x you #my writing #hello sunset

[fluentmoviequoter]

DC Comics

Dick Grayson x fem!reader

One More Favor (Titans!Dick Grayson)

5k+ words | angst to fluff | When Dick takes Rachel out of Detroit, he needs help, but he'll have to call in a few favors first.

Honeymoon Suite

2.6k+ words | fluff | Batman sends you and Dick undercover as newlyweds. At the end of the mission, neither of you want things to change.

Jason Todd x fem!reader

The Man Under the Hood

2.3k+ words | angst to fluff | After a terrifying encounter with Red Hood, Jason is left to pick up the pieces.

Wintery

1.5k words | fluff | Gotham winters are brutal, but your best friend Jason Todd and work friend Red Hood know how to combat the cold. Unfortunately, you're falling in love with both of them.

Lost Time

1.3k+ words | fluff | Jason comes home to you, his wife, after a mission and makes up for lost time.

Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

Family Name

6.6k+ words | angst to fluff | ex-Army/SWAT!reader | After ten years away, you return to Gotham. When you discover you know the true identity of the Joker, you join Batman's fight to save Gotham.

Crushes Aren't Just for Kids

3.1k+ words | fluff | JLU Batman x JL!reader | When all adults are banished from earth, you join Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern in a unique fight to save the world. Along the way, some hidden feelings are revealed.

Black Mercy

2.3k+ words | angst to fluff | When you and Bruce find Superman in the Fortress of Solitude, you encounter the Black Mercy. Bruce faces his heart's greatest desire, and you encourage him to find happiness.

Hal Jordan x fem!reader

Me or the Ring

3.5k+ words | angst | When the Guardians suspect you, a woman from earth, of working with the Star Sapphires to commit mass murder, Hal Jordan volunteers to find evidence. He accidentally falls for you in the process, but you find out why he let you get so close and pull away.

Me and the Ring 2.9k+ words | angst to fluff | After Hal broke your heart and failed his mission, the Guardians send Kyle to pick up where he left off. You can't trust Hal, but that doesn't mean you don't love him.

/ Blurbs/Celebration Fics

Christmas '23 | Dick (Haley's Holiday)(A League Christmas) | Jason (Special Edition)

#dc comics #dc comics x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #hal jordan x reader #masterlist #navigation #fluentmoviequoter

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter III : Your bitter heart, heals my heart

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: The damp dew of morning, as dawn broke across the sky the next day, had taken on a biting frigidness, and with it everything was different.

A/N: Let’s play spot the Fiona Apple reference 😁

I’d planned to wait until Sunday to post, but I just couldn’t help myself. I love this chapter a lot. I hope you guys do too. The song Good Guy by Julia Jacklin fits it quite nicely, I think.

Art is Rotting Plums by Rachel Bess.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: character death; brief, non-graphic descriptions of illness; discussions of grief; internal angst; rough sex; choking; brief impact play; after care; soft! Joel™️

Word Count: 6.4k

Read on AO3

CHAPTER III : Your bitter heart, heals my heart

Something in my soul was rising, rising, ceaselessly, painfully, and refused to be still.

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

The mystery of Teddy continued and his health worsened. There were no objective indices of a malignant source to explain his symptoms, and yet, nevertheless, they persisted, intensified. The boy was fatigued, withdrawn, sensitive, losing weight, prone to bouts of what could be characterized as a cold or flu. You and Connie suspected the worst, but there was not much to be done to prove your theories without imaging or blood tests, not readily available to you. The best you could do was manage the child’s state symptomatically, and hope for the best until a more concrete plan was assembled. 

-

One night in late October, you and Connie decide to bid farewell to the passing fall with a consolation dinner. The months of Teddy’s ongoing illness had fallen harshly on both of your shoulders and spirits were low. The air outside had taken on the true chill of deep fall, the threat of winter near. You were worried the cold would bring tragedy with it. The child’s constitution was weak and despite good shelter and food and the two of you caring for him, winter was harsh and difficult to endure, even at one’s strongest.

Joel had gone on a good hunt earlier that day and had brought back a nicely sized rabbit. He’d refused to join you and Connie for dinner. Withdrawn and sullen throughout the day, he’d told you to enjoy your evening with a soft kiss pressed to your mouth, before he’d wandered off. You could picture him now, sitting on his porch, guitar in hand, drink at his side, brooding at whatever was plaguing him. The image chafed. His inability, or lack of desire, to tell you what was wrong hurt. 

You and Connie talked shop over your rabbit and greens, roasted potatoes in garlic and sage, and the braised plums Dina had brought you a few days before. It was a lovely meal, a veritable feast, lit by the warm candle light of the beeswax sticks Maria had traded with you. He told you about his wife, stories you’d heard dozens of times, that he never tired of repeating and you never stopped wanting to listen to. Stories of his training, the toils of residency, the great accomplishments of fellowship. Your favorite ones were of when he was younger, in his twenties, young and fresh and ravenous to learn everything he could. Eager for freedom and experience and knowledge. To hear of his life was to know him, and you loved nothing more than learning about the man who had become your greatest mentor and friend.

Connie died in his sleep that night. After you’d finished the last of the scavenged wine, he laughingly said he’d had it for years, and had been saving it for a special occasion – that now felt as good a time as any – like he knew this would be the last chance. He’d said good night to you, gone upstairs to bed and passed away peacefully. The damp dew of morning as dawn broke across the sky the next day had taken on a biting frigidness, and with it everything was different, would forevermore be different. For how could anything continue to exist as it had when the man who had given you a vocation, who had shared with you the greatest gift in his arsenal, his knowledge, was gone. It was a devastating blow for you, for the whole of Jackson. Beth and your parents took up space in your mind constantly in the days that followed, the memory of them a heavier weight than you usually carried. Their lives and their deaths, a constant loop of replay behind your eyelids at night, in your dreams. But you trudged on. Tried in vain to smother your grief as best you could. Hide it from Joel and Maria and Ellie and all your considerably disconcerted patients. 

The weight of the wellbeing of an entire community, that you dearly cared for, now rested on your shoulders, and the responsibility was a formidable and daunting one. Sometimes, you wished you had it in you to rid yourself of the whole thing. To wash your hands of it. Too gripped by the terror of failure and inadequacy to hold on to your courage. Your fears called forth Connie’s past words, how you’d not chosen this for yourself, would not have chosen it if you’d been given another option. But those moments passed eventually, and you did what you must, what was necessary. However great the burden of responsibility felt on your shoulders, you had no choice but to bear them as you may. Choices, always choices; more than conviction of character, more than desires, or hopes, the choices you made were what determined who you were. 

And then there was Joel. Joel who understood this grief of a lost loved one better than anyone else, who understood you better than anyone else. He’d taken your despair in stride, planted his feet in the ground and said to you with every action, every comforting embrace, every night where you cried yourself to sleep in his arms, in his bed, when you sought out the distraction of his mouth and his hands and his cock, with all of it he told you: here I am, use me as you will. Let me help you carry this burden of grief and responsibility, and if you cannot carry it at all, then I will carry you. And he did, with everything he did, he eased your pain. It was like he could read your mind, your heart, as if he’d studied that intrinsic understanding that had always existed between you and Connie under a magnifying glass and applied himself to taking it on himself, doing the same. 

