Hello, there! I would like to request a Monica Geller x reader, please! Reader, a former Women's Army Corps member, catches the attention of Monica during a Central Perk hootenanny in which R sings Bill Haley's "Rock This Joint." Monica falls so in love with R that she would go straight from her job as a chef to wait for R at Centeal Perk. Finally, on Christmas, Pheobe acts as matchmaker.
The One with Mistletoe
monica geller masterlist | sitcom masterlist | main masterlist
Monica Geller x Reader 2,712 words
a/n - to the only other monica lover ever @rocknroll900 I apologise christmas has come a few too many months too late, but I hope you enjoy it anyways
Monica changes her schedule just so she can catch a glimpse of you in Central Perk, doing nothing about her crush until Phoebe plays cupid
It was just another September day when Monica first saw you. Well, not just any day, a hootenanny of sorts was being held and Phoebe had personally sent everyone invites. Not that she had the need to, she only needed to mention that she was taking part for them all to, eventually, turn up. So, after a long shift at work, Monica found herself on the way to Central Perk:
Monica hugged her coat closer as she moved with the street crowd, her scarf shifting up to cover the tip of her cold-numbed nose. It was that time of year in which the days were only getting colder and colder, soon - she thought to herself - it would be snowing and New York would be sprinkled in a fleeting blanket of white before it all inevitably turns into a grey-brown sludge. Her hand finds the door and before she can even open it the sound of music is pouring itself out into the street. There was no denying that she had gotten the right date.
The rush of warm air is welcomed happily and she easily finds her friends lounging in their usual spot; as she approaches, the music dies down and all that is left is the usual, ceaseless chatter of a bustling coffeehouse. Phoebe rises with a smile, guitar in hand, and catches sight of her.
“Oh great! You made it just in time,” Phoebe exclaims with a grin on her face now that everyone was there, and pulls Monica in for a swift side-hug before leaving quickly for the stage.
“Good luck,” Monica calls out and turns to face the group again.
A chorus of various greetings sound from the others and, pulling off the scarf from around her neck as well as her coat, she sinks into the spare spot on the couch. A soft sigh almost immediately escapes her lips at the feeling of finally sitting down, all the tension in her bones seemingly melt away into the familiar cushions. At the sound of Phoebe’s introduction, everyone cheers and Joey - as always - is the loudest of them all.
“How was work?” Rachel questions with a light pat to Monica’s knee.
“The usual,” she shrugs, “nothing out of the ordinary.”
Meaning, there were no exciting stories to tell, no drama to go whispering about. Rachel hangs her head with a frown, ever since she had been out of a job she was dying for some form of office gossip.
“What about you?” Rachel asks, turning to Chandler with a hopeful smile.
He looked up, searching his brain with his lips pursed, “... Someone ate Jim’s food again,” he offers.
Rachel piques up, “Do you have any idea who?”
“Eh- no.”
She falls back in her seat, disappointed.
Phoebe, of course, performs a rendition of her most famous hit. The jingle is instantly recognisable to the whole group, as well as to the other regulars who found themselves listening to ‘Smelly Cat’ at least once every year. Intentionally, or not. When Phoebe’s performance comes to an end, Monica’s cheering and clapping is almost lost amongst the celebration of the others and Phoebe returns back to them with a wide grin on her face. Another successful performance.
You take the stage; Monica doesn’t notice.
Not at first, not yet.
The music starts and, still, she doesn't glance your way. Only the light tapping of her foot shows that she’s listening. When her friends find themselves getting lost in conversation, she finds herself wishing for her hands to be wrapped around a large mug, and, so, she quickly slips away to the counter. Where her pointer finger steals the beat from her foot as she waits for Gunther to finish her order. Her friends collectively laugh and she looks over her shoulder to see them, the bright smiles on their faces are contagious. But then, she sees someone from the corner of her eye - her whole body twists to get a better look - you.
You. There, simply singing. Feeling the music. However, something about the air around you is pulling her in as if you’re some sort of siren. A voice warbles in her ear. You’re just sitting there, on that stool, voice flowing, drifting over her, making her dizzy.
“Hey!” A hand taps her harder than expected and she jolts to see Gunther pushing her coffee even closer to the edge.
An apology tumbles past her lips, but he’s already too far away to hear it. Grabbing her coffee, she makes it back to her seat and does her best to be involved in the conversation. To even follow it, but her mind is elsewhere; even after you had left the stage.
— — —
The second time she sees you is a week later. Just as she was beginning to think that she’d never see you again, you appeared.
