#Starting fallout 3 for the first time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daryltwdixon · 3 months ago

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Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Maria now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Maria called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill.

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Maria,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Maria?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really.

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it.

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly.

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Maria’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine.

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in.

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

#my brain is fried #I havent touched grass in days #family matters #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou #the last of us

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ham1lton · 3 months ago

Note

maneater!yn getting into an argument w one of the drivers after the race and it going viral?

SELF MADE, ASEXUAL!

summary: as one of the very few female drivers in f1, you’re expected to be very careful. however, when a explosive video hits the internet, you have to navigate the fallout.

linked to my maneater series!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by nosybitch1, youthereader and 5,109,928 others.

tmzsports: MCLAREN, MEET MANEATER!: LANDO GETS EATEN ALIVE BY ANGRY YN!

for the full video, check the link 🔗 in our bio.

view all comments.

📌 pinned comment

tmzsports: thoughts? did yn take it too far, or was lando asking for it? 👀 let us know below!

⸻

user1: the way y’all are acting like lando wasn’t yelling back is CRAZY!!!

user2: maneater strikes again 🙄 no man is safe

user3: she’s so aggressive it’s actually embarrassing to watch. no wonder no one takes her seriously in f1

user4: y’all hate yn for breathing at this point lmao

user5: bro if a male driver did this no one would care, but bc it’s yn suddenly she’s the devil 💀

user6: lando looking like he was about to cry and she DID NOT CARE LMFAOO

user7: she’s the problem. she’s always the problem.

user8: he must’ve really pissed her off bc she usually just laughs in men’s faces when they try to argue with her

user9: people calling her toxic when literally every guy on the grid has had a public meltdown at some point 💀 it’s a high level sport!!! everyone’s emotions are high. why criticise her for something you would applaud men for?

user10: “lando gets eaten alive” stopppp the internet is undefeated 😭😭

user11: yn needs to get her emotions in check. she’s in a male-dominated sport. she should know better.

— user12: she’s literally been in f1 for years. she clearly does know better if she’s still here, stay mad lol

user13: nah the real tea is what did lando say to set her off bc she was FUMING

user14: these comments are straight up misogynistic. like be real, if it was max, george, or even charles, y’all wouldn’t care

user15: y’all call her a maneater but from what i see she only “eats” men when they DESERVE it 😛

user16: “she should know better bc she’s in a male-dominated sport” actually no the MEN should know better and stop being fragile

user17: can we talk about how she was fully ready to swing on him but oscar had to step in 😭

user18: every time she blinks y’all call her a villain i can’t

— user16: like ppl r saying she should be kicked out like wtf. she should have swung on him idc

user19: yn too chopped to be acting like this LOL

— user5: imma chop your DICK off!!!

user20: if she was a man y’all would be calling her “a fighter” and “a true competitor” but bc she’s a woman she’s suddenly a problem

user21: lando def thought he was gonna win that argument and yn chewed him UP

user22: the grid walking on eggshells next race bc yn is officially in her villain era lmaoooo. can’t wait for her next trophy!!!!

user23: she told lando “maybe if you spent less time whining and more time racing you wouldn’t have dnfed” I ALMOST FELL OUT MY CHAIR 😭😭😭

user24: funny how every guy she argues with suddenly becomes a victim in the eyes of the media… wonder why that is 🤔

— user25: starts with m, ends with isogyny.

— user24: funny how lando was yelling too but only yn is getting called aggressive?? misogyny is so boring at this point

user26: yn could literally say “good morning” and half of y’all would start foaming at the mouth

user27: “mclaren, meet maneater” is sending meeee 😭😭😭

user28: praying for yn’s pr team rn

maneater: nah cause y’all stay tryna make me look crazy. “gets eaten alive”?? be fucking for real, he started yelling at ME first. maybe next time try reporting what actually happened instead of whatever dramatic fanfiction y’all cooked up for clicks. clowns. 🤡

— user1: ignore them queen!!! the ynnies in the trenches for you rn <3

— user29: maneater supremacy. keep making men cry queen 💕

— user30: the tears of your misogynistic male haters keep my skin looking youthful. <3

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

#maneater ��#mini smaus <3 #aus #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x y/n #lando norris x reader

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verstappenverse · 9 months ago

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Masterlist

Max Verstappen

Under The Radar - The strain of secrecy begins to weigh on a hidden relationship.

Revved Up - Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

What We Never Said - Max has always been your constant, your best friend. But when jealousy over your recent date flares, it forces him to confront feelings he’s long ignored .Is there more between you two than just friendship?

Not Over Yet - In the heat of a painful argument you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

Igniting The Fire - You start a petty argument with your boyfriend because you’re feeling just a little too needy.

Five More Minutes - Max refuses to let you start the day, keeping you tangled in the sheets and even tighter in his arms.