You loved him so much in that time of painful grief after Connie – felt the weight of it so poignantly within your heart, it was like a second presence you carried inside your body now, a second soul. His fist wrapped tightly around your heart, your very life blood held in his hands – his to wield as he chose. It was a terrifying, maddening ordeal, that of losing everything you were to a man. Of giving it to him. And yet, you saw your life in the strangest new light now. What did it matter if the world was vast and cruel and terrifying, if you had him? Very little, it mattered very little. 

-

“Birdie.”

You’d been hunched over your desk for the better part of the afternoon. Late into the evening now, and you were still at it, only a small desk lamp illuminating the strewn catastrophe of papers and books in a wash of warm light. Your eyes stung, your back aching and strained. You couldn’t remember the last thing you’d eaten. “You’re back…”

“How’d it go today? How long’ve you been in here, baby?” You knew that stern tone. You listen to him set down something heavy on the table by the door but don’t turn, too caught up in what you’re currently reading.

“Teddy’s bad again…” you murmur, “There’s – I – I can’t figure this out. It’s driving me insane. If – if I knew more or – or had more equipment…” you trail off. “It’s bad… This is impossible with so little at my disposal.” Your hands clutch your hair, hunched over one of Connie’s old journals, one you’ve read probably a hundred times. “Something’s fucking wrong…” you mumble under your breath. He was weaker and weaker every day. The bruising you’d first noticed a few weeks ago appeared more often, and you had a pretty good idea as to what it was that was wrong with him, but you were terrified of sharing your fears with his mother. Of being wrong. You told yourself you couldn’t be certain without proper testing. That until you’d found something beyond textual evidence to support your theories, that you should keep your conjectures to yourself. After all, if you were right, there was nothing to be done, but keep him comfortable. You told yourself that to hold off was the right thing to do, but you weren’t sure. Had never been in this position before. And alone, with only yourself to count on, with no one to consult with who had experience in something like this, there was only your gut to follow. It was Joel, who’d ultimately soothed your anxieties. He’d said that if it was him, if it was Sarah in this position, the threat of an incurable cancer plaguing her and no sort of cure or treatment closely available, then he’d not want to know the truth of it. The closest FEDRA outhold was hundreds of miles away, and Teddy would never survive the journey – not with the cold of winter starting to set in, he was too weak, too fragile, being eaten alive from the inside out. You felt so fucking useless, so desperate and hopeless, and you didn’t know what to do besides make him comfortable, try and be there for Susanna as best you could. And she knew, she knew something was interminably wrong with her child. She knew you were at a loss, beyond your depth of resources. You could see the understanding and resignation start to settle in her eyes as the days passed. 

“C’mere, Birdie. Come look at this.”

You’re still murmuring to yourself, lost in thought, but you turn to him suddenly, and the look on your face – you feel so young, so lost – “If Connie was here it’d be better–” you say. And you feel so angry at your father suddenly. This is all his fault. He cast you into this role before you’d been old enough to have the sense of foresight to understand all that would come with it. Angry at Connie, for furthering it, for dying, for leaving you alone. Your eyes fill with tears, and he comes over to you, cradles your upturned face in his palms, your fingers twisting in his clothes. “Joel–”

“I found something for you – come see.” He says it so gently, pulls you from the chair, strong hand cupped around the bend of your elbow. Your legs feel as shaky and weak as a newborn fawns, and your vision swoops, dark stars appearing behind your closed eyes. “Head rush,” you whisper. 

“Damnit, Birdie. When was the last time you ate somethin’?” You clutch at his arms tightly as you feel your balance stabilize. 

“I– it’s okay… I’m okay.” 

You turn towards the table then, and sitting on it is a microscope. You turn to look at him, wide eyed, your threat of tears from before immediately becoming reality. “Where did you find that?” 

“There’s a house about five hours west. Me ‘nd Tommy decided to check it out. Someone had a whole damn laboratory in the basement.” There’s a small duffle sitting next to the machine. “Don’t know if it’ll work, if it’s any good to you, or– or if you even want it… I brought all the other stuff I thought went with it–” he unzips the bag, peers inside. “Not sure it’s what you need… if it’s any good. But I thought–” He’s ranting, tongue tripping over his own words, and there’s a fierce blush washing over his cheeks. “I just–” he sighs, “I just saw it and thought of you. Thought it might be something you’d like or find interesting… Something to distract you.” And he’s so endearing and so sweet and so understanding and you’re pressing yourself to him, tears spilling. His breath whooshes out in a small huff with the force of your chest thumping against his, your arms sneaking around his neck like vines, feet scrabbling against the floor, stepping on the toes of his boots to boost yourself up higher, press harder. Your heart, your heart, it hurts, it pinches and burns, and oh, you love him.

He is undoing you.  

His hand weaves through the long threads of your loose hair, presses your streaming eyes and hot face to his neck. You mouth messily at the skin of his neck, too overwrought for words. Trying to convey everything you’re feeling in this moment into his skin through the press of your own. And you know, with the gentleness of his hands over your hair, your face, your back and waist, that he knows, he understands.

“I knew you needed something – hoped this could help in some way.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you, you breathe into his neck. 

This small action, him going out on patrol and bringing back something for you, seeing something that reminded him of you and hauling it all the way back here, just to make you happy, just because he thought it might entertain you – it’s everything. To know that he knows how much this would mean to you, how much this would help you, how much you needed this – it tells you more about the state of the two of you now, in this moment, than anything else that has transpired before. 

You hug yourself closer to him, wet face soaking his shirt and he just holds you, let’s you bask in him. And his tallness and warmth and aliveness — it makes you forget that cowering animal you’d felt like these past few days. He brings back to life your own warmth, your own aliveness, pulls out of you the desire to share it with him. It’s like a damn breaking, a rush of despair and love and grief so overwhelming it punches the air out of you. 

Gasp escaping in a loud, breathless sob,“I’m alone, I’m alone now,” you press your hot eyes into the space beneath his jaw, “I don’t have anyone anymore. Connie, Connie – I – I don’t – don’t know h– how–” It’s uncontrollable, breath hitching and hiccuping. Somewhere in the rational recess of your mind you know you shouldn’t be telling him all this. That maybe he doesn’t want to hear it, or maybe even more unlikely, that it’ll hurt him to hear you claim this aloneness. That being without Connie now was almost like being without Beth – out there, in the wilderness, alone and desperate; that facing the responsibility he’d left you with felt like that vast wilderness from before. That without him you felt so, so lost. Your anchor to this world, your guiding light, your friend, your teacher was gone; and even with Joel physically beside you, the encroaching sense of familiar loneliness was overwhelming. You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t swallow this hurt. It was too heavy to be repressed. 

You pull back to take in his face and he splays his hand over your cheek, gently brushes away the wet under your eye, your bottom lip, the delicate wing of your cheekbone – his eyes: concerned and grave and slightly lost – like you’re breaking his heart, like he’d do anything in this moment to bear your pain for you. You look at him and think of all the times he’s pushed you away, held you at arms length, refused to let you in. The small hurts and the pinch of your heart in the space where you hold him inside of you, your recurring thought that: I know none of this will matter in the long run — but while we’re here — I want you to love me. 

But with this, with this, he was showing you. He was telling you with his actions, with his pain and concern for you: I know of the things you need, of the things you want, and I’ll try and give them to you the best I can. I’ll try and take care of you the best I can. This is me trying; this is me telling you, I love you. 

“You’re not alone. I’m here, Birdie. I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.”

