summary; pool fun, pope getting a little chattier but in the most awkward way ever, readers cat!!!
warnings; some cuss words
a/n; a new part YAYY sorry this was kind of boring im having a brainfart rn .... also i see yalls requests in my inbox i promise to do them all i am nawt ignoring them IM SO GLAD YALL ARE REQUESTING MWAHHH <3 also thank you all a freaking BUNCH for over 1.5k followers omg???!!! also if u want to be added/removed from taglist just lmk
When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 46
+18 MDNI
pt. 45 / pt. 47
summary: family dinner with the cody's. dun dun DUN.
content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), lewd conversations. VIOLENCE. a fork being used as a weapon. reader goes feral. VERBAL ABUSE (?) - reader receives and dishes out. smurf is a warning on her own. so is baz. making out. craig having ZERO table manners. mentions of prostitution. mormons. brief talk of pregnancy. brief mentions of incest. pope would kill for reader. reader would kill for pope.
a/n: this was a BEAST. literally thought this chapter was gonna kill me but we made it. 🫡 also! au where craig doesn't have a kid. I HOPE IT HITS!!!!! - taglist is closed!
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“We can still leave.”
You look over at Pope; his brow furrowed and concern written all over his face.
“Andy, babe, it’s gonna be fine.” you say, rubbing soothing circles on his bicep. “If things get weird, we’ll dip.” you shrug.
Pope huffs. “So we’ll walk in and then immediately walk out?” he jokes.
You snort out a laugh, slapping his arm. Pope shoots you a lopsided smile.
“C’mon, let’s go.” you say, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Heading into the arena (aka the Cody house) hand in hand.
You’re walking through the house when all of a sudden, you hear this agitating, grating voice call to you from the kitchen.
“In here you two!” Smurf yells.
You feel Pope tense next to you as you make your way into the kitchen. Smurf greets him with a hug first, barely acknowledging you.
“Hi, baby.” she says, kissing the corner of his mouth. Smurf turns to you with a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes. “So nice to see you again, Y/N.” her tone bored, giving you a brief hug, fingers digging tightly into your arms.
“You want some wine?... If Cath hasn’t drank the whole bottle.” Smurf laughs, turning back to the pot of pasta sauce boiling on the stove. Cath bristles, lazily chopping a carrot.
“Hey Cath!” you say brightly, giving her a little wave. She smiles back, relaxing slightly at your presence. “I’d love a glass of white.” you request, keeping your tone even.
Smurf gives you a tight smile, her patience with you already waning. Before she can bark out an order, you quickly turn to Pope, giving him a sweet smile.
“Babe, would you get me a glass?” you say, batting your eyelashes at him.
“Sure, sweetie.” he mumbles gruffly, giving your hand a squeeze before moving through the kitchen.
Smurf looks you up and down, sizing you up. You meet her gaze head on, not shying away. Leaving you both in a silent standoff. Cath has abandoned the carrot, staring between you two with a mixture of worry and amusement.
Pope returns to your side, handing you the glass. Noting the tension but saying nothing.
“Thanks, Andy.” you smile, wiping away where Smurf kissed him and planting a sensual kiss on Pope’s lips.
You see Smurf tense, but her fake smile stays plastered on her face.
“Need any help, Smurf?” you ask, tone sweet but with a sharp edge to it.
“No, Cath and I’ve got it. You don’t seem like the kind of girl who likes to get her hands dirty.” she says it lightly, but there’s an undercurrent of ridicule behind it.
You let out an obviously fake laugh, narrowing your eyes at her.
“C’mon babe, let’s go sit.” you say, gripping Pope’s arm tightly in your perfectly manicured hand.
You give Cath a wink and a smirk as you leave the kitchen and head to the living room to sit with the rest of the family.
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Deran and Craig are already giving you side eye as you walk in, both wondering what you’ve got planned.
“Idiots.” you nod to them both, before turning to Baz and J.
“J, good to see you.” you smile. He gives you a simple nod in response. “Barry.” you say flatly, not bothering to look at him as you guide Pope down on the couch, next to Deran.
You settle yourself right on his lap, nestling comfortably against him. He gives a surprised look but quickly grips onto your hip, holding you close to him. You can feel the heat of Baz’s stare looking up and down your body. You ignore him, focusing your attention on Craig.
“So… what’s happening in the ghost hunting world.”
“Alright so they’re in an old hotel, fuck ton of spirits. One of em’ is a 12 year old boy named Radcliffe. He’s from the civil war, I guess. I think-”
You’ve already stopped listening, your eyes glazing over. Craig’s making punching motions with his fist, saying something about being able to take Radcliffe.
Pope chuckles under you, making your eyes shoot over to him. He’s staring at you with a warmth in his eyes that’s only reserved for you. You quirk a smile at him, cocking an eyebrow. You take a hearty gulp of wine, a drop dripping from your mouth and down your chin. Pope catches it with his thumb, bringing the drop to his mouth. Sucking it off his thumb.
You giggle, leaning in to give Pope a light kiss.
A harsh gagging sound breaks you from yours and Pope’s bubble.
“Yo! You two are fucking nasty.” Deran groans.
“Oh my god, chill. We’re kissing.” you roll your eyes.
“Craig! Come in here and help me with the garlic bread!” Smurf calls from the kitchen. Craig groans, dragging himself from the couch.
“Dude, you better wash your hands. I’m not missing out on garlic bread cause’ you got your unwashed ballsack hands all over it.” Deran complains.
“I second that motion!” you pipe up.
“M’ gonna wash my hands.” Craig says, offended. “Do you guys think I’m an animal or somethin’?”
You and Deran answer “yes” at the same time. Both of you turning to each other with a laugh, and high fiving.
Craig mumbles “fuck you guys” under his breath as he stumbles out of the living room. Cath passes him, settling in next to Baz. You give each other knowing looks.
Cath snorts out a laugh, earning stares from the rest of the room. You giggle behind your wine glass. Pope raises an eyebrow but you just shake your.
Cath lets out another chuckle, shaking her head at you. You wink at her and finish off your glass of wine and move to stand up.
“I’m gonna get a refill.”
Pope almost doesn’t let you up, gripping you tighter against him. You kiss his cheek and he releases you, reluctantly. He gives you his hand, helping you stand up.
“Thanks honeybee.” you smile, giving his hand a rub.
“Honeybee?” Deran snorts.
“I don’t need your toxic energy right now Deran.” you say, giving a ‘talk to the hand’ gesture as you walk past.
You head into the kitchen, bracing yourself for whatever bullshit Smurf’s gonna throw your way. Thankfully, she’s setting the table. Craig’s digging into a jar from the fridge.
“Dude, what are you doing?” you ask, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling your glass.
“Hungry. Wanted a snack.” Craig mumbles around a mouthful of…
“Bro no way you’re raw dogging pickled jalapeños right now?” you snort.
Craig shrugs and shoves a couple more slices into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean.
“Oh hey…. You find Ferretuccine yet?” you whisper conspiratorially.
“No.” Craig sighs dejectedly. “He’s living in the walls now. Found a hole Smurf don’t know about. Been leaving food for him. I hear him rustling sometimes, so at least he’s still alive?”
“What are you two whispering about?” Smurf says, annoyed.
“Nothing.” you both say simultaneously.
Smurf gives you both a narrowed glare, shaking her head. Moving about the kitchen.
“Dinner’s gonna be ready soon.” Smurf says coldly, giving you a judgemental look up and down. “Y/N, go get my boys.” she turns away from you, her tone possessive.
You hum, taking another gulp of wine. This is going to be… interesting.
────﹒♡﹒────
You’re all seated around the dining table, the sounds of casual conversation and clinking utensils filling the room. Smurf’s at the head of the table, watching you carefully. Baz is next to her, trying to talk business, with Cath bored out of her mind next to him. J’s on Smurf’s other side, picking at his food and texting under the table. You’re in the middle, between J and Pope. Craig and Deran seated across from you.
Pope hasn’t moved his hand from your thigh since you sat down. You’ve never seen him more tense than he is right now. He’s barely eating, his eyes flickering between you and Smurf.
Craig’s shoveling forkful after forkful of pasta in his mouth. Deran’s watching him in disgust, like a car crash you can’t look away from.
“Craig, no one’s gonna take it from you.” you mock, picking at the piece of garlic bread on your plate.
Craig takes another huge forkful out of spite and flips you off.
“So Y/N, how long have you and Andrew been together now?” Smurf asks, studying you.
You take a long sip of wine, making her wait. Pope’s staring her down, waiting for when she might strike.
“Oh… It’s been what, babe?” you turn to Pope in mock wonder. “5-ish months?” you look back over at Smurf with a smile that’s anything but sweet.
Craig snorts.
You glare at him.
“What? You’re acting like you don’t keep track down to the day.” Craig shrugs.
Deran kicks him in the shin. Mumbling at him to “shut the fuck up”.
“Craig, don’t be a weasel.” you glare, cocking an eyebrow.
“Right… sorry. Shutting up.” He mumbles, stuffing an entire piece of garlic bread into his mouth.
“Down to the day, huh?” Baz scoffs.
You can feel your eye start to twitch.
“Okay fine. 5 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days.” you say matter of factly.
“Cute.” Smurf chuckles, continuing to size you up.
Cath tries to steer the conversation toward neutral territory, something about renovations on their house. You give her a thankful look.
Smurf doesn’t budge.
“Over 5 months and Andrew’s just now bringing you around for a family dinner?” she says thoughtfully. “I thought you said it was serious?”
“Oh it is!” you correct, smile tight and fake. “I guess I’ve just been… keeping him busy.” you smirk at her, letting the insinuation land. Pope’s grip on your thigh tightens.
Smurf’s jaw ticks, narrowing her eyes at you.
The room has gone quiet, except for Craig's scarfing.
You take another deep gulp of wine, trying to steady yourself.
“Smurf, what’s with all the questions?’ Deran says, breaking the silence.
She shoots Deran a look that has him clearing his throat and looking back down at his plate.
“Just wanting to get…. reacquainted with Y/N. As Andrew’s… girlfriend-.” she says girlfriend like it’s a bad taste in her mouth. “Not just yours and Craig’s little groupie.”
“Smurf…” Pope warns.
Deran and Craig are looking between the three of you like this is a tennis match.
You grip your fork tightly, considering jamming it right in Smurf’s eye. Pope rubs soothing circles on your thigh, reminding you that you’re not alone in this.
“Groupie? Do you mean a ‘friend’?” you joke. “I know you don’t have any of those that aren’t either blackmailed or bought, so it must be confusing.” you say with mock sympathy.
Everyone at the table freezes. Deran and Craig are looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. Cath lightly gasps, her eyes going wide.
Smurf bristles, putting her wine glass down.
“Hmm… funny.” Smurf says, leaning back. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s your going rate?”
You furrow your brow, tilting your head slightly.
“Your work.” Smurf says, like it’s obvious. “Do you have any other clients or is it just my son paying you to spread your legs?”
You can’t help the shocked laugh that bubbles from your throat.
The table falls dead silent for a moment before erupting into chaos.
Deran and Craig both protesting, asking Smurf “what the fuck.” You can feel the anger radiating off Pope, his hands now flat on the table. He’s staring at Smurf like he might rip her head off.
“Smurf…” Pope warns, voice coming out in a growl.
“What?” Smurf asks innocently.
Pope just stares her down, eyes full of hatred. It catches Smurf off guard for a moment before she’s able to replace her mask of cool indifference.
“This tracks…” you mumble, rolling your eyes.
“What tracks?” Smurf asks.
“You being way too interested in where your son sticks his dick. It tracks.” you shrug, not breaking eye contact.
“Y/N, please don’t.” Deran groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What are you implying?” Smurf asks, leaning forward in her chair.
“I think you know exactly what I’m implying.” you say, a laugh escaping.
Smurf is speechless. Actually speechless. Her eyes go wide, full of fire.
“You disgusting little-“
You hold your hands up in surrender.
“Hey, you’re the one who’s always macking on her adult sons.” you say.
“Listen here you little bimbo-“
“Oh my god! I’m so sick of your monologuing, you fucking cunt-“
Pope slams his palms down on the table hard, making everyone jump.
“Enough.” he commands harshly.
“Andrew-“ Smurf starts.
“No Smurf. I said enough.” Pope grunts. “You will not talk to her that way.” His eyes never leaving Smurfs.
“Talk to her that way?! This little slut just called me a cunt!”
You scoff. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.
“I don’t care. You started it. I’m finishing it.” Pope says. “Y/N is mine. No one talks to her that way.” He clenches his fists and his jaw. “No. One.”
Smurf is silent, reassessing her son. Her eyes cloud with several different emotions; anger, shock, fear.
Her and Pope are still in a standoff when Baz laughs into his beer, earning a jab in the ribs from Cath.
“I know your ass isn’t laughing right now.” you warn, shooting Baz daggers.
Baz shrugs with a smug smirk.
“No seriously, Y/N. Is he paying you? Cause that would make him pulling you make way more sense.” Baz asks.
“Baz, I swear to god.” Cath grumbles, covering her face with her hands.
“Excuse me?” you ask darkly, squeezing your hands into fists.
“Y/N… chill.” Deran says carefully. “He’s not worth it.”
Baz chuckles, leaning back and putting his hands up in surrender.
“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Pope’s a freak, he’d have to pay a chick to put up with him.” Baz laughs.
“Baz, that’s enough-“ Smurf starts
You don’t let her finish. You’re already flying out of your chair, knocking it to the ground behind you. You grip your fork and lunge across the table at Baz.
“I will fucking gut you, you shrimp dick motherfucker.” you growl, jabbing your fork in his direction.
Pope wraps his arms around you quickly, holding you against his chest. Deran is up and trying to take the fork from you. Craig is cheering you on, clapping and whooping. J is staring between you and Baz in shocked silence. Cath is trying to mediate, without much success. And Smurf is watching you, shocked, with her eyebrows up to her hairline.
“Let me go, Andrew!” you grunt, trying to free yourself from Pope’s grip.
Baz is backing away from you with his hands up and his brows furrowed.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Baz shouts.
“Choke and die.” you say simply.
Deran is able to pry the fork from your vice like grip, letting it clatter to the floor.
“Y/N, calm down.” Pope mumbles into your ear, still hugging you to his chest.