Between The Laps - It’s your rookie season in F1, and you’ve been paired with reigning world champion Max Verstappen. Tension brews, chemistry simmers, and as the season unfolds, rivalry turns personal and dangerously close to something more.

The Weight of Words - As Max consoles you through another heartbreak, unspoken feelings linger in the air.

Too Many Kisses - Max showers you with kisses after a race much to your embarrassment.

The Price of the Podium - In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the fallout of missing an important weekend in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain.

The Price of the Podium - Part 2 - Overwhelmed by regret after months of heartbreak, Max shows up at your family gathering uninvited, determined to win back your heart. (Requested)

From P17 to You - After a legendary drive through the rain in Brazil Max realises that some things are worth risking, and this time he’s ready to risk it all. (Requested)

Home is Where the Heart is - You’re very excited to redecorate, and Max is absolutely smitten.

A Fine Line - Forced to fake date for PR, you and Max who can barely stand each are pushed into close quarters at a high-profile wedding. But somewhere between stolen glances, and sharing one bed, you both start to realise that maybe some feelings can’t be faked after all. (Requested)

Knight of My Heart - After one too many drinks, a protective Max arrives right when you need him most.

Lost in the Spin - A night of celebration spirals into scandal when compromising photos surface leaving Max trapped in a media storm, battling rumours, and desperately fighting to prove his innocence to the woman he loves.

Lost in the Spin - Part 2 - Max refuses to let rumours rewrite your love story.

Camgirl!Reader x Obsessed!Max - 2/3/4/5 - TBD

The Bet and The Fall - Max starts dating you on a bet never expecting to fall for you, but as your relationship grows he must confront the fallout of his careless gamble. (Requested)

Red Roses - Valentine’s Day Special

No Strings, No Feelings, No Problem - Friends with benefits was easy, lying to yourself is the real challenge. Bonus

Lessons in Jealousy - You’ve been in love with Lando as long as you can remember, but to him, you’re just his best friend. Enter Max your longtime frenemy who offers to help make Lando jealous. But as Lando finally starts to notice you, you wonder if you were chasing the wrong heart all along.

The Hardest Goodbye - Max is about to leave for the first leg of the season, taking him to the other side of the world. You know it’s part of the job, but it doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier.

Yours in Ink - Max has always claimed you as his, now it’s written in ink.

Call Me When You Break Up - Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.

Call Me When You Break Up (role reversal) - You’re with the wrong person, and Max knows it. So do you. He won’t ask you to leave but he’ll be here, hoping, aching, waiting. Just… call him when you do.

Breaking Point - Your rivalry with Max Verstappen is legendary, but behind your fierce performances a chronic condition is slowly wearing you down. When Max starts to uncover the truth he has to decide, win the title at all costs or protect the one person who may have come to mean more than it.

The Chores of Champions - Max battles his greatest challenge yet... surviving laundry lessons.

When You Come Undone - Overwhelmed and unraveling, Max holds you together like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. (Requested)

Crash Into Me - After a crash lands you in the hospital Max finally says those three words he's been holding in far too long.

All Over You - Touch has always been your love language, until one overheard conversation makes you question everything. When you start to pull away Max realises just how deeply he’s come to need it.

You Belong With Me - Max never believed in soulmates until he met you. The only problem? You’re already dating Lando. Somewhere along the way, between late-night calls, inside jokes, and everything in between, you and Max became best friends. He tells himself it’s enough. That the friendship is worth the ache. But as your connection deepens, Max starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you feel it too. Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Complete)

Something Like a Crush - Twelve years after the infamous 'inchident', you’re still trying (and failing) to pretend you don’t have a crush on Max Verstappen. (Requested)

In Every Beat - After sudden pregnancy complications threatens everything you and Max cling to each other through the fear. (Requested)

Just Breath - Max finds you in the middle of a panic attack and helps you through it, refusing to leave your side. (Requested)

Still in the Race - After a disastrous penalty in Spain, Max comes home expecting anger, but finds comfort instead.

Waiting Game - You’ve been in love with Max for years, silently watching him date the wrong girl, until walking away makes him finally realise you were the one all along. (Requested)

Home Was Always Here - You were too young then, but years later co-parenting your daughter together in the public eye might finally bring you home to each other. (Requested)

All This Time - Max was your first everything, first friend, first heartbreak. Now years later he’s world champion, and you’re standing in front of him like no time has passed at all. (Requested)

In Every City, It’s Still You - After weeks of hiding your fears that Max cheats on the road, your confession leaves him heartbroken that you think so little of his love. (Requested)

Ghost Laps - What starts as Max teasing you over sim racing attempts turns into a secret mission to impress him. Alternate Scene (Requested)

What If I Get It Wrong? - Max was never afraid of anything, but fatherhood? That’s a different kind of terrifying. As the two of you prepare for your first child, Max is protective, terrified, and completely in awe, and you watch the man you love fall headfirst into fatherhood. (Requested)

Lando Norris

Just Another Valentine - Every year you and Lando spend Valentine’s Day together as part of an unspoken tradition, but this year something feels different, something that is impossible for you to ignore.