You push your face into his large, warm palm, nuzzle the rough skin, and you wonder what will become of you if you cannot be close to him anymore — if he were to one day take himself away from you. Because you know that’s the only way this would ever have a chance of ending, if he were to decide to leave, to go away some place he’d not allow you to follow. Nothing else would ever rip you from his side. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his palm, press a small kiss to the center of it. 

“Hell, baby. If I knew the damn thing’d pull this reaction out of you I’d have left it where I found it.” You laugh a watery little laugh. And you think that it really does feel like the world’s ending, a terrible thing, when you feel the love you have for someone settle within you, when you realize the depth of it. 

You press up high on your toes, seeking out his mouth, a kind of frantic buzz filling your limbs as you reach for him. You twine your arms around his neck and your fingers into his hair. He understands you and he’s here and he’s going to take care of you and you love him so much. None of the things that had been plaguing your mind these past few weeks, none of the anxieties matter in this moment. Just the feel of his warm skin, his rough hands passing over your clothes and then gripping, twisting in the back of your shirt to press you up higher. He peppers open mouth kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, sucks on your neck sharply. “What do you need, Birdie? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

You can’t think, can’t put into words this frenzied desperation you’re feeling. All you can do is claw harder at his clothes and hair, try to climb the length of his body, get as close as you possibly can. You let out a high little whine, and he winds his fingers through your hair, grips tight and gives a sharp tug. “Need me to be the only thing in that pretty head right now? Huh?” He jerks your head back sharply, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. His teeth latch onto the delicate line of muscle there, and you’re sure he can feel the rapid fluttering of your pulse against his tongue, a staccato of morse code telling him all your secrets, can taste the distressed need seeping out of your pores. You try and hitch your knee around his hip, grind your aching cunt into him. You can feel your arousal seeping into the gusset of your panties, and you claw at his back to try and find purchase, to rock yourself harder into him. His mouth moves down to the soft junction of your shoulder, and his bite there is harsher, claiming. You’ll have a red blossom of a bruise there tomorrow you’re sure. “So fucking desperate for me, baby.”

His words make something satisfied coil low in your belly. Yes, yes, you moan. You’re glad he knows. You want him to feel how much you need him, how much you want him. You want your desperation to incite his own. You want, need, him to need you as much as you do. He’s clutching your ass then, fingers squeezing your flesh tightly and hoisting you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, lick into his mouth as he walks the two of you towards the sofa against the wall. 

He lets your feet drop to the ground and sits heavily on the couch, knees spread wide and he’s ripping your leggings down your thighs without preamble, clasping the bend of your knee to slip your shoe off and pull the fabric of your pants and underwear off one foot. He pulls you onto his lap then, and you’re clawing at his belt, pulling his already hard cock free of the confines of his clothes. It’s late into the evening now, but anyone could walk in at any moment. Nancy had gone out earlier, but she could come back, come looking for you. None of that matters right now. All you can think about is getting him inside of you now, now now. He grips the back of your thigh to spread you wider across his lap and fists the base of his cock, jacks it once, twice.  The tip is gleaming with precum and flushed so red it’s almost purple – your mouth waters at the sight of it. He hasn’t even touched your pussy yet, but you can feel how soaked you are. Your sex tight and aching, and you wrap your own hand around him, pressing up a little higher on your knees to position him at your entrance, and then you’re sinking down, down and you both let out twin ragged groans of relief as you take him inside of you, watching the place where he disappears inside. It’s too much, painful, without having him make you come before, and exactly what you need. His eyes on yours are wide, as if he’s shocked. As if, even after all the times the two of you have done this, he still can’t believe it can feel like this. His neck is flushed red, you can see the hammering of his pulse in the thick vein of his neck, and it makes the walls of your cunt flutter in response. You’re going to come already, just with this. Just at the feel of taking him within you, your orgasm is there. You start to throb and pulse around him and your womb clenches and twists tight like a cramp. “Jesus fucking christ,” he grits out through clenched teeth, large palms gripping your ass to start to move you. And you’re orgasming fully now, cunt clamping down hard around his throbbing length. “Shit, shit–” you bury your face in his neck, tears, a slow, uncontrollable stream from your eyes at the intensity of it, “you’re coming already – Christ– you’re coming already.”

He starts to thrust his hips up into you, the blunt head hitting deep at the mouth of your cervix. “Good girl – good, fucking take it.” All you can do is moan and sob into his neck. Nothing will ever feel like this. Nothing else in your whole life will ever be as good as this is. He’s subjugated you with the feel of his cock pounding inside of you, and if you weren’t in love with him, you’d probably resent him for it. For having such a hold over you. No one person should have this much power over another. You yank on his hair hard. There is a fist around your heart in the shape of him, and it fucking hurts, and you want more and less, all at the same time. 

“Harder, please, harder,” you whisper into his ear, let it slide through him, over him. And then he’s flipping you over, your entire weight cradled briefly in his arms as he presses your back into the cushions, and spreads your knees wide, one hooked over the back of the couch, and the other held open by his hand. “You want it harder, little bird? Want me to wreck this cunt?”

“Want it to hurt. Make it hurt, Joel, please.”

Your words set off a deep red flush in his chest that crawls up his neck and into his cheeks. His eyes go slightly glazed and feral, and he snaps his hips so hard into you your teeth click. He hoists your knee in his grip higher and you press your bare foot into his shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He makes it hurt. Hand wrapped around your throat, angling your head back into a stretch that pinches. You arch your back, deepening the angle so that he’s fucking up into you and hitting something that makes dark spots flash in your vision. Oh, it hurts, it hurts, it feels so good. His hulking form over you, teeth bared in a snarl, would be terrifying to anyone else. But you think that even with his hand on your throat and that savage look in his eyes, there is nowhere you’d ever feel safer than right where you are. Beneath him, surrounded by him, held in the palm of his hand. 

“Like that, baby? This what you needed?” He rips the collar of your t-shirt down, then the cup of your bra, and slaps your breast harshly, once, twice, three times, rips a high pitched keen out of you. 

Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. 

“You’re gonna take all of my come like a good girl, but first I need you to give me one more. Need you to come on my cock one more time.” The hand on your throat moves to your clit, circles it over and over again. You can feel the wet slap of his balls heavy against your ass. There’s sweat beading at his temples and your eyes never leave each other. Your heavy pants and the sounds of your fucking filling the room like some sort of lewd song. You start to throb around him, the pounding of his cock pulling your orgasm from deep in your pelvis so that it’s fluttering out, up your back and through your limbs like electricity. You pull his chest to yours then, and he lets his heavy weight crush you into the cushions beneath, grinds his cock deep, his pubic bone pressing harshly on the bud of your clit and eliciting another pulsing wave of your orgasm, and then he’s jerking inside of you. The heat of his come filling you. “Take it, take it all, every last drop.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

His hips grind slowly, and he lets your knee drop. You wrap your leg around him and push your foot into the base of his spine, pressing him harder into you. He pulls back a little after the last jerk of his cock, gentle thumb ghosting along the arch of your eyebrow, your cheek, then down across the wing of your collarbone, he lowers his head to press a long kiss to your shoulder. When he looks at you again his eyes are soft, a little concerned, “That was okay? I wasn’t too rough?” You nuzzle into his chest, press a kiss over his heart. 

“No, no, that was what I needed. It was perfect.”