“No! I’m not gonna let this sack of shit talk about you like that.”
“Get her out of here before she destroys my dining room.” Smurf yells, watching you like you’re a live grenade.
“Craig.” Pope motions to you with his head. “Take her outside.”
Craig hesitates briefly, before coming around the table and throwing you over his shoulder.
“Oh put me down you big doofus.” you complain, slapping at Craig’s back. You pass Baz and Cath on your way out. “Baz… when I get my hands on you…” you warn, looking at him with complete disgust and hatred.
You’re spewing insults at Baz, “cocksucker” and “manwhore”, as Craig carries you out of the house and to Pope’s truck.
“Craig put me down already.” you huff, pushing at his back.
“You promise you’re gonna be chill?” Craig questions.
“Sure, whatever.” you grumble, rolling your eyes.
Craig groans, pulling open the passenger side of Pope’s truck and depositing you into the front seat. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring towards the house.
“Dude…” Craig starts “That was fucking awesome.” he laughs, sticking out his fist for a fist bump.
You stare at him for a moment, trying to fight a smile, before rolling your eyes and giving in. Bumping your fists. You sit in silence like that for a minute before you groan in realization.
“Smurf is totally banning me from the house now…” you pout, slumping in your seat. “There goes my pool time.” you grumble. Craig chuckles and ruffles your hair.
Movement near the front door catches your eye; Cath and Baz are headed towards their car. Baz is avoiding looking your way, moving quickly as Cath angrily berates him. She looks over to you and nods.
“Sorry Cath!” you say, cringing at the fact that she was caught in the middle of that.
Baz scoffs, throwing open his door. “Get in the car, Catherine.”
Cath turns to you.
“I’ll text you.” she says softly, giving you a small smile, before joining Baz in the car.
He wastes no time, pulling out of the driveway quickly and driving off. You flip off the car as it goes, shaking your head.
Craig lets out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Can you go see what’s taking Andrew so long?” you ask.
“Yeah sure thing, dudette.” Craig nods, giving you an awkward pat on the knee before heading off back to the house.
Tossing your phone on the center console, you watch Pope stalk towards you. He doesn’t say a word as he stands in front of you and buries his head in your chest, taking deep breaths.
“Andy… I’m so sorry…” you say, your voice small and vulnerable.
Pope doesn’t speak, just grips your waist tightly and groans. He doesn’t look at you as he pulls away and gets you settled in your seat, buckling you in and closing the door. You watch him cross in front of the truck, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration.
He still doesn’t say anything to you when he gets in the car. Or when he pulls out and heads towards your apartment. You’re halfway to your place when you finally break the silence.
“Andrew. I really am so sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
“You’re fine.” Pope grunts, keeping his focus on the road.
“Andrew-”
“Sweetheart. Drop it.”
“We need to talk about what happened.”
“Later.” he says, pulling into your complex.
“But-” you whine lightly.
“No.” he says, a finality in his tone.
The intensity in his eyes tells you not to argue. You just nod, looking down at your hands in your lap.
You can’t help but worry that the family dinner from hell ruined things. That you ruined things.
────﹒♡﹒────
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You toss your phone on your bed and finish getting unready. Sliding on your pink, silk pajamas. Making your way out of your bedroom, you spot Pope sitting on the couch; his head in his hands. Padding your way to him, you clear your throat. Pope shoots his head up, dropping his arms to his sides. You plop down onto his lap and lock your arms around his neck.
“Okay first things first.” you start, meeting his stormy eyes. “I’m sorry for calling your mom a cunt and trying to murder Baz at the dinner table.”
Pope huffs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart…”
“No. Let me finish.” you cut him off. “Second. Deran told me what went down after I left… I love you so so so much for defending my honor against Smurf. You are the sweetest, most amazing boyfriend anyone could EVER ask for.” you say, kissing him sweetly on the lips.
Pope chases your mouth as you pull away. His eyes are glossy and a red flush across his cheeks.
“And finally… Baz is a fucking moron.” you say, rolling your eyes. “We haven’t talked about it but… I want you to know I see a future with you. The whole white picket fence thing…” you say shyly, voice small and vulnerable.
“Really?” Pope questions, voice coming out hoarse.
You giggle and nod your head. “I mean- I am so not ready to be a mom.” you laugh. “But eventually… I would love to have a baby with you.” you whisper. Kissing him again, slower and sensually.
Pope whimpers into the kiss, holding onto you like a life preserver. You quickly find your rhythm, the kiss turning open mouthed and sloppy. Your tongues exploring each other's mouths. You whine into the kiss, feeling him harden underneath you.
He reluctantly pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.
“You really mean that?” he asks, his voice full of hope and longing.
You nod at him with a shy smile. Hugging him tightly.
“Come to bed Andy…” you say breathlessly. Your lips are swollen from the kissing, eyes hooded, and face flushed.
He growls and scoops you up in his arms, hauling you to the bedroom. A giddy shriek leaving your lips. You hold on tight, looking up at him like he hung the moon.
⋆˙⟡ JACK ABBOT witnesses a new side to his girlfriend after her bra breaks
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI big boobed!reader, curvy/plus-sized!reader implied, "i'll pay for it", teasing, dirty talk, breast & nipple play, dry humping, mentions of previous smutty time, kinda brat!reader ? she's annoyed, pet names (doll, honey, baby, pretty girl), swearing, no other physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, dual pov, (1.9k wc)
layout inspired by my angel @mariasont
MASTERLIST
── ⋆˙⟡
Jack wasn't prepared for his front door slamming just before eight pm on his night off. And he definitely wasn't expecting the annoyed groan reverberating off the walls as you stomped your way to the lounge. It was a stark contrast to the soft humming he was usually graced with the second you walked through his door.
He sat up straighter, muting the TV to give you his undivided attention. You barely glanced his way as you walked through the threshold, and he couldn't stop his eyebrows from raising at the sight of you.
Your grey scrub top was slightly twisted and riding up, exposing a sliver of your stomach that he itched to trace. A cute pout had taken your face hostage—your lower lip jutting out and brows furrowed, making it difficult for him to suppress a smile. All humour vanished as his eyes fell to your chest; your full breasts hanging without support, pebbled nipples calling for his mouth. The tightening of his pants was immediate, along with the jealous fire that heated him from the inside out—who else had seen you in this state?
It was a losing battle for him as he tried to keep his eyes off the way your boobs bounced as you walked towards him. Honestly, he didn't know why he even bothered.
You collapsed onto the couch next to him with a huff, knocking his crutches to the floor as you ripped your bag off your shoulder with more force than necessary.
Jack had never seen you like this. In the four months you had been dating, he'd seen you cry more times than he could count—videos of dogs reuniting with their owners were your kryptonite—and had seen you lose your cool less than a handful of times. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of trepidation stepping into this unknown territory.
Before he could start running through any events or anniversaries he may have missed, you found your rightful place—wrapping your arms around his right one, curling your body into his side with a sigh. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes as he inhaled your comforting scent.
Some of the tension eased from your shoulders, your body conditioned to relax in Jack's presence. He rested his cheek atop your head, his affection diluting the annoyance thrumming through your veins.
"What's going on, doll?"
"My bra broke. Right at the start of my shift." You grumbled, nuzzling further into his warmth.
"Okay," he dragged out hesitantly. "That's annoying."
"Yeah, you could say that," you huffed. "The wire was digging into my skin for twelve hours straight," you whined, resembling a petulant child. "I could feel it every time I moved. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?"
He lifted his head off of yours, tilting your chin up to shoot you a look. You had massaged his leg enough to know that was a stupid question.
"Right, sorry, don't answer that." One hand moved from clutching his bicep to his right thigh, tracing patterns with your index finger. You let out another sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. "It was my last decent one. Now I only have sports bras that aren't even near the realm of sexy."
"So just buy a new one."
Jack regretted the words as soon as they slipped out, his body tensing and eyes squeezing shut.
Your annoyance returned tenfold. You ripped away from his body, levelling him with a scolding glare.
"Do you know how expensive bras are, Jack?" You started, diving into a gesticulating monologue. "Especially if you've got big boobs—it's just capitalism once again profiting off of women's struggles! The bigger you are the more expensive everything is because they're trying to make us feel bad—"
"Honey," Jack tried, his voice dropping to the authoritative tone that never failed to make your ears perk up like an obedient puppy. Well, that never failed until now.
You pressed a finger into his stupidly beefy chest. "You're a man, you don't get to speak right now."
He held his hands up in surrender, his dick twitching from you giving him attitude—at the thought of fucking it out of you. An interesting revelation that he was looking forward to exploring later.
You removed your finger, continuing your rant. "No bra ever fits right—unless you go to a boutique and spend at least three hundred dollars on a custom made one."
Jack was drawn in by the fire in your eyes, the outrage and passion you were exuding making you even more beautiful.
"The amount of money I waste on fabric that barely does the job it's meant to do is insane. At this point it'd be fucking cheaper to get a breast reduction." You fell back against the couch, your chest heaving slightly from your tirade.
He rested an arm over your shoulders, his thumb rubbing circles on your upper arm. "You're not getting a breast reduction."
A searing glare burned the side of his face. "Oh, so now you're telling me what I can and can't do to my body?"
A thrill raced down Jack's spine—another side effect of your newfound attitude.
"No," he said placatingly. "I'm just remembering the conversation we had last week." His mouth ticked up with the beginnings of a smirk. "Y'know, the one after I made you look at yourself in the mirror while you came on my cock."
The hand on your arm slid away slowly, featherlight fingers caressing across your chest before making their way to your nipple, circling the pert bud lazily. Your breath stuttered, a whine lodging itself in your throat from your boyfriend's touch.
He dipped his head towards you, his husky baritone filling your ear as his lips brushed along the sensitive skin. "You remember how good you looked, baby? Couldn't stop staring at yourself, could you?" He tugged your earlobe between his teeth. "Looked like a fucking goddess—you always do."
Heat blossomed across every inch of your body, a familiar insatiable need jolting your core at the memory. You had been entranced by the image in the mirror—lidded, glazed eyes staring back at you, Jack's hand around your throat keeping your attention secured on your reflection, your tits bouncing as he drilled into you from behind.
Jack's keen eyes caught the way your plush thighs squeezed together, how your chest was rapidly rising and falling beneath his hand.
"You've made your point," you whispered, lust thwarting your annoyance.
He hummed, pressing faint kisses along your jaw. His free hand trailed up your thigh—a fingertip tracing the seam of your pants inducing a shiver. "I'll pay for it, for the bras. I'll buy you a whole closet full of 'em."
"Okay," you relented, suspicion rising in Jack at your quick response.
He moved his head away from yours, an eyebrow quirking up and deepening his wrinkles. "…That's what you wanted all along, isn't it?"
"No," you murmured, pressing your face into his bicep. He would've believed you if it wasn't for the smile he could feel stretching against his skin.
"Uh-huh, sure."
He grabbed your chin, pulling your face away from your hiding spot and seeing the twinkle in your eyes instantly. He huffed a laugh, leaning in to kiss you softly.
"You know you could've just asked," he mumbled against your lips, teasingly nipping your bottom lip.
A giggle slipped from your mouth into his. "Where's the fun in that?"
"So you admit this was all just an act." He grasped your hips, effortlessly lifting you to straddle his lap. You gasped out at the bulge pressing against your core. "You think threatening to take these away from me is funny?" His hands drifted from your hips, creeping underneath your top and up your sides until they cupped your heavy breasts.
You whimpered at his calloused fingers stroking and pulling; one of them brushing along the tender, irritated patch the wire from your bra had left behind.
Jack noticed the spot straight away—he had every inch of your skin memorised, his fingers knowing your body better than your own. "Let's look at the damage, hmm? Can't have my pretty girl hurting."
You nodded, your brain already turned to mush from his light teasing.
He moved his hands back down your body to reach the hem of your scrub top—a whine leaping out of you from the brief loss of his touch. He lifted your top over your head, moaning once your tits were on full display for him.
He swore he died and went to heaven whenever he saw you like this—sat prettily on his lap, hazy eyes fluttering, full breasts begging for his hands and mouth. He revelled in how your hips would grind against his absentmindedly; his pretty, needy girl desperate for her silver fox from the smallest touch. Your unyielding desire did wonders for his ego.
He brought his hands back up, relishing the sight of your tits overflowing in his large hands. Your eyelids drooped and your lips parted, breathy sighs falling from them. His thumb moved to brush along the tender spot on the side of your boob.
"Poor thing," he muttered, leaning forward to press light kisses to the irritated skin. "Won't happen ever again—not while you're mine." Molten gold eyes stared into yours. "And you're always going to be mine."
His tongue licked the sensitive skin before he blew cold air on it, causing goosebumps to erupt across your body with a gasp slicing the air. Your hips rocked harder against his, your core growing wetter with every touch.
He covered your boob in kisses and spit, sucking and biting to leave behind marks he adored—his marks. His rough hand pawed at your other tit, pulling and twisting the nipple—making you mewl above him, your hips moving faster as fire raced down to your pussy, igniting embers along the way.
His mouth latched onto your neglected nipple, his tongue drawing circles around it and sucking harshly. You let out unabashed moans, his own starting to vibrate against your skin and through your chest. He was rock hard beneath your hips, precum leaking into his boxers as your movements grew frantic. He could feel the flutter of your pussy, the heartbeat in your clit, even through your layers of clothes.
His free hand moved to your ass, giving it a smack. Your responding yelp dissolved into a moan, your hips jerking forward and finding the perfect position that had your clit pressing directly onto his bulge.
He pulled his head away from your chest, admiring his perfect girl using him for her pleasure. He wanted to spend the rest of his life worshipping at your altar—to bask in your divineness until his dying breath.
His hand trailed up from your breast to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, catching a bit of drool. God, he loved how he could unravel you just as you did him.
But before he could help you reach your release, he needed to remind you of something—to correct a statement you made earlier, one that had been eating away at him.
He tilted your head until your unfocused eyes meet his—his cock jumping at how utterly fucked you looked from a bit of dry humping.
"Let's get one thing straight, doll. The lace and bows are nice, but they're not what are sexy. That's all you, baby."
── ⋆˙⟡
a/n: can you guys tell one of my bras broke today. i honestly don't even know what this mess is. am loving the girlies popping off with big boobed blurbs lately tho 😌
Summary: Spencer bails on your birthday for a case. It just may be the straw that breaks the camel's back.
