#teen pregnancy
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Finally Getting Help (pt 13)
Masterpost
Danny was holding Jason’s hand so tight he felt like his fingers were creaking but Jason wasn’t about to say anything. They were waiting in the doctor's office for Danny’s first ultrasound and Jason was accompanying him as promised, if Danny needed to squeeze his hand that was what Danny needed to do then so be it, it was better the bolting, which it looked like he was considering. Leslie didn’t usually make people wait long but when she had an emergency she had an emergency, it didn’t matter that Bruce funded her clinic, and was sitting awkwardly in one corner, they could wait.
It had been decided that as Danny’s guardian and maybe boyfriend? Bruce and Jason would be the ones to go in with him, with Danny’s agreement of course. Jazz and Dick had both wanted to come too but they didn’t want to crowd the room or overwhelm Danny so it was decided they would stay close by but not come In. Just then they were waiting together at a cafe across the road in case they were needed.
“Alright, I’m sorry to keep you both waiting but you know how Gotham is,” Leslie said a little grim-faced and still stripping off bloody gloves as she walked into their room and tossed them into the trash can. “So, Danny right,” Danny nodded. “Will you come with me into a private room for your examination?” She asked, because of course she did, the phrasing too was carefully worded to not put him on the spot so if Danny was feeling at all threatened or uncomfortable about Jason and Bruce being there he wouldn’t be blamed for following her.
“You don’t have to,” She added quickly when Danny looked panicked and clung to Jason so tight Jason couldn’t help wincing. “We can move forward with the appointment if them being here makes you more comfortable?”
Danny nodded quickly so she nodded as well and sat down at her desk, opening a file on her computer. “So, you’re here for an ultrasound right?” She glanced over and Danny nodded again, he seemed to be feeling really shy, Jason had never seen him so nervous, Bruce looked worried. “But it says here you haven’t had a check up in years so would you mind if we do a general exam first? I would like to make sure that You are healthy before we move on to the babies.”
“Yes that’s fine, but you know I’m not fully human right?” Danny asked, she paused for barely a moment.
“I was told you had some differences,” she confirmed gingerly. “What should I expect?”
“Well, my heart rate is naturally slower than it used to be, and my body temperature is lower. Like I get to ‘healthy human’ temperatures when I have a bad fever. I don’t know what else has changed, honestly. I’ve been avoiding the doctor ever since my accident because I knew how my parents would react,” he said sounding tired and resigned.
“Well then we’ll take today as a paceline and monitor changes. If you’re feeling well today?” She suggested, she probably would have liked to get a baseline before Danny was pregnant but obviously that was impossible.
“Ya that’s fine, my heartrate is probably a bit fast because I’m nervous but I’m probably healthier then I’ve been in a while. I haven’t been getting into fights and I’ve been eating regularly after all!”
“Alright. I understand but there’s no need to be nervous. This is a safe environment, I won’t do anything that’s not medically necessary.”
“I know, if Bruce and Jason didn’t speak so highly of you I wouldn’t be here. They don’t seem to see eye to eye on much so if they both trust and like you you must be good,” Danny said with a little smile though he was still tense and pale. That anxiety wasn’t going anywhere fast. In the corner Brace gave a sort of strangled cough that had Jason glaring at him even though he didn’t really know what it meant.
“Alright, then let’s get started,” She said before she started Danny’s check-up, all of the normal things a doctor would do if a bit more thorough. Checking eyes, mouth, ears, heart and lungs, and reflexes, circulation and blood pressure. His heartbeat was slow and his blood pressure was low but Danny thought that was probably normal for him? She gave an unconvinced hum. “We’ll have weekly check ups and check it again then. If it’s sustained and doesn’t affect you then we can say it’s normal for you.” She agreed.
“Alright, well based on the information you’ve told me I think we’ve established a baseline and you’re healthy. Are you ready for your ultrasound?” She asked and Danny took a deep breath, Jason, still standing next to Danny, squeezed his hand gently.
“Ya, as ready as I’ll ever be,” Danny agreed.
“Thank you, just lay back and pull up your shirt please,” Dr. Leslie requested and Danny did as she’d asked as she pulled up the little monitor and set things up. In the background Bruce shifted so he could see the screen better. “There won’t be much to see,” Leslie warned, shooting Bruce a look as she applied the ultrasound gel. “It’s still too early.”
She put on a fresh pair of gloves and grabbed the wand, “Alright, let's have a look.” She said, pressing it carefully against Danny’s stomach.
Danny had let go of Jason’s hand while he lay down but now he grabbed around for Jason again, without looking away from the screen now showing inside his abdomen. Jason stepped closer and grabbed Danny’s hand, looking at his face rather than anything else, monitoring for signs the trepidation there might be getting to be too much. He knew Danny was nervous, but they didn’t want this to progress into a panic attack.
“There they are. Oh! Two, twins. You’re further along than I expected, 10 weeks by the looks of it?” She asked glancing at Danny who nodded.
“Ya, I’ve only been carrying them for 6 but they’re test tube babies,” he confirmed, his eyes fixed on the screen.
“Ah,” She sounded, nodding her understanding. “The little round things below their hearts are odd. Do they have two hearts? No, those ones aren’t beating…”
“Those are their cores,” Danny murmured before it seemed to hit him and he looked at Jason, his eyes wide with panic. “Oh my god I AM actually pregnant, it’s not just the cores, I’m pregnant, oh my god I’m pregnant,” he was starting to hyperventilate.
Dr. Leslie pulled back and Danny practically threw himself into Jason’s arm who held him tight as Danny hid against his chest and trembled. “Do you want us to call Jazz?” Jason offered softly as he held Danny and let him cry.
“No don’t go,” Danny hiccuped against Jason’s chest.
“I’ll call Jazz,” Bruce added, of course. He would want to help, he did care, but he never had any actual idea how to help. The emotionally unavailable bastard.
“Do you want me to leave?” Dr. Leslie asked gently. “I would like to have a better look at the twins to check on their development but if you need time I can come back later, or even another day.”
“Just-just give me a minute, please,” Danny sniffled as Jason rubbed his back.
“Of course. I know this is overwhelming,” Leslie said gently.
Jazz barged into the room and immediately hugged Danny a well, sandwiched safely between her and Jason. “Scruff him, it’ll help,” she told Jason, who nodded and squeezed the back of Danny’s neck.
He shuddered and then started to relax between the two of them, basically letting the two taller, and trusted, people hold him up. His sobs turned into sniffles and then a few deep breaths. “Okay, okay I think I’m ready. I want to know that they’re okay too. I know their cores are developing well but if they have human bodies, we need to make sure those are healthy too right?”
“Right. Do you want me to stay, or do you want Bruce to come back in?” Jazz asked gently.
“No, you and Jason stay please,” Danny said softly. He had thought it was right for Bruce to come in as his guardian, but it was Jazz who had really been looking after him for years. “There’s not much to see right now, just little blobs. We’ll tell him how it goes.”
Danny took another breath and then squirmed out of both of their arms and went to lay back on the table, pulling up his shirt again. Jason stood next to the examination table, taking Danny’s hand again, Jazz went and sat on the table by Danny’s head and stroked his hair while Dr. Leslie applied fresh jelly to his stomach since it had been worn off during his panic attack. Jason might have to change his shirt after this.
“Alright, let’s have another look shall we?” She said with a warm smile as she pressed the wand against his stomach again. She found the babies again fairly easily. “They seem to be sticking pretty close together,” She said with a little smile. “They’re active little things! It’s far too early to tell anything else about them but from what you’ve told me they seem to be on track and developing properly,” She said, pulling back and offering Danny a cloth to clean the gel off his stomach.
“Do you mind if we call Bruce back in? As your guardian I’d like him to be here for you treatment plan?” She asked.
“Sure, makes sense,” Danny agreed with a nod.
She nodded back and looked at Jazz, who nodded as well and ducked out to get Bruce. “While we’re mostly alone I want to know, do you know all your options Danny? You know you don’t have to carry them. They’re just embryos right now, not even conscious. Your health and safety comes first,” Dr. Leslie told him gently. She knew Jason was firmly pro-choice.
“No, I know,” Danny said with a little smile and a nod, looking down at his stomach and gently caressing it. “I know I don’t Have to do this. But I do want them. I’m already attached to them, you know?” He said looking up at her, worried that she would judge him. He hoped he was making the right choice, that he wasn’t ruining his life at 16 or something. Fuck he could be on that trashy tv show!
“I understand,” She assured, no hint of judgment on her face. Of course not, if she could treat rogues without judgment she sure as hell wasn’t going to judge a teen parent. She glanced up as the door opened again and Bruce and Jazz entered. “Right,” Leslie said, sitting down at her computer and starting to type. “You’re still a little malnourished so I’d like to get you taking prenatal vitamins immediately,” she said, glancing up to see Danny nod. “With your unique condition I’d like to see you more often than usual, weekly visits would be best for now. Once we’re sure you and the babies are okay we can go down to every other week.”
“I don’t think we need to do that,” Danny said, shifting nervously. “I mean you say the human side is looking good, and my ghost doctor says they’re developing well on that side, if slower than usual. I don’t need to come in every week,” He said looking hopeful.
She hesitated for a moment, organizing her thoughts and considering his words. “Even so, there’s clearly some bleed over that makes it hard to tell how healthy you are. I would feel better if you came weekly, at least for the first month so we can establish a true baseline.”
“Alright,” Danny said, drooping again, looking back at Bruce. “Can you make the appointment? I want to go home.”
“Sure Danny,” Bruce agreed, pulling out his planner to check their schedule.
“I’ll take you back to the manor,” Jason assured, using his grip on Danny’s hand to help him up.
“I’ll go back to the cafe with Dick, we were having a good conversation, I wouldn’t mind continuing it,” She said, giving Danny a smile. “Unless you want me to come?”
“No, that’s alright. Have fun Jazz,” Danny said, leaning against Jason and letting him usher Danny out of the clinic. Jazz waved as she crossed to the cafe where Dick was waiting, looking worried till he noticed them, then he smiled and waved. Jazz waved back and jogged across, about to tell Dick all about the twins no doubt.
Jason led Danny to his bike, and got on first, pulling Danny onto the seat behind him. Danny wrapped his arms around Jason and pressed against his back, half hiding from the world. Jason didn’t try to talk to him, he needed time to process. He would talk when he was ready to.
#dc x dp#danny phantom#jason todd#fanfiction#trans!danny#trans pregnancy#teen pregnancy#dead on main#bruce wayne#jazz fenton#dick grayson#eldest daughter syndrome#that's what Dick and Jazz are called as a ship right?#finally getting help AU#Danny is pregnant#tw dysphoria
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From Secular-Pro-Life
[ID: Two photos sit opposite one another. The photo on the left is of a woman holding a sign that says, “I am a progressive pro-choice woman running for congress. My run is possible because of the abortion I had at 18.” The other photo is also of a woman holding a sign, as well as her child. The sign reads, “They told me I couldn’t be a successful teen mom so I’m proving them wrong.” End ID]
On a personal note, as the daughter of a teen mom who had to fight against pro-abortion, sexist bs just to have me AND succeed, I don’t want bigoted child killers claiming to represent me. You don’t get to preach how awesome it was to be able to kill your child for “success” and then turn around to say people like me, the literal could-be victims of abortion, should be represented by you. Fuck that noise. Less death, more love and support. Do better and be better.
#systemic sexism#protest signs#pro abort hypocrisy#teen pregnancy#support parents don’t kill their kids
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———
For some reason the lack of a little jingling bell throws her off.
It’s a quintessential diner thing, she supposes. A little bell above the door. There’s the weird decor and the pressed cotton uniforms and the yelling chef and the little bell. It was in both Back to the Future one and two. That’s how she knows she’s right.
But when she pushes open the door with windows so caked with grime she can hardly see through them, there is no little jingle. And when she looks up at the door frame, eyebrows furrowed, it seems sad and lonely. She’s never been so aware of the lack of a sound, the absence of a noise. It makes the rest of the silence of the diner seem eerie, wrong. Dead.
She takes a hesitant step forward, door swinging shut behind her. She realizes as she approaches the ordering counter that her hand rests palm cupped on her belly, and removes it immediately.
“Hello?”
There are a couple groups of people in the back, talking quietly over their food. It doesn’t make the diner seem any less abandoned, somehow. If anything it feels like a TV playing on mute in a hospital. Saturated static.