The two of you lay there for a long while afterwards. His head on your breast and his heavy weight pressing you deep into the sofa. The heat rolling off his body is almost overwhelming, sweltering like a furnace, and it wrings exhaustion out of you. There’s an ache settling deep in your pelvis, and the skin of your throat and thighs smart where he gripped you so hard. It’s bliss.

You run your fingers through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp, and then in long, languorous strokes down his back. He practically purrs, like an oversized and needy cat.

Perhaps this necessity is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. I need you so much, Joel. Isn't that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? Like an addiction, some sort of disease. For him to be the thing in the world to best soothe you, to best comfort you, but also be the one thing that sometimes hurts you the most. The dichotomy of all he brings out in you – the almost overwhelming love you feel for him, the fear of needing him so much you’d die without him, the desperation to be close to him at all times, for the two of you to be more connected, to know each other better than any two people ever have in all history. You could set fire to the two of you wrapped around each other like you are now with the intensity of all your feelings, let your skin meld together as one. And then also: the hurt, the sadness, the feeling that there’s always something small but magnificently significant missing between the two of you. All the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air. That one piece of him he always manages to keep hidden and tucked away from you no matter the intensity of what transpires between you, no matter how wide you spread his ribs to peer within him. It’s like a neverending stabbing to the depth of your heart, over and over and over again. You think you might have become addicted to the way it hurts. So much so, it manifests physically. You think that perhaps the more it hurts the more content you feel because at least you still have him here with you, at least he’s still in your arms. 

There is a part of yourself that realizes that you need something to hurt, to be difficult, to feel worth it. Like if there isn’t some seed of pain at the root of the thing, then it isn’t worth fighting for, isn’t worth the dedication, and you can’t understand why. Perhaps because the start of your life was so easy, so peaceful, despite the world you’d been born into. Perhaps because after your parent’s death everything was suddenly so jarringly difficult, from one blink to the next, life threatening at every turn, that it made the before not seem real anymore. Didn’t seem like it’d ever be attainable again if you didn’t hurt yourself in the process of obtaining it. Perhaps it was just martyrdom, or stupidity, or a subconscious inclination to make everything in your life infinitely more difficult than it actually needed to be. Like that girl who’d always done as was expected of her needed to find some way to counteract her obsequiance with a little bit of rebellion. Some small way within yourself to rail against always being good. Perhaps these small hurts were that form of rebellion. 

And then, well really, how could you not resent him after all that? Even if that resentment is overshadowed by how much you love him, how much you need him, still, still you’re angry with him at the same time for keeping that piece of himself away from you when you’ve spilled your blood at his feet. And yet, despite all this, despite all these thoughts running through your mind as you feel his breath press into your chest, as you feel the strong, steady thump of his heart echo into the cavity of your own, you understand him. You understand the motives behind every one of his actions, read the feeling in his eyes like a book, and so how could you not continue to endure all this ache? Continue to crave it. How could you not offer him your understanding, at the very least? If he won’t let you give him anything else but that, then this is all you’ll offer him. A place he can shuck away the fear he holds gripped around his heart, a place to come and be accepted as he is. Whatever is missing after that can be endured, if only he continues to rest his head here on your heart, let you breathe him in, let you feel him. 

And oh, you think, it is such a terrible thing to love someone so much. A terrible thing. 

-

Ellie liked to say that time healed all wounds. And sometimes that was true. Sometimes it was not a healing, but merely a scabbing over. Eschar over a festering of hurt still alive beneath the surface, but lived with so long it becomes customary. The bearer becomes complacent – used to it. Parts of you felt like that. Different pockets of painful memory across the surface of your skin. Pushed to the back of your mind in a plight for the preservation of your sanity.

Joel liked to be contradictory and say it was never time. But people, it was people that helped you heal your wounds. Serious, stoic old man that he liked to pretend to be, but you found him incredibly soft and sweet the day he told you that. Trying his best to piece together words to comfort you. You’d shown him exactly how sweet you found him afterwards, on your knees, your mouth wrapped around his hard cock. 

And you found they were both right in their own ways. At his side, surrounded by him, the stain of your grief dissipated little by little every day. And as time after Connie’s death passed, the clinic became your priority. The perfect distraction. The patient’s and the people of Jackson were tended to by you and Nancy, who’d become indispensable, with a dedication and hyperfocus, Tommy said, rivaled that of any soldier he had ever served with before. That thought made you quite pleased to think about. For others to recognize the strength in you was cathartic in a way you’d not known you needed.

-

“There’s been word of a group of travelers – about ten of them.” Maria tells you and Joel. You’re at your office desk, a strew of case notes and charts before you. Joel’s already scowling, shaking his head, arms crossed against his chest. His hair is getting too long again, dark curls streaked with gray, messy and sticking up in all the places where you’d tugged your fingers through earlier when he was kissing you. “A teenage girl found her way to the gates – patrol’s bringing her in now. She’s barely speaking, but we managed to get a bit out of her. Says there’s kids with them, a baby. Says they’re sick, hurt – been traveling a long time.”

Joel looks at you, a forbidding look already building in his eyes, “Absolutely not.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you.” You turn your nose up at him and look back at Maria, he feels his blood boil at your bratiness. “What else did she say, Maria? Is she hurt?”

“I said no, Birdie.”

“Not from what we could tell. Wouldn’t let us get too close– Joel, if they’ve got kids with them–” Maria tries.

“I don’t give a damn. And since when’ve you gotten so fucking lax with the safety of this place? What happened to floatin’ anyone who got too close down the river?”

“Joel–” you admonish sharply. But he isn’t listening to this shit. There’s no way in hell he’s letting you go along with this nonsense. “She ain’t going out there. Absolutely not… With just some unconfirmed story to go on? You think I’d let her–”

“Let me?” Your voice is incredulous.

“It isn’t safe. There are too many people here who need you–” I need you, he thinks, I need you so much, I’ll die without you, I need you safe, “People who rely on you. You’re not gonna put all that in jeopardy for a group of strangers.”

“I’m not completely helpless, you know.” You stand now, crossing your arms beneath your breasts, and fucking hell, now is not the time for him to be ogling your tits. You prop your hip out, the sassiest look he’s ever seen, set on your delicate features. “If I’m out there, if it’s necessary, I can take care of myself.”

“Birdie, you’re not hearing me. The answer is no.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, and he sees your temper flare in your eyes, bright hot and seething at him. 

“Joel, I’m not asking your permission. This is what all this has been for – what everything I’ve learned and practiced for was always meant for.” You splay your palms wide, your voice cracking a little in your fervor, and he feels a terrible sense of premonition begin to creep up the back of his neck. His hair standing on end. “There may be only one of me, but that makes my skill all the more necessary to share. There’s only one of me and lots of people who need help – and I’m gonna do everything I can to help everyone I can. Strangers or not. You cannot stop me.” 

He turns away, his heavy boot accidentally colliding with the chair beside him and jostling it violently. “Fuck–” he spits, “Fuck,” runs a hand through his hair, grips hard and tugs. The thought of you out there, in danger, vulnerable, sets his teeth on edge. Goes against everything howling inside him to keep you safe, protected. To hunch his body over yours and bear his teeth like an animal at anyone who’d dare get too close, horde you only for himself. At the same time, his own sense of self preservation rears its ugly head. The thought of you hurt so abhorrent in his mind he shies away from it – wants to run far away, avoid witnessing such a thing.