#masterlist #max verstappen masterlist #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic

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cheriedivine · 2 months ago

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𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 3

previous | chapter 3 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, mentions of smoking. (lmk if i missed any)

꩜ WC: 7.1k

꩜ A/N: HEYYY I’M BACK long chapter (yay) full of tension and full of fluff. I love them sm… hope u guys like this one ;)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

A month had passed since that dinner with Ellie at your place, and something had shifted between you. Neither of you acknowledged it, both too clueless or too careful, avoiding it like it might disappear if left alone.

It was a slow Tuesday afternoon at the diner, the kind that dragged its feet and smelled like coffee and grease. You were wiping down the counter, absentmindedly humming along to the oldies playlist your boss refused to update. Your mind drifted back to Ellie. The closeness, the quiet intimacy. You started to wonder. But before you could spiral, your name was called from the back.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Maria, your manager, poked her head out from the kitchen.

Your heart did a tiny, nervous jump. That tone could mean anything. You nodded, tossing the rag into the sink and walking toward her office, nerves prickling at your spine.

She shut the door behind you gently, then leaned on the edge of her desk with her arms crossed. “How long you been here now?”

“Uh… almost two years” you answered, chewing the inside of your cheek.

She nodded slowly. “You’ve been solid since day one. Reliable. Good with customers, good with the crew. And I’ve been watching how you handle things during the rush when I’m not around, it doesn’t fall apart. That means something.”

You blinked. “Are you… firing me nicely?”

Maria barked a laugh. “No, dummy. I’m promoting you.”

You just stared at her, eyes wide.

“Assistant manager,” she clarified, sliding a new badge across the desk toward you. “More hours, bit more cash, little less nonsense from me since you’ll be the one dealing with the nonsense now.”

You picked up the badge like it might vanish. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious. You’ve earned it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You grinned widely, and then your eyes prickled without permission. This job even tho it could be shitty at times, it was the first job you got when you moved to the city, after your fallout with your parents, this promotion felt like a reward for all your hard work, “Thank you, holy shit, thank you.”

“Don’t cry in my office,” she warned with a smirk. “Go take five. Call someone.”

“Does this mean I can wear normal clothes now?”

Maria let out a small laugh, “Yes sweetie, no more aprons and visors”

You were grateful for that, already fishing your phone out of your apron.

Outside, leaning against the chipped wall of the alley behind the diner, you called Ellie.

“Hey,” she answered, sounding a little winded. “Everything okay?”

“I just got promoted.”

A pause.

“Wait, what?!” Her voice practically jumped through the phone. “Are you serious?!”

“Assistant manager. Maria just told me.”

You could practically hear the smile breaking across her face. “Dude! That’s amazing. Holy shit. I knew it! You’ve been killing it. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You laughed, overwhelmed. “Thank you. I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel real. At first I thought I was getting kicked out”

“It is real,” she said firmly. “And we’re celebrating. Don’t argue.”

“I don’t get off for another two hours—”

“I’m already planning it. Just be ready. Something chill.’”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh you know I am. Now get back in there, Assistant Manager.”

You smiled like an idiot the whole way back inside.

After the news Maria gave you, the rest of your day flew by. You barely remembered clocking out. Soon enough, you were in the locker room changing into your regular clothes, a pair of jeans and your favorite sweater, the one that always made you feel held. The weather was finally cooling down, and with it came the little joys: cozy layers, boots, and an excuse to drink hot chocolate without shame.

You texted Ellie that you were heading out of work and asked if she wanted to catch a movie or something. Casual. Friendly. Normal. The kind of thing that shouldn’t make your stomach twist but it did.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a notification, your Uber had arrived. The driver, a nice man in his mid-forties, made friendly small talk, and the ride passed quickly. You thanked him, said goodbye, and made sure to give him a five star review.

You juggled a paper bag full of leftovers in one hand and your keys in the other, missing the keyhole on your first try. When you finally got the door open, you stepped inside.

It was dark.

Suspiciously dark.

“Sally?” you called out, flicking the light switch.

“SURPRISE!” your friends yelled, including your roommate Sally.

You nearly dropped the bag.

Dina popped a confetti popper that exploded with sad little bits of paper and glitter. Jesse stood off to the side, holding a plastic tiara he’d clearly grabbed from a dollar store. And Ellie standing at the center of it all, grinning like an idiot holding a cake with the words “ASSistant Manager” messily piped on top, clearly by her own hand. A party hat sat crooked on her head.

Your jaw dropped. “What the—?”

“Congrats, Assistant Manager!” Ellie said in a sing-song voice, raising the cake like a trophy.