“Seat yourself, girl. You ain’t never been to a diner before?”
The woman that speaks is tall and plump and harsh-looking. A very strange mixing of features. They’re at odd with the diner-specific yellow uniform she wears, collar pressed but skirt wrinkled. Apron dusted with flour and streaked with machine oil. Face pinched, eyes hard, black hair resting in dainty ringlets along her shoulders. Her name tag only reads the name of the business.
“A couple,” Naomi defends. “One even had a hostess.”
The woman — who must be a manager — raises an eyebrow.
“You see a hostess’ station?”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”
“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”
“Well, then, get the hell out of my restaurant.”
Naomi holds her gaze, tilting up her chin. She will not be swayed by orneriness. “I need a job.”
The manager eyes her critically. Naomi’s hands twitch, and the top of her head feels suddenly itchy. Summer before highschool she’d wrote her first resume — Mama’d drawn her a bath and sat behind her and spent two hours slowly untangling the ratty mess of curls on her head with nothing but a bottle of cheap jasmine conditioner and her own two fingers, telling her about lasting first impressions.
“Go home, kid.”
“I’m not a fu —” She stumbles over her words at the last second, catching herself before that eyebrow can climb any higher. It does, and the other eyebrow begins to climb with it, but she rights herself and powers on. “I can vote,” she says finally. “I can throw on a uniform and get blown up across seas. I can — I can adopt a child, if I so choose. Right now.”
The eyebrows reach critical height, brushing the end of her carefully teased hairline. Naomi watches them and their inspiring journey with intensity, instead of noticing how the manager’s eyes drop down to her stomach, linger, and then return to her face.
“You gonna adopt it right outta your womb, or what?”
Naomi snaps her mouth shut.
“Well,” she says, and nothing else.
The manager sighs. “This ain’t a charity.”
Naomi barely manages to bite the snark back from her voice before she speaks.“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for work.”
Eyes shifting to the tables in the back, the manager leans over the counter, long fingers wrapping around the handle of a coffee pot so old the handle has worn right down to plain metal, and walks over to a beckoning customer. She fills a man’s mug with her lips pressed thin, offering a napkin to a child in a high chair.
“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”
The customer pushes over a stack of plates without moving his eyes from the newspaper in front of him. There’s a woman on the other side of the table, holding a spoon out to the little kid, eyes desperate and tight smile slipping when the kid’s pudgy fist hits and sends the scoop of scrambled eggs flying. The man brings the coffee to his lips and waves the manager away.
“It’s illegal for an employer to discriminate against a pregnant person,” Naomi says finally. That had been drilled into her head by her Mama, too. That and how to keep her finances separate. She’ll have real trouble with that, what with the zero dollars she’ll have by the end of the week.
“Good thing I’m not your employer, then.” The manager sets the plates by a soapy sink, putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate. “Get lost.”
I am lost, Naomi almost says, almost slamming a hand in the counter to catch herself from her suddenly weak knees. She watches the manager watch her, tight little frown furling the corner of her mouth, through the blur of her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.
“Please,” she says, too quiet, then tries again: “Please.”
The manager disappears behind a short half-wall, following the sound of an oven dinging. Naomi gasps silently, bowing over the counter, breathing heavily. She curls her hands into fists and presses them, hard, one to her chest and one right under her ribs. Ka-thump, ka-thump, kickkickkick. Kickkick ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-kickthump.
There’s an echoing clatter as a hot tray slams on a stove top. Scrambling upright, Naomi lifts the little door on the counter, scanning the space. The register is ancient and yellowed, buttons so worn with use the labels have worn away. There’s a thread-thin mat at the base of it. The counters are clean but scratched, walls stained but dust-free. The coffeemaker gurgles pathetically. An apron hangs from a hook nailed to the wall by the kitchen window.
As quietly as she can, Naomi slips it over her head. It’s tight around the waist, so she folds it once and ties it around her ribs, instead, letting the straps dangle loosely at the butt of her jeans. She ties her hair quickly behind her head and steps up to the creaky sink, silently moving the pile of dishes to the empty counter. When the clatter in the kitchen starts up again, she turns the water on as quick as she can — hack gurgle rush — and squeezes the mostly empty soap bottle as hard as she can to make up a lather.
“Hell are you doing?” says the manager gruffly, two pies balancing on her oven mitt hands.
Naomi shrugs.
“You deaf, or stupid?”
She thinks if laughter like a lyre and sun golden hair, plucking at her out-of-tune guitar string and asking a similar question. The ghost of a smile pulls across her face.
“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”
A pie plate crinkles under the press of a knife, and the scent of candy cherry mixes with slightly-burnt coffee. Makes her think of Grammy’s house, the smell of the jams she spent sixty years making soaked permanently in the wooden foundations. The manager finishes plating the pie slices and sliding them under the display glass around the same time Naomi suds up the last dirty mug. She watches her red-painted finger tap, tap, tap on her bicep out of the corner of her eye as she rinses it off.
Unplugging the sink, dirty water gurgling as it drains, she points a hesitant elbow at the dishtowel tucked into the managers pocket. She grabs it, threading it around her fingers, twisting the worn pink tail.
“Freezer broke two days ago.” She picks at a loose thread ‘til it pulls clean from the rest of the fabric, balling it up and sliding it into her pocket. She tugs on the fabric one last time, then tosses it, bundled, into Naomi’s waiting hands. “Tables in the back better have their bill by the time I get back from fixin’ it.”
Naomi hunches over the sopping dishes to hide her smile, listening to the scritch scritch click of the manager’s shoes as she stomps away.
———
Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.
“Great way to get ripped off,” she likes to grumble, slapping a stack of 20s bundled in a stapled piece of notebook paper into Naomi’s hands every Friday. She doesn’t think much of taxes, either, or lawyers, or racecar drivers. Naomi doesn’t quite understand that last one, but she knows better than to ask. As far as she’s concerned she’s still on probation, and probably will be if she works at the diner for another four months. Or the rest of her life.
On one hand, Naomi doesn’t have a bank account, so a cheque would be useless to her anyway. The cash she can use immediately and whenever she needs it. On the other hand, which is currently occupied with sewing back closed the hole she gouged in her backseat for the seventeenth week in a row, she has nowhere exactly to put that money, so it stresses her out.
Maybe she should look into an apartment.
Of course there are no apartment buildings in Sheffield. But she’s pretty sure Iraan is a big enough town to have a couple, as squat as they may be, and it’s only a twenty minute drive. There’s more to do there, too, so maybe she’d actually have a reason to take a day off every week. It’s not like she can buy a damn house with the less-than 3000 dollars she has saved up.
Waddling out of her car, she ducks into the diner. You’d think she’d be used to the lack of bell, now, but she finds that she still anticipates it; finds that her brain still quietly signals to her ears to prep for it. It always sets her off, a little.
“You’re late,” says Di critically, uniform hanging over her arm, foot tap tap-ing on the linoleum floor.
“I don’t have a starting time,” Naomi says lightly. “On account that I am not your employee.“
Di huffs, rolling her eyes. Naomi rolls them right back, snatching the uniform from her arms on the way to the bathroom. She has to wear Di’s, now, because she doesn’t fit into her old one. Di is much taller and broader than her and the stupid thing hangs down to her mid-calf, awkwardly drowning her shoulders, but it’s the only thing wide enough to cover her belly and Di refuses to let Naomi just wear her regular clothes.
(“You’re indecent,” she always says, sneering at her jean shorts, but Naomi has learned to translate you’re indecent but also you can’t have bare legs around hot oil, which she’s come to appreciate. Sure, Di makes her clean the bathroom whether or not she needs to crawl around in her knees to stay balanced, but she doesn’t want her burned to death, at least. That’s something.)
“And your hair’s unwashed,” she adds, as if Naomi had not walked away. She reaches up and adjusts Naomi’s collar, like that is going to do anything to change the fact that she looks like she’s wearing a collapsed tent. “You’re going to drive customers away.”
Naomi doesn’t say, you open before the community centre does, so I can’t shower in the mornings. She does not say, I spent last night trying to change the oil on my car when I couldn’t lie down to reach it. She doesn’t say, I’m too scared to sleep in the community centre parking lot, because my windows aren’t tinted and I don’t know what’ll wake me up.
She says, “The only thing scaring customers away is your busted attitude,” and scurries into the kitchen before Di can order her to clean the friers.
———
Naomi’s favourite part of the diner is the radio.
She can’t believe that Di allows it, what with her general distaste for joy in all of its forms. But it’s balanced on the window sill watching over the oven, antenna extended out the torn screen, dials permanently stuck on an old forgotten country channel. Naomi likes to hum along as she works, frying potatoes or kneading dough, twirling around the kitchen with a mop or a broom. It’s nice even when she’s cramping, even when her feet are sore — she likes hollering along to Dolly Parton when she knows Di is listening, want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me, likes the way her little parasite goes absolutely buck wild whenever Willie Nelson comes on. She can hear it even when she’s in the dining area, plates balanced all up her arms (and on her belly, too, which is one of the many things she has discovered it’s useful for), humming along to scratching dorks and scritching napkins, working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’.
She amuses herself often by making up lives for the various patrons. They’re close enough to the main highway that they get all sorts driftin’ in, from families with bratty kids who upend their food on the floor for Naomi to clean to men in starched suits who never leave a tip. The regulars she’s gotten to know, like the older, stocky, short-haired woman called Bella who smiles softly at her and leaves more than double her bill every breakfast. Or the two young men, college seniors, she thinks, who come in every Saturday afternoon and laugh loudly and talk about strange subjects and rope her into their conversations when there’s no one around and she’s bored.
Other patrons, though, strangers, she speculates. Like there’s a man in the farthest back corner, now, hunched over in the peeling green vinyl seats, scrawling frantically in a tiny notebook. She imagines he’s a private investigator, chasing a lead, about to discover that the woman on a date on the other end of the diner is cheating on her husband of fifteen years.
“Naomi, if you don’t get your ass back to work.”
She throws her hands up. “There’s nothing to do!”
Di observes the half-empty diner, noting the clean tables, neat counters, sparkling kitchen. Each customer sitting satisfied in their table, coffee mugs full, plates still hefty with food.
“Clean the grout.”
Scowling, Naomi stomps to the kitchen, wrenching open the cupboard under the counter and yanking out the Mr. Clean and scrub brush. It’s an ordeal and a half to get on the floor, wincing at the extra weight on her knees, sitting back on her heels with every spray and keeping one hand on her belly while the other scrubs. I Got Stripes by Johnny Cash starts playing through the radio, and she grits out the lyrics with every drag of the brush through the tiles.
“— and then chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down —”
A pair of worn black boots come stomping into her line of vision. Naomi finishes scrubbing at a stubborn smear of grease, relishing in how it submits under her power, then rests her weight on her tired hands and tilts her chin up to glare up at her boss.
“I got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,” she sings defiantly, “chains, chains around my feet —”
“I should whip you, you damn drama queen,” Di says darkly, glaring right back. “Had three separate customers come on up to me askin’ me if I’m mistreatin’ ‘that poor young pregnant girl’.”
Naomi smiles triumphantly.
Di scowls, rolling her eyes hard enough to visibly strain her face, and drops some kind of foam pads at her feet. She stomps off without another word, scowling at the radio.
Poking at the pads, Naomi discovers they’re meant to be strapped to her knees. She slips them on, immediately noticing the relief.
For the rest of her shift, she’s an angel.
Di even almost smiles at her.
———
“Naomi, go home.”
“What happened to kid?” Naomi pants, knuckles going white against the counter. She breathes slowly and carefully through her mouth — in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, in, two — and grits her teeth, staring determinately at the sticky tabletop until the dizziness fades. “I didn’t even know you knew my name.”
“I don’t.” A roughened hand rests on the small of her back, loosening the too-tight apron straps. “You’re sick, kid.”
“I’m fine.”
She tilts forward. Di barely manages to catch her, settling her slowly on the floor without so much as a comment about how heavy she is.
“The diner is empty, Naomi.” The same roughened hand moves up to the back of her neck, untangling the sweaty strands of hair that stick to her skin. Her voice is unusually soft. “You’re nine months pregnant, kiddo. You need to go home. You need to rest —”
“I need to work.”