He pivots sharply back in your direction, brandishing a threatening finger at your chest, “If we do this, we do it how I say. Exactly as I say. No questions asked.” He turns his glare on Maria, “And we’re taking a good group with us. None of those idiots who can barely handle themselves. I want Pablo, Kenneth and Ben.” You and Maria share a look. Jesus, fucking incompetent, the lot of them, he thinks and paces, but they’ll have to do. “And Tommy’s fucking coming. If you’re gonna risk mine, then you’ll risk yours.”

“Fair enough,” Maria says, holding up her palms at him. Her face is serious, not letting his provocation rattle her. “I agree.” 

“Fucking better,” he grumbles under his breath, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye. You sidle up to him, run a soothing palm up his belly to his chest. He has to suppress a shiver. “You’re gonna rip all the hair out of your head, baby,” you croon, soft and appeasing, small palm wrapping around his wrist to gently pull his hand away. The glare he levels at you would send a grown man running. You scrunch your nose at him, and fuck the fact that he wants to kiss you senseless right now. No one person should be this beautiful, this appealing. It surely must go against some law of nature, for one cruel little creature to be so unbearably beguiling, so hard to say no to. Unable to hold on to his annoyance at you for anything longer than a few seconds, he wraps your small hand in his and tugs you further into him. “You’ll do as I say. We’re going to be extremely careful out there. I sense anything even slightly off, and we’re coming back. Understood?” he murmurs into your hair. You look up at him, eyes wide and falsely guileless, oh he knows all your tricks, you can’t fool him with that look. You nod in confirmation, soft pink cheek smushed up against his shoulder. Jesus.

Read Chapter IV

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End Notes: I kind of want to mention some things (and don’t know really know how to put it), but I realize there are parts of Birdie’s thought process in this chapter, and really in the story going forward, that some people might not agree with all that much, or find like idk misguided, unhealthy, etc., and yes, most definitely acknowledged. But really, the whole point of this story is that she’s working through some things, they’re both working through things. So… I know her point of view is perhaps not very well adjusted, but I think she’s going to get better eventually. They’re BOTH going to get better eventually. At least, that’s where I hope I’m able to lead them both to, and I hope you all don’t judge her too harshly or think too poorly of her before this is all over. My goal when I started writing this was to examine the grace we all sometimes need others to give us when we’re our worst or weakest selves. This is a very personal chapter for me, and perhaps my favorite of the entire story. 

I’m sending lots of love to you all. Thank you for reading. xx

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal #tlou fic #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal characters #FOG fic

[the-paris-of-people]

Blue Brownies and Finding Nemo, Part 4: BOTL

Summary:

“So how did you do it then? How did you forgive your mom?”

“I didn’t,” Annabeth shakes her head. “I don’t think I ever will. I just have to hope that I’m better for my future family.” 

Percy cocks his head, his eyes light with wonder. “You think about that stuff?” 

A chapter post-BOTL where Percy and Annabeth finally get to go on that movie date, featuring Rachel Elizabeth Dare angst, complex feelings towards Frederick Chase, fantasies of future Percabeth, and as it turns out, no movie at all?

Tagging: @yojeannie@angelthearsonist@m-cliffords-not-real-wife@that-chick-103@queerynotfound@thefabulousfab-3@montygreen@moonlightredfern @flamingbisexual08

Read on AO3

The person in the mirror at the back of the Delphi Strawberry Service van is a stranger to Annabeth.

Inside, she feels like she’s fought a million battles.  The constant cycle of pouring over Daedulus’ laptop and crying herself to sleep has stretched her thin. Her hair has withered away from the stress of almost losing Percy, then actually losing Luke. The person she sees now looks like the face that launched a thousand ships. Silena had ambushed her outside the Athena cabin, covered the bags under her eyes with a magical shade-match foundation, and woven her hair with golden thread, just like she had it on Circe’s island. 

“Trust me, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Silena reassured after charming Annabeth to vent to her about her date with Percy. She tapped her brush against her compact mirror and swirled it across her cheeks as she continued to comfort her, “There’s no need to worry about this Rachel girl.” 

She wasn’t sure about that. She saw the way Percy’s eyes flitted towards Rachel in the Labyrinth, the way they spoke to each other with ease, nothing like the way she and Percy interacted. Yes, she and Percy had gone to the 4th of July fireworks this summer, but she’d also tried to tell him how she felt about him before he left for camp and… nothing. Annabeth had felt so stupid. For reasons including and not about Rachel at all, she was holding onto this movie date like it would be their last.

“Annabeth,” Percy flusters when he sees her hop out of the van on the corner of 72nd street. He’s wearing his nicest green jacket, blushing so red he nearly looks like one of Apollo’s cattles. “You-you look nice,” He finally manages after struggling through his words like he was reading Lord of the Flies in English.

“Thank you,” Annabeth tucks a strand of her braids behind her ear. She notices the shift in Percy’s expression. He knows something is wrong. Normally she would flick a smile his way and tease, but she’s so worn out by the nightmares about Luke and Kronos that she can’t even summon her pride to be vain about her looks. “So, are we going to see this steel man movie or not?”

Percy opens his mouth to correct her, then shakes his head and opens the door for her. 

“Do you want any popcorn or something?” Percy gestures to the snack bar. “Tyson and I used to get a giant tub and share it with my mom. They make it pretty buttery here.”

“No need,” Annabeth smirks and opens the purse Silena gave her. “I have everything we need.”

“I’m confused,” Percy studies the empty lining of Annabeth’s purse. “Is this some kind of Mary Poppins situation?”

“Covered the snacks with the invisibility cap,” Annabeth zips up the bag and slugs it over her shoulder as she heads towards the escalator to the theater. “It’s not just useful for sneaking up on monsters. Plus I snuck some extra M and Ms in the cargo pants pockets.”

“And somehow Mrs. O’Leary didn’t follow you from camp?” Percy asks as they both climb onto the escalator, impressed.

“I fed her some blue gummies before I left.”

“Hellhounds can eat blue gummies? And those giant boar things hate egg salad? Seriously, why doesn’t Chiron just host courses on random picnic foods for monsters before each quest. Then I could get out of archery practice.” 

‘Hey, you’re almost getting better,” Annabeth punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Last time you almost hit the target.” 

“Haha, very funny,” Percy rolls his eyes, even though he knows it’s true. He’s as bad at archery as Annabeth is at gardening with the Demeter cabin. “Now come on. I want to show you something.” 

Electricity sparks through Annabeth’s veins as Percy takes her wrist and leads her down a regal hallway. The hum from her heart is so loud it nearly drowns out her observations as she hurries past the red velvet carpet and black, marble Grecian pillars. She would have to make a note of that later when they were walking back from the theater. With Percy’s fierce urgency, Annabeth expects Percy to be leading towards some kind of secret tomb with rubies and emeralds, but instead, he takes her to a plaque outside the last theatre in the hall. 

“These are what I was telling you about. Each of these theaters is designed after a movie palace from the twenties, a lot of them are still all around New York, decorated in a different architectural style. This one is from-” 

“Art Deco!” Annabeth exclaims gleefully. She marvels at the style of the theater in the photo. “See? You can tell by the horizontal design elements on the marquee and doorways, alluding to Streamline Moderne style.” 

“Horizontal elements? Because being vertical was too old school for the modern style?” 