WC: 3,244
Warnings: Angst, Mentions of child kidnapping.
AN: This is the first fic I've written and posted in like 3 years, I think. Writing a fic is kind like going through TSA. You know you don't have a gun but now you're wondering if you do... writing a fic is like... I know I speak english, but now I'm wondering if I do. 🩵 Anyways, I did proof read this but it's also 3:30am where I am so who knows atp.
_______
Spencer’s nerves have been building since the little grey letters that spelled ‘Read 7:45am’ under his text first appeared. Minutes tick by and he forces himself to focus on the case. Work had always been an easy distraction for him. Each investigation requires his full attention, letting him get lost in what he feels most comfortable in — numbers, facts, and puzzles. But how can he do that when the only number he can think of is the number of hours since you read his text, the only fact he can focus on is the fact that you haven’t texted him back, and the only puzzle he wants to solve is 800 miles away celebrating a birthday alone?
Despite his head being in the clouds, the team wraps the case in a few hours and brings the missing little girl back to her parents. It’s a happy ending.
“Reid!” Spencer hears Emily shout through the low hum of the plane engine, pulling him from his faraway stare.
“What?” He asks casually. Turning his attention to the pair sitting across from him. Emily laughs.
“We’ve been calling your name for the last ten minutes.” Derek says.
Spencer looks around the cabin to see Rossi sitting beside him filling out a crossword puzzle, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose, and JJ leaning in from behind Emily’s aisle seat, also staring at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement.
He looks back to Derek. “We haven’t even been in the air for ten minutes.” He points out.
“What’s been up with you, Spence?” JJ asks. “You’re usually our resident computer but you’re…glitching today.” She jokes lightheartedly with a chuckle.
“Sorry…” Spencer mumbles, picking at the thread on his coat. He hesitates before being honest. “It’s Y/n’s birthday today and I bailed last minute.”
“For the case?”
“Yeah, we had a bunch of plans but I didn’t make it to any of them.” He confesses quietly.
“Spence, you could’ve taken this one off. You know Hotch is really understanding about our personal lives.”
“I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go and that little girl died.”
“You can’t save everyone, Reid.” Emily says gently.
“I can try.”
“You can’t lose yourself trying.” Rossi chimes in. Spencer glances at him.
“Did you give her a heads up?” Derek asks.
“I left before she woke up but I sent her a text.” He explains, glancing at his phone again. “She hasn’t messaged me back.”
“It sucks when plans get canceled at the last minute but surely she understands. I mean you guys have been together for two years. She knows how it goes.” Derek comments bluntly with a shrug and Emily rolls her eyes.
“She understands but I don’t know… it feels like something else.” Spencer mumbles, still deep in thought.
“You think she’s cheating on you?”
“What? No. Why would you say that?” Spencer defends, slightly annoyed by Derek’s brashness.
“Derek, you’re not helping.” JJ scolds. “Don’t put those thoughts in Spencer’s head. Y/n would never do that.”
Derek holds his hands up in defense.
“Ignore him. What makes it feel different?" Emily asks, nodding her head up. Spencer is aware that you and Emily are close so he knows her questions about you are always genuine.
“I missed our anniversary dinner last year. And a few months ago I missed Valentine's Day because of the Kentucky case.”
“So, a few rainchecks don’t hurt. An unpredictable schedule is a casualty of the job.” Derek argues again.
“It’s only truly unpredictable for so long. Then it becomes predictably unpredictable and takes over your life.” Rossi adds again, not looking up from his booklet as he presses the blue ballpoint pen into the thin gray page. “Four letter word for German wine?”
After a quiet moment, Spencer says “hock.”
Emily’s phone buzzes and she glances at it. She has a good enough poker face for everyone else but Spencer is a Las Vegan. She types on her phone and then avoids Spencer’s gaze for the rest of the flight.
After two hours of nothing but turbulence, they land with tired eyes and day old clothes. Spencer is the first one to stand and exit the plane. The tiny space has been growing tinier and tinier with each mile closer to the airport.
The bright tarmac lights illuminate like Christmas all around the ground crew. Men and women in orange reflective vests work to cart luggage and wave light-up wands to communicate with the pilots. The breeze catches his brown curls and Spencer pushes his hair out of his eyes before checking his phone again. The screen shinning onto his worried face.
Nothing.
He opens the message bar under your name, his fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment until his eyes catch sight of those grey letters again and he huffs before shoves his phone back in his pocket.
From behind him, he feels a hand on his shoulder and he turns around. “Reid, I know it’s not any of my business but I watched my job destroy my marriage for years. If I could go back, I’d do anything Haley needed from me to fix it.” Hotch says.
The cold air bites at Spencer’s skin. “Would you have left the BAU?”
“Yes but Y/n would never ask you to do that.” Hotch answers plainly and looks over Spencer’s shoulder to see the team chatting as they walk out of the plane. He lowers his voice. “The first few months after returning to the BAU, I almost quit. It felt impossible to do this job properly while raising Jack but I realized that it’s not about every second of your life being in your control — nobody in the world has that. It’s about using the time in your control in the right ways. When you can do that, being away from home isn’t so hard.”
“But how do I do that?” Spencer mumbles.
“You’ve gotta ask her.” Hotch walks away, lingering behind the team.
The metro ride from the airport to his usual stop down the street from your shared apartment is empty and quiet. He spends the shaky, fluorescent bleached ride replaying his conversation on the tarmac with Hotch. He wasn’t sure where to start. His eyes ache with a longing for sleep or better yet, something to rest them on — you.
Eventually his tired feet bring him straight to the door he’d walked out of this morning. The metal key in his fingers clinks against the scratched door. He slips into the apartment fully expecting you to be asleep. He’d planned to crash on the couch but as his sock covered feet slip out of his shoes, he hears rustling in your shared bedroom.
For a second, he lets Derek’s off handed comment about you possibly cheating, get the better of him. With a scoff, he refutes the idea and hangs his work bag on the hook by the door. You would never do that. Spencer knows that for certain.
A small smile grows on his face, happy you’re awake and ready to take Hotch up on his advice. Making the time he has control of matter more than the time he doesn’t.
The hinges squeak with age as he swings the bedroom door open. Spencer is wearing a careful grin but his face falls when he sees you standing by the bed, next to a half packed bag. The only lights on are the small lamps next to the bed.
“Y/n?”
You jump, clearly very frightened. You hadn’t even heard the apartment door open.”Spencer!” You shout in fear.
“Why are you packing?”
“I didn’t think you were coming home until Wednesday.”
“We finished early.” He mumbles, looking back down at the pile of clothes on your side of the bed. “Why are you packing?”
In a small, nervous voice you reply “I think I need some space…” You look away, too scared to see the look of devastation he must be wearing.
Spencer’s whole body feels numb.
“In the closet?” It was a stupid question, Spencer knows that but his heart still skips a beat when you shake your head.
“From me?” His voice cracks.
Your heart drops to your feet and tears prick at your eyes. Your jaw feels heavy and your teeth feel too big for your mouth as you admit “from us.”
The knot in Spencer’s tie digs into his neck. “From us?’ His voice trembles with impossibly more devastation. “Why?”
“Spencer… you know why.” You say quietly.
“Are you cheating on me?”
Shock over takes your features and you flinch at his accusation. “Are you serious?!” You say louder than necessary. Spencer curses himself for letting Derek get in his head.
“I’m sorry.” he says softly and earnestly. He steps forward. “I’m sorry.”
Your hard expression softens. “For what?” The sharp edge that was in your voice is gone but your spine stays stiff.
Spencer takes too long to answer and you humorlessly chuckle.
“I’m not gonna apologize for taking the case, Y/n. The first 48 hours are crucial. We needed to be there as soon as possible. We were working the whole flight over. You have to understand that it was an emergency.” Spencer has a bad habit of thinking emotions can be explained away, he knows this.
You shake your head, offended that he would even think you don’t understand the severity of the situation. Your body drifts closer to him, your weapons down. “Spencer, there is no reality in which my birthday dinner is more important than finding a missing 12-year-old girl alive, I know that. And I love that you have decided to use your limitless genius to help people. The way you care for these victims is more than just extremely attractive — it’s admirable. Everything about you is admirable. But…” You take a deep breath, almost ashamed to say your next words out loud. “I am constantly comparing the best days of my life to someone else’s worst day of theirs. And I never win. It sounds so selfish and petty but just because I understand the importance of your job doesn’t mean my feelings go away. It still sucks to cry in the restaurant by myself on my birthday.”
“You cried?”
You ignore his question. “We’ve missed Valentine’s Day two years in a row, you flew out on Christmas in the middle of opening presents and you didn’t get back until the new year, we never made up our anniversary dinner, and last week you bailed on our first scheduled date night in three months because you guys got a case.”
Spencer sighs. He’d never realized how much he was missing.
“All I could think about today was what I would tell our child if they were asking where Daddy was on Christmas morning, or their birthday, or their soccer game.” The mattress sinks as you sit on the end of the bed.
Spencer’s heart hitches at the news that you think about having a family with him. Tears well in your eyes and he joins you on the edge of the bed, sitting carefully next to you.
“I don’t want my job to hurt you.” He states. It’s not defensive, it’s honest. It feels like he’s trying to break ground on an open conversation. He turns to face you and places a hand on your knee.
“And I don’t want you to feel like I’m mad at you for doing good in the world.” You say tearfully.
“I don’t feel like that, baby.” Spencer shakes his head. “I just wanna know how to fix this.”
“I think… I just need some space to figure out if this is what I really want.” You confess and a tear falls directly off your bottom lashes, onto Spencer’s hand.
He swallows a lump of nerves and the sudden urge to vomit at the thought of being not what you want. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” You cry quietly, your posture giving away more as you sniffle and wipe at your wet eyes.
Spencer shakes his head and the wrinkled covers on the bed shift as he moves closer. His arms wrap around your crumpled frame. “Don’t apologize. Don’t apologize.” He repeats.
“I love you.” You remind him, one of your hands resting on his arm.
He kisses the top of your head. “I love you, baby.” He says earnestly, afraid this might be the last time he’ll ever get to say it to your face, holding you in his arms. His eyes glass over but he blinks the tears away. He kisses your hair again and holds you tighter.
“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” You say again and sniffle.
“Stop that.” He feels you pull slightly and he loosens his hold on you. You sit up and he catches a glimpse of your stricken face — eyes red and watery. He pushes some tear soaked strands of hair off of your feverish cheeks. You look up at him and through his pained expression, he offers you a small smile. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll get through this, Y/n. Okay?”
You nod with low energy, closing your eyes for a moment and taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm your shaky hands.
Spencer rubs your back, trying to comfort you but his kind gesture only makes everything so much harder. His other hand pulls your hair neatly off your neck and he places a chaste kiss against the skin of your shoulder.
You sigh heavily and use every ounce of strength left to raise to your feet, pulling yourself out of Spencer’s arm. The loss of contact is devastatingly heavy.
“I’m gonna stay with Emily for a while. She’s picking me up.”
Spencer’s throat bobs as he gulps. His eyes fall down for half a second, then back up to you. He nods. “Sergio will be happy to see you.” It’s an olive branch in the hurricane.
You chuckle quietly. “Yeah…” You agree.
Neither of you could make eye contact while you put a few things in a small bag. With a mixture of not wanting to smother you and not wanting to be smothered by the godawful thick sadness in the air, Spencer stepped out of the room. He sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, his muscles tense — ready to stand at any moment. The bones in his fingers ache from the nonstop wringing of his hands and his bottom lip stings from his teeth chewing it raw.
The sound of drawers opening and closing, your padded footsteps across the tattered rug, the zipping of small cosmetic bags, plastic racks clicking against each other as you shuffle through the closet. He tried to keep his eyes trained downward but every so often — at a new noise — they would flicker up to your moving figure as you paced around the room then he’d blink hard and look away again.
Each second that ticks by on the clock mocks him. The longer you take to pack, the longer you must be planning to be gone. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed and runs his hand over his face. He can feel a migraine coming on.
“Spencer?” Your quiet voice calls from the open bedroom door.
His head jerks up and he stands to his feet immediately. “Yeah?” His voice cracks and he clears his throat.
“Do we have extra toothpaste?” You mumble.
He slouches a bit. “Um, w-we don’t have any. Just take the one we share. I’ll get another one.”
“I’m sure Emily has extra.” You politely try to dismiss his offer.
“You need the one for sensitivity. Please take that one.”
You shuffle awkwardly. “Okay.” You whisper before disappearing back in the bathroom.
Spencer doesn’t sit back down. His knees feel like they’re locking and his lungs feel like they’re shrinking.
“Okay…” You announce quietly as you step back through the threshold, this time with a full bag.
You want to shrink yourself away under Spencer’s longingly stare. Leaving a bad man is rewarding. Leaving a good man is remorseful. Leaving a man like Spencer — the most beautifully layered, thoughtfully loving, good hearted, gentle, patient, and perfectly everything man — feels impossible. Even if you manage to pick your feet up off the floor and drag your beat up sneaker bottoms to the old wooden apartment door, the look he’s giving you will still haunt every room you enter for the rest of your life. Every morning coffee you’ll make, you’ll reach for his dorky chemistry pun mug too. Every time you laugh, you’ll look to your left hoping to see him there. Every hard night will feel heavier without his gentle reassurances and soft kisses. Every book will smell like him and every record scratch will sound like his quiet humming along to an old James Taylor song. Spencer is part of your life no matter what you decide to do during your time at Emily’s apartment.
He watches you like his soul wants to leave his body and attach to yours.
You move towards the door and Spencer mumbles something about helping you but you politely decline, telling him that you’ve got it.
He steps in slow pace behind you.
The dimly lit space near the door feels claustrophobic, like being trapped in a raging sea of white water at night.
“I’ll do anything…” Spencer confesses, heartbreak lacing his words. His eyes flit across your face.
His heart slows for a second as you drop the bag at your feet and step forward. He melts into you as you wrap your arms around his neck and embrace him tightly. The soft material of your shirt brushes his skin as his arm snakes around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head. He buries his distraught face into your neck, a few of his tears slide down the strands of your hair. Your bodies are flush against one another and he hears you softly say “me too.”