With great effort, Naomi shoves her away, standing slowly to her feet. The world is still wobbly and bile climbs up her throat, but she pushes forward, hands half-extended beside her. She reaches back for the wet rag, swiping weakly at the table. An onslaught of nausea makes her pause, mouth clamped shut, breathing quick and deep through dry nostrils.
When she speaks again, Di’s voice is hard. “I’m not asking. Get out of my diner. Go home, or you won’t be allowed back. I won’t be accused of killing some dumbass kid who doesn’t know when to quit.”
“I can’t —” she gags, tears springing in her eyes, desperately trying to wrestle back some control of her body — “there’s nowhere, please, Di, let me —”
She slaps a hand to her mouth, heaving. She hasn’t even — she hasn’t eaten all day. The smell of anything makes her want to vomit. The idea of putting anything more in her body makes her want to peel off her skin. She feels — bloated and freakish and ugly; like an unsuspected astronaut on a sieged spaceship.
Like she’s about to burst.
“Oh, for the love of — Naomi, please tell me you are not nine months pregnant and sleeping in your fucking car.”
Naomi says nothing. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think of Mama’s peony-scented perfume.
“Jesus Christ.”
Stomp, click, stomp stomp. Rattling chain, swishing cardboard. Flicking switch. Turning dial, fading music. Stomp, click, stomp stomp.
Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.
“C’mon, up you get. Where’re your keys?”
A hand digs around in her apron pocket.
“What, d’you fuckin’ run these over or somethin’? The hell’d you fuckin’ do to these things?”
No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.
“No, obviously you can’t — go get in the fuckin’ passenger seat, dumbass. God.”
Di mutters something about stupid kids and stupider adults, for putting up with them. Naomi smiles tiredly. Daddy used to say that all the time, flicking her on the forehead.
“Roll the window down. You need fresh air.”
The slight breeze coming in from the window is helpful, actually. It’s been a disgustingly hot summer, and Naomi has had to sleep with her windows down to avoid suffocating. She wakes up to mosquito bites in places she frankly did not know could be bitten.
“D’you think you’re going into labour?” Di asks quietly, over Dolly’s crooning. Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m takin’ with me.
Naomi sighs, shaking her head. Already, the nausea has faded into the background. The sweat cools against her skin, and she stops feeling quite so much like she’s going to die.
“No. It’s only been eight months and a little less than two weeks.”
“…You remember the exact date?”
Well, hello, feverish flush. How I’ve missed you so. Will you do me a favour and cook me alive, while you’re here?
“It was a very memorable occasion,” Naomi mumbles, shrinking back into her seat.
“I see.”
Naomi’s never seen Di look quite so amused before. Her whole face softens, and her brown eyes look warm, for once. Naomi would attack her if she had the strength.
Di cruises slowly down Main St, conscientious of the kids ducking in and out of the shops, laughing with their friends. A tween girl looks over at an older boy and whips back over to her friends when he meets her eyes, the whole group of them descending into delighting shrieks. Naomi watches them with a smile and an ache in her chest. She wonders how Molly’s doing. How Esther’s holding up, how Leela is faring. Jen’s at school, now, all the way up in NYC. She hopes they’re well and tries not to hate them for not being here.
Sheffield’s small, and there’s not a street Naomi hasn’t driven down. She spends most of her free time in the community centre pool or the desert around the diner, sure, but she’s been around. When Di turns on Pine St and follows her all the way down, though, she frowns, looking over and asking a wordless question.
Di doesn’t answer. She’s driven them all the way to the other side of town in less than five minutes, pulling into a gravel parking lot and killing the engine.
“C’mon,” she grunts, climbing out of the tiny car and waiting, arms crossed, for Naomi to do the same.
“Sure, sure, let the pregnant woman crawl out of her own seat. Don’t lift a finger or anything.”
Di rolls her eyes.
As soon as Naomi has struggled her way out of the car, which takes her a good four minutes, Di stalks off. In her harried attempt to follow her, Naomi feels like a duck hopped up on an energy drink.
“What kinda money do you have?”
Naomi looks at her strangely. “Uh, what you pay me.”
“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”
“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.
Di purses her lips. “Well.”
She does not finish her thought. Instead, she strides down the gravel driveway, heedless of Naomi’s struggle behind her, until she approaches a squat looking building with ‘OFFICE’ printed on the little window.
“She needs a room,” she says to the clerk sitting behind it, gesturing at Naomi.
Naomi looks at her in alarm.
“Di, I can’t —”
“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.
“Try again.”
Di’s response is swift and immediate, ignoring Naomi’s tugging hand. She pulls away, resting her hands on her lower back, swivelling her head between Di and the man.
“Rate’s a rate, Di.”
She’s not surprised this man knows Di — everyone knows Di. But the slant to his eyebrows is unfamiliar, the hands clasped easily behind his head. He relaxes back into a leather office chair, heeled boot hiked up to rest in his knee, whistling absentmindedly in the face of Di’s glare.
“Two hundred a week.”
“Not a chance.”
“I’m not asking, Jed.”
The man — Jed — finally starts to look irate, meeting Di’s jaw-set stare with one of his own.
“I’m sorry, I musta missed something. Did you up and buy this place?”
Di doesn’t answer him right away. She never slouches, always standing at her full height, and she’s mighty tall for a woman. For anyone, really. She has a way of planting herself right in front of the sun, no matter where she is. Jed stares up at her, squinting, cast in Di’s shadow everywhere but where he needs to be sheltered.
“You gotta laundry list of shit you done owed me your whole life, Jed.”
Jed just his chin out.
“I don’t owe her shit.”
Blunt fingers wrap around her elbow. “She’s mine.”
“Ain’t how this works, Di.”
“Says who? You?”
For all her intensity, Naomi doesn’t think Di’ll actually fight anyone. If she would, Naomi would’ve gotten her ass kicked months ago.
(She’s mine. Kiddo. You need rest. Roll down the window.)
(…Well.)
Regardless, a flash of fear flits across Jed’s face. He cuts his gaze from Naomi to Di and then back again, pupils shrinking, and then invariably comes to a decision.
“Two fifty,” he snaps, scowling. “Not a penny less, Di.”
Di nods once. “Fine.”
She tightens the hold on Naomi’s elbow, dragging her away from the window. There’s an echoing bang, bang, bang, interspersed with muffled curses, before Jed stumbles out of a door on the side of the scaffolding. He stomps away without looking back, and Di tugs her along to follow.
“Laundry is your own problem. Clean your own shit. If you miss a payment, I’m kicking you out. Clear?”
Naomi stares. Jed standing in front of another low, old building, but this one is much longer, a door posited every dozen or so feet. A plastic chair sits in front of every door, and every door is numbered.
A motel, Naomi realises.
“Clear, kid?”
“Crystal,” Naomi manages, throat dry. Jed practically throws the key at her head, stomping back to the office. Numbly, Naomi slides it in the lock, pushing open the door.
The room isn’t big. There’s a double bed in the middle, a window in the far side and a dresser under it. A TV rests in a dugout shelf in the wall, and there’re two small doors next to it; a closet and a bathroom, Naomi assumes. Smaller than her bedroom back home.
Much, much bigger than her car.
“You’re gonna have to work another ten hours a week to afford this place,” Di says critically. When Naomi looks back at her, she’s lingering at the doorway, staring resolutely at Naomi’s face. Not a spare glance for the room itself.
Naomi does the math fast in her head.
“Twenty hours.”
Di scowls. “Don’t insult me, kid. Ten more hours a week; make sure you’re early tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if you’re sick again, either.”
Naomi swallows. She smooths a hand over the quilt tucked neatly over the bed — it’s soft, if not warm. The pillow is plump.
God, she’s missed pillows.
“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.
Di makes a small twitching motion with her head that may, in some lighting, be considered a nod, then stalks off. Naomi sinks into the mattress; surprised at how much her feet aches now that she’s off of them.
She swings them up, kicking off her boots, to rest on top of the blanket. She leans against the rickety headboard. She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and slowly, silently, begins to cry.
“You and me and sheer fuckin’ will, kid,” she mumbles, face crumpling. The constant ache in the small of her back lifts, slightly. She stretches her toes as far as they’ll go and cries harder. “We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there.”
———
next
naomi art
#this story has literally consumed my life like i am neglecting my finals to write it#literally the only thing i care about rn#pjo#barely lol#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#naomi solace#will solace#does it count if he’s literally a fetus#i said BACKstory 💀#angst#pregnancy#teen pregnancy#homelessness#original work#?#longpost#my writing#fic
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Teen births have fallen by more than three-quarters in the last three decades, a change of such improbable magnitude that experts struggle to fully explain it. Child poverty also plunged, raising a complex question: Does cutting teen births reduce child poverty, or does cutting child poverty reduce teen births?
While both may be true, it is not clear which dominates... Ms. Marsaw, who waited until 24 to have a child — a daughter, Zaharii — has considered the issue at length and embraces both views.
“This is a very, very, very good topic — it touches home with me in so many ways!” she said, adding that teen pregnancy and child poverty reinforce each other. “If you escape one, you have a better chance of escaping the other.”
Teen births have fallen by 77 percent since 1991, and among young teens the decline is even greater, 85 percent, according to an analysis by Child Trends, a research group that studies children’s well-being. Births have fallen at roughly equal rates among teenagers who are white, Hispanic and Black, and they have fallen by more than half in every state. [Note: They have FALLEN at similar rates, but there are unfortunately still disparities in the rates themselves due to the many profound impacts of racism.]
The decline is accelerating: Teen births fell 20 percent in the 1990s, 28 percent in the 2000s and 55 percent in the 2010s. Three decades ago, a quarter of 15-year-old girls became mothers before turning 20, according to Child Trends estimates, including nearly half of those who were Black or Hispanic. Today, just 6 percent of 15-year-old girls become teen mothers.
“These are dramatic declines — impressive, surprising, and good for both teenagers and the children they eventually have,” said Elizabeth Wildsmith, a Child Trends researcher who did the analysis with a colleague, Jennifer Manlove.
Not all teen mothers are poor, of course, and many who do experience poverty escape it.
The reasons teen births have fallen are only partly understood. Contraceptive use has grown and shifted to more reliable methods, and adolescent sex has declined. Civic campaigns, welfare restrictions and messaging from popular culture may have played roles.
But with progress so broad and sustained, many researchers argue the change reflects something more fundamental: a growing sense of possibility among disadvantaged young women, whose earnings and education have grown faster than their male counterparts.
“They’re going to school and seeing new career paths open,” said Melissa S. Kearney, an economist at the University of Maryland. “Whether they are excited about their own opportunities or feel that unreliable male partners leave them no choice, it leads them in the same direction — not becoming a young mother.”
Sex Is Down, Contraception is Up
On the surface, the decline in teen births is easy to explain: Contraception rose, and sex fell.
The share of female teens who did not use birth control the last time they had sex dropped by more than a third over the last decade, according to an analysis of government surveys by the Guttmacher Institute. The share using the most effective form, long-acting reversible contraception (delivered through an intrauterine device or arm implant), rose fivefold to 15 percent. The use of emergency contraception also rose.
Contraception use has grown in part because it is easier to get, with the 2010 Affordable Care Act requiring insurance plans, including Medicaid, to provide it for free.
At the same time, the share of high school students who say they have had sexual intercourse has fallen 29 percent since 1991, Child Trends found. Some analysts, including Brad Wilcox, a sociologist at the University of Virginia, say the postponement of sex, which has intensified since 2013, stems in part from the time teens spend in front of screens.
Abortion does not appear to have driven the decline in teen births. As a share of teenage pregnancy, it has remained steady over the past decade, although the data, from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, omits medication abortions, and analysts say the recent Supreme Court decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, eliminating the constitutional right to abortion, could cause teen births to rise.
If adolescent girls are more cautious with sex and birth control, what explains the caution? A common answer is that more feel they have something to lose. “There is just a greater confidence among young women that they have educational and professional opportunities,” Mr. Wilcox said.
In 2013, the economists David Autor and Melanie Wasserman found that women in their mid-30s were nearly 25 percent more likely than men to have a four-year college degree, and at every educational level earnings had grown faster for women than men...
A Brighter Future
For Ms. Alvarez, [an undocumented immigrant and the child of a teen mother,] the story is simpler: Her future unfolded as planned. [She successfully avoided teen pregnancy.] Though still working on her English, she managed the transition to the University of the District of Columbia. In her second year, fortune smiled: She boarded a city bus and ran into Fredy, the man who had pursued her in high school.