“Actually, you’re not too far off, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile plays at the corner of her lips. “Horizontal lines gave an impression of sleekness and modernity in the 1930s, which I assume is when the original theater was built. See?” Annabeth turns back and skims through the plaque first, absorbing the most important ideas and key words. Then she rereads through it again, more slowly, imagining the construction of the arch and statues… 

“How do you do that?” Percy asks, breaking her concentration for a moment. She quickly refocuses back on the photo of the theater, picking out structural details of the facade that were expanded upon in her reading. 

“Do what?” 

“I can barely spell my own name and you can speed read that entire passage in like, five seconds.” 

“I can barely spell my own name too. I don’t know… being dyslexic, I just got my hands on whatever I could read when I was younger. My dad’s old house had a giant library when I was little, so I tried to read everything in there, and then when I got to camp, I had a lot of free time on my hands in the winter,” Annabeth turns back to Percy, and that’s when she notices how his eyes lay across hers, soft and full of wonder. She remembers how he pulled her in in the Athena cabin, when she had him all to herself at the beginning of the summer, before everything turned sour, how she tasted the sweet, salty taste of his lips even after it had been days since they had entered the Labyrinth. Suddenly, heightened nerves arrest Annabeth. Her heart rate quickens as she speeds through her explanation, doubting Percy notices the uncharacteristic tremble in her voice. “Chiron gave me a book on the Parthenon when I was 9, and then I just couldn’t stop reading, even though it’s still hard for me.” 

“That’s really cool,” Percy’s voice is steeped in awe. It’s the same tone he used when Rachel had gotten them that car in New Mexico, and Annabeth can’t help but to feel proud of herself. “You know, I don’t know if I could ever become good at something that’s that challenging to me.” 

Annabeth frowns. Sometimes Percy was so self-deprecating, it frustrated her. He was totally unaware of his own strengths. “Please, remember when you first started sword-fighting?”   

“Hey, I thought you said I wasn’t bad.” 

“You weren’t,” Annabeth remembers with a glint in her eye. “But you’re even better now.”

“But I didn’t even train that much, I just accidentally kind of… got better as I fought.” 

“Percy,” Annabeth sighs, bowing her head in exasperation. “You’re a talented guy, but you can’t take a compliment to save your life.” 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because I honestly can’t tell.” Percy replies back dryly. 

Annabeth scoffs, but they’ve known each other for so long she and Percy both know it’s free of malice. They both know this is one of the moments in the script they tease each other, but underneath all eye rolls and barbs is a deep understanding and respect of the other. They hold each other’s gaze and both wordlessly break out into smiles, realizing they’ve fallen back into their usual routine after a summer that threw a wrench in everyone’s schedule. Annabeth’s skin buzzes with excitement. She has a glimmer of hope that maybe this is a date, whether Seaweed Brain realized it or not. Yes, this was how they typically interacted, but there was something different in the way they spoke to each other as well, something she saw in Beckendorf and Silena interactions, new sweetness balancing out the usual sour tang.

“You know, it’s a compliment, Seaweed Brain. So just take it and acknowledge you’re a talented guy. Now come on, I want to read the other plaques before the previews start,” She leads the way towards the next plaque even though she’s never been to the theater and has no idea where she’s going, Percy groaning as he trails behind. 

“All the plaques?” Percy questions, his blonde curls rattling as he shakes his head. “I swear, you and Rachel are just like each other. She wanted to read all the plaques when she came here too.”

Annabeth freezes in her tracks like snowboots caught in old snow. She turns to Percy slowly, her face crumpled. 

“You’ve been here with Rachel before?” 

Percy flinches a little at her tone: demanding, hurt, seething with rage. Still, he remains oblivious as he answers her question,

“Yeah, a couple times. She invited me to see a Matrix movie marathon a few weeks ago.”

He came here with Rachel multiple times since he came back from camp. Since he had come back from camp, he’d been hanging out with her, even though he’d asked Annabeth on a date months ago, even though he comforted her and let her hold his hand in the dark and shared his blanket with her as they watched the fireworks. 

“Annabeth?” Percy’s voice is drenched in worry at Annabeth’s non-reaction. “Annabeth? Are you okay?”

“Excuse me,” Annabeth says quietly as she rushes towards the sign for the bathroom. She claims the unisex stall and hunches over the sink. For the first time that day, she finally sees the withered little girl she feels inside. 

The tears come not as an eruption, but as a quiet trickle of disappointment in herself and everything her life had turned out to be. She wanted catharsis and a good cry, and yet, still she’s disappointed herself on that front. 

She had no right to be angry and rude. Rachel was as talented as a child of Athena, as brave as a certain son of Poseidon, and as pretty as a daughter of Aphrodite. She glowed in the darkness of the Labyrinth and even as a statue in the middle of Times Square. She was smart and knowledgeable about art and Annabeth could’ve spoken with her about Jacque-Louis David for hours and hours. She could see why Percy liked her. 

So why did it hurt so much that another person she loved left her for someone else, once again?  

As Annabeth wipes her tears with the pack of tissues she’s stored under her invisibility cap, a sheepish knock taps at the door. 

“Annabeth? Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Annabeth calls with a slight bite to her voice. She brushes her tears off her face again, thankful for the magical smudge-free makeup of the Aphrodite cabin, for once. 

The door creaks as an apprehensive Percy walks over and stands next to her over the sink. She averts her eyes down, knowing she’ll start to cry more if she meets his eyes. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

The softness of his apology splits Annabeth once again, and she feels guilty all over again for feeling so uncontrollably possessive and jealous over someone who was never hers. 

“No,” She shakes her head, still fixated at the white marble of the sink. “No, you did nothing wrong.” 

“Oh, okay, then uhhhh, do you want to check out the other plaques? I think we still have some time before the previews to read a couple more.” 

“Can we just go to the park?” Annabeth sniffles, finally turning back to Percy. “Riverside?” 

Percy winces as he watches her dab away at the last of her tears. He knows Percy expected her to ask to go to MET or the Morgan Library. She’s never told him, but being by the water is special for her, too. “Yeah, sure, of course.” 

****

The kiss of summer sunshine brightens the scent of the grass so much, it almost smells like Camp Half Blood strawberry fields. The walkway winds around gated playgrounds, filled with children swinging their arms across the monkey bars as their parents lean against each other on a chipped park bench and watch them from afar. The Hudson glitters like the mischievous twinkle in Percy’s eyes, deep blue with flecks of silver and gold, and the thought of it makes her blush, realizing she’s thinking this while she’s standing right next to Percy. She’s thankful all over again for Silena’s makeup, causing her to wonder if she should start wearing blush more around him. 

She and Percy match each other’s long, slow strides, the air between them thick with tension of all the things left unsaid, then thinned out again with the comfort and ease that’s existed between them for years. Annabeth looks back out onto the water and thinks about the stories her dad regaled her with before her stepmother came into the picture. Every so often, he would tell Annabeth how she came to be the most precious gift in his life, how he met the most beautiful, intelligent woman while studying at a magical place called Harvard, how they used to study together at Reading Room on the top floor, with paneled rooftop windows that ushered light that fell onto their faces. They talked in the library for hours, and when they needed a break, walked along Cambridge Harbor with ice cream cones that spilled onto their hands in a sticky mess. Whenever Annabeth was by a body of water, she thought of them happily together all those years ago, then of an alternate reality where they stayed together and the three of them were walking together, too. 