A moment passes and you pull back. You brush his hair back, gazing into his tearful eyes. He leans into your touch as your thumb wipes the glistening streaks of tears off his flushed cheeks.
“I’ll do anything.” He repeats. “Just tell me.”
“I’ll tell you what I need when I figure it out.” You whisper. He nods against your hand before turning his face and placing a kiss against your palm.
His hand reaches up and grasps yours, pulling it into his chest between the both of you. His eyes stay locked onto yours, afraid that even with an eidetic memory he’d forget them.
Your hand slides off his sweater vest clad chest as you step backwards, closer to the door. Your interlocked hands slowly and delicately pull apart. Spencer watches you pick up your bag and before you can talk yourself out of it, you open the door.
With a few minutes left in the day, Spencer quietly says through choked back tears “happy birthday, Y/n.”
Your heart can’t take anything else. You quickly step into the hallway and close the door behind you. Both of you pretend to not hear the other cry from the other side.
(un)friendly reminder that fanfiction is free and written for the love of the game so if you’re going to complain to a writer about the writing they provide for you FOR FREE, you are not welcome on my blog and I wish you a terrible no good very awful life
in which jack abbot had a rough shift, and accidentally takes it out on his sweet girlfriend.
warnings; mean!jack for literally 2 seconds, mentions of bad past relationships, reader has low self-esteem kinda
a/n; the 1k follower special is finally here!! i really hope u guys enjoy this!! <3<3
word count; 1.3k
masterlist
A bead of sweat dropped down your temple, as you hauled a handful of grocery bags into the kitchen, spotting Jack in the living room, pulling off his scrub top.
”Oh hi, honey!” You smiled, dropping the groceries on the table. Jack filling in for Robby this week meant that you could actually spend evenings together, sometimes.
He murmured a non-committal ’hello’ back, which you brushed off to him just being exhausted. You knew being a doctor was a physically and mentally taxing job. Quietly humming under your breath, you put the groceries away, turning the oven on so you could start prepping dinner.
By then, Jack had swapped into more comfortable clothes, his prosthesis now pulled off and stood upright against the side of the couch. You brought over a water bottle for him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw.
”Dinner won’t take long. Maybe like thirty minutes.” You spoke softly, tidying up some discarded clothes from the living room, while Jack turned the TV on. He was quiet, but that didn’t bother you.
Sometimes after long shifts he was just tired. But you knew he was listening, and you didn’t mind filling in the silence.
You rambled on about what you did and saw during the day, twisting off to a five-minute drabble of a cute stray cat you saw. Jack loved listening to your rambles, since his job didn’t give him much time to be on his phone, he liked the daily debriefs he got from you after work.
”Oh— and honey, could you take a look at the dryer later? It’s making that weird clunking noise again. And the bathroom sink-”
”Jesus! Can you just let me be for one goddamn second?” Jack snapped out of nowhere, making your spine go rigid. His jaw was tight grit, and his hands were flying around, as if to emphasize his point.
Your eyes caught his, and you could see the angry look fade instantly. He never snapped. Hell, he never got angry. Not at you.
The laundry in your hands was forgotten now, and you had that awkward, forced smile on your face. He’s just having a bad day— he didn’t mean to take it out on you. Don’t cry.
”Yeah— sorry.” You cleared your throat awkwardly, dropping the laundry on the couch, wiping your hands on your thighs, ”Uh, I can just…I’ll call someone about the dryer. It’s fine.”
”Shit, sweetheart. I’m sorry—” Jack’s words died in his throat, as he watched you walk into the kitchen. He knew you inside out, and he knew damn well he practically just stuck a dagger into your heart.
It’s not your fault he’s having a bad day. He’s being unfair— he knows that. He’s just exhausted. With a long sigh, he buries his head in his hands. He needs to cool off for a second.
Meanwhile, you’re in the kitchen, eyes burning from the tears you’re holding back. You hadn’t meant to be an inconvenience. The dryer has just been bugging you for a while, and Jack always tells you to go to him when you have any problems.
Maybe you didn’t read the room. Maybe you ask too much? Your brain ran over every possible reasoning, but every single thing came with the conclusion that you’re asking for too much, being too needy.
Jack knew you were beating yourself up. He remembers that night, when you two laid in silence, and you unloaded some of your burdens on him. How in past relationships you were made to feel like an inconvenience. From that day onward, Jack wanted to make sure he’d never make you feel that way.
And he messed up royally. There you were, still prepping dinner for him, even when your sniffles echoed in the kitchen. God, he was just the worst boyfriend ever. You do so much for him, and he takes out his frustrations on you? If his mother was here, she’d smack him.
You were asking for so little, he knows that. It’s rare of you to even ask him for anything, but now you did, and he just snapped at you like a dick. He wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to poison him. Though, he knows you’re not like that.
After cooling off for a little, Jack grabbed his crutches and hoisted himself off the couch with a groan, slowly padding his way to the kitchen doorway, where we watched you for a while. The tight set of your shoulders as you chopped vegetables, the small sniffles escaping you. Even the way your hand would occasionally lift to swip over your cheeks.
“Sweetheart, stop that.” He spoke in a low rumble, walking up behind you. One crutch abandoned, so that he could wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest. His lips pressed onto the crown of your head, “You shouldn’t be cooking. I should be doing everything. I’m sorry I snapped.”
“It’s fine, Jack-” You started, but he shook his head, hand coming up to ease the knifee out of your grip.
Once the knife was set down, he gently covered your hand with his. “No, it’s not fine. I had a shit day at work, and I took it out on you. And that’s not fine. Not in any possible way. You did nothing wrong, it was all me.”
He could tell you were about to argue again, so he swiveled you around, his hand moving to grasp your jaw, “Don’t. I know you’re about to say ‘it’s fine’ again, but it’s not. I was a dick. I’m gonna make it up to you.”
Watching your sad eyes, he thumbed away the remains of tears off of your cheeks, eyes softening at the look on your face. God, he’s the worst.
And Jack knew you’d still forgive him immediately, but he won’t stop apologizing. He once vowed to never be the guy who makes you feel small, and he’d went and did that anyways.
“Tomorrow’s my day off. I’m fixing the dryer. The sink. Then, I’m taking my girl out.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “We’ll go to the bookstore. Your favorite coffee place. Anything you want.”
“Jack, that isn’t necessary-”
His hand pressed over your mouth. “Ah-ah. There’s no talking your way out of this, sweetheart. I was a jerk, and I’m damn well going to make it up to you. I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t fair of me at all.”
The tension in your shoulders slowly eased, heart warming at the care and attention he pays to you. Not one person in your life would go this far just to apologize. But Jack would. He’d walk through fire for you. If you’re cold, he’ll gladly crank up the heating, even if he’s overheating. He’ll get up early to make breakfast, just so you can sleep a little longer.
Every single thing he does for you is a testimony of his love.
“There she is.” He whispered softly, a small smile quirking up his lips, as he watched you slowly return to your normal self. He let his hand slide down to rest on your hip, gently patting it, “How about you sit down, sweetheart? Let me finish dinner. Then we’ll cuddle on the couch and I feed you, yeah?”
And well, you knew there was no arguing with him. So you gave him a meek nod, moving to sit down at the table, not before handing Jack a stool though, so he didn’t need to cook one-handed.
Usually, you feel bad whenever you let him do stuff. His work is draining as it is, so you tend to avoid having him do stuff around the house as much as possible– if you can do it yourself.
Jack, of course, knew that you were bound to start feeling bad. So instead, he kept distracting you with his words, asking you to elaborate on your activities for the day.
Dinner went smooth. You two cuddled together on the couch, with Jack feeding you bites of food, while letting you have full control over the remote. You could watch exactly what you wanted to, tonight is all about you.
And the morning after, when you were doing laundry early in the morning, the weird sound coming from the dryer was gone.
check out the masterlist for more! spencer requests welcome
summary: being the adventurous one of the pair, you liked to play with your boyfriend whenever and wherever you please. including the elevator! much to the humiliation and dismay of your poor, poor boyfriend, spencer.
tags and warnings: smut, sub!spencer x dom!reader, no sex u just make spencer cum in his pants, semi-public sex, exhibitionism kinda, almost caught (nobody catches u though), could qualify as dubcon, over the clothes stimulation, light choking
a/n: haha get it. going up. like his erection. his dick’s going up in his pants. anyway. spencer’s ramble in the beginning is very not subtly yoinked straight from the fibonacci episode because. well. writing my own spencer rambles is hard when the author isn’t as smart as him okay. ALSO THANKS FOR 1000 NOTES ON THE LAST SPENCE FIC!!! MORE TO COME AND MY REQUESTS R OPEN!
“It’s an irrational number known as phi, based on the ratio of line segments to each other and to the whole. I-It’s called the golden ratio, it’s a ratio we find all through life. In fact, most people we find conventionally attractive are based on that ratio. The unsub made an, uh, a reference to Leonardo Di Vinci, remember this? Di Vinci used it in a lot of his paintings. As a matter of fact, the last supper is the perfect example—”
The words tumbling out of Spencer’s mouth along with the pair of your footsteps are the only sounds echoing through the quiet halls of the rather antique hotel you were resting in for this case. A pleasant location. Clean carpets, which had Spencer pleased. Deep wood and golden light hanging above. The elevator was a bit on the slow side, however. Or maybe that was due to the building being so very towering in height. The ride to your room had to be at least a handful of minutes, and you and your boyfriend weren’t even sleeping at the very top.
As Spencer speaks, your eyes drift to the hanging lights above, the ones that stretch honeyed light across the winding hall. Normally, you would be nodding along, even if you couldn’t quite keep up with his mind. But this time, you stayed quiet. You just kept walking, Spencer trailing at your side, mouth moving like a motor as you both enter the old elevator as it groans and creaks.
Spencer, never one for social cues, seems entirely oblivious to your curious demeanor. Spencer keeps talking animatedly as the doors slide shut. “…and the Fibonacci sequence is directly related to phi! The way seashells spiral, flower petals arrange themselves— it’s all golden ratio-based. Even human faces… statistically speaking, facial symmetry aligned with phi correlates with perceived attractiveness at a 67% higher rate than average—” He pauses only to adjust his glasses and press the button for your floor. The silence from you feels normal to him. After all, you always listen quietly when he shares his mind.
Before the doors shut, you take a moment to peer around the enclosed space. Small, even for an elevator. The way you crane your neck around, it’s almost as though you're looking for something.
You press the floor button again before the doors can shut, and the glow of the number disappears, effectively stopping the elevator before it can begin its descent. Instead, you crouch down, absurdly choosing to press the floor at the very, very bottom, just shy of the basement.
“The whole concept is represented by the pendant the unsub had, including the logarithmic spiral created by… um…” Spencer starts to trail off, hands hovering in the air. “By- by using the fibonacci sequence, and if we pull up the towns all of the… missing are from— you, I, uh- I think you pressed the wrong floor?” He furrows his brow at your strange behavior, pointing to the row of numbers on the wall. With his infallible memory, he can be certain he had it right the first time.
But you're still poking your head about the elevator like you're looking for something, hardly acknowledging him. “Why’d you stop?” You ask.
“Uh… I mean…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I stopped because we’re going to the wrong floor. Our floor was 7? We’ll have to go all the way to the bottom now, why’d you do that?”
You step impossibly closer to him, shuffling in front of his body to create a barrier between him and the doors as they slide shut with a creak. “Go ahead, I was listening,” you nod encouragingly.
For a second, Spencer just stares at you with a suspicious look. Then, with a furrowed brow, he remembers his train of thought and resumes talking, albeit with slightly less energy than before. “So… phi is approximately 1.6180339887…”
The elevator has begun its descent. You watch above your shoulder as the aged dial begins to slide across the numbers at a snail’s pace.
The longer Spencer’s mouth moves, he almost becomes absorbed enough again to forget you were headed to the wrong floor. “It’s- it’s funny, actually, 11235 is a Fibonacci series, each number added to the number before. So it’s what the unsub’s ticks mean, subconsciously counting out fibonacci sequences over and over in his head! I mean…”
The elevator hums, you take another step even closer, taking advantage of the way he’s absorbed with his own ramblings again. With movements as casual as you could manage, you slide his cardigan off his shoulders, gently tugging his tie loose and popping open the top button of his shirt.
It doesn’t last long. His eyes are watching your every move and he slowly trails off as he stares at you with utter bewilderment. “… it’s a Fibonacci… series…?” He blinks. Once. Twice. “What- what, uh, what are you doing?” He makes no move to run from your hands, just looking back and forth between your fingers and your face, utterly lost.
Your lips hastily press to his with a force, and Spencer’s eyes blow open wide. His back thumps against the elevator wall. His lips move clumsily against yours by pure reflex. One hand hovers awkwardly near your waist while the other presses flat on the wall beside him for balance.
When you pull back, he pants, staring at you owlishly and looking delightfully vulnerable. “Wha— what?”
It all happens so fast. As the elevator hums and creaks with slow movements, your hands slide down his shirt, trailing from his neck to his chest, to his abdomen, then latching to his crotch and caressing his dick through the fabric of his khakis.
Spencer’s jaw falls open in a gasp, body slightly curling in on itself at the touch. He stares down at your hands on him, face burning red from his hairline to his collarbone. Then his eyes snap back up to you. “Hey! What are you- ah! Wh— wha— whatareyoudoing?” He tries to ask again, voice coming out a little too high.
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” You chuckle, batting your lashes up at him.
It looks like you're touching his penis. Through his khakis. In an elevator. But that doesn’t make sense, right?
“I-uh…” He can’t seem to form words. Just staring, wide-eyed and blushing furiously. “W— we’re in an elevator!” He whisper-yells.
“Uh-huh,” you keep rubbing circles over his cock, pressing the heel of your palm into the bulge of his head under his pants.
Spencer makes a tiny, strangled noise. His hands finally move. One flies up to cover his mouth. The other holds the wall behind him uselessly. His eyes dart across your face as he sputters, panicked. “There- there are generally cameras and microphones p-placed in— mmm! Placed in elevators f… for safety reasons!”
“I already checked. I didn’t see any cameras. This place is too old-fashioned.”
He whines girlishly as her palm presses more firmly against his straining cock. “Microphones, then! M-Microphones can be quite easily… oh, fuck… hidden from view if the owner of the establishment—”
“Then you better keep your voice down, huh?”