You blinked, stunned, taking in the streamers haphazardly taped above your bookshelf, the “YOU DID IT!” banner scrawled in black Sharpie on a wrinkled sheet of poster paper, and the small cake sitting on your coffee table.

“You guys did all this?”

“Dina did the banner,” Jesse said, already munching on chips.

“Ellie baked the cake,” Dina added. “Kind of.”

“It’s store bought,” Ellie admitted with a shrug. “But I did the frosting. Hence the artistic genius.”

Your heart did that annoying flutter thing. You stepped inside, still dumbfounded, still holding the takeout bag.

“You guys are ridiculous.” you said, voice soft around the edges.

“And you are a boss bitch now,” Sally said proudly, giving you a hug as she took the bag from your hands and set it on the counter, next to some sodas and snacks.

Then Ellie was at your side, hand sliding into yours guiding you to the couch, her fingers were warm and steady. Her grin softened. “Seriously. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve this. We’re all so fucking proud of you.”

Your throat tightened. You tried not to cry again, but your eyes betrayed you, prickling with heat. “You’re all so amazing,” you managed to say, voice wobbly. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” Jesse said, and plopped the tiara onto your head without asking.

You laughed, ducking your head. When you looked up, Ellie was still standing close. Close enough that your knees brushed as she sat beside you on the couch. Her party hat had slipped lower now, barely hanging on. Her eyes hadn’t left you.

“This is just the beginning,” she murmured, soft and sincere, her eyes on you. Not the party. “You’re gonna do way more than assistant manager one day. I know it.”

You didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The look she was giving you, warm and full of belief, it pressed against something tender inside of you.

God, she made this so hard.

You swallowed hard, tilting your face down as your cheeks grew hot under the weight of Ellie’s gaze. Jesse and Dina were arguing over the playlist now, Sally was cutting up the cake and plating the slices in small paper plates for everyone.

But none of it registered, not really. All you could feel was the heat of Ellie’s thigh against yours, her hand still brushing yours on the cushion, pinky hooked like she couldn’t quite let go.

Sally came over, handing you a slice of cake on a paper plate and plopping down on the armrest. “Alright, boss, say something before we play charades or whatever Jesse planned.”

You laughed wetly, dabbing your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “What is there to say? I love you guys. You made me cry over balloons and cake.”

“That was the goal,” Dina said proudly. “Mission accomplished.”

The night went on with soft music, stolen photos, and a dumb group selfie that Jesse insisted on taking under the You Did It! sign. No one drank (per your very clear warning that you didn’t want to show up hungover on your first day with a promotion.)

“I don’t need that kind of karma,” you’d joked earlier, and now you were curled up beside Ellie, full of cake and warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Everyone was chatting, talking about their day and telling dumb jokes, you felt so grateful for this moment, wishing to freeze it forever in time.

Eventually, the party started to wind down. Dina had class early. Jesse had to open the record shop and Sally gave you a look that said “Early shift tomorrow, heading to bed.

Ellie checked the time on her phone, screen dim in the soft light. “Shit,” she mumbled. “Didn’t realize it was almost midnight.”

You looked at her, reluctant. “Yeah. Probably time to call it.”

She nodded, but didn’t move yet. “You tired?”

“No,” you said, a little too quickly. Then you added, quieter, “Not really.”

She smiled at that, the barest curve of her lips. “Still… should probably get out of your hair.”

You didn’t answer right away, eyes lingering on the way her hoodie hung loose on her frame, the strands of hair at her temple slightly flattened from the dumb party hat.

“Have a smoke with me before you leave?” you asked, rising from the couch.

Ellie stood too, rubbing the back of her neck with a shy little grin. “Alright, boss.”

The apartment was quiet as you made your way to the small balcony, your steps echoing faintly against the wood floor. Ellie pulled out her Altoids tin, flicked the lighter, and handed you the cigarette, her fingers brushing yours. Warm.

“So who’s gonna serve me my pancakes now?” she teased, sarcasm curling at the edges of her voice.

“That’s an extra task I’m still willing to do,” you said, lips twitching. “But it’ll require extra tips.”

“Oh yeah? Is being the best friend in the world not enough?” she replied with a lazy smirk, taking a drag.

Your breath hitched a little. Best friend. Of course. That’s what she was. Is. That’s what she’d always been.

You smiled anyway. “Of course it is silly. I’ll make sure to sneak into the kitchen and draw a stupid face with chocolate chips.”

Ellie chuckled, low and real.

Then her hand rested on yours. the one gripping the balcony railing. Her touch was light, but it grounded you like a weight. “Hey,” she said, softer now, no jokes left in her voice. “I meant it. I’m proud of you.”

Your heart thudded like a drum in your chest. “Thanks, Els.”

The two of you shared the cigarette, passing it back and forth in the quiet night. It was almost meditative. Almost intimate.

Eventually, Ellie looked away, exhaling slowly. “I should get going for real. Text me when you get to the diner tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Only if you promise to make fun of my stupid name tag again.”