Like Ms. Marsaw, she no longer feared pregnancy as she had in her teens. When a lapse in contraceptive use had a predictable effect, the news solidified her plans more than it disrupted them. She married shortly before giving birth at 23. “You’ve never ready to become a mother, but I felt like I can do this,” she said.
A baby did slow her educational progress. Working two jobs, she took six years to earn a bachelor’s degree, then started a job at Mary’s Center, the clinic that had encouraged her to seek scholarships.
She coordinates care for cancer patients and has legal protection under Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a program for undocumented migrants who came to the United States as youths. With a family income above the national average, she and her husband recently bought their first house.
“If I die tomorrow, I can say I achieved the American dream,” Ms. Alvarez said. “But if I had gotten pregnant as a teenager? I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.””
-via The New York Times, 12/31/22
#united states#us politics#teen pregnancy#abortion#teen mother#pregnancy#contraception#iud#emergency contraception#healthcare#child poverty#intergenerational poverty#good news#hope
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Seven (+) Sentence Sunday
Tagged by the super amazing @daffi-990 @lover-of-mine @try-set-me-on-fire @fortheloveofbuddie @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @jesuisici33 and @diazsdimples. Thank you all so much and I am super excited for your upcoming works!
Another tag day, another snippet of NFL Buck. Back to Eddie's perspective! This time, we are delving into this au's version of his and Shannon's background and relationship. WOOO! (Every previous NFL Buck post can be found here) Enjoy!
Buck gave Eddie a very befuddled look, "Um, if this is your way of breaking up with me, I think you skipped a few major steps here."
Eddie rolled his eyes, "Make sure the equipment manager gives you an extra thick helmet Buckley. All those previous head injuries are catching up to you." His boyfriend gave a half hearted glare, but didn't make a comment, allowing Eddie to explain. "They're for Shannon."
"Ohhhh." Evan finally caught on and Eddie can't help but roll his eyes again. "I keep forgetting your un-repressed ass is still married to a woman." The jerk had the audacity to crack jokes and give Eddie a cocky grin.
"And that makes you my mistress." Eddie fired back.
"Meh." His boyfriend shrugged uncaring. Which is fair because he's the mistress who beat the odds and convinced the husband to leave his wife. Though did it count if the wife left first? Eddie shook his head, pushing aside that thought, knowing it would lead down an emotionally twisted path he didn't want to get into at the moment.
Picking up the divorce papers, Eddie returned them to the manilla envelope labeled with only Shannon's name. "Look, with the move to Houston I am obligated to inform Christopher's mother of his whereabouts. I did the same when we moved to Austin, though back then I was hoping that by telling her we were out from under my parents roof, she would return."
Buck grimaced, "Considering you showed up for our not-a-date, date, that didn't happen." Eddie nods, unable to meet the younger man's saddened gaze. The hurt and anger towards his soon to be ex-wife, was all twisted up with a healthy dose of guilt and the love he would always have for her. It felt unfair to Evan to still love her.
His feelings towards Shannon used to be less complicated. Before Eddie bent under his parents expectations, she was one of his closets friends. Much like Buck, she was easy to talk to, made him laugh, and didn't pressured him to be anything more than himself. Eddie never did express his disinterest in girls to her or how his eyes tended to linger a little too long on some the guys on the football team (he has a type, repressed or not). The subject of girls and dating didn't come up, until his dad made an off hand comment about his son not bringing any dates home to meet.
Eddie panicked. And when Eddie panicked, he came up with some awful ideas. Kissing Shannon after his baseball game because he knew she had feelings for him beyond friendship, was one his worst. Back then, Eddie hoped that treating Shannon as more than friend would lead to feelings of actual attraction and romantic love.
It didn't.
Further expectations, additional pressure lead to more panic and stupid decisions. Then one day during his senior year, Eddie found himself with a positive pregnancy test in hand and Shannon begging him for a solution.
He was down on one knee with a ring his mother shoved into his hands two days later (Eventually Eddie would learn the silver band with a small lone diamond was a promise ring from Adriana's cheating ex.) Shannon said yes, Eddie's Uncle Paco ordained their wedding at the local rec center, and Christopher Edmundo Diaz was born May 8th, 2008, just after Shannon took her last final (her water broke as she handed in her math test). When Eddie held his son, he instantly knew, his entire heart belonged to this tiny little boy, but right on the heels of that love came the cold dredges of panic.
On May 9th, 2008 Eddie acted upon yet another awful idea and signed up for the Army. Neither he nor Shannon made it to their high school graduation. Instead the first tear in their relationship was being formed with angry shouts, heartbroken sobs, and a hastily packed duffle tossed into an old truck.
I will admit, I am not the biggest Shannon fan, but I am not a Shannon basher either. Her and Eddie both made mistakes, and that will be shown in this au, as Shannon was a big part of Eddie's journey and the mother of his child. Hope you all enjoyed!
Tagging (no pressure): @theotherbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @devirnis @exhuastedpigeon @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @giddyupbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @eddiescowboy @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @thekristen999 @princessfbi @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @glorious-spoon @buddierights @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @gayedmundodiaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @transboybuckley
#seven sentence sunday#tag game#my wip#911 show#911 abc#911 on abc#911 fic#buddie#buddie fic#evan buckley#eddie diaz#shannon diaz#nfl#quarterback buck#firefighter eddie#secret relationship#back story#divorce#teen pregnancy#repressed teen eddie#eddie's mixed emotions#no shannon bashing#but she does still die
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2 - Doctor Nicknames
Part 3
Feisty Coffee Girl
Izzie and I had gone to the bathroom in the gas station since we needed some groceries and the nearest grocery store was an hour away. Holding a hand over my stomach my sister ripped open the package of pregnancy tests we had just bought. “Here it should show up in five minutes after you take it.”
“I can’t be pregnant right. Mom would be furious if I were.” I gulped nervously taking the test out of her hands going into one of the stalls.
Izzie leaned her body against the wall waiting for me. “We will worry about mom after you take the test. Right now just keep calm and do the test so we’ll have an answer.”
“Okay I’m gonna do it now.” I answered her back peeing on the stick and just sitting on the toilet until the time was up. Opening my eyes I blinked through tears so emotional about what was down in front of me.
Izzie knocked on the stall door gaining my attention. “Y/n, what does it say?”
“It uh ... .it's positive.” I croaked through tears with my sister kicking open the door since I hadn’t locked it. She helps me up to my feet getting my pants up seeing me begin uncontrollably sobbing.
She wrapped her arms around my shaking body and I cling onto her for some strength. “Shhh I’m here for you. We will get through this.”
“You really think that?” I asked her.
Izzie broke the embrace holding me by my shoulders sniffing through some tears. “You and I are extremely tough and we will get through this.”
“What do you think it's going to be? Boy or girl?” Moving my hands down to my stomach I sniffed through my own tears. Closing my eyes I paused just thinking about the choice I had to make. I could get rid of it or keep it and become a teenage mother so young.
Izzie clicked her tongue with a light smile. “I'd say girl. She'll be just as badass as you are.”
“I might hope it's a girl someday too.” I gave her a weak smile. Running one of my hands over my stomach would change everything the second the baby's father said he didn’t want to be a teen parent so I ended up on my own. “I've always liked the name Everly. I'll probably name her that.”
“Everly will be an adorable name.’ My twin sister grinned hugging me again and we just held one another.
My phone had been ringing the entire time I was driving home from work. It had been almost over two weeks since I had gotten the random guy's number. Driving towards the elementary school I was on my way to pick up my daughter from school. Caroline was only able to take her during the mornings. Pulling the car to a stop in a spot I entered the school going to her classroom. “Seriously, how many times are you going to call me.” Taking out my phone I ignored the call.
“Mommy!” Lifting my head up I saw my daughter running straight to me. Her hair getting thrown in every direction until she flung herself into my waiting arms.
Wrapping my arms around her I laughed into her hair dropping myself onto my knees. “I've missed you. I miss you all the time you're not with me.”
“Can we go get pizza?” Everly asked me when we broke the embrace.
Brushing hair out of her face I chuckled. “Sure we can. Oh one second it's your aunt Izzie….hey Izzie what's up?”
“Would you be able to come to the hospital? I am stuck here for the rest of the day and I have some gossip I really need to tell you about.” She explained through the phone.
Holding the phone up to my ear with one hand I take Everly’s with my other leading her out to the car. “Izzie I don't know if that's a good idea. I have Everly with me and we want some dinner.”
“Meredith is sleeping with one of the residents in the hospital. I think that's enough of a reason to hear the whole story.” My sister declared.
Sitting my phone in the cup holder I helped Eve get into the backseat of the car getting into my driver's seat switching the phone to speaker making our way home. “Izzie, I love you. I want to spend time with you too. But it is not a good idea to bring her to the hospital.”
“I want to see aunt Izzie.” Everly said from the backseat of the car.
Izzie heard her and kept convincing me. “See, she wants to come see me. It will be fine. I can even add on that there's pizza down in the cafeteria. So please come visit me tonight.”
“Fine Isobel Stevens. We will come to the hospital. Just do your best to not get my daughter sick because then I'll have to take care of her for two weeks.” I caved running my freehand turning the steering wheel changing in the direction of the hospital. Hanging up my phone I hoped that this would just be a good visit and the next time we could hang out at my apartment or at Meredith's house that she was living in with some of her fellow interns.
Everly was already undoing her seatbelt to get out of the car by the time I had parked us outside the hospital. Leading her inside by the hand we found my sister standing at the nurse desk with her three other friends who were Alex, Christina and George. “Aunt Izzie!” Everly removed her hand away from mine jumping up into her waiting arms.
“Oh there's my favorite little niece.” Izzie twirled her around laughing until she sat her down on her feet.
Alex came around the nurse station with a smirk on his face getting close to me. “So you’re her sister huh. I gotta say you might be hotter than Izzie is.”
“Uh…Hey Eve, I think I heard somebody say they have pizza in the cafeteria. Why don’t you go wait over there for a second and then we can go get something to eat.” Bending my knees to be her level I put my hands on my knees to be eye level with her.
Everly grinned skipping over to one of the empty waiting room seats. “Deal. Be quick, mommy.”
“Okay so what gossip were you dying to tell me that we couldn’t do at home?” I focused my attention on my twin sister with her standing in front of me.
She throws her hands up beginning to ramble off with such bright and bubbly excitement that she naturally showed off to her friends and her patients at the hospital. “The doctor that I told you Meredith slept with is the head of brain surgery and is named Derek Shepherd. But he failed to mention that he was married and then his ex wife came to work here. And now for some reason the guy who also cheated on his wife is now in the hospital in that room.”
George leaned his head to the side, getting our group's attention to focus on the open room where a guy was stitching up his own face even though Meredith was standing in front of him. “Why is he suturing his own face?”
Cristina replied. “To turn me on.”
Alex explained where I parted my mouth opened hearing he was clearly impressed. “Cause he's Mark Sloan. He's like the go-to plastic surgeon on the East Coast.”
George gasped in shock. “That's the guy Addison was sleeping with?”
“Who’s Addison?” I raised a brow at the name.
Izzie filled me in. “You can't really blame her, can you? So basically it goes like this. McDreamy is apparently been best friend up until Mark slept with Addison who was McDreamy's wife till he found them sleeping together.”
“Oh wow.” I didn't know what to say about all their crazy gossip.
Cristina said back. “No, not really.”
George gagged. “Yes you can.”
Meredith finally came around the corner entering our conversation. “McSexy wants an x-ray to check for fractures and I think it's a bad idea if I take him.”
George stammered. “Why? Why?”
Alex bolted towards the opposite direction. “I'm on it.”
George asked. “Why is it a bad idea?”
Cristina quoted. “McSexy?”
Izzie responded and Meredith made a disgusted face. “McYummy.”
Meredith and Cristina said in unison. “No.”
Meredith finally spoke up again with another nickname. “McSteamy.”
Cristina awed in agreement. “Oh there it is.”
Izzie glanced down at me. “Yep. What do you think about the nickname Y/n?”
George gagged running away the second the door open and I turned my head in the direction. “Uh, just ah choking back some McVomit.”
“I don’t see what the big fuss about him is - holy shit!” I felt my mouth hang open when a guy with dark brown hair came out wearing a black tea shirt and gray pants.
Everly spoke up. “Shit?”