Spencer bites his lip hard, trying to muffle the onslaught of dirty sounds threatening to escape. “Y-Yes,” he whispers, nodding frantically. “Voice down… quiet… oh, god.”
He’s trying so hard to be obedient, but every rub and squeeze and brush sends electric pulses through him and he’s already throbbing. His breath comes in short, panicked little puffs through his nose like a startled rabbit.
“W-Why?” He nearly sobs.
You tilt your head innocently. “Why what?”
Spencer swallows, his throat bobbing. “W-Why are you… doing this? I mean— we’re in a public elevator. We have a case. And I-I was just talking about math.”
The elevator continues descending, dinging as it passes floors 16… 15…
You rub your thumb over the shape of his tip and Spencer’s knees feel weak. You just shrug, “‘Cause I like to tease you.”
He whines, humiliated. “I… I like your teasing too,” he admits in a tiny, breathless voice. “B-but usually with words. Not this.” He’s completely overwhelmed by your casual dominance over him, and panicking over how much it was turning him on.
He gasps sharply when you massage his bulge just right. “Please! Please, please— hey! don’tdon’tdon’tdon’t—”
Your hand stills slightly. “Don’t?”
Spencer squirms, watching you toy with him helplessly. “I mean— yes! Wait, no— I mean—” His voice cracks. “Please, please, I-I really don’t wanna cum right now...”
You chuckle, biting your lip. “You sure?”
Spencer nods rapidly, eyes wide with panic. “No. No— I mean— yes! Just not… not like this. Not in the elevator.”
“Oh, but I wanna play with you…” You pout.
“P-Playing is fine! I love playing!” he blurts, then sheepishly lowers his voice to a frantic whisper. “But maybe… maybe in our room? Where we can close the door and— and change clothes if needed?” He’s grimacing now from the touch, his expression twisting like he’s in pain.
“Oh, you don’t wanna cum in your pants, huh?” You tease.
He ducks his head into your shoulder to stifle the sounds. “N-No,” he mumbles into the fabric of your shirt. “I—I have a meeting in an hour. With Strauss. And my pants are… they’re not stain-resistant.”
“Aww! That’d be so cute!”
Spencer lifts his head slightly, horrified. “Cute?!” he squeaks. “What? No! Not cute. Embarrassing! P-professionally devastating!”
Ding! Just then, the elevator doors fly open as they reach the floor nearest to the basement.
Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when the doors open, practically leaping away from you, only to see an empty, dimly lit hallway. The second they close again, he exhales sharply, shoulders slumping.
You casually hit another button with your elbow. The elevator starts moving up to the very top.
“Top floor?” he asks quietly, eyes wide with hope. “Our room is on 7…”
“We’re not going to our room, I’m fucking you here, silly.”
“H-here?!” he squeaks, eyes darting around the tiny elevator. “In this… this box? B-But the— the microphones! The elevators are monitored for safety violations and— and crimes! Public indecency is a crime!”
But he stops when your hand comes up to squeeze his throat, a thrill shooting through him and straight to his loins.
His lips part slightly as he stares at you with wide, glazed over eyes. “Why don’t you keep talking to me about your math sequences? Hm?” You coo, rubbing your thumb over his adam's apple.
“I-I…” He swallows hard against your palm. “F-Fibonacci sequence… um, mmm, it’s a recursive series wh-where each number is the sum of the, uh? Two preceding ones… and um…” It’s hard for him to remember when the majority of his blood flow was going straight to his cock.
“Yeah?” You encourage him with a nod, so Spencer keeps babbling, dazed and breathless.
“S-so 0, 1… then 1… and the next is, oh, the next is two, so it’s— it builds exponentially. Like a spiral! Mm-hm. A logarithmic spiral which relates to phi again because of the golden ratio division in geometry which creates perfect aesthetics like Da Vinci’s paintings or seashells or—”
He pauses when you squeeze his throat just slightly tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his voice crack cutely.
“…a-and the ratio of a shell’s chambers to its width follows, ah, phi exactly, which means nature uses math for beauty and-and symmetry, like how people are attracted to faces with phi proportions statistically but god, you’re squeezing my neck…”
You grin. “You like it?”
“Y-Yeah,” he breathes, “I mean, scientifically speaking… mild pressure to the carotid artery increases blood flow which could theoretically heighten arousal but—”
“You didn’t finish telling me,” you remind him, but math was the furthest thing from his mind.
Spencer thinks, trying to remember where he left off, but nope. All gone. Erased by your hand on his throat and the heat coiling low in his stomach. “I… uh…” He swallows hard under your fingers. “I forgot.”
“You forgot!” You laugh, “Oh, no you didn’t, you don’t forget anything.”
Spencer pouts. “I did! I swear!” he insists, voice high and flustered. “My brain… I can’t really… recall anything.”
You rub your nose against his affectionately. “Am I making you dizzy, my sweet boy?”
Spencer nods slowly, eyes half-lidded. “Yeah. Dizzy… and warm… and my heart’s going really fast.” It wasn’t only the pressure on his throat, or the hand caressing his throbbing cock. It was the way you looked at him, touched him like you wanted to devour him alive in this stupid elevator.
Dizzy wasn’t the right word, he was overloaded. But dizzy works.
“You’re so cute when you’re all spacey,” you whisper.
Spencer’s face scrunches up, embarrassed and deliriously happy. His lips twist into a tiny smile, but he quickly tries to hide it by shyly pressing his face back into her shoulder.
“Am I making you feel good?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he hums into your skin.
You glance over your shoulder to see another number lit up on the panel. “Uh, oh…” You bite back a smile.
Spencer lifts his head slowly. He doesn’t notice the new number lighting up, still lost in his stupid, blissed-out haze. “Huh?”
“We got a visitor!”
Spencer’s body tightens. He straightens up instantly, panic flashing across his face as his dizzy brain scrambles to come back online. “Oh, no,” he frantically smoothes down his shirt and fixes his tie with shaky hands. He combs his hands through his hair and wipes any trace of lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand. He shoots you a wide-eyed look that says what do we do?!
But you are the face of indifference. You detach yourself from his side and turn your back to him, folding your hands in your lap like someone simply riding the elevator while Spencer is still panting and sweating and struggling to not look suspicious at all.
As the doors ding open, Spencer ducks his head down and half-turns his body away to hide the erection straining against his pants from view, while you are all but the picture of inconspicuousness.
A hotel janitor in a blue uniform steps in, pushing a cleaning cart. He nods politely at you, to which you respond with a small, polite smile back, then glances briefly at Spencer.
Spencer keeps his head ducked, shoulders hunched like he’s studying the floor tiles. One hand grips the railing for balance; the other awkwardly crosses over his lap awkwardly to block his erection from sight.
The janitor presses button 3 and hums quietly to himself. And so, all the way back down you go, slow and quiet. Spencer stays statue-still, like he’s not allowed to breathe too loud. The janitor stands on the other side of the cart, occasionally glancing at his clipboard.
You remain perfectly calm. Not a single nervous twitch.
Every second feels like an eternity to him as they creep back down to floor 3 with this random man who could turn around and see his horribly suspicious posture at any given moment.
The elevator dings as it reaches floor 3. The janitor gathers his cleaning supplies and wheels the cart out without a word, leaving you and Spencer alone again, doors sliding shut behind him.
Spencer exhales like he’s been holding his breath for ten minutes straight. Only then does he finally unclench, shoulders dropping, and look at you with wide, traumatized eyes.
“Really? I mean, really! Th-this is why I said doing… that in an elevator was a-a ridiculous idea!”
“Doing what?” You hum as you casually press another floor on the console.
Spencer gapes. “Doing that!” he hisses, waving a hand vaguely at the space between you, where seconds ago you were touching him. “Right before, with th-the—! And the—! …You know what I mean!”
You turn around, and Spencer’s protests and complaints simply evaporate when you latch your lips onto his. Spencer makes a soft noise into your mouth and kisses back, clumsy but eager. His hands lift to cradle your face instinctively, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he tilts his head to deepen it.
Your thumb circles around the head of his cock through his pants. Spencer whimpers into the kiss, hips grinding forward slightly to chase the contact. He breaks the kiss for a second to gasp, forehead resting against yours. He breathes your name like a plea.
“Where were we?” You grin cheekily.
“We were… uh…” He swallows, eyes fixed to your lips. “I think you were— you were torturing me.” He leans in to kiss you again like your mouth was magnetic, which you greedily accept.
You laugh softly against his lips, massaging his pulsing cock once again, smoothing your palm over his bulge. “Not gonna stop until you cum for me, okay?”
The thought is terrifying and thrilling at the same time. He whines against your lips, squirming as you massage him through his pants with just enough pressure to drive him insane. “I—I can’t… I don’t wanna—” he stammers between kisses, but his hips betray him by rolling into your touch. “Please, I-I really don’t wanna ruin my underwear…”
But his body isn’t listening. Every rub of your hand sends sparks through him, and the coil in his stomach tightens dangerously.
“C’mon, it’d be so cute. I bet you’re all leaky under there anyway.”
Spencer whines, mortified. “I-I’m not leaky!”
You laugh at his childish protest.
He flushes. “I-I don’t… leak! I control my bodily functions!”
But then your hand squeezes again, firm this time, and all defensiveness withers as a sharp gasp and a whine escape him.
“Bet you wish you could fuck me, huh?”
He nods mindlessly. “Mhmm. Yeah, a lot.”
The elevator dings, finally reaching the top floor. The doors slide open to reveal a quiet, dimly lit hallway. He recognizes it. Your room is just down the corridor. Spencer stares at it like salvation, then back at you, eyes wide with hope.
But your hand doesn’t stop moving. Caressing him, toying with him, rubbing his bulge. You make no move to take the both of you back to your room to have sex properly. No, because it’d be silly of him to think you’d have any interest in proper sex.
What’s making his stomach sink, however, is the way you’re not pressing another button. The way you’re letting the heavy elevator doors stay wide open as you touch him, letting all his needy little noises escape into the corridors for any unfortunate passerby to overhear.
Spencer’s voice cracks as he whispers, “H-hey… the door… it’s open…?” He tugs weakly at your sleeve, eyes wide with nervousness. The hallway is silent now, but anyone could turn the corner. “People could, um… could see us?” He adds in a tiny, embarrassed squeak. He wants this, desperately, but not like this. Not out in the open where someone might walk by and see him panting, blushing, completely at your mercy.
You simply follow his eyes, glancing at the open door, considering it nonchalantly, then wordlessly return your focus back to him and his dick, much to his frustration.
“P-Please,” he whispers shakily. “Can we… go to our room? Just a few steps? Please?”
You sharply pat his cock right where he’s most sensitive, and it sends a jolt through him. “I told you, silly, I wanna play with you here.”
Spencer yelps. His knees buckle. “O-Ow!” It didn’t actually hurt, but it stung in that electrifying way that was making his cock throb even harder. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes from overwhelming sensation and your stubborn refusal to move this somewhere private.
Spencer bites his lip, eyes watering. “I-I don’t wanna— I don’t wanna cum in my pants… please, please…”
Teasing him, you ask, “Why not?”
Spencer blinks, baffled. “B-Because…” he stammers. “It’s messy! And— and I’ll have to change my clothes, and we didn’t pack extra underwear because we thought this trip would be short and— and—” He hesitates. “And I don’t— I just don’t wanna feel sticky and gross all day!” He whines miserably.
You chuckle, affectionately leaning your head on his shoulder like your hands aren’t down there working to make him explode. “But this cock is mine,” you murmur close to his ear.
He whimpers, tilting his head instinctively to give you better access to his ear. “I-I know… I know, I know,” he admits in a tiny voice, defeated but oddly turned on by how easily you claim him. “Yeah. Yours. But can I please cum in bed?”
You ignore him. “Mine, isn’t it? All mine? Mine to play with?”
Spencer nods frantically, eyes fluttering shut. “Y-Yours,” he breathes. “All yours. You can— you can play with me whenever you want.” The thought of being yours is almost as intoxicating as the physical sensations.
“Uh-huh. Then that’s all you need to worry about.”
Spencer hides his face in your shoulder again, breathing fast and shallow. It’s terrifying, being exposed like this. But also… thrilling. The risk makes every touch feel ten times more intense.
“Tell me how good I’m making you feel, Spencer,” you murmur to him sweetly.
“S-So good,” he whispers against your shirt, voice trembling. “You’re making me feel so good…” His face burns with shame and pleasure. “You’re… you’re the best, the best at this… I love it, I love you.” His hips seek more friction, rocking up into your touch.
“I love you too, my sweet boy. Are you getting close?”
Spencer nods against you, his breath coming in quick little puffs. “I-I think so… really, really close.”
You smile, feeling his tension, his breath picking up pace against your skin. You press a soft kiss to the top of his head before whispering, “That’s okay. You can cum if you want to.”
He swallows a moan, his body shaking. “I-I can… I can cum?”
“Uh-huh, you wanna cum for me? Wanna be my good boy and make a mess? Just for me?”
Spencer’s stomach flips. The words are filthy, and so tempting. He wants to, desperately, he’s so near to tipping over the edge. But the thought of actually doing it here and now, exposed and vulnerable, still worries him.
He whines softly. “Y-Yeah… but I’m scared.”
“Oh, baby,” you coo, “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
Your voice, soft and loving, quells the fear, and for a moment Spencer is lulled into believing you two are in the privacy of your own bedroom. Your hand is perfect, moving with just the right pressure and rhythm.
“Fuck, feels really good. Feels really, really good,” he cries pathetically. He moans your name in a plea for mercy. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna…! Please, please, oh fuck! I think I’m gonna—”
Everything tightens. The coil in his stomach, his chest, his shoulders. He clutches your shirt like a lifeline as he stops denying himself and the pleasure crashes over him in sweet waves. A quiet gasp escapes him before he can stop it, and suddenly he’s cumming right there, still fully dressed, pressed flat against you. He moans like a girl into your skin, jaw falling open wide as his release coats the inside of his boxers. You keep working him through his orgasm diligently.
The afterglow hits, warm and floaty. But he can feel it as he pants, coming back down from his high: the horrific wetness against his skin. And when the wire in him fully snaps and he goes slack in your arms, he grimaces.
Spencer is a limp, dazed puddle. He’s panting, sweaty, and so embarrassed by the mess in his pants. He hides his face further in your shoulder with a tiny groan of humiliation.