Her grin returned, that familiar lopsided thing. “Absolutely.”

You walked her to the door. Stepped out the last embers of the cigarette with the edge of your shoe. And just like that, she was gone.

The door shut softly behind her. You rested your forehead against the wood for a second too long, letting out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Ellie stepped into her truck, chest still warm with a feeling she’d been trying way too hard to ignore. Being quiet and alone with her thoughts only made it worse. She turned the radio on, hoping the mindless pop song playing in the background would be enough to drown everything out.

It worked. For a second.

Then she remembered the way your smile crooked just a little more when you talked to her. The way your eyes had gone glassy when she told you how proud she was. She wanted to make you feel like that forever and—

Nope. Fuck this. I’m not doing this.

She cranked the volume all the way up, gripping the wheel tighter, convincing herself it was just a phase. Just something she’d get over.

Eventually.

The next morning, your alarm dragged you out of a shallow sleep. You rubbed your eyes and blinked at the early light filtering through your curtains. You sat up slowly, stretching the stiffness from your arms and legs before slipping out of bed.

The apartment was quiet. Sally had already left for her early shift, and the remnants of the party were still scattered around. Paper plates on the counter, a balloon or two clinging to the ceiling, and your tiara sitting on the coffee table.

You brushed your teeth while staring at your own tired reflection, mentally hyping yourself up for the new responsibilities. You pulled your hair into an almost perfectly neat ponytail, your new uniform sitting slightly-starched in your bed. Once you got dressed and pinned the shiny name tag over your chest, you took one last glance at your reflection. It looked better than your old attire, that's for sure.

You got to the diner a little earlier than usual. Maria was already there, sleeves rolled up, reviewing inventory in the back.

“There she is,” she said, without looking up. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, huh?”

You smiled sheepishly. “More like bright eyed and about to collapse.”

Maria smirked, finally turning to you. “Get used to it. You wanted the title, now you get the joy of looking like you’re in charge even when you’re running on fumes.”

She handed you a small clipboard with the day’s notes. “You’ll still be doing floor work today, but I want you to start shadowing the closeout. Cash registers, logs, the whole thing. And we’re short-staffed for the lunch rush, so I might ask you to handle the scheduling this week.”

You blinked. “All that today?”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “You want the job or not?”

You let out a breath. “No, yeah. Absolutely. I’m in.”

Maria nodded, and her face softened. “Good. ‘Cause I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

That quiet bit of validation settled somewhere deep in your chest. You glanced down at your clipboard, then back up with a nervous but determined grin.

“Okay, boss,” you said.

Maria rolled her eyes, already walking away. “Don’t push it.”

As you tied your apron and stepped onto the floor, your phone buzzed in your back pocket. A text from Ellie.

“Name tag looking sexy yet?”

You failed to not smile like an idiot.

“Hotter than ever” you replied, shoving your phone in your pocket before getting started with all your new tasks.

You were mid-way through checking the prep station when your phone buzzed again in your back pocket. It was Ellie. “Hey sorry boss, running a lil late. got caught up w/ a shoot. be there soon tho. save me a booth?”

You smiled to yourself, tucking the phone back into your apron. Typical. But you didn’t mind, you still had a shit ton of things to do so it was perfect timing.

“Hey, new boss lady,” one of the servers called from the back, “you gonna assign tables or just smile at your phone all day?”

You blinked and straightened up, clearing your throat. “Right. Let’s move, people.”

By noon, the place was packed.

The lunch rush hit hard. Families, regulars, one annoying couple who kept changing their order, and it felt like everyone had decided to test your patience and the limits of the kitchen at the same time.

“Table five says their toast is too burnt. Again,” Jasmine groaned, setting the plate down beside you.

You didn’t even flinch. “Switch it for sourdough and refill their coffee. Tell them I said it’s on the house.”

She blinked. “Alright, Miss-almost-manager.”

You didn’t have time to respond because the dishwasher shouted something about a clogged drain, someone else said the register was acting weird, and your cook, Leo, had accidentally used the wrong sauce on two different plates.

You rolled up your sleeves, quite literally, and dove in.

Replaced a fuse. Took over the register for fifteen minutes to get the line moving. Helped on the floor. Gave your team water breaks. Even did a quick round of table touch-ins, checking in on customers with a polite smile and a “How’s everything tasting today?”

You didn’t feel calm. You were sweating under your uniform and your back hurt like a bitch, but no one else needed to know that.

You were in charge now, and you couldn’t fuck this up.

At some point between solving a syrup emergency and restocking the napkins, you heard the little chime above the front door.

Ellie stepped in, tugging her camera strap off her shoulder. She was wearing Joel’s jacket and her usual pair of jeans, with her beat up all stars. Obviously. She looked around for a second, a little stunned at the chaos still echoing through the space, and then she saw you.