It wasn’t unusual for Monica to be early, in fact, it was unusual for her to not be early. So, on a Thursday around three in the afternoon, it was not unusual to find Monica just entering Central Perk. What was unusual was that, this time, she didn’t need to open the door.
She reels back as the material of the door disappears from under her hand as she goes to push it open, skirting to the side to let the other person go.
“No, you go ahead.”
The voice is almost familiar, and she looks up expecting to see someone she knows. Instead, you look at her from behind the door.
“Oh, thank you,” she quickly rushes out as she rushes in, and you only smile kindly at her before exiting.
You don’t look back as you walk and she watches as you disappear into the street. Leaving Monica to replay the interaction over and over until someone else finally showed. At least, she found herself thinking, she knew that you were a regular here at Central Perk. So maybe, just maybe, she’d be seeing you again.
— — —
Monica made sure she did.
The very next week, after a weekend of going back and forth whether it was a good idea to do it or not, Monica spent nearly every free minute she had sat in the coffeehouse. Going down in the mornings to rushing back as soon as work finished and staying until it closed. It wasn’t strange - she promised herself - she was working, doing something. She wasn’t wasting her time. She was using a public area for its intended use, and she was the public. So, no, it wasn’t weird or strange or abnormal that she found out that for only an hour, or two, on a Thursday afternoon you’d come in, order a drink, read a little, and leave. She just happened to be there too. It was a coincidence.
You noticed. Of course, you noticed. It wasn’t difficult to notice someone like Monica. You knew her name, picking it up from her friends over time. You were almost sure that you could name them all, they were by far one of the louder, and larger, groups found regularly in Central Perk.
It was another Thursday and, in accordance with her newfound routine, Monica pushed open the door facing the busy street and made a beeline to her new, usual seat, a small two-chaired table, before ordering a coffee. It was busy, busier than normal. Her eyes instinctively travelled to where you normally sat and her heart dropped ever so slightly; you weren’t there. Somebody else sat comfortably in your chair, leg crossed over the other and taking periodical sips from his cup as he read the daily newspaper. Her brows furrowed. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
The situation had her thoughts catching a runaway train, even after she had received her coffee and was supposed to be working she couldn’t stop thinking. What was she even doing? What did she want with you? For you to notice her? To be friends; more? To stalk you until the end of time? Because that was what she was practically practicing. Hours upon hours she had spent sat there. Working, but still sat there nonetheless. She hadn’t even officially started, she was still in the theory stage of-
“-Is this seat taken?”
You stare expectantly down at her, hand grazing the top of the chair opposite. Monica has to manually close her mouth before shaking her head a little too vigorously for her liking.
“No, no, go ahead, I don’t mind,” she finally lets out, waving her hand out to the seat.
She doesn’t have it in her to look at you. She physically can’t move her neck, but she can hear you. Your movements as you get comfortable.
“What are you working on?”
She does look at you then. Shocked, blue eyes wide and her mouth gapes open and closed like a fish. A smile nearly comes to your face at her state, but you force it back and, instead, give her a little reprieve.
“I’m Y/n by the way.”
“Monica,” she introduces, “I’m just working on some new recipes, I… cook.”
“You’re a chef?”
She nods her head, flustered, “Yeah,” and swallows, “what are you reading?”
After that, not many more words are shared between you. However, just before you leave the table you say that you’ll see her next week. She remembers as clear as day the way you say it. Almost as a question, and it rings in her ears as if the words are ping-ponging from one to the other.
Next week, it’s even quieter. Though this time the silence is accompanied with stolen glances from the both of you. Then the next week you occasionally lock eyes before continuing on with your own thing as if it never happened, but the effects of it reverberates between the pair of you. It’s energy amplifying and electrifying. The week after Monica slides over a taste of her new recipe and you talk. Properly talk. You tell her about your book and Monica mumbles about what needs to be changed in her dishes. It’s… fun. She’s having fun with you, enjoying your shared time.
Phoebe notices a change in Monica and squints suspiciously at her from her place on the couch in her apartment. Joey’s in her ear, talking, but she can’t really hear him - not over Monica’s deafening, lightweight aura. Oftentimes, Phoebe found Monica distracting for the opposite reason, her energy wound round so tight it would begin to find order in its organic shape. Now, it was spilling from her. Ebbing and flowing with her as she, almost, danced around the kitchen. Perhaps she was just happy that she had finally finished her menu; she was spending less time down in Central Perk. Aside from Thursday.