You just hum, gently stroking his hair, quite pleased with yourself. You kiss the top of his head sweetly. “It’s okay,” you murmur, soothing. “Nobody else booked this floor, anyway.”
Spencer nods weakly against your, still hiding. “Okay…” he pants, voice muffled by fabric. “That’s… that’s good to know.”
The two of you are silent for a moment as Spencer recovers, the only sound his heavy huffs and the faint hum of the lights beyond the elevator. “…Did you like it?” You eventually ask.
Spencer lifts his head slowly, finally meeting your eyes, cheeks still pink. “Mm-hm,” he nods shyly. “A lot.”
You smile, letting out a warm chuckle. “Good.”
You press the button to slide the doors closed, giving the two of you a quiet moment in your little bubble before any reality can creep back in again. Holding his warm cheek, you press your lips to Spencer’s.
He quickly leans into your kiss, eyes fluttering shut, melting into you with lingering affection and arousal. When you part again, he sighs contentedly and rests his rests his forehead against yours.
Eventually, he interrupts the peace with a meek voice, “Can I… can I please go change my pants?”
You giggle at him and lovingly pat his cheek with a nod.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ summary: you're moving to pittsburgh to work at a new tattoo & body piercing shop, only you still need to find a place to stay. thankfully, an old friend can hook you up with a coworker who recently had an extra room open up.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ tags: cursing, potential inaccuracies with the medical + piercing professions i'm doing my best, ear piercing process!, a lot of confusion for our poor melly :(, KISSING, alcohol mentioned, very brief mention of mel+becca’s mom dying, whitaker why are you here, snuggling, mel’s got a case of the baby gay hyperfixations, mel has nerd friends :’), local hot lez scared of her feelings for her virgin friend, YEARNING MEL, omg feelings, gayyyyyy, MY EVIL LIL GAY FLY HANDS ARE RUBBING, reader is prob nd too, eventual smut bc duh.
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ notes: ok this is minor, but i have to clarify that ik mel wouldn't mix metals. her horseshoes are gold so her second ear piercings would have that color too... the picture i used for this chapter is for vibe-matching ONLY ok ty
While you'd given Trinity a hard time for attempting to influence Mel, you hadn’t truly expected a change. First of all, you hadn’t expected Mel to put But I’m a Cheerleader on every free second of the day, so you're stuck with that recent development. And now there was a shift in Mel, or something at least. Something had changed. Maybe it was in your head. You only really felt it to a noticeable degree when the two of you were alone, but you could swear there was a difference.
It felt far warmer, bordering on overwhelming, to have her beside you in bed. Was she staying closer than usual? Or was it just late summer weather creeping into the apartment despite the air conditioning? Again, maybe it was all in your head, but even Mel’s facts had a shift in interest, which only felt obvious to you. Suddenly her fun facts had leaned into statistics and studies relating to queer patients, communities, or healthcare workers.
Oh, and of course, the first time she had started dropping her "fun" facts about “sexuality minority women" and the concerns regarding honesty with physicians, or simply not going to one at all, you had just woken up. All you wanted was something simple to eat that wouldn't have you staring off into space trying to find the inner drive to literally feed yourself, and she was at the table going over things that you were more than aware of even if you didn't spend your time reading about it on the NIH website.
Yet again, it was early, and you'd woken up to find her already awake and bouncing her attention between the fantasy series she'd been reading on your e-reader and articles on her phone.
"Good morning," one might say, or "How did you sleep last night?"
Mel noticed your stirring and began to ask you in a hushed, pillow-talk-like voice if you knew about "the impact it can have on gynecological health if a patient is not completely honest about their sex life." This "apparently" affects those "sexuality minority women" more than others due to discrimination fears, which you knew, but you simply nod your head and cover a yawn with the back of your hand. She'd gotten into this topic the other day too, but it was her birthday, so you supposed you could deal with the reiteration of whatever informational script she’d formed.
Well, not her real birthday. Today was her half-birthday that you'd hijacked for temporary legitimacy in the name of giving her a “makeup twenty-first birthday.”
"What did you do for your twenty-first?" you had asked her when she had approved leaving "21. 21st birthday experience" on the final draft of her bucket list.
"Um... I don't really remember," Mel had shrugged, which would usually trigger some dumb joke about that meaning she must've had a good time, but you highly doubted she'd gotten blackout drunk.
"That year is kind of a blur for me... my mom died around then so..."
She had pressed her lips together and gave an awkward nod while her gaze trailed down to the table, as if practiced. Like she had an internal post-it that had been slapped onto her brain at some point saying, "This is what talking about dead parents should look like," and she did her best to replicate it.
Needless to say, Mel deserved a proper do-over for that birthday. You knew she didn't drink, and her birthday was over the winter, but it didn’t matter. Whether it was really her twenty-first, really on her birthday or not, it was actually about wanting to make her feel special.
When you’d first considered what to do for her, you thought a surprise party could be exciting... but then you got to know her more. So, she knew just about everything that was happening outside of a literal agenda she probably would’ve made.
“What are we doing today?” she asked suddenly, right on time to double-check the day's schedule. She had her head propped on her hand while she lay on her side, looking at you.
“Whatever you want,” you smiled, reaching over to brush some of her hair back over her shoulder.
She hummed happily at that until the grateful little curve to her lips faltered when you didn’t continue.
“…No, but really, what’s the plan…?”
“Well, remember we can always do nothing if you’re not up for it—” you started, pausing at her acknowledging mumble.
“Ear piercings, like we talked about yesterday—“ more impatient mumbling, “then just… a get-together."
You shrugged. “You really didn’t want anything crazy. No barhopping, no clubbing… but it’s okay, we’ll still find a way to make it feel like a special twenty-first.”
She eyed the way you smiled at her, and before she could even ask her nervous "How?" you explained.
“Still some drinking, but I have mocktails for you. You’re getting pierced and… Mabel is… planning something.”
“What are they planning?” she asked, and you offered an apologetic smile.
“I don’t know, I’m sorry… but they promised me you’ll like it, okay?”
Mel hummed in response with her best appreciative, brave face, given the uncomfortable circumstances. You laughed a little, reaching over to rub her side before she rolled over to lie on her back.
“It’s okay. I promise Mabel wouldn’t mess with you.”
“Okay…” she trailed off, still looking at you. Just when it seemed she was starting to relax again, she tensed up beside you. She looked at you with the saddest eyes, as if you had only ever planned the most malicious things for the poor girl.
"Are you going to use a piercing gun?”
“No piercing gun. No biohazard Claire’s teddy bear either, blondie." You laughed. She sighed in relief, settling into her spot and staring up at the ceiling for mere seconds only to return her gaze to you.
“I really didn’t like the piercing gun,” Mel explained in a small murmur.
"Nobody does, so just know you're not alone.”
“And no presents?”
“No, I remembered. I told them no presents.”
She nodded, looking up at the ceiling and bringing her hands together. She pulled at her fingers, putting her hands into odd angles and self-hugs. She suddenly took in a breath, finally verbalizing what had been taking up residence in her head.
“I just… It's not really my birthday…? So, it doesn’t feel fair—” Her words sliced through an inhale as if they’d been waiting for their opening the moment the oxygen hit her lungs. When you spoke up, she held her breath along with her words, pressing her lips together.
“People can still give you—sorry, go ahead.”
"Mm—nope." she shook her head stiffly, trying to signal for you to continue. Despite her own tendency to interrupt, whether she was excited or tired enough to actually be impatient with people, Mel really didn’t take being interrupted well. You offered an apologetic look, concluding your comment as soon as possible.
“I only wanted to point out people can still give you gifts because they like you.”
“Hm,” she hummed in disagreement, clearly digging her heels in on this one. There was no real significant date to necessitate gifts, in her opinion, and as it was…
“I don’t like opening gifts in front of other people,” she admitted with a sigh, glancing at you with frowning brows. “What if I hate what I get or I already have it?”
“Just lie and act like you love it.”
Mel looked down at her gently turning, touching hands.
“I don’t like to lie…”
“But it’s to spare feelings, y’know? Like… the other night," you gestured before slapping the hand back down to the top of your thigh, "when I tried to make that weird chicken recipe. Did you like it?”
“Yeah…” she offered with a pained smile, twisting her hands again more than lightly touching the fingertips together or feeling the edge of her nails at this point. “Yeah, it was…”
She cleared her throat, shaking her head at herself as she glanced down with a murmured, “It was great…”
Neither of you finished the meal, so you already had your answer, but you wanted to see her best attempt. Odd flavor combinations aside, Mel had unfortunately taken a bite of the chicken in a spot that felt "too tendon-y,” which has deterred her from eating chicken since.
Now, with that look on her face, you broke out laughing. Your body rolled closer to hers, and you hid your face in the pillows, letting the laughter sink into the cushion. A shy curve twitched at her lips.
“Okay, maybe you can open gifts in private for the rest of your life,” you tittered while shifting to lie more on your side and mindlessly tangle a leg with hers.
But, yeah, it was only ever Mel who was initiating being too close.
Mel let out one of her shy "heh"s, attempting a smile before her lips were pulling away to the side in an awkward gesture.
“You’re funny, Mel,” you hummed out in a content, gentle tone that she loved. You had been looking at her when you complimented her, but your attention quickly reconnected with your own touch on her.
Mel observed you from her spot on her back, also moving her gaze down when she felt your hand smooth over her stomach.
“Thanks…” she softened with a tired murmur, testing a glance to see where your attention was. She was glad to have a moment to observe your face while you weren’t looking.
How did Megan go for that kiss again in But I'm a Cheerleader? Graham's head had been dipped down, kind of like the way yours was right now. So, the cheerleader sorta... ducked her face under and caught her mouth again, bringing Graham's posture back up along with her own. Mel should know, considering how many times she’s seen it over the course of a couple weeks. She’d pictured it in her head multiple times in these moments, like a set of instructions, but never had the courage to put it into action.
Just as she was fighting for some momentum to finally go for it, you were moving off of the bed right when she’d raised her upper body. You’d said something about food, but she’d been so lost in encouraging herself, she missed it, and also missed the fact that you were clearly leaving your bed until it was already happening.
“You okay?” You chuckled, turning back to her after catching how oddly she had moved beside you.
“Yeah… yep." She laughed it off, even if her urge to nod was translated to an honest shake of her head at herself. She looked down at the bedding, finding a stray thread to mess with.
Mel only glanced up again to watch you walk out of the room and then sighed through her nose. With you gone into the hallway, she grimaced to herself and trailed her eyes up to the ceiling.
ʚɞ
"What's the lubricant for again?" Mel asked with her head tilted, observing the array in front of you. You still had to make the markings on her ears, so you were leaving the tools in their autoclave packages for now, but you wanted to have everything ready.
Trinity snorted. You glared at her with such weak judgment; it only took a second to turn into smiling at her.
"Less friction, less irritation..." you explained, trailing off with a sigh. You placed your last tool onto the tray with a distinctive clack when you caught Trinity choking down a giggle.
"You're a child."
"Yeah..." she agreed, lax in the chair by the wall and still focusing on her phone.
“Anyway,” you continued once you looked back to see Mel still expectantly watching you from her spot in the cushy client's chair. “I keep the process nice and quick by putting a little lubricant here on—”
“That’s what she said.”
“—on my hand—thank you, Trinity—“ you finally laughed, shaking your head while she smirked to herself, secretly glancing up from her screen a few times to see your reaction. You’d been in the middle of pointing to the inner side of your hand, but now your attention had strayed back to look at her.
Mel actually sighed impatiently over the interruptions, which only made this more fun for Trinity.
“So, the lubricant…?” Mel asked to get you back on track. Trinity bounced her eyebrows at you a couple of times, but you did your best to focus back on the blonde sat in front of you.
“Single-use, sterile, and water-based,” you clarified, letting her look at the small packet even though you were pretty sure she'd seen them before. Actually, you knew she'd seen you do multiple earlobe piercings the day of the one-month celebration, but you humored her curiosities anyway if it soothed her.
“Once I have everything else ready, I put some of that lubricant on my hand to rest the needles on since I’ll be putting a light coating on them anyway. Setting them here just gives easy access.”
“You’re killing me here—" Trinity groaned, and you failed to keep your smile to yourself. You still tried to feign innocence anyway.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be? A Huckle-Fuck to catch, maybe?”
“Yeah, yeah…” Trinity got up, probably making a face at you on her way out of the piercing room.
“Dr. Whitaker?” Mel asked you once the nickname translated in her brain.
“Yeah,” you nod, then glance up at her. “Shit, I’m sorry. He just figured he’d be coming with. Did you not want him here?”
“No, no, that’s okay." She smiled. She hadn't been expecting anyone else from PTMC to bother. That was on her, though, since she had been too shy to ask anyone else to come. Again—not really her birthday.
"Okay," you eyed her a moment longer, swapping gloves. "You ready?"
"Uh, yes," she confirmed after some nervous hesitation. She tried to summon a confident grin, shivering from the cold alcohol wipe.
"Yes, ma'am..."
You huffed a laugh over the silly tone she'd dropped into, briefly raising your gaze from the skin marker you were unpackaging.
"Alright, weirdo, look forward for me? I want to make sure I get these nice and even…"
She nodded, only to do the exact opposite when you finally went to make a very light, first mark. Mel pressed her head back, as if she could possibly go inward enough to actually see her ear, just like the day you met and you’d been gesturing to the favorable anatomy of her ear for an industrial.
"Mel."
"Right, sorry," she whispered with an apologetic smile.
You were happy to explain everything to her and let her see everything you were working with, just like any other client who needed it, but you really needed her to look forward if she wanted even piercings.
You end up wiping away the first mark to better match it with the one you'd made on the other side, sighing when Mel moves again.
"Mel," you reminded her with a light pat to her cheek from the back of your hand. "Look forward. Thank you…"
She mumbled another apology, which you accepted before she could spiral over it. Once the marks were made, you tossed the marker and gloves so you could give her a mirror to look into. While she looked them over, you'd put on another set of gloves to open the autoclave packages. Mel still couldn't quite decide if knowing what each tool was helped to ease her mind or only made her anxieties worse.
"Okay, I think I'm ready," she informed you, hoping to state it definitively and confidently, but it came out more like a squeak.
"You sure?" you questioned.