Standing near the counter, clipboard in one hand, head tilted as you gave instructions to one of the new servers. Calm, focused, in control.

Ellie’s jaw ticked. She was done for.

You turned a moment later, as if sensing her. And when your eyes met hers, something softened in your expression. A flick of relief and joy that made her insides twist up in the best kind of way.

You made your way to her through the lunch crowd.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathless. “You made it.”

“Yeah. Place looks like hell—but you look hot.” Ellie said, mentally slapping herself on the face, why did she say that?

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’ve been on my feet for five hours, I’m sweaty, and I think I might be legally dead inside.”

Ellie gave you a look, taking a step closer. “Still hot.” She didn’t know why her mouth kept moving and it was upsetting her.

That made your face heat up, and you were grateful for the chaos around you to hide it. You cleared your throat, adjusting your clipboard.

“Your usual booth?”

“I want whatever booth comes with a side of you sitting with me,” she said. “When you can.”

Your lips twitched. “Can’t sit during rush hour, Williams.”

Ellie mock saluted. “Understood, boss.”

She took her seat by the window, camera beside her, still watching you as you walked away.

God, she was so pathetic.

When the diner finally quieted down, after the crazy lunch rush, a soft hum of post-rush chatter replaced the earlier chaos. The AC kicked in gently above you, cooling the back of your neck as you brought over Ellie’s usual club sandwich with extra fries and a tall glass of strawberry lemonade, condensation dripping down the sides.

Ellie’s eyes lit up as you set the plate in front of her. “God, I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“—This sandwich. Love this sandwich.” she added quickly, grinning behind the straw as she took a sip.

“Right,” you said, sliding into the booth across from her. “I’ll better go then, enjoy your sandwich date.” You said teasingly.

She kicked your shin under the table. You kicked hers back, smiling stupidly at each other before falling into the usual rhythm, talking about your shift, her shoot, the latest drama from Jesse and Dina (They kissed again but still no love confession), and your roommate Sally’s stupid boyfriend that snored so loud every time he slept over at the apartment.

Ellie was halfway through a dramatic retelling of her awkward run-in with an ex-classmate during her morning shoot when her phone buzzed.

She glanced down, pausing. Her brows lifted.

“Huh.”

You leaned over the table slightly. “What?”

She tapped her screen and turned it so you could see the email.

From: Dr. Anderson, Surgical Foundation

Subject: Event Photography Inquiry

Dear Ms. Williams,

We’re hosting our annual fundraising gala for the Children’s Cardiac Research Foundation and we’re looking to hire a photographer to document the event. Your portfolio came highly recommended…

You blinked. “Isn’t Dr. Anderson, like rich as fuck and almost Elite famous?”

Ellie nodded slowly, scrolling. “Yup. Real fancy shit. It’s black tie, huge donor turnout. And—holy shit, they’re offering me almost double my usual rate.”

“Ellie. That’s insane. You’re gonna take it, right?”

“I mean—yeah, obviously,” she said, still scrolling, “wait—look. It says I get a plus one.”

“You gonna bring Cat as your date?” you joked, but the words tasted bitter in your mouth.

She snorted. “You’re never letting that go will you?” you shook your head in response. As if the thought of Ellie with another girl didn’t make you sick to your stomach.

“Well actually, I was kinda hoping you’d come with me.” She said in a more serious, yet nervous tone.

You blinked.

“To the Anderson gala?”

“Yeah. I mean—don’t worry, it’s paid for. They cover dinner and everything, and I’ll be working for part of it, but—c’mon. It could be fun. You’d look hot in some little dress or whatever. Plus it’s great exposure—for me, I mean,” she added quickly, ears going pink. “But also just… I want you there.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

Then “Wait—you want me there?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Dude. I want you everywhere.”

You nearly choked on your lemonade.

She laughed, cheeks red now, and quickly took another bite of her sandwich to shut herself up. Where the fuck was all this boldness coming from? She has always been flirty on a surface level with you, but now she felt like being swallowed by the ground every time she opened that big mouth of hers.

You tried to play it cool, fingers toying with a napkin on the table. “You sure? I don’t wanna ruin your gig with my awkward social skills.”

Ellie tilted her head. “I only want you there. You make me feel like I can breathe when I’m working these things. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. Just eat the fancy appetizers, sit near me, maybe sneak me a couple fries while I shoot. That’s all I need.”

You stared at her. She wasn’t joking. She really wanted you to come.

Your heart fluttered stupidly in your chest.

“Well,” you said slowly, trying to sound chill even though your insides were screaming, “I guess I should probably buy a dress, huh?”

Ellie’s grin was so wide it made your knees weak.

“I’ll come with you,” she said. “We’ll make a day of it. Fancy gala shopping spree.”

You laughed, leaning your chin in your hand. How could you ever say no to her? especially when she was asking you like the world would collapse if you weren’t by her side. (Which partly was true).