Thursdays that she spent with you. Phoebe didn’t mean to pry. Honestly. Stumbling upon the two of you was a true accident. She was just picking up a package, the contents she will not be disclosing, when she had seen a familiar face and was about to call out Monica’s name when the word died on her tongue just as quickly as it had formed. Social cues, Phoebe will admit, are not her forfeit. However, with the way Monica was leaning forward in her chair and how close the two of you were, it was clear there was something going on. So clear she was sure Ross could even figure it out.
Phoebe makes a move; she has to know for sure.
She rounds the island like a shark, picking up a cracker on the way, before stopping in front of Monica.
“Hi, Phoebs,” she greets absentmindedly, not looking up from piping the finishing touches.
“You’re happy,” and the way she says it has Monica pausing mid-air.
Her heart beats a little faster, and she looks up. Phoebe’s knowing eyes on her. No, Monica denied. There was no way she could know, her mind instantly flickering over to you. She places the bag down and pulls Phoebe in a little closer.
“What are you talking about?” She whispers and Phoebe’s face lifts.
“So there is something going on,” Phoebe pauses and Monica furrows her brows, “is it the Thursday woman?”
Monica shushes her. Her whole body rigid. She doesn’t know why she’s acting the way she is. It hits her then; that you’re a woman. She had… feelings for a woman. She swallows thickly.
“I wasn’t- I’m not gonna tell, I just thought you guys were cute,” and she feels herself relax at Phoebe’s words. She was being silly, these were her friends, and so what if she liked a woman?
“Really,” Monica pauses a small smile on her face, “you think we’re cute?” Phoebe grins and nods.
— — —
Christmas Eve is, by chance, a Thursday and Central Perk is busier than it has been all winter. Snow falls outside the window, the white fluff highlighted in the orange-yellow glow of the street lights, but inside it’s perfectly toasty in temperature. Monica’s dressed comfortably, a simple lightly-striped, red, turtle-neck jumper, very on theme for the holidays. She’s already been there for a few hours, with her friends, of course, but she’s waiting for someone. The distracting weight of your gift, heavy, in her pocket has her eyes searching the crowd every so often. Were you even coming? You hadn’t mentioned it last week, not even when Monica had let you know that she wouldn’t be there this afternoon. Perhaps you were off celebrating elsewhere.
The thought of not seeing you tonight disappointed her more than she’d like to admit. It wasn’t as if you were together, or even seeing each other romantically by any means. But she had formed an attachment to you, growing ever since she first laid eyes on you on that stage. Monica kisses her teeth, leaning forward to grab her drink, when Phoebe slaps pats her arm repeatedly. Almost causing her to knock over her glass. She twists with a light warning on her face, but Phoebe’s not taking any notice just jabbing her finger in the air pointing- Monica twists the other way, her breath catches - pointing at you.
An embarrassingly warm heat travels across her cheeks at seeing you. You’ve dressed up; a little more than usual, perfect for the night. You smile at her and send her a little wave, the tips of fingers wiggling with the motion. She waves back.
“Mon,” Phoebe takes her hand and stands, turning to address the others, “Don’t follow, I’m starting that game I made up, you guys remember the rules, right? Yeah, see you in a bit!”
Monica only catches a brief shared look of confusion between everyone before being tugged away towards the bathroom, hidden behind the halfwall.
“What is going on?” She questions and Phoebe holds her hands together between her own.
“I have a plan, don’t worry, just wait here,” and she was gone, leaving Monica alone.
Not for long.
As soon as Phoebe left, only a few seconds later, you appeared.
“Hi, I got something for you,” you began, pushing the suspiciously book-shaped present towards her. Monica accepted it graciously, tucking a strand of her short hair behind her ear.
“Thank you, you really didn’t have to, I got you something too, it’s-” she pulled the gift out from her pocket and placed it in your hand, “-here.”
You open your mouth to speak, but, suddenly, your eyes look up. Monica’s eyebrows furrow and just as she’s about to tilt her head it falls down, hitting her in the head before rising again. She sees it then; mistletoe. Attached to the end of a stick from the other side of the wall. She can already think of who the culprit is, she didn’t need to think twice.
Her eyes find yours and you both let out a nervous chuckle, but she can’t ignore the way it has her stomach doing flips. The laughter dies down and a moment of tensioned silence replaces it. You make the first move. Planting a very acceptable kiss to the side of her cheek, it’s cute, sweet, but before you can fully move away Monica pulls you back in and her lips find yours in a shy kiss. You both pull away, content.
“Merry Christmas, Y/n.”
“Merry Christmas, Monica.”