She set the mirror down in her lap and nodded rapidly, her expression all scrunched up. Those fuzzy, tingling nerves were creeping up again, and she silently reminded herself over and over that you were very good at your job and never used a piercing gun.
“You okay, hon?" you murmured, angling yourself to try grabbing her attention. "I only really needed you sitting up to place my marks. I can lean you back now, if you want.”
Mel swallowed and shook her head, mumbling that she was fine.
“Mkay…” you said, not exactly believing her. You look her over while purposely taking your sweet time to open the last couple packages, just in case.
“Actually, if I could sit back just—just a tad..." she blurted out once you were opening up the needles. "Uhm… I think that would be good."
You smiled fondly and got up from your seat, keeping your arms bent up to avoid touching anything other than your tools while you stepped on the pedal of the client's chair.
"Did you do that on purpose? Taking a while to open the rest of your tools?" She asked in a little voice.
"Yup."
"Smart," she nodded approvingly, even if she was basically choking out the word on a nervous breath.
"Mel, just relax, okay...? Or try your best to," you urged in a whisper. "We also don't have to do this at all, if you want to chan—"
"No. No, I want my ears pierced," she insisted with a slight pout.
"Then stop holding your breath every time I move."
She shamefully let out the air she'd been unintentionally holding in her lungs.
"You know better," you chided playfully.
"I know…"
Despite requesting being laid back, she still bent her neck up enough to watch you get the round piercing forceps once you'd set your needles on the side of your newly gloved hand, like you had said. She focused on breathing the closer you got, casually tugging your wheeled tray closer with your foot before standing up straight.
"Okay," you let out a breath. "You'll feel me using the forceps first, okay? I might mess with it a couple times to get the right hold on it, but when I have it, I'll let you know."
With her ok and a reminder to stay still, you started. Mel temporarily tensed when she felt the pressure of the tool holding her earlobe, mumbling an apology.
"It's okay."
You sounded distant while focusing on your job but stayed so gentle with her. Mel found herself watching your face as you worked, since she couldn't watch your hands. When you caught her, you'd almost missed it at first and then glanced at her again with a little smile.
"You're doing great," you reassured her, and she offered a nervous smile, squeezing her hands low over her belly. She tried not to pay too much attention to the movement in her periphery informing her you were picking up one of the needles.
“Deep breath for me, Mel…"
She inhaled, briefly tensing again over the feeling of the needle going through, but in one smooth motion, it went from needle to insertion taper to piercing. You clicked the front of the threadless jewelry into place.
“There, not too bad, right? And just one more to go. You're doing great."
ʚɞ
"Oh, our Mel is getting all pierced; lemme see,” Mabel gasped, catching you two walking out before they got to the stairs.
Carrying a couple of bags, they met you and Mel partway to look at where you'd put the tiny star jewelry she'd wanted.
“Pretty!” They grinned, earning a quiet thanks from the blonde, who still felt shy under so much attention. “How was it? Not too bad, right?”
“No, not at all, it was a lot faster than I thought it would be." Mel was twisting her hands together in front of herself, glancing at you with a small smile. Her eyebrows raised then as she brought her attention back to Mabel.
“Oh! And much quieter than a piercing gun…”
"Yeah, piercing guns suck." Mabel conceded with a sigh.
“That’s how I pierced my nose, though,” they added, before they could turn to walk towards the stairs again. They laughed and pointed at you, prompting Mel to turn back to see your expression. “Yeah, she hates when I talk about that.”
“And you put an earring in it after,” you emphasized, trailing behind both of them.
“Oh, I totally did,” they snickered.
Nearly everyone was there, excluding Trinity, who was probably still waiting on Whitaker, but Mel zeroed in on her twin first.
“Becca!” Mel beamed the moment she spotted her, going over to hug her.
“Hi, Mel!” Becca grinned, briefly closing her eyes while she hugged her sister back. “Happy Not-Birthday.”
“Thanks,” she laughed quietly, just barely separating from her when Becca was already trying to hand her a gift.
“For me?” Mel asked, and despite her insistence on no presents, she still sounded so small. She tucked a few stray hairs back behind her ears with a careful motion, looking down at the wrapped item.
“Yeah! Open it,” Becca instructed, practically bouncing on her toes. You walked away from Mabel and back to Mel to see the gift that you totally had no idea about. You certainly hadn’t lied weeks ago over what Becca had whispered to you for this present.
“Mel says she doesn’t like gifts, but she secretly does,” Becca informed you.
“Oh, I should’ve gotten you something,” Mel whispered sadly to her sister as if today were really their birthday. She glanced at you like this realization was already eating away at her, and she was hoping you had something to solve it with. You’d barely parted your lips with whatever reassurances you could scrounge up on short notice when Becca spoke up.
“Oh, I don’t need another 21st birthday." She shook her head, toying with one of her pigtails. "I just wanna see you open your gift!"
When you’d first told Becca about your idea, she was confused because they’d already had their 21st birthday. Despite a lot of that time gradually becoming a blur in Mel's mind, Becca remembered her sister had made sure they had a cake and something for Becca to open. It was her first birthday—and Mel’s too—without a cake made by their mother. The tug this information had on your heartstrings must have been obvious since Becca told you, "You don't have to look so sad." She’d had store-bought cakes at other people’s birthdays, and she liked them.
This depressing fact turned out to be helpful, though, because the best way you could explain yourself was by pointing out a lot of people tend to get excited they can finally drink alcohol for their twenty-first, which she knew. She also knew Mel didn’t like alcohol, but you’d eventually reached the explanation that you’d have mocktails, so it would be like the drink version of another store-bought cake. Mel still wanted the drinking version of that store-bought cake.
“I don’t like the way alcohol smells,” Becca explained now with a giggle, her light attitude only fading the longer Mel went without opening the gift.
“Right. Sorry—” the blonde whispered and looked for a corner to tuck a finger into and pull at the paper.
ʚɞ
Since opening her gift from Becca, Mel hadn’t really let go of it beyond letting it rest in her lap so she could pick up her drink or plate of food. She had sunk into a beanbag chair because you had, and she wanted to be close to you. She still couldn’t quite tell if she liked it or not; constantly shifting to adjust her body only for its contents to shift as well and drag her butt back more at a weird angle.
The day had been perfect so far. Everyone around her was good and funny, caught in casual conversations like this moment was an everyday occurrence and not some act of kindness she still felt shy about. Whitaker was saying something in a hushed voice to Santos that made her roll her eyes even if she really wanted to laugh. Geri was bringing a plate of snacks to Becca.
The shop staff had stayed after hours for her, when she still felt she hardly knew them, yet none of them seemed burdened. At least, they didn’t look like it. She wanted to enjoy it. She wanted to be warmed by each second of having a caring community, so she tried her best to not let the gift sink her mood. Still, it was pulling at her, even if she loved it to the point of not wanting to even put it down until she was at home.
She was looking down at it again, brushing a finger against a felt corner, only to jump in her seat from Mabel calling for everyone’s attention.
“I know the gift rule—only Miss Becca here has VIP status—but I have something for everyone, okay?” They announced, and you groaned beside Mel, who looked curiously at you then at Mabel.
You knew the amount of theatrics Mabel was putting on and worried about what might be presented, so you briefly hid yourself behind the blonde tucked right beside you.
“So, I was informed this is a twenty-first birthday redo. Yet, the lady of the hour is not drinking or clubbing." They gestured to Mel, who immediately felt sick when that made everyone’s heads turn to her. You’d been watching Mabel again, still leaning back in the beanbag chair, but you reached a hand over to rub Mel’s back, feeling some of that tension fade at your touch.
“So, one might wonder: how can we still achieve that twenty-first party feel? Mocktails, of course, but I’d like to offer an addition, if I may…” They cleared their throat, thankfully bringing everyone’s eyes back to them. Mabel put on a pair of glasses and pulled out their phone. “Allow me to paint a scene…”
“Okay…” Mel trailed off in a whisper that ended in a tentative laugh.
“Mel,” Mabel began, glancing over the glasses at her before looking back at their screen. “You are enjoying the night of your twenty-first birthday… you are drunk and free—“
“Oh god, where’s Sasha when you need her…” Dani murmured with a laugh, earning a sassy look from Mabel. Dani settled her temple against her hand, and Mabel continued their "scene setting."
“You come across a less-than-reputable tattoo shop that still willingly tattoos the nightlife’s inebriated crowd… and like many a gal in her twenties, at least back in the day, you get your first tattoo drunk off your ass.”
They pull a little basket from a bag they'd had beside them all night and set it on the table for everyone to look in. Mel was still smiling, her brow only temporarily bunched by curiosity. She leaned forward like everyone else, recognizing the designs printed out with crinkly plastic on top of them from the day of the party.
“Everyone can get their drunken Mel’s twenty-first birthday tattoo, but she gets to choose first!” they clarified, pointing a finger at Whitaker, who had picked one up to show Trinity the funny design. He mouthed an apology, setting it back down, and Trin tried to not openly laugh at him.
You reached forward, thanking Reggie for pushing the basket closer so you could snag it and give it to Mel. The faint curve to her lips bloomed into a bigger smile and she looked through the cutouts of Mabel’s real designs that they’d had made into fake tattoos.
“First, I must respect Mel’s profession as well as my own and remind everyone that it is not recommended that anyone be tattooed while under the influence." Mabel was now reading with their phone inches from their face.
“Alcohol can impair judgment, which could cause one to make decisions they would later regret. It can also cause you to bleed more because it…” Mabel paused, squinting at their screen. "Affects coagulation and fib… Hm…fib-ero—”
“Fibrinolytic,” Trinity, Whitaker, and Mel all clarified. Without thinking, somehow your voice had been in the mix too, also stating the word for Mabel's sake.
“You remembered,” Mel whispered with a cheery smile, and you let out a playful sigh, leaning over to rest your head on her arm. It was hard not to when, at some point, she'd been obsessing over some article that used the word about a thousand times.
You glared at the two Chuckle-Fuck Twins when you noticed Whitaker and Trinity leaning into each other just enough to squeeze into your periphery. Whitaker drew a heart in the air Disney Channel style, and Trinity pretended to gag at you.
“—Yeah, that—fibrnlmtick factors which play a major role in the body’s ability to form blood clots. Blood clotting is a necessary aspect of the tattooing process as…”
Mabel went on, and you all groaned at different stages of loving exasperation. Well, excluding Mel, who was grinning enough for her smile lines to show; Becca, who thought Mabel was funny; and Geri, who was mostly observing the group dynamic with a soft appreciation. The rest of you were used to their love of a theatrical bit, or, at least in Whitaker’s case, acknowledging the ridiculousness of the medical PSA despite it being very fitting for Mel.
“To conclude: I am very excited to give you your first 'tattoo,' and in true ‘drunk tat’ fashion, I’m really hoping you’ll let me give you a tramp stamp. That is all,” Mabel finished, happy to get the laughs they’d been hoping for.
“A what…?” Mel giggled, and yet again nearly everyone reacted at once, turning in their spots or standing up to gesture to the lower spine.
“I kinda hate how quickly I answered that,” Whitaker muttered to himself after being one of the first to show where a tramp stamp would be.
“Well, you’re a tramp at heart, Huckleberry,” Trinity whispered, patting his back.
“That would actually be a perfect design for it,” you whispered to Mel, pointing to the floral and butterfly pattern she had in her hands.
“Okay…” Mel was starting to cave, passing the basket to a very excited Becca.
“And these come off?” She questioned.
“Yes, the permanent part still comes with the needles, don’t worry." You laughed, but she still lets out an unsure hum over the placement.
“This could be number thirty on the list…” you intoned in a playful whisper. She met your gaze that was so close to hers, considering the challenge with a shy smile.
“Hm… okay.” She finally agreed, and you cheered, earning a few more excited cheers over a fake tramp stamp in return. Mabel took out a sponge and a water cup they labeled “ink” with masking tape and a Sharpie, excitedly urging Mel over.
“Uh—hold on." You held up a finger, setting your drink down right as Mel fought her way out of her beanbag chair.
She looked over at you, taking a couple awkward steps around the beanbags to get to you when you had gestured for her to come over after tugging a bunch of napkins off the table. Mabel might’ve been ready, but you knew better than to risk Mel ending up with damp clothes.
“Hm—nope... Right here, thank you,” you said while adjusting her placement.
Mel hadn’t been expecting you to tug her over to you by her belt loops or hold her hips in both hands to angle them differently. She quietly cleared her throat and was grateful for the low lighting Mabel preferred for the upstairs lounge because her face was easily growing red. Her cheeks felt so hot she wished she could press the side of her glass against them without anyone noticing.
You tucked multiple napkins one after the other in the waistband of her jeans over her butt, only pulling your attention away when you heard Shelley cackling.
“Oh my god…” the girl groaned, and you looked past Mel to see Mabel fixing a tattoo lamp on their head and putting gloves on.
“I need that back tomorrow!” Shelley pointed to Mabel's forehead, which earned her the light being turned on in her direction. Their ex-apprentice flinched away from it with a snickered curse, shielding her eyes with one hand, still holding her drink in the other.
“Okay, she’s ready!” you announced.
“Prepped and draped,” Trinity added from behind the lip of her cup, getting an unimpressed look from Whitaker before he finally gave in with a huff and a smile. Quinn perked up.
“Oh! I know that from Grey’s Anatomy!”
That immediately earned her a simultaneous groan from Trin and Whitaker.
“Okay, everyone, shush!” Mabel insisted, trying to line up the fake tattoo once Mel stood in front of them.
Realizing you'd stayed in your chair, the blonde pouted back at you. You rolled your eyes, but she knew you didn't mean it when you were getting up for her. Trinity made a whip-cracking sound that finally earned her the laughter she knew it deserved.
You walked over to Mel anyway, flipping Trin off on your way before settling on the arm of Mabel's chair so you could hold Mel's hand, playfully wrapping your legs around hers.
"Quick, I got her; get the real tattoo machine—"
Mel giggled, nudging you, and earning both of you a mild warning from Mabel. They were taking this fake tramp stamp rather seriously.
“Wait,” Reggie had them pause when they were content with the placement. He laughed to himself, angling his body to get his phone from his pocket. “We should treat it like D&D night. Gotta have the ambience.”
“Oh, duh! I should’ve thought of that,” Mabel gasped excitedly.