“You can’t say that. Only mommy says that.” Whipping my head around I warned my daughter with a finger before putting my attention to the guy in front of our group. “I….I’ve met him.”
Christina, Meredith, Izzie and George gasped all looking over at me. “How?”
“Don’t I know you from somewhere…Feisty Blonde?” The guy that looked exactly like Mark made his way over to us. His green eyes landed only on mine and they remained there with him putting almost no gap between us. “What are you doing here, Y/n?”
Running my fingers through my hair I chuckled nervously feeling my face turn red with the interns watching our interaction. “I guess I’m meeting you for the second time, Mark Sloan.”
Comments really appreciated ❤️
#mark sloan x reader#mark sloan fic#mark sloan fanfic#mark sloan fanfiction#mark sloan x you#mark sloan x y/n#eric dane#alex karev#christina yang#lexie grey#meredith grey#izzie stevens#george omalley#miranda bailey#derek shepherd#teen pregnancy#coffee shop au#coffee shop#doctors#grey’s anatomy x y/n#grey’s anatomy x you#grey’s anatomy#greys anatomy fic#greys anatomy fanfiction#greys anatomy#greys anatomy x reader#wattpad fanfiction#ask box is open for feedback#comments really appreciated#katherine heigl
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Prayer Request For One of My Mutuals
(I won't name her; for our purposes, she's called Miriam).
She's in a teenage pregnancy situation. She has no family or friends to go to and she really doesn't want an abortion but can't see another option. Social services have consistently treated her family poorly in the past.
I've provided her links to a local church and a Christian pregnancy crisis centre. She'll take a pregnancy test, but wait a few weeks to avoid false negatives or false positives.
For now, please pray that:
Miriam will turn out to not be pregnant.
If she is, that she will be mentally and physically well and so will her child.
That if so, her child will go to a safe, loving home.
That the person who got her pregnant will be brought to justice.
Catholic and Orthodox readers, please provide some relevant saints too - I've already thought of the Virgin Mary, Joseph, Maria Goretti and Dymphna.
Since you do a lot of prayer requests, can @prolifeproliberty and @cheerfullycatholic please reblog this?
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Teen pregnancy [P.4]
A Carl Gallagher x Fem Reader fic
Summary
You only started dating Carl for about 2 months. That was right around the time when he and Dom broke up. Deep down, you knew you couldn't compete with her. He would always choose her before you.
Yet you were only 16 years old when you discovered he got you pregnant. This news terrified you so much. You didn't want to lose him, and you knew he was already going through so much shit stuff with his family and his "business."
Better yet, you were scared about how your family would react, let alone his. At least you have Debbie, your best friend, who's also pregnant with you.
Warning! Betrail, Small mention of suicide, Violence, Depression, Alcohol, PDA, Manipulation, Teen pregnancy, Drugged, Cussing, Bullying, Cheating, Panic attack, Somewhat running away, Threat, Mention of abandonment
Note! If any of that makes you uncomfortable- DON'T READ THE STORY!
Word count: 981
[Angst/Fluff]
Part 1, part 2, Part 3, PART 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (Completed)
Shameless Masterlist
Fandom Masterlists
/"Talking"//Thinking//Muttering-Whispering/
Time skip!~
***Carl's Pov***
I was currently standing in front of some random loser's house. The house was small and rusty, but the party seemed lit. It was loud, people were throwing things, and someone jumped from the roof. Don't know what that's all about.
As I entered the house, a bottle came flying at me. I dodged it; luckily, however, the guy behind me wasn't so lucky.
I wasn't really feeling the party. In fact, I started questioning why I was even here when I could be out with my girl. I decided to just go straight to the liquor. Figured I'd just get a little drunk, forget everything for a night, then head home.
But no, that's not what happened. What happened was that I saw Dominique with, whom I assume is her new boyfriend, since they were making out in the corner till she spotted me.
She started walking towards me, and I just stood there. I grabbed someone else's drink and chugged it down my throat.
"Hey, Carl!" She yelled. "How do you like the party?! It's great, right?!"
I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't have any intentions of hanging out with her. I just wanted to get a little drunk and then leave.
"Hey! Your cup's empty. Let me get you another drink!"
"What!?" I asked. I couldn't really hear her well due to the music.
"I said!" She yelled once again. This time only louder. "I'M GETTING YOU ANOTHER DRINK."
She grabbed my empty cup before I could do anything else. At this point, I didn't really care what she did.
I ended up stepping outside into the backyard porch. I took a seat and allowed myself to just think.
Man, why do I feel like this? I mean, what am I really doing here? I could be having a good time with my girl, but... god screw this.
I wasn't about to start mopping at a party. I was about to leave, but then Dom walked outside. She was holding two bottles. Somewhat stumbling.
"Heyyy! There you are." She said, giggling a little, taking a seat next to me. She handed me a bottle of beer. I took it stupidly enough.
She leaned in closer. "So, how are you feeling?"
I just stared at her. She smelled like beer and kept wiggling in her seat with a strange smile.
"Come on, Carl. You came here to let loose, so let loose!" She clinked our glasses together.
"..."
"Oh, come on! At least drink it. If I knew you were going to be a deadbeat, I would have never invited you." She said, standing up.
I sighed and drank the whole bottle.
Maybe she's right... It's been a while since I actually had fun. With Nick leaving and my girl being pregnant. Life was complicated.
So I chugged down the whole bottle.
At the time, I thought it was just regular old beer, but damn, I was wrong...
I started to hallucinate. I tried to get up, but I kept stumbling. The last thing I saw was Dominique; she stopped smiling weirdly and stood up straight, looking at me with a straight face as I fell.
-Black out-
Time skip!~
***Y/n's Pov***
It has been a few days since you last saw your boyfriend. He's been sick for most of the week since it is now Wednesday.
You were walking to your last class of the day till something caught your eye. Your locker, it was covered with foul words.
Sl*t, Cu*t, Wh*re. If you can think of it, it was there. You opened it only to find a fake baby doll covered with dirt. It was missing an eye, and it was hairless and naked. They even attached a fake umbilical cord to it... creepy would be an understatement.
You found a piece of paper attached to it. Opening it, you read-
"Stay away from Carl, you wh*re. He's my baby daddy now, bi*ch."
On the paper, there was a picture attached to it. It showed Carl... fu*king- DOM!?
Your whole world started to crumble. You fell to your knees. Holding the paper while grasping your mouth. You couldn't believe it. He said he'd never-
You ran to the nearest bathroom and puked. You didn't even notice there was a girl standing in the bathroom. Whipping her face.
"Hey!?" She seemed angry since you kinda shoved her, but when she heard your sobbing, she realized.
"Y/n? Is that you? Are you ok?" She asked worriedly. "It's me... Debbie."
You opened the stall door. Your knees close to your chess. You looked at her with wet eyes. You were a mess.
"What happened-"
You didn't even need to say anything. She saw the paper, and that was it.
Time skip!~
That night you and Debs didn't go home. You both stayed out. Talking about everything that happened.
"So let me get this straight. You saw him talking to Dom, then he processed to cancel on the ultrasound we had today, lying to you about needing to do something, then he went to a party just to fu*k Dominique?!"
"Yup..."
"THAT SON OF A BI*CH! I'm ashamed to call him my brother!" She said in disgust as she munched on her sandwich. "I swear to you, Y/n, once I see him, I'm not gonna beat him up; I'M GONNA KILL HIM!"
"Yeah..." You looked down at your sandwich... "Well, what about you? How's it going with you and Derek."
"Derek, who?" She spits. "That mother fu*ker left."
She looked down at her sandwich and sighed.
"I wanted to be a part of his family. I wanted to have a family- with him! But no. At first, I thought his family was trying to separate us, but in truth, he ran."
You rubbed Debbie's back, and she smiled at you.
#shameless#carl gallagher#carl gallagher x reader#debbie#teen pregnancy#betrail#violence#depression#manipulation#cheating#running away#threat#drama#teenage romance
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Carl Grimes x fem!reader
teen pregnancy
You had found out you were pregnant 3 days ago and had been avoiding everyone since. It's not that you wanted to avoid them you just didn't know how to tell them. You thought a lot of them would be mad and you didn't want to face that right now. You heard a knock at your bedroom door.
"For the millionth time Carl, just leave me alone!" you yelled.
"It's me" Rick says. "Can I come in?" he asks.
"I guess" you reply.
He opens the door and sees you curled up under your blankets wearing one of Carl's t-shirts. He shuts the door behind him and walks over and sits at the edge of the bed.
"What's going on with you? You can tell me" he says.
"I'm fine" you lie.
"I know that's not true. Did something happen between you and Carl?" he asks.
"No" you reply.
"He's worried about you. We all are" he continues. "Are you sure you can't tell me?" he asks.
"You're gonna hate me" you say avoiding eye contact.
"I could never hate you" he says softly.
"You're wrong." you mumble. "I'm pregnant" you whisper. You tried to say it louder but the words barely came out. That was the first time you said it out loud.
He sits there shocked for a moment.
"I take it Carl doesn't know?" he asks.
You shake your head.
"He's not gonna leave you ya know" he tells you. "He's not like that"
"I know. I just don't know how to tell him" you admit.
"I can be there with you if you'd like" he offers.
"I think I should do it alone" you say standing up. He nods and follows you out the door. He goes downstairs while you go across the hall to Carl's room.
"Can I come in?" you ask.
"Of course" he replies and you open the door.
He looks at your scared face and asks "Is everything okay?"
"I don't know how to tell you this but... I'm pregnant" you say and immediately look away.
He walks towards you and tilts you head so you're looking into his eyes. "We're gonna be okay. We've raised Judith we can raise our own baby. And you're gonna be the best mom in the world." he says. "And you're gonna be the best dad" you say and he kisses you.
1 month later
No one except you Carl and Rick know about your pregnancy. Rick is going on a run with Daryl and a few others so as always you ask him to bring back some chocolate if he finds any.
Rick has filled a bag full of chocolate for you.
"You really need all that chocolate?" Daryl questions gesturing to the bag.
"It's not all for me" Rick replies and Daryl just shrugs and goes back to searching for stuff.
When they return to Alexandria Rick gives you the bag of chocolate and you thank him. It's late one night and Carl is talking to your belly when Daryl comes upstairs from the basement. He coughs and you and Carl both turn toward the noise. "Congratulations" he mumbles. "Thank you" you both reply.
A/N- Should I make a part 2?
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Which areas in #Europe have the highest percentage of teen moms?
Full article >>
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Only Teens - JJk pt.5
Warnings: pregnancy, difficulties in pregnancy, cruel mother, bed rest, slight pregnancy shower sex, brest play, lactation, lactation kink, pregnancy kink
Word count: 2.2k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's been almost a week since the incident. Y/n has been staying at home, doing online classes. Their baby seemed to be okay. The bleeding stopped and she didn't experience more pain in her abdomen... at least not from contractions.
Their baby girl was beginning to get stronger than they expected and it not once happened that Y/n felt some serious discomfort and pain from her kicks. Those were some uncomfortable moments, but at the end of the day Y/n looked back at these moments with joy and pride that her baby was so active.
She was taking a well-deserved nap when the loud noise of the door slamming open woke her.
- Fold these. - her mother said with a stern voice while throwing a batch of dry clothes onto her bed, hitting the pregnant girl's bump.
Good thing they are soft.
- And make sure you vacuum this floor today.
- Yes mother.
Chores are the last thing she needs after that scare last week. But her mother couldn't seem to understand and keeps adding to the tremendous weight on her shoulders.
She left the room slamming te door one last time behind her.
Reluctantly she got up from her place in bed and stretched stiff and aching limbs out.
This is going to take a while...
And she wasn't wrong. Folding clothes while having to bend over her protruding middle amd vacuuming with constant back pain seemed to take twice as long as it did before. She even had to stop once in a while to catch her breath.
And after an hour and a half she was all done. And there goes her nap. Well... Maybe she could try going back to bed for a bit before Jungkook got home from work. She wanted to greet him. She missed him. He started working not too long ago, and now they couldn't even meet during schooltime. It was torture for both of them.
No matter how hard she tried to fall asleep, fast movements from within her kept her conscious. She smiled lightly and rested a hand atop her stomach.
- Hi baby! - she whispered. - Let's have some rest okay? Before dadda comes home. - she thought for a second. - Or should I say appa?