Outside, the clouds shifted, casting a warm stripe of sunlight across the table. Ellie’s eyes looked extra green in the light. And somewhere deep in your stomach, beneath all the nerves and joy and chaos of the day you already knew.

You’d go anywhere with her.

After Ellie finished her meal, you both agreed to go fancy-outfit shopping tomorrow after your shift. The idea made your stomach flutter, you’d never been to something this upscale before. (Unless your cousin’s wedding counted, but… it really didn’t.)

After Ellie headed back to her studio, you stayed behind for a few more hours, helping close the place and chatting with Maria about your first day as assistant manager. She praised you for how well you’d handled everything. Especially the chaos of the lunch rush, which made your chest swell a little with pride.

By the time you stepped outside, the sun had dipped below the skyline, casting the streets in that soft, dusky glow. The September air was crisp, and you hugged your arms around yourself for warmth while waiting on your Uber. Your mind was still processing everything that had happened that day. your promotion, the rush, the weird calm that followed, and inevitably, your thoughts circled back to Ellie.

She’d asked you to go to this fancy event with her. Needed you there. The thought made your cheeks flush and your stomach twist in a way that felt too familiar. But she was your best friend. Of course she’d want you around for something important—right? She was just being nice. That’s all. You told yourself that, again and again, even as the warmth from the thought lingered a little too long.

Luckily, the car pulled up before your brain could spiral further. The ride home was quiet. you weren’t really in the mood to talk after such a long day, so you stuck to polite small talk and leaned against the window, eyelids heavy.

Sally was sprawled out on the couch when you walked in. Her eyes lit up as soon as she spotted the brown takeout bag in your hand. She immediately set the table for both of you, and the two of you ate together, trading stories about your day.

She vented about her annoying coworker and how she’d nearly slapped someone. You told her about your new responsibilities and briefly mentioned the gala Ellie was shooting, and that she’d invited you as her plus-one.

“So… Ellie,” Sally said, mouth full of burger. “This gala thing’s kind of a big deal for her, right?”

“Yeah. She could get a lot of exposure from it, more clients, maybe even regular gigs.”

Sally raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Uh-huh. And she’s taking you. As her date.”

You almost choked on your salad. “It’s not like that,” you insisted, trying not to turn scarlet. “She’s my best friend and this is important for her, which is why she wanted me to come. That’s all.”

“Mhm.” Sally smirked and went back to scrolling on her phone. “Keep telling yourself that, honey. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

You stared down at your half-eaten salad, your appetite suddenly gone. You excused yourself, blaming how exhausted you were—which, thankfully, wasn’t a lie. All you wanted was a hot shower and sleep for three days straight.

Meanwhile, Ellie sat in her studio, hunched over her desk, aggressively scribbling a list of the gear she’d need for the gala shoot. She was so focused that she didn’t realize how late it had gotten, or that she hadn’t checked in on you.

When she finally glanced up, she groaned and rolled back in her chair so fast it nearly tipped. Her journal slipped from her lap and landed open on the floor.

She reached for her phone, still charging on the windowsill, and stooped to grab the notebook. It had flipped open to a familiar page, one filled with soft pencil sketches of you. Some from the diner. One from that time you fell asleep on her couch. A bunch of smaller ones: your eyes, your hands, the slope of your nose.

Her chest tightened. She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed her phone.

“Hey, sorry—got a bit caught up with prep. You get home okay?”

Your reply came just a minute later.

“No worries, I forgot too lol. Just got out of the shower and I think I need to sleep for 72 hours straight.”

Ellie smiled to herself, already picturing your sleepy pout.

“U should go to sleep. I’m picking you up after your shift tomorrow. We’re going fancy outfit shopping”

“Yes ma’am. See you tomorrow, Els;)”

“Night, boss.”

Ellie sat back on her bed, legs stretched out, journal forgotten at her side. The lamp on her nightstand cast a golden glow across the room, soft and warm. She stared at the ceiling,

Her heart felt stupidly full, overwhelmed, even. She didn’t know if it was nerves from the upcoming shoot, this being one of her biggest gigs yet… or if it was the fact that you were coming along. You’d seen her work before, sure—camera in hand, sleeves rolled up, focused and pacing. But this was different. You being there, dressed up and standing beside her, there just to support her… it made her heart swell in ways she didn’t want to name.

You were going to this gala with her.

You were going to wear something beautiful. Stand beside her in a room full of people.

And she was going to have to pretend none of that mattered more than it should.

What the hell was she doing?

It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed it before, the way her eyes always drifted to you in a crowd, the way her brain stored your smiles like a collector desperate for a full set. But lately, it had become harder to ignore. Harder to laugh it off. You were her best friend.

And maybe that’s exactly what scared her the most.

She sighed and threw her arm over her eyes, the phone slipping from her fingers and landing softly on the comforter beside her.