If you loved each other so much, why isn’t she here with us? Annabeth had asked once, and her father’s face crumbled like a wrecking ball taken to a safehouse. Even though she grew older, and logically, she knew her mother couldn’t be with them, she couldn’t help but feel angry and sad that she never tried. Even though Annabeth and her step-family got along now, she couldn’t help feeling like she did before she ran away. If she couldn’t have her mom, why couldn’t she have her dad all to herself, instead of having to share his scattered brain with three other people?

“Hey,” Percy nudges her arm as Annnabeth descends further and further into her imaginary fantasy. “Thinking about your dad?” 

Annabeth realizes she’s subconsciously touching her dad’s ring and drops her hand. She wonders how much she should tell Percy, how ridiculous it seems, but she stares back at him and knows he would understand her. 

“You know why I wanted to come here?” She twists the ring in between her thumb and index finger and stares back out at Hoboken, across the river. “The summer my parents met, they used to take walks together by the Charles River. The way my dad talks about it…” Annabeth’s eyes get misty again, but she wills herself to push them away. “I can tell he really loved her. And sometimes when I walk along a body of water, I imagine that they’re still together and we’re a family. I know, it’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s not stupid.” Percy reassures, with that sweet, genuine tone he uses to comfort her. He pauses for a moment then admits, “Actually, I uh, saw your vision at Siren Bay. I just didn’t bring it up because well,” Percy scratches the back of his head. “I think about my parents getting back together too.” 

“Really?” Annabeth had discussed with her siblings how much they hated having one parent around, but she’d never felt secure enough to broach the topic of wanting her family back together.

“Yeah. I was actually just thinking about them now, even though we’re not in Montauk,” Percy flicks his eyes down for a moment, then towards the kids on the playground. “Did I tell you though that Paul wants to propose to my mom? He told me at my birthday party a few days ago, before my dad showed up.”

Annabeth is taken back. She knew about Poseidon showing up, but not Paul Blofis proposing. “How do you feel about that?” 

“I’m happy,” Percy sounds upbeat, but she senses his voice falter, just the tiniest bit. That was Percy, always trying to accommodate everyone without thinking of himself. “I mean my mom was miserable for so long with Gabe. She deserves to be happy..” 

“Dude,” Annabeth scolds, softly enough to coax him into admission. 

“And….” Percy hesitates, because he can’t say a bad thing about anyone he cares about, even if it’s devouring him alive. “It does make me a little sad too, and I’m angry at my Dad for not getting it together and being with us too.” 

“I know the feeling,” Annabeth murmurs. A gust of wind blows and whips her braids across her hair.

“So how did you do it then? How did you forgive your mom?”

“I didn’t,” Annabeth shakes her head. “I don’t think I ever will. I just have to hope that I’m better for my future family.” 

Percy cocks his head, his eyes light with wonder. “You think about that stuff?” 

“Sometimes,” Annabeth flushes hot. She’s never admitted that to anyone, because it’s embarrassing and illogical and stupid. She knows the rules of their world, but she can’t help but dream. “I know demigods don’t live past 16, but sometimes I picture myself as  a famous architect, maybe a professor giving lectures across the world, and sometimes… I imagine myself with a family, too.” 

Percy purses his lips together and thinks to himself for a moment. “You know, I’ve never thought about it too much before, but a family would be nice.” 

And there he is, holding his gaze with hers again. Annabeth swallows and begins to fidget furiously with her fingers. A building can only be supported with a solid foundation, she realizes, and she never imagined herself with a family until she met Percy. Her heart leaps as she watches the golden light trickle through the tree branches and onto his cheeks. The way he stood was so easy, so relaxed, he slouched without thinking and his fingers always curled casually at the ends, like he didn’t think about what to do with his hands. Annabeth was deliberate in every movement, she overthought everything, and he just.. was. Even when it hurt to be around him, it was easy to be around him. 

“Listen,” Percy breaks the silence with a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry about Rachel.” 

Annabeth stiffens at the mention of her name.

“Whatever.” 

“Okay,” Percy says slowly. “Well it seems like you really don’t like it when I hang out with her, and I don’t know why.”

He really did have a thick skull.

“No seriously, I don’t care.” Annabeth crosses her arms. “You can hang out with whoever you want.” 

“Well, okay then,” Percy dismisses, annoyed, before turning sincere again. “I just… I know things have been weird between us this past summer, and I just don’t want to be so distant from you.” 

It really was hard to stay mad at him when he was so sweet, even when he was being an obtuse idiot.

“Well, unfortunately you’re stuck with me,” Annabeth brushes him off with a sarcastic comment to avoid the skip in her heart. “If we go down, we’re going down together, remember?” 

“Okay,” A slow smile curls across Percy’s mouth, and the sunshine lit behind him makes it look like a halo with his smile and golden curls.“Good to know you’re still in on that.” 

“Always,” Annabeth says with an eye roll, but she casts one last look at him in the light before turning to pretend to look at the river again instead of his handsome eyes. She curls her hands into fists to suppress the urge to reach out and hold his hand.

“On that note, let’s go get some ice cream,” He leads the way before Annabeth can object. “I’m buying.”

#percabeth fic #percabeth #percy jackson #pjo #annabeth chase #frederick chase #athena #mine

[pjohoo-reclists]

30k+ Completed Percy - Centric Fic Recs

Request: Anyone have any good, long, finished stories that focus on Percy? Really any variation, other than him killing everyone. No Percy/Nico, Percy/Jason or Percy/Rachel.

Here's a few. Just a heads up, a couple of these fics are completed but their series aren't. Posted 11/8/23. Enjoy!

I am not what I expected (The poison just didn't take) by dcninja for Sappho_of_Space

M | 30k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Hermes, Percy Jackson & Hades, Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Kymopoleia

Post Second Giant War, Powerful Percy Jackson, Ascension, Hermes is a good friend

After the War against Gaea, Percy finds himself struggling in the life he worked so hard to get back to. The more he tries to fit back in, pushing down his powers and emotions after the war, the more things seem to fall apart. As Olympus prepares to officially reopen at the Winter Solstice, Hermes takes notice that something is off with the Savior of Olympus. But when he asked for help from Hades, none of them could imagine what Percy’s trip to the Pit led to and what it will mean for the hero. Or Percy finally reckons with the consequences of challenging Akhlys with a little help from his immortal family, who he might be around for a lot longer than he thought.

Of Gods and Men by plottingalong

T | 40k | Complete

Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Paul Blofis/Sally Jackson, Paul Blofis & Percy Jackson

Post-Tartarus, Immortal Percy Jackson, Sad Percy Jackson

The order of things are changing. Old rules are shifting, old gods awakening. Percy Jackson must come to terms with his own mortality, or rather, the lack of it.

Trading Tomorrow by Darkmagyk, loosingletters

T | 44k | Complete

Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase & Percy Jackson

Time travel fix it, Luke Castellan Redemption, Childhood Trauma

Percy Jackson arrives at Camp Half-Blood bruised and bleeding, with the knowledge that he's the son of a god and his mother is dead. His little display with the Minotaur has caught the attention of the camp. But he’s not sure it is good attention, yet. Only the Hermes Cabin's not-quite Co-counselor Theseus, ‘call me Theo,’ doesn't treat him like a fascinating zoo exhibit. Which would be a relief, except he looks exactly like Percy: same green eyes, same trouble making smile, same black hair. The only differences are the fact that Theo is six years older, covered in battle scars, and the black tattoo on his arm. A trident and the letters SPQR. Theo is eighteen, powerful, and unclaimed. And his resemblance to Percy could set a dangerous precedent.