She chuckled. In the end she chose to take out her phone from and caught her baby's stretches on camera for her boyfriend to watch later. Jungkook often complained playfully that he often missed her kicks since Y/n was the one who actually carried the baby skin to skin. Obviously he new this was the smallest sacrifice to make, carrying and growing a human being inside your body from scratch was a huge task. Not to mention Y/n's body has only just stopped building itself fully, now she had to power through this as well.
He was beyond grateful for all that.
Once done with the short clip she put her phone away and did manage to fall into a shallow sleep.
~
The exhausted boy didn't even stop in front of his family's home to change out of his work clothes. He could always shower at Y/n's and borrow one of Jin's hoodies if absolutely necessary.
That's what felt home. That's where family was.
The sight of his girlfriend's mother leaving their garage with her car reminded him that the before mentioned statements did have one exception.
Regardless he parked his car into their driveway and took out the shopping bags full of things he bought. He walked up to their door and barely lifted his free hand to knock the door opened.
- Jungkook! - Mr. Y/l/n greeted kindly. - Nice to see you. Come in.
- Thank you, dad! Nice to see you too.
- Thanks but none of that dad-thing, okay? - he chuckled along with the young boy.
- Okay sorry dad!
The kind man his the younger on the shoulder lightly simply as a playful gesture. They've been seeing each other so much recently it was only natural for their relationship to grow, along with his bond with Jin. They were a family now after all.
Mrs. Y/l/n was a topic for another day.
Mr. Y/l/n took one bag from the floor and brought it inside, gesturing for Jungkook to enter the house as well.
- Y/n's upstairs sleeping.
- Good, at least she'll be a bit more well rested after this long nap. - Jungkook smiled relived.
He remembered Y/n texting him short before his shift that she'll be having a little nap and she wished her well at work. It was almost a routine for them by now, but she never really managed to sleep more than an hour maximum. She was just too far into her pregnancy to be comfortable for longer than that. And he was perfectly aware of the fact.
- Uhh... Well she was kind of disturbed. - the older man informed uncomfortably. - She only just managed to get back to sleep about 20 minutes ago.
- Oh... Um I'll be upstairs with her.
- Alright, just try to let her rest a bit more. She's had a rough day.
- Of course!
- And you could try following her actions as well. You don't look well rested yourself. - he said with the previous gentleness returning to his features.
- Yes, sir. - with that he took both of the bags and walked upstairs.
He pushed the door open as quietly as he could with both hands occupied and also managed to close it with little to no noise. Setting the heavy bags down was another challenge but nothing is impossible to the golden boy. Well... Better say man now. A soon-to-be father.
A gentle smile spread across his face as he walked closer to the sleeping pregnant girl. She looked peaceful. Tired, but peaceful.
He sat next to her bed on the floor fearful of waking her by the dipping bed if he sat on it. Either way Y/n was a light sleeper and even the barely noticeable commotion, that went down in her room in the past moments, managed to have her stir awake rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
- Kook? - she asked before she'd opened her eyes.
- Sorry I woke you angel. - he said caressing her soft hair.
- I was barely asleep so it wasn't you.
At that moment they were both at ease. They were finally seeing each other after 24 hour, which wasn't the end of the world, but nowadays things were different.
They both felt this excruciating emptiness inside of them whenever they were apart. Maybe it was the fact that the girl was carrying their shared fruit inside her blossoming womb. It was as if there bodies were connected by that precious little girl and being apart for even just a day felt unnatural.
Of course others would say things like clinginess is always a symptom of pregnancy for women and men just felt more protective over their partners during this time, making them want to spend most of their time with them. But there would be nothing magical about that. ;)
- Missed you so much. - she whispered while reaching for him to be pulled into a hug.
- I missed you two more. - he took her into his arm and put the other around her tummy.
There was one moment when he lifted his lingering palm from her bump but that was all it took for him to miss a kick, the only sign being Y/n's audible gasp.
- Did you feel that? - she asked pulling away with happy eyes.
- A kick? - he asked a bit disappointed.
- Yeah. A pretty light one but I thought it could be felt from the outside too.
- I just missed that one moment. - he pouted.
- Come here.
She gestured him to lay behind her on the bed. Once he did she leaned into his strong chest, resting her back on ot. Her had occupied its usual place: the crook of his neck. Last step was taking hsi hands and putting them onto the bare skin of her stomach along with hers on top of his.
- Now feel.
Jungkook leaned forward slightly just enough to rest his chin softly on her shoulder so he could have a better view of what was going on down there. He didn't only want to feel but see with his own eyes as well.
Soon enough light movements signed that their little baby girl was wanting to let herself be known. A giggle erupted from the young couple as they watched in awe.
No matter the difficulties they were gonna power through them. Just like Jungkook promised once and he planned on keeping that promise forever. He wasn't going to let them down once more.
Jus then another giggle came from the girl on his chest when she noticed the bright white color of his work shirt he still had on.
- Are you in your uniform still? - she turned her head to him.
- Sorry. I just wanted to come here as soon as possible.
- Do you want to have a shower together?
His eyes widened. It was hard enough for him to control himself while holding her warm, changing, blossoming body every day. They haven't done anything since finding out about the baby. At least not together...
Maybe it was shame that kept them from bringing it up even in front of only each other, ot maybe it was Jungkook's fear of hurting her in any way. Of course that was until a week ago. Since the scare they had sex was completely off the table for the duration of the pregnancy and post partum recovery.
- I'll just take a quick one, you stay in bed. - he suggested hoping it will give him the chance to shower alone to avoid any funny business.
Well... He couldn't convince her.
And he couldn't keep control. Not after she subconsciously bit her plump bottom lips. Not after she rid herself of any clothes. Not after her full breasts were right at arms reach.
His big palms flew onto her breasts, which were now covered with warm water. It was nice, it eased some of the pain in them. But her boyfriend's hands were doing wonders for her tender blossoms. The way he kept massaging made them leak a slightly yellow colored liquid. A few drops rolled down her curves onto her big belly.
Jungkook, in fear of having the running water from the shower wash away his newfound gold, turned the water off and got on his knees. Now he was in eye level with the liquid treasure. He wasted no time opening hsi mouth and licking them off of his pregnant girlfriend's bump. Whatever was left on her warm skin he rubbed it in.
He was lost in absolute bliss.
- The best moisturizer against stretch marks. - he panted with a mischievous grin on his face. - Look at you! Gorgeous carrying my child, gracefully growing together with out girl. Producing golden milk for our baby-
-and husband. - he finished his sentence.
All the while Y/n's eyes were closed, listening to every praise that left his mouth. If she would've had underwear on they would've been ruined that's how wet she's gotten. But a particular word made those eyes pop open with the speed of lightning.
- J-Jungkook... - she moaned.
The boy wasn't ready to get up yet. He was hungry for what she was giving him. All to him. All because of him.
He closed the space between his mouth and her wet lips, which proved to be difficult with a big curvy barrier that his forehead bumped into. But this couldn't stop him from getting what he desired. Not after so many months of silence.
- Nghh.. ahh! - she tried to muffle her moans of absolute pleasure to no avail.
The boy quickly turned the water back on to hopefully drown their sounds from other ears, all the while not stopping what he was busy with.
- I'm... I'm cumming!
Jungkook didn't free his mouth, he simply just lifted his hand to run it along he sides as a sign of permission.
The amount of precious juice she gave him made his already standing length harden even more.
- Fuck, princess...
He was gonna have to take care of that later.
- Let me help you. - she panted after coming down from her high, catching a glimpse of his throbbing member.
She was preparing to het on her knees with the help of leaning onto the shower door handle, but muscular arms cought her under the armpits to lift her back up.
- No baby, today is all about you. - he reassured her all the while his body protested with raging hormones.
Y/n wanted to protest, but his hungrily soft lips shut her up with a passionate kiss.
It was no secret to either of them that after he lovingly dried her off, helped dressing her, waited for her to close her eyes while he tucked her in for another well-deserved nap, he'll be going back into that damned shower to finish his business thinking about those milk-filled blossoms and child-filled womb.
previous - next
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A/n: Holy ****... First time writing smut. Won't make a habit out of it probably, since I find it a bit boring XD but it's part of their relationship, so it had to be included at least once. Hope it wasn't too bad 😞
#bts#bts pregnancy#bts pregnancy au#pregnant#0funsite0#baby#reader#pregnancy#jeon jungkook#jjk#jungkook#bts jungkook#jungkook pregnancy#pregnancy sex#teen pregnancy#jungkook x teen pregnant reader#bts x teen pregnant reader
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Always Had Something For Cowboys
Y/n Lambert couldn't take any more time with her ex, so she moved her daughter to another part of Montana. She finds work at the Yellowstone ranch and having some attraction to Kayce Dutton. Yet when her past comes to find, will they be able to make it out together?
1 - Our New Lives
2 - The Dutton Ranch
3 - Dating a Cowboy
4 - First Day of Work
5 -
???
Comments really appreciated ❤️
Tag list - send an ask to be added
#kayce dutton#kayce dutton x fem!reader#kayce dutton x reader#kayce dutton fanfic#kayce dutton fluff#kayce dutton smut#kayce dutton fanfiction#kayce dutton fic#luke grimes#big sky / yellowstone crossover#big sky#big sky fanfiction#yellowstone series#yellowstone#ryan yellowstone#yellowstone masterlist#yellowstone fanfic#yellowstone fanfiction#tate dutton#beth dutton#rip wheeler#john dutton#cowboys#teen pregnancy#john wayne kleinsasser#cheyenne kleinsasser#ask box is open for anything#wattpad fanfiction#comments really appreciated#blake kleinsasser
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She almost runs over her guitar on her way in the driveway.
For a second, the image is so obscene that she laughs. She’d gotten her hands on a permanent marker, when she was three, scrawled her name across the body with careful hands a tongue stuck out of her mouth in concentration. The N is backwards, and she’d creatively used the soundhole as the O. Hollered for Daddy to come look, to come ruffle her hair and swing her over his shoulders for a job well done.
He’d come to look, alright.
“Well, Helen,” he’d said to his wife, scrubbing a hand over his neck, “damn thing’s hers, now, I suppose.”
He’d always warned her to be careful with it. Scolded her for every sticker she’d slapped on the neck, every painted doodle on the face. Picked it up when she left it sprawled on the couch, placing it gently on the stand. Careful as he was with all her things, with her.
It’s strings-down on the pavement, now, half-crushed under the weight of her patched pink backpack. She takes a half step forward, chipped paint of her purple toenails scratching against the wood of the guitar. She crouches down and touches it, softly, wincing at the twang of the twisted strings.
“What…”
A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks up just in time to catch the pale blue curtains swish quickly shut over the bow windows, to see the lights flick off.
Mouth dry, she touches her stomach. The swell is barely there — barely noticeable. Barely far along enough to feel the kick.
She wants to scream. She wants to run up to the door and bang on it ‘til Mama swings it open, wants to collapse to her knees and sob and beg for their forgiveness. Wants to tell them about how scared she’s been for months. Wants Mama to grip her hand in her calloused ones, sit her at the kitchen table and get her the exact type of tea that’ll settle her stomach and soothe her heartburn. Wants Daddy to smooth back her hair and press a kiss to the crown of her forehead, squeezing the curve of her shoulder. Wants Wally the cat to hop up onto her lap, mrrping and bumping his head into her sternum.
Instead, she swallows. She swings her backpack over her shoulders, picks her guitar gently off the cracked driveway, and walks straight-backed to her car. The key sticks in the lock, as it always does, and in her increasingly desperate attempts to force it open she twists the damn thing, and the key is sad and thin and bent when she yanks it out and she cries, almost, the tears build and build and build in her eyes, util suddenly she grits her teeth and decides that she will not. She shoves the key back in the lock and twists the other way, bending it back into shape, wrenching open the door and throwing her backpack in, relishing in the thunk as it hits the passenger door. With her guitar she’s gentler, barely, setting it neatly along the backseats and wrenching her hand back as hard as she can to make up for it.
She sits in the drivers seat so hard the whole car shakes. The steering wheel is warm, still, from the heat of her palms on the drive here from Molly’s house, because she’s been overheated lately. For the last four months, to be exact. Overheated and cranky and nauseous and heavy.
“Well,” she whispers, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. She wraps her arms around her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut, biting her tongue as hard as she can. “It’s you and me and sheer fucking will, I guess, kid.”