Mel looked over her shoulder to see what Reggie was doing, only to get distracted by trying to see the unactivated fake tattoo pressed to her tailbone. You poked her side, reminding her to stop squirming, but you may as well have been confessing a deep love for her with the way you were looking up at her.
Mabel made sure the sponge was damp, and Reggie counted down before pressing play so the tattoo machine sound clip could play right as Mabel began applying water to the back of the fake tattoo.
Even without it being actual needles, Mel still flinched, answering your questioning gaze with a whisper about it being really cold.
“I’m sorry it’s cold, blondie,” you whispered with a laugh, giving her hand a squeeze.
Reggie paused the sound bite right as Mabel set their sponge down. He leaned forward to watch them peel the backing off, which had everyone else doing the same and playfully cheering as the floral design with the little butterfly in the center was revealed.
“Tattoo and piercing in one day. Really risking that tattoo flu,” Jess joked before she got up off the couch.
ʚɞ
Mel felt some guilt start to sink in when everything was lighthearted and fun, but she was still mentally slipping away. Like everyone else was floating along on water, and she was the only one finding stones suddenly weighing down her pockets. The others were laughing over their fake tattoos or gratefully accepting a slice of cake from Jess, but the moment she’d focused on her gift from Becca again, she'd gone silent and tense.
No matter how often you reassured her, Mel still felt bad when she needed time alone, so she tried to sneak away. She was used to being able to depart from her duty as the local wallflower unnoticed, but she’d hardly taken a few steps when you were gently catching her hand. You’d seen the look on her face, so you tilted your head at her with a silent, concerned question.
“I just need to get my charger from the car,” she explained in a whisper, giving a weak attempt at a reassuring smile.
“Okay…” you trailed off, still eyeing her, but you let go of her hand.
“Everything okay with Mel?” Whitaker asked, catching Trinity’s attention, who looked at him and then you.
“Yeah, she just needs her phone charger." You shook your head, waving it off.
Still, you sat there, thinking over whether or not you should go after her. What if something was wrong? But what if she wanted to be alone and you would be ruining her attempt to get some air?
Or she actually needed to grab her phone charger. You sighed quietly, shifting in your spot to put your plate down. The motion jammed the keys in your pocket right into your hip, startling you at first.
“Ah, shit,” you muttered. “Be right back." You held up your car keys in place of a proper explanation, leaving the lounge hopefully before Mel would have to walk all the way back, then to the car and back again.
But when you’d stepped out of the employee entrance, you spotted Mel sitting on the hood of the car, looking at something in her lap. The closer you got with careful steps, you noticed the familiar colors of a felt frame.
“Everything okay…?” You asked, and Mel jumped. Seeing it was only you, she relaxed and tried to offer a reassuring smile that was too feeble.
“Yeah, I’m…” she trailed off on a deep breath and then looked down again, shaking her head to herself.
“Why are you sitting on the hood of the car…?” You asked instead with a faint smile.
“I think it’s all the movies we’ve watched?” She answered easily this time, tilting her head at herself. The pull at the corners of her lips came more naturally this time, even if she was still twisting her fingers.
“People tend to do this a lot in movies. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen anyone do it…? I thought I’d try... I guess.”
“How is it?”
“Um… my butt is very warm,” she replied, and a more open grin formed at the way you laughed.
“Well, it is August.”
“M’yeah,” she relented with a nod, offering an awkward chuckle after. You climbed onto the hood to join her, gasping quietly over how hot the metal felt under your hands until your skin could gradually adapt to the feeling. How the hell was she sitting so comfortably?
“I thought that was sweet of them,” you said once you'd settled, pointing to the gift in her hands and still cringing over the heat the hood of your car had been absorbing all day from the late summer sun. The gift was a small picture frame made of felt with a Polaroid of her, Becca, and Adam from the craft night the frame was made.
You weren’t entirely lying when you had told Mel Becca had wanted you to make sure she went to craft night. You just… left out the part that Becca needed her there to make her a present. She hadn’t known about the birthday plans yet, not until you’d gotten her phone number and had a chance to FaceTime her about it, so it was a perfect, psychic twin moment on her part. Your job was to make sure Mel showed up with a camera ready.
Thankfully, Mel had been wanting to check the prompt to take more pictures off of her list anyway, so she was happy to borrow your Polaroid camera. She spent the short drive to Middle Hill practicing. This entailed apologies over accidental flash and quickly realizing how important lighting was, with an instant camera in particular, when she’d attempted to take a backlit picture of you driving.
Then, once the craft had really started, Mel may or may not have gotten so lost in her process of making bookmarks that she’d nearly forgotten to take pictures. At the time, she thought Adam was kind of cold towards her anyway, so it was nice to have the activity to distract her. She was used to a certain level of social cue mishaps, and it was always possible that he was having a hard time with two new people around, but it seemed like he was fully ignoring her.
“D’you still want to take pictures…?” you had reminded her.
“Oh! Right…” Mel gasped, cringing when she accidentally got some glue on her hand.
“It’s okay, I’ll take some pictures." You shrugged it off, handing her a paper towel from a stack in the middle of the table. “Actually, why don’t I take a picture of the three of you?”
You’d gotten up from the table, glancing at Becca, who got all giddy no matter how much she tried to hide it. Meanwhile, Mel gave you a look full of attitude that she just barely smothered before Becca turned to her.
“Oh, I… that’s okay, I doubt they’d…”
“I’d like it,” Adam said shyly, still not looking up from the edges of the felt he’d been sewing together.
Mel’s mouth formed an ‘o’ before she pressed it shut, looking at you again.
“Okay, I’ll take a few then. So everyone has one." You smiled, because it was hard not to when Becca was so excited. It would show in the picture too.
“Yeah… sure." Mel had nodded, humming momentarily to herself when she realized she should check the state of herself, plucking a rogue piece of felt from her shirt before leaning in close to Becca to smile for the picture. She hadn’t been expecting Adam to want a photo with her in it and was trying to spare herself from some potentially brutal honesty. Her inner shields easily melted away from the first signs of acceptance, always looking almost sad when she felt it. Then it turned out that he had seemed so distant because all his attention was on sewing and trying not to give away Becca’s idea. Mel had barely unwrapped it earlier before Becca was saying he’s a lot better at sewing than she is, but she’s good at decorating, so she did the rest.
“Hm? Oh…” Mel nodded now, looking back down at the gift. “Yeah, it’s really nice…”
“Are you sure you’re okay…?” you whispered. “Did today not go how you wanted it to?”
“Yes—no! No." Her eyebrows shot up and she shook her head. “Yes, I’m okay… no, it’s not… not how I wanted… I honestly didn’t know what I wanted when I don’t even drink, I…”
She sighed, dropping a hand she’d been gesturing with to her lap. “I’m sorry…”
“Why are you sorry?” you murmured, smoothing out a few stray hairs that were caught by a warm breeze.
“I feel ungrateful…” she whispered. “It’s… weird being the center of attention.”
You looked her over, gently smoothing a hand over her braided hair. Even if it wasn’t the same as when it was undone, it still soothed her.
“It’s nice in theory, but I always forget how uncomfortable it is when everyone’s looking at you…” she murmured with a sad twitch to her lips, pointing her gaze down.
“Plus, I…” Mel started, then looked over at you while her arms twisted together. She clenched her jaw and squeezed her hands together after looking away.
“What…?” you murmured, but she closed her eyes and shook her head.
"I still... feel behind," she whispered.
Sat with her knees up, Mel hooked her arms around them with her hands held together. She looked at the picture again on the tops of her thighs and frowned.
"I feel like no matter how many things I check off that list, I'm still behind everyone else..."
"In what way?" you murmured, nearly smoothing a hand over her arm but second-guessing it with how tense she was.
"Everyone seems so adult and ends up talking about things that leave me feeling lost," she admitted, and everything she'd been holding in today started to pour out.
"It's been so difficult trying to stay on track, I..." She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head at herself. "I'm supposed to be getting a boyfriend. I should've already at this point, and I'm still trying to catch up to my own sister! I mean she just up and got one out of nowhere?"
She huffed out, swallowing the feelings down with an expression that made it seem like she'd been fighting back vomit.
"Not... Not that Becca isn't great or doesn't deserve it, but it's..." Mel trailed off, her voice shrinking to a sad murmur. Her eyes found the gift in her lap again, uncurling her arms from around her legs to set her hands on the hood of the car.
"It's tough seeing her do it so easily..."
“Well," you started on a breath, before proceeding carefully. "I believe in the whole 'you attract what you truly want' philosophy, so I don’t think it’s random that she got a boyfriend..."
“You know it’s okay to not want it, right?” you murmured to her. Mel furrowed her brow at you.
“Guys. Or... all of it, I guess. It’s okay to just want to exist without that being a priority,” you explained further.
"It." "That." Romance. Sex. You couldn't even say the damn words, caught up in a whirlwind of feelings you hadn't had punch you in the gut quite like this in a while.
“I do want it,” she urged.
“What do you want so badly about it?”
“To be on track,” she shrugged, letting out an irritated huff. “To not be left behind. I don’t know.”
“So you want to fit in. It’s not about actually wanting the experiences for yourself.”
Mel temporarily shuts down, her mouth set tight while she looks towards the shop, then settles her attention on the asphalt of the parking lot. It's upsetting because you’re right when she doesn’t want you to be.
It's particularly frustrating when, realistically, she could see your observations being her truth once. Despite what she wanted, or thought she wanted, that was usually her. Usually. Maybe she could've been happy once had she learned more about the validity in not wanting relationships outside of the familial and platonic and never gone seeking anything else.
Instead, she'd finally found out that could've been her lot in life while already worrying she'd have to completely part from what had been her plan for years because of you. Her thoughts went in circles and tripped up and tangled together. She'd never have any peace in her own mind on the subject until she could finally be content with change or multiple things being true at once, and neither of those things were very easy for her.
She was almost mad at you for disrupting everything. Everything you mentioned about not wanting romantic or sexual relationships. Honestly, screw you, because that was true, or usually true—but now you're around, so everything’s messed up and confusing…
"And you..." she started, personally feeling she was on topic, but that was because she'd been the one involved in her own thoughts. "You wouldn't even kiss me."
You're my roommate and my friend, and you wouldn't even kiss me a few months ago, so how could I expect anyone to want me? was what she meant, but naturally she hadn't been that clear.
"What?" you laughed out from pure disbelief.
"You told me you didn't kiss friends, but you've done... a lot... with Santos," she explained, realization just barely dawning on you, which she'd see if she'd let herself look at you for longer than a second.
"That's different," you shrugged, eyeing her curiously.
"How?" she frowned, finally looking at you.
"Well, because Trinity is..."
Looking back at her now, you'd completely lost your initial reasoning against kissing her even if she hadn't fully acknowledged it yet.
"I... don't see why it matters so much to you," you deflated with a nervous laugh, shifting in your spot.
"Why didn't you want to?" she asked.
Another nervous, trapped laugh of disbelief choked out of you until you saw the look on her face. She looked so sad that all your defensive anxiety crumbled and dissipated with your next sigh.
“Why do you want me to kiss you anyway? " you asked in a softer tone, before adding with a small smile you hoped didn't show the punch of smugness this moment was giving you. "You already realized you don’t like kissing."
“Well, it’s different.”
“How is it different, Mel?" You pushed with a playful huff, hugging your legs closer to yourself.
“Well…” she trailed off, visibly irritated by all the words buzzing past in her mind and yet nothing of substance. Nothing to really relieve whatever she was feeling.
“Because it’s you,” she said softly.
“Because it’s me? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know… you’re safe…” she trailed off, swallowing nervously when she saw the way you were smiling at her.
She felt like such a joke, but she couldn't shut up, even if she still couldn't find the right words. She remembered the night Trinity had slept over back in May. She’d seen you two kissing just because you were tipsy and you could then falling apart with laughter over nothing. She'd barely let herself look because it felt private even right in front of her, but lately when she thought of it, a twisting, sour feeling struck against a warm, fuzzy sensation somewhere inside of her.
She thought about that first fantasy Megan has about Graham.
“S-so I've seen you kiss other people, and... it’s a happy thing. It’s not gross-looking or overwhelming, and I don’t… I don’t know, but—”
You uncurled your body and turned to her. You nodded along like you were really listening, as if adrenaline didn't have blood rushing in your ears. "Mhm," you'd offered in a teasing agreement, just to slide your hand over her jaw and pull her into a kiss the first chance you got.
Mel froze up so fast, suddenly forgetting every tip Trinity had whispered to her about kissing back in May, with words like bribe money snuck under a table.
She'd never wished she could cease to exist as much as she did now when you were pulling away with a breathy laugh.
"Mel, relax," you urged, quietly reminding her to stop tensing while you slid the pad of your thumb over her lips that she'd been puckering.
For a gesture attempting to physically encourage her to slacken her jaw and stop freezing up, it wasn't exactly helping clear her mind. Mel's heart beat so hard in her chest, she had to fight not to think clinically over the feelings she had.
When she'd finally loosened up enough, you'd murmured something she hardly caught and pressed your lips to hers again. Your mouth worked with hers in slow movements, trying to give her a chance to catch up to the general motion you were setting.
She knew when she had it because you deepened the kiss and slid your hand to her jaw. Okay, revisiting the concept of "getting butterflies." Was this what it actually felt like? She still didn’t think it was a very accurate description. It was more like those bugs that buzzed through the summer, nestled in her pelvic floor all while her blood pumped so hard that she almost felt lightheaded.
When you pulled back, she missed the feeling and wished you'd do it again. Mel blinked, looking at you past her glasses that were just barely out of place, to watch you briefly dart your tongue out between your lips, catching the moisture and taste of her lip balm without even thinking about it.
Instead of how dilated her pupils were, you tried to focus on the fact that there were people inside the shop waiting for both of you to come back. Still, you placed your forehead on hers and held back a weak sound trying to free itself just from Mel being so quick to close her eyes again. You didn't think you'd ever seen her so frazzled and desperate, and did you have self-control? No. Out of all the pleasures you've ever failed to deny yourself that you probably should have, you figured one more time wouldn't be so bad. Not if it was for her.
Mel sighed through her nose when you kissed her again, and she mirrored your body language to shyly place a hand on the side of your face.
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𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ the photos and gif used in this post do not belong to me.
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