We shall meet again in the morning sun by iwillpassthis

T | 55k | Complete

Percy Jackson, Chiron, Gods and Goddesses (Percy Jackson)

Time Travel, Ancient Greece, Post-Canon

Percy is eighteen when the gods disappear. Percy is not even born when he has to save them. OR Of Percy's journey to Ancient Greece. Saving the world is a trial and error process isn't it?

Bloodlines by peachsocks

T | 61k | Complete

Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo & Thalia Grace & Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-The Blood of Olympus (Heroes of Olympus), Angst with a Happy Ending

After a year of avoiding Camp Half-Blood (and his friends, and everyone, and everything) in the aftermath the Giant War, Percy returns. He quickly realizes that the gods never change, running from the past never works, and family is the one thing that might make all of the nonsense worth it.

Camera Shutters by nlpiersee

T | 66k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Apollo, Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood

Post Trials of Apollo, Coping, Moving on, Percy opens up

Percy is working in a cafe, living that demi-god college life. Or trying to. He's still not certain what he's going to school for just yet, but he's enjoying the swim team and being able to see his friends in a place he doesn't really have to worry about monsters. But he catches the attention of a photographer who thinks that Percy is what the world needs to see. And since Percy is impulsive, he decides, why not?

Fishing in Alaska by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

G | 112k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Poseidon

Family Feels, PTSD, Triton is a Good Sibling

[Note: fic was deleted from ao3. Link is to a google drive copy. The hassle is worth it].

"This... this would qualify as a mental breakdown right?" Triton asked, frowning over his shoulder to where Percy was still fuming gin the corner. The lady at the counter curiously glanced over before lifting a questioning brow. "My brother - half brother, technically, I have much better breeding - decided to run away from home to where our father can't reach him and now he won't leave. And now I can't leave unless he leaves," Triton continued. Percy opened his mouth to object that wasn't what happened at all, but the tyrant only waved a hand to silence him. "He's seen war or whatever, so if you could maybe just drug him and I'll throw him into a suitcase and we can be out of here by the Summer Solstice!" Silence. Finally, the woman cleared her throat and turned to Percy. "I'm guessing he's the one you want checked into the metal hospital?" She asked. Triton gasped as Percy punched the air in victory. "Aha!" Or Getting in trouble works a little differently when your parent is an all-powerful god. Sometimes you have to escape to the land beyond gods and get your immortal brother turned human to drag you back so you can be exploded into a million pieces. You know, normal teenage stuff.

Hold Tight and Pretend It's a Plan by Rynna_Aurelius

M | 112k | Complete

Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson (Past), Annabeth Chase & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Triton

Time Travel fix it, Dysfunctional Family, BAMF Percy Jackson

Olympus has fallen. The second Gigantomachy has ended far differently than the first, and in Gaea's triumph, the world has been torn apart. But the Fates have seen what ends their failed meddling have brought, look on at the dead—and undo what should never have happened the only way they possibly can. Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, is returned to his twelve-year-old self, memories intact and determined to save everyone he can. But he is not alone. The Moirai underestimated the strength of the Lord of Time when stealing his power, and there is something about this particular demigod brat that intrigues him. . . Perseus Jackson came roaring to life with a violent gasp, green eyes wild. After a moment of panicked flailing and struggling to breathe, his fear-filled gaze settled upon a girl with blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, her face stern and unimpressed. "You drool in your sleep."

Stars on the Water by liketolaugh

T | 116k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Thalia Grace, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase & Grover Underwood

Percy Jackson Goes to Therapy, Past Child Abuse, Percy Jackson Needs a Hug

"I dunno, I just think it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of people," Percy said to Thalia, when she just stared at him. His cheek rested in his hand, a rare pensive look leaving his eyes distant and unfocused. "Mom has Paul now, so it’ll be easier on her if she doesn’t have to worry about me mucking things up. Dad won’t have to keep threatening war every time Zeus gets his toga twisted. The prophecy’s done, so I won’t be bringing it down on Nico. And no one will have to worry about me blowing up another volcano."

Who Would Dare? by PunkFlame

T | 120k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Triton, Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Poseidon & Triton, Amphitrite & Percy Jackson

Extreme Medical Trauma, Prince Percy, Seafam

"Listen." Triton's voice cut through Percy’s haze "We both know you're hurt, but you don’t have to play the hero. Now let me see your damn wound." Percy nodded, opening up his stance and allowing Triton to approach him. He lifted the hem of Percy’s shirt carefully, to reveal an inch deep gash that stretched from the top of his shoulder to his upper thigh. Triton froze, eyes widening in disbelief, but he remained silent. He reached out but stopped himself just short of touching the wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and grave. "Tell me who did this to you... Now." ________ Triton, at Poseidon's request, goes to seek out Percy; however, he finds him on the brink of death, and brings him back to Atlantis in an attempt to save his life. What will this mean for them, what will this mean for the royal family as a whole, and who would dare to have done this in the first place?

Green Day, Aerosmith, Vitamin C (and other cliches): Stories from Senior Year by No2Ticonderoga

M | 200k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Post Heroes of Olympus, High School, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent

Percy and Annabeth navigate the second half of their senior year, sweating out their grades, avoiding hallway hoodlums and the occasional monster. And there's that constant worry that something's gone wrong out west, since nobody seems to be able to communicate with them from out there. But it's not all bad. They finally get to do some normal high school-ly things. Like prom! And graduation! Still, they've got a lot on their minds. And nosy parents. Of both the mortal and the godly variety. A mostly fluffy look at their post-BOO relationship. Cameos by lots of folks. Rated mature, because high schoolers use bad language in real life. Shocking I know. *fans self like Hazel* And they get up to things when they're alone. Also, some nightmares and post-Tartarus trauma to deal with, in later chapters. See chapters for specific content warnings.

Nothing to make a song about but kings by iwillpassthis

T | 201k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Amphitrite, Percy Jackson & Poseidon

King!Percy, Undersea politics, Atlantis

Percy knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through his veins in an uncoordinated dance. You are the sea now, it whispered, and the sea is you. A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head. Long live the king. Long live the king. . It’s a fortune that Poseidon has a mortal son, because when an ancient curse hits his kingdom and all the sea gods disappear… well, someone must rule.

alone at the edge of a universe by Sarcastic_Metaphor

M | 281k | Complete

Annabeth Chase & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Poseidon, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood, Nico di Angelo & Percy Jackson

Chaos!Percy, Powerful Percy Jackson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

The sea is not unlike the abyss; it is deadly, destructive. It hides secrets in its depths and threatens even those that know it well. The sea easily swallows life with no trace left behind. The sea can be quite similar to oblivion. But when the mood strikes them, both the oceans and the abyss can be tempted to create life instead. Or, a complete AU rewrite from pre-canon through all five PJO books: Percy is born a little less human and a little more otherworldly than healthy. With powers he was never meant to have, and a third parent he never wanted, the plans that the Fates originally made for him will be torn asunder.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #pjo #rec list #rick riodan #rrverse #long fics #pjo long fics #pjo fic recs #fic request #annabeth chase #poseidon #poseidon & percy #grover underwood #percy jackson/annabeth chase #percy/annabeth #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #fanfiction #fanfics