She rifles through her CDs until she comes across a case with a wood-pattern print and a man with a revolver lounging across it. She pulls out the scratched disc and feeds it carefully into the player, waiting for the deep baritone to rumble through her shit plastic speakers, and listens to the first bar, the second, the third.
But this is for real, so forget about me. Eight more minutes to go.
The light doesn’t come back on. The curtains don’t flick. Her Daddy doesn’t come runnin’ out the door, screaming for her to wait. Mama doesn’t follow out calmly after him. All there is is shadow, shadow, shadow, and the shape her guitar made upside down on the pavement.
She backs out of the driveway where she tripped and fell and lost her first tooth, and drives, and drives, and drives.
———
When she was little, her uncle took her to go see Alien.
He shouldn’t have. It was far too old a movie for a kid her age, and the clerk had told him so. But Noah Solace had a penchant for being stubborn and a chip in his shoulder, so he’d taken her anyway. He should have left when the alien leapt from its nest and definitely when one of the freaky little parasites burst from the guy’s chest, but he didn’t, and Naomi had watched frozen completely in her seat, palms sweating, spine rigid, squirming at the thought of something growing inside her. Of being betrayed by something that lived in the deepest recesses of her body.
The day after she leaves home, she taps her chewed-up fingernail on the sides of the wall-phone by a rest stop. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The Bell logo is covered partially by someone’s tag, by a curved C and bubble O B A L T. Ironically, the worn Sharpie ink is purple.
617 343 7844. She knows the number by heart. She knows the song of dialling it like she knows Jolene. Bah-duh-duh bah-duhduh duh-bah-duhduh. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, four. Tap. Tap. Tap.
She sucks her lip into her teeth. Training her eyes on the purple COBALT tag, the obstructed Bell, the rainbow of wads of gum balled up in the corners, she presses the right buttons. Bahduhduh-bahduhduh-duhbahduhduh. Ring. Ring.
What is she doing. What is she doing.
Ring. Ring.
Naomi isn’t one for planning. She’s absent-minded, she knows she is. Flighty and distracted. Head in the clouds, never one to study. A coaster. A drifter. A real one, now.
Ring. Ring.
Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to respond to your letters. How am I? I’m great! I slept with a god and now I’m nineteen and knocked up and homeless, to boot. Wanna come pick me up?
Ring. Ring.
God, what is she doing. What is she doing.
Ring. Ring. Ri—
“Fuck d’you want?”
Low baritone. Gravelly. Rough, slurring. Sleepy?
“Hello? Can you hear me? Who’s this?”
Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to —
“Is this one’a them fuckin’ tele — fuck they called — tele…tele…”
— respond to your letters, great, nineteen knocked up —
“Tele…grams? Telefuckin…telemarketers! You one’a them fuckin’ telemarketers?”
— pick me up pick me up pick me up please —
“Swear t’a fuckin’ Jesus — I told you sons of bitches —”
— parasite —
“Ah, fuck you. You call here again I’mma fuckin’ —”
Click.
Riiiiiiinnnnnng.
She stares at her own finger on the receiver, white and bloodless. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale.
You have disconnected. To reconnect your call, please —
She flings the phone from her hands, against the receiver, against the box, clink, clatter, bounce, tap tap tap tap tap tap against the pavement. Tap. Scritch. Tap tap tap. And flees to her car.
———
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
She blinks back at the yellow little fuel light, humming along to the stereo. She can push it for a while longer, probably. Maybe even to the district line.
What happens if she just drives? If she drives and drives and doesn’t stop. Lets the little light blinkblinkblink at her, keepin’ time with Reba McEntire and her dying husband. That’s the night when the lights went out in Georgia.
She’d have time to pull over, probably. Coast on the speed she was going, cut across to the gravel shoulder. There’s no one else around, anyway. She could recline her seat and cross her arms over her chest and watch the clouds through the dusty top of her windshield. Sleep through the night and wake with the mourning doves’ cooing. Then what? That’s the night that they hung an innocent man.
Walk, probably. On the side of the highway, along the stretch of dying grass and reedy weeds. Guitar on her back and backpack tucked under her arm, strolling under the balmy March sun and sing to the cawing crows, to the rushing cars. Well, don’t sell your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer.
Someone’d pull up next to her, probably. A trucker or a group of hippies. Headed to Oregon, they might say, round glasses covering bloodshot red eyes. Need a ride? ‘Cause the judge in the town’s got bloodstains on his hands.
And she would need a ride. She’d sing for them, maybe. Pluck along to Hey Jude on her out-of-tune guitar and holler with the wind rushing in from the old broken windows. They’d know someone in Cali, of course they would, slip her their card. He’s a manager, he’s looking for some new talent. You’re just what he needs. Well, they hung my brother before I could say.
Right. A knocked-up nobody who’s paying for gas with her last few bills and the four quarters she found in a sticky mess of juice in her cup holder. She’ll go platinum, right up there with the Stones and the Roses. Naomi Solace, part-time mom, full-time country star. The tracks he saw while on his way.
She drifts off the exit to the first gas station she sees. The blink, blink, blink of the light irritates her, now.
The highway town she drifts through looks like a carbon copy of the dozens of others she’s been to in her life. The giant grey rest stop, the 24 hour McDonalds, the three separate Mattress Firms. She skips over the Buccees — the stupid mascot gives her the creeps — and pulls into the first gas station she sees. Dollar twenty a gallon. Jesus.
There’s an old man at the pump across from her. He stares as he pumps his gas. Nausea builds in her stomach, but whether that’s the gross factor or the avocado-sized mass growing inside her, but she doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. She sprints for the little convenience store at top speeds, shoving open the door and ignoring the startled cashier and stumbling into the little bathroom in the back, barely making it to the stained toilets before emptying the contents of her stomach. She can see the half-digested junior bacon cheeseburger she had for lunch. It makes her throw up more. It also makes her mourn the eighty-nine cents she spent on it. Fuck.
She walks back into the convenience store grimacing at the taste of her own mouth. Nobody tells you that mouthwash and water bottles account for approximately eight billion dollars of your pregnancy cost. Of course, Naomi has never asked, but that should be a bigger part of the condom ads.
Or abstinence ads. She’s not sure how helpful a piece of rubber is against godly sperm. Mary seemed to struggle with the ordeal. Godspeed to her — she gets why the Catholics are so bananas for her now. This shit is hard and she handled it like a champ. Good on you, Mother Mary.
“Just these?” the cashier asks hesitantly, poking at the travel mouthwash, the water bottles, the singular packaged pickle, and the tiny jar of strawberry jam. And the plastic spoon she grabs from the hot table.
“And pump number 5. Please.”
“…Twenty-three sixty.”
Gas and water and a snack.
Twenty five dollars.
She has to count out her coins, hyperaware if the cashier’s dirty look. She bites back a comment about how frustrating it must be for them to have to do their job when it’s so busy out, what with one customer. Shame. Because she’s used up her irresponsibility quota for the next few years, she reckons, so she oughtta bite her tongue.
Half her fortune poorer, she walks back out to her car. The gas nozzle is still sticking out if it. She puts it back while holding her breath — do gas fumes kill growing babies? They probably kill growing babies — and shoves open her trunk, digging around. Blanket — no. Forgotten impulse purchases from months ago — no. Umbrella — no. Grad cap — no, and also why.
Finally, she finds what she’s looking for. She climbs onto the hood of the car, digging into her jam pickle, and flips open the paper atlas, turning the many pages until the map of Texas stares out at her, huge and overwhelming.
Twenty-six dollars and forty-nine cents. That’s what she has left. ‘Round twenty bucks for a full tank — that’s what she has left. 400 miles on a full tank. Seven or so hours until she’s out of the state.
“I could leave,” she says aloud.
And go where? New Mexico? Barely. She’s nowhere near LA, she’s nowhere near New York; hell, she’s nowhere near Austin. She’s nowhere near anything. Not even the nearest Amtrak station. She could drive until she runs out of gas, leave her car on the side of the road, and walk — to where? To the desert? To some serial killer’s basement?
To fucking find Apollo again?
“This is ridiculous.”
Slamming the atlas closed, she stomps back into the convenience store.
“There a secondhand store near here?” she demands.
The cashier regards her for a moment. Taking her in, probably, her ratty jeans that she can’t button anymore, her stained pink sweater, the greasy mess of her hair. The jam sticking to the corner of her mouth and the sliver of stomach pushing over the waistband of her pants. Her peeling flip-flops.
“Not here,” they say finally. “Highway town, ma’am. Ain’t got shit but what you can see from the road. You wanna real store, you gotta head ten miles east to Blowshow.”
“There’s a town called Blowshow?” she asks incredulously.
“There’s a town called Sheffield,” replies the cashier, mouth twitching, “which no one calls Joansburg, on account that the mayor was caught with his secretary gumming his green bean behind his desk by the film crew of the local news station coming to talk about a recent policy change. It’s got a main road and a general store, and will most definitely have a secondhand store.”
Naomi nods, rocking back on her heels. “Anybody hirin’?”
“Well, I ain’t been to Blowshow since last Sunday. And even then only to come see my sister. I wasn’t lookin’ at help wanted signs.”
“There’s gotta be somethin’.”
The cashier hums. The busy themself with a stack of cigarette boxes behind the counter, fiddling with a strip of cardboard come loose.
“There’s a diner,” they admit. “Di’s. Worst turnover rate than any place I ever been to.” The glance over at her, eyebrows raised. “Frankly, you won’t last a quarter year.”
Instead of sneering something about bowing out quickly and how they must know lots about finishing early, because that’s gross and also uncalled for, Naomi simply walks out. She gets in her car and starts the engine and turns the radio to thirty, making the warbling over the speakers so warped she might as well be listening to static, and guns it east. Or what she’s pretty sure is east, anyway. It’s fifteen minutes the empty pothole roads give way to something that looks like it’s seen a person in the last forty years. A little house sits nestled in the trees, bikes strewn about the driveway. A few hundred yards down road is a jogger that she gives a wide berth. In minutes, she’s pulling into a proper town — a tiny town, with more trees than people, but a real town with a real purpose. She slows to a crawl, eyeing hand-painted banners and peeling signs until she finds what she’s looking for.
The secondhand shop is small, clustered, and smells like mothballs. A shelf of broken old toys blocks her view of the rest of it and any people that may live inside of it, so she steps aside it, stepping carefully around chipped tile and stacked up boxes, looking for the right section. (The right shelf, really; nothing in this store is big enough to be a section.)
She finds what she’s looking for in a dusty old corner near the very back. Behind a broken typewriter and an ancient fax machine, and more random wires and cables than she can count, is a little portable cassette player. A pair of wiry headphones are wound around the hunk of black plastic, foam ear muffs cracked and peeling, and the worn label on the side reads Isobel. She grabs the clunky old machine carefully, brushing the pads of her fingers over the peeling paper label, and holds it to her chest.
At home she has a proper CD Walkman. It’s pink and pretty and covered all over in shiny foil stickers, and it’s chipped on the side from when she dropped it down the stairs. It skips every sixth song of an album without fail and she has to skip three backwards and two forwards to hear it. She has a collection of CDs to go with it longer than her longest shelf, and they’re arranged by colour and favour.
On another shelf, she finds a series of chipped cassette tapes. She flicks through the selection, frowning, trying to restructure hopes that were set too high and read labels written thirty years ago.
“I’ve got an extra box of them by the counter,” says a voice, making her yelp.
“Christ alive, you could kill somebody,” she snaps.
The man shrugs. He wears the loudest shirt she has ever seen and cutoff shorts that are way too short for someone his age. There are streaks of blue in his white hair, and four sweatbands on his left wrist. Green purple grey yellow. One, two, three, four.
“I’ll take a look.”
She spends another ten minutes in silence. The box, at least, has a little more variety than the shelf, so she picks out what’s worth it. She ends up with a stack the size of her arm.
“I have ten dollars,” she lies, Mama’s lecture about showing your cards ringing in her head. “That cover it?”
“Beautifully,” says the man, shiny gold-tooth smile. His bug-eye spectacles gleam in the yellow light. He holds out his hand. “Ten bucks for the player and tapes.”
Looking him right in the eye, she hands him her last twenty-dollar bill. He glares, when he sees it, muttering something about liars and thieves. Strangely, he looks at her with a little bit of respect when he slams her change down onto the counter.