Saturday was going to ruin her. She just knew it.

Eventually, sleep came. The only time her thoughts quieted. But even then, there you were, slipping into her dreams like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were holding her like you were afraid she might vanish, looking at her with those eyes that made her want to give you everything.

She was so fucked.

It was actually kind of hilarious.

Afternoon sunlight streamed into Ellie’s studio. It smelled faintly of coffee and lemon-scented cleaner. Her camera lay disassembled on the workbench, each lens carefully laid out as she cleaned them with practiced precision, small cloth moving in gentle circles. The ritual grounded her. One lens at a time.

She’d already backed up her SD cards, organized her battery packs, triple-checked her lighting gear, she liked to be organized even if there was still time, it made her feel more confident knowing everything was already in place. She wasn’t nervous. That part was easy. Predictable.

It was you that made her heart act up.

Her phone buzzed from the corner of the table. She wiped her hands and reached for it, it was a message from you.

“Just finished the lunch rush. I’ll be out in 30 min, lmk when you’re on your way”

“Be there soon;)”

“Alright loser”

She chuckled to herself, slipping her hoodie over a black tank top and grabbing her keys. She threw her camera bag into the backseat just in case, because she never went anywhere without it, and headed out the door.

Ellie pulled up to the curb, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm with the music playing through her speakers. The windows were cracked, letting in the cool September air, and her smile widened a little too much when she spotted you pushing through the diner’s front doors, bag slung over your shoulder, hair slightly tousled from the long shift.

You were smiling already when you saw her.

She couldn’t help smiling back.

You slid into the passenger seat, sighing like someone who’d just escaped battle. “Holy fuck that was some shift right there.”

Ellie laughed, pulling away from the curb. “Well, soldier, you earned yourself a trip to the mall with your favorite person.”

“Yeah? Who?” you teased.

“Rude, I’m disinviting you now.” she said dramatically, the edges of her lips curving into a smirk.

“Nah, you’d miss me too much” you blinked at her, making you both giggle. The car ride was filled with your usual chatter and jokes, making it go by quick, you almost didn’t realize when Ellie was already pulling up to the mall’s parking lot.

The mall doors slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in the blast of air conditioning and the distant buzz of chatter and music from inside. It wasn’t as packed, fortunately, just a few teenagers and some families. You glanced at Ellie beside you, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Alright,” you said, grinning. “Any idea what we’re going for? Or are we just winging it until we cry in a H&M fitting room?”

Ellie huffed a laugh. “I was thinking classic lesbian formal attire,” she said dryly.

You squinted at her. “You sure you don’t wanna wear a dress? I think hot pink could really bring out your eyes.”

She deadpanned. “I’m leaving you in the food court, I’m so serious”

You both laughed as you started toward the more formal clothing section of the mall. First stop was helping Ellie. She wasn’t picky, thank god, she found a crisp white shirt she liked pretty fast, and after trying on a few blazers and pants, settled on a sleek black set that fit her just right. You made her do a little spin in the fitting room hallway just to annoy her.

“You look hot,” you teased, arms crossed as you leaned against the wall.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but the pink in her ears gave her away. “Yeah, yeah. Your turn.”

And then the fun part began.

You hit three different stores before landing in one that had just the right vibe, not too expensive, but full of gems. You started picking out a few dresses, arms full, while Ellie found a seat just outside the fitting rooms, legs stretched out in front of her as she waited, a few minutes later you came out of the little fitting room. Dress number one was short, silver, and too sparkly. You stepped out with a twirl.

Ellie tilted her head. “You look like a disco ball. A very cute disco ball, but…”

You agreed with her, the dress wasn’t ugly, but it just wasn’t for the occasion.

Dress two was red and tight, she blinked too fast when you stepped out. “That one’s illegal,” she said, tossing a hand over her eyes, peeking through her fingers.

You laughed so hard you had to grab the dressing room door frame to steady yourself.

Dress three? She gave a small thumbs down before even saying anything.

And so it went. Each new dress earning a quip, a blush, or a muttered holy shit under Ellie’s breath that she hoped you didn’t catch. But you were watching her just as closely. Not that she had to know, you were enjoying this a little too much.

Finally, you stepped out in the one.

Simple. Elegant. Long navy blue with thin spaghetti straps. It hugged you just right, flowing soft at the hem.

Ellie froze.

Her eyes looked over you slowly, like she was in slow motion, blinking like she needed to make sure you were real. “Okay,” she said finally, voice just a little rough. “That’s… yeah. That’s the one.”

You turned slightly. “I think so too. It’s just—” you twisted your torso awkwardly, “can you help me up with the zipper please?”

Ellie stood like her limbs weren’t fully cooperating, stepping behind you. Her fingers fumbled for a second at the small zipper along your spine. You could feel her breath, soft against your skin. Neither of you said anything at first.

Then, quietly, almost