She walks back out to her car, unwinding the headphones as she does. She’s half-worried the ancient things will disintegrate in her hands, but they manage to stay whole, if a little warped. She slides in behind the wheel and pushes back the seat, settling against the itchy carpet upholstery. With a quick glance out the window to make sure there are no creeps, she pulls up her shirt, bunching it up around her ribs, and lowers the waistband of her jeans. She eyes her belly critically.
There’s definitely a bump. Not much she couldn’t explain away with a particularly filling lunch, but it’s hard and there and constantly kicking at her from inside. Slowly, feeling foolish all the while, she stretches out the headphones until both halves rest on either side of her stomach. She picks out one of the tapes, slides it in the player, and clears her throat.
“Listen, kid,” she says, trying to sound less embarrassed than she feels, “I don’t want some lame baby who doesn’t know that Tina Turner was country first, okay? That’s a — waste of my time.” She clears her throat, hovering over the play button. “I better get some engagement.”
The twangy guitar is loud enough that she can hear it through the headphones. Or maybe they’re just that bad. Either way, Alien Parasite should be able to hear it just fine, amniotic fluid be damned.
“‘Means your true love daddy ain’t comin’ back,” she sings along. She closes her eyes and relaxes against the recliner seat, bare skin tingling. “‘Cause I’m movin’ on, I’ll soon be gone. Mhm, hm hm. So I’m movin’ on.’”
At the crest of the bridge, as the guitar speeds up and beats get harder, there’s a point of pressure right above her navel. Another, a few seconds later, at her pelvis. A third right below her ribs.
“Acrobatic little freak,” she mumbles fondly, smiling at her stretched taught skin.
She adjusts the headphones, adjusts herself, and turns the music up louder.
———
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#naomi solace i love you#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#naomi solace#will solace#naomi solace & will solace#angst#will solace backstory#should be a tag tbh#pregnancy#teen pregnancy#my writing#fic#longpost#lowkey this is original work. but whatever
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Influencer Greek preggo slut , 5/5 Follow me on : http://nonudepregs.tumblr.com/
#greece#greek girl#photography#preg kink#young pregnant#preggers#teen pregnant#pregnancy#teen pregnancy
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It's About Time
Y/n and Georgie have been best friends for years. Everyone in town is waiting on when they will get together...including Y/n herself. When a new girl comes into town and interests Georgie will they ever get together??
1 - Matching Marks
2 - Possible Futures
3 - Memaw's Car
4 - New Feelings and a Videotape
5 - The Birthday Surprise
6 - Will He Ever Realize?
7 - Love Letter
8 - The Jealousy Plan
9 - Jealousy Plan in Motion
10 -
???
Comments really appreciated ❤️
Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad
#georgie cooper#georgie cooper x reader#montana jordan gifs#montana jordan#young sheldon#teenage pregnancy#best friends#the big bang theory#mary cooper#george cooper#memaw#connie tucker#raegan revord#missy cooper#wattpad fanfiction#ask box is open for feedback#comments really appreciated#teen pregnancy#texas#sheldon cooper
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Intruder | big day
pairing: jungkook x reader
wc: 2.04k
genre: dilf!Jungkook, CEO!Jungkook, arranged marriage, smut, fluff, angst
warnings: swearing, dry humping(ig), mentions of sex
summary: moments leading up to and after the wedding
an: this might be the longest part yet. enjoy!
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It’s done. Jungkook had signed it and personally and grumpily hand delivered it to his father. Not without the slamming of doors along the way and the slamming of the envelope containing the contract causing the papers on his desk to get blown away. Just before reaching the exit of the room, his father calls out his name and with an eye roll he pauses his departure, his back facing his father.
“The wedding is on the 26th of November”
The wedding was less than a month away. Not nearly enough time to spend quality time with his little family, a mistake yes, but the best in his life. Another realisation dawns upon him. This was his son’s birthday. The day their family became whole, the day he officially became a father and Jungkook deflated at the thought of not being able to celebrate the special day with his family, instead celebrating the most miserable ‘best day of his life’.
Jungkook spins around so fast, he would’ve experienced whiplash if in another situation. “You know what that date is and you know very well I won’t show up, Mr Jeon”
Taken aback by the formality, Jungkook’s father retaliates “And you know my offer still stands. They will never live their life happily if you don’t.”
“How could you be so cruel, not letting a father celebrate his son’s birthday?” And with that, Junkook walks out, knowing that his father would not listen to a single thing he says. He pauses a little on his way out of the compound. He could win his mother over, the thought of her only grandchild - the mother someone she doesn’t completely despise - upset, upset her more than anything. The plan formulated within his head drives him to get in his car and go towards his mother’s house.
Jungkook pushes the buttons on the keypad at the front of his childhood home. As he opens the door, all possibilities of where his mother could be located runs through his head, completely overlooking the fact that she could be in the living room. She is.
“Jungkook?” his head turns towards the voice, relief washing through him for not having to go on a searching spree for his mother. She pats the spot beside her seeing the distraught look on his face.
His mother’s mouth opens but Jungkook cuts her off before she can speak. “The wedding date… is on the same day as Cheol’s birthday.”
“Yes. And the problem is?” she answers, swirling the red wine in her hand.
Jungkook’s jaw almost drops at how dismissive she sounds.
Flabbergasted he responds, “I- It’s your grandson’s birthday”
“Yes, but the venue’s been booked and all the flowers and decorations have been ordered to arrive and be set on that day. It’s too late to do anything about it.
Jungkook looks like he could cry. He sits there and stammers for a good minute but to him feels like hours. He’s going to miss his son’s 6th birthday. His mind wonders to all the birthdays his own father missed out on and vowed to never let it happen to his own children, yet here it was, happening and he had no control over it.
His mother cuts off his train of thought. “You’re lucky they’re both even invited. Even though it’s a ‘no children allowed’ wedding, we figured you might as well have that. I’m not as cruel as you think Jungkookie”
His jaw drops and his cheeks flush. He watches as his mother refills her glass and decides to snatch the bottle from her and take a swig of wine himself. This cannot be happening.
You turn your head slightly, halting your dish washing, to watch Jungkook walk through the door looking defeated and deflated. You realise he’s consumed wine to the point he’s become tipsy, something he hasn’t done for years. You notice his eyes are half-lidded and that’s enough for you to know that he’s had a rough day. You take off your gloves and give him a very much needed hug. Jungkook rests his head on your shoulder and mumbles an apology, although the apology doesn’t matter as you take in his state. He’s on the verge of tears. You thread your fingers through his unruly hair as he speaks.
“I’m sorry for this morning. I’m sorry that I’ll miss Cheol’s birthday. I’m sorry that this is happening.”
You hug him tighter. “It doesn’t matter, you still have us, even after you get married”
“I took leave from work, so I can spend as much time with you guys before the wedding. We also need to move into the apartment they bought us.” You hum at what he says. You feel pity for Jungkook and the way his parents treat him. While your parents only care for your happiness and wellbeing, Jungkook’s parents exploit him for business and money.
You eventually lead both yourself and Jungkook out of the kitchen to sleep. WIth how late it is and Jungkook’s condition right now, you abandon the dishes, deciding to finish off in the morning.
The days go by fast, consisting of Jungkook spoiling both you and Cheol with expensive items, food and toys for Cheol. You couldn't shake off the foreboding feeling of the upcoming date. It was shown in both your eyes. You feared for Cheol’s disappointment, not only missing out on his birthday with his father but watching his father get married to someone that wasn’t you. You pushed the intruding thoughts out of your head and watched as Jungkook and Cheol kicked the ball around at the nearby park with Bam doing everything he can to interfere.
It is the day of the wedding and Jungkook only wishes he could sleep like a log but his father’s threat hangs in the air. Jungkook didn’t sleep very well, coming with the ways your lives will change, the possibilities of what could go wrong and what he could do to make things go wrong ‘unintentionally’. But when his dad is who he is, nothing could get past the man of power.
He hugs you much longer and tighter than before, he didn’t want to let you go. Cheol is sandwiched between the both of you and Jungkook has to be mindful, so as not to suffocate the boy. He squishes the boy once he begins tossing and turning.
“Happy birthday baby” both you and Jungkook yell before smothering the young child with kisses and tickles.
Jungkook sighs at the view, the last time for a while will they be a happy family, for as long the intruder decides to stay. Everything in Seoyeon’s eyes shows lust and he knows she won’t let him get away with anything so he does everything now.
Jungkook watches as both you and Cheol walk into the room. Cheol wears a suit that fits perfectly but will outgrow in no time and you wear a nude pink midi dress with matching heels. You look stunning but Jungkook watches your face turn into one of confusion as he hands you his tie. Something a best man would do, but he has none. It’s not yours and his wedding so he wasn’t going to go all out for something he didn’t want. He watches you as you step forward wrapping the tie around him and proceeding to tie it up. He sees the door close behind you and you both are alone. Jungkook watches your face up close, the concentration on your face as you help him with his tie and he desperately wishes it was you instead who he was marrying. Maybe he should’ve made love to you one more time, should’ve fucked you senseless, before another woman became his wife. Now he really regrets not dropping off Cheol for the night as his friend in his pants makes himself known. You stifle a chuckle and Jungkook a groan as he subtly rocks his hips against yours. You look up into Jungkook’s eyes and see the lust swirling around. This time he rocks his hips harder and you have to steady yourself using his biceps. And then his phone rings and when he picks up, he can hear his mother yelling at him asking where he is.
When you guys arrived at the venue, split up, taking Cheol with you while Jungkook ventured to find his father. You sat at the very back with Cheol, the only seats with reserved names and you know why. When the ceremony began, Jungkook walked into the room, his eyes focused on the ground. As he stood at the altar, his eyes searched for yours and they both met instantly. Throughout the whole ceremony, even when his soon to be wife walked down the aisle and when reciting the vows, his eyes remained on you.
A ring was thrusted in Jungkook’s hands and he realised he missed Soyeon’s vows. “Do you Jeon Jungkook, take Lee Soyeon, to be your wife, to have and hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poor, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish always.” Jungkook looks into your eyes, he can already feel his parents scowling at him, and sees you nod your head with a smile on your face. He turns back to face Soyeon. He hesitates for a moment. “I do.”
“You may now kiss the bride” and Jungkook only pecks her cheek. Disappointment and anger flashes in Soyeon’s eyes before she composes herself and Jungkook only smirks.
Again, you and Cheol sat in the very corner at the reception on a table of two. You were the first to arrive to your seats due to your spot at the back during the ceremony. All the guest walked past you to their seats looking at the both of you with disgust. You were now considered a ‘single mum’ by each of these guests now that Jungkook was married. In society’s eyes a single mum was possibly the worst thing that could happen. But here within the Lee’s and the Jeon’s, you were a single mum of a child, the groom’s child and the way they looked at you made you want to run. For the sake of Cheol, especially on his birthday, you stayed, just for the delicious free food he could get today.
You watched Soyeon and Jungkook during the first dance and Cheol tugged on your arm.
“Why isn’t dad dancing with you?” Your heart broke. You only longed to dance with Jungkook.
Cheol was very smart and he knew what was going on even when it was best that he shouldn’t. Luckily food arrived and he stopped talking once he saw the mouth watering steak. You ended up finishing much quicker than expected which means you couldn’t say bye to Jungkook before you left. You wanted to make sure he was somewhat satisfied today even if it was with food so you weren’t going to disturb him. You looked at him before you left, deciding to stay at your parents tonight.
After Jungkook and Soyeon finished eating, it was time to socialise. Jungkook kept looking for both you and Cheol but he couldn’t see you. A tap on Jungkook's shoulder caused him to turn around.
“They both left” the wedding organiser told him and his shoulders drooped.
The wedding was finally over and both he and Soyeon got into the car. They both drove back to the apartment that was given to her. Jungkook watched Soyeon leave the car but when Soyeon noticed he wasn’t getting out either she yelled “You better not do something stupid or I’ll let them know”. He didn’t care and drove back to the apartment you and Cheol were staying at. As he entered, the apartment was empty. He figured you were at your parents and wasn’t going to chase after you tonight, knowing what the reason might be for you to go stay with them. Instead of leaving, he sat on the couch for a while and just thought. How will he survive tonight let alone during the whole 10 years? How were you going to survive knowing there was an intruder in your relationship and family?
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#jungkook angst#jungkook#jungkook ff#jungkook fluff#jungkook smut#dilf jungkook#arranged marriage#teen pregnancy#jungkook x reader#jungkook x oc#jungkook x y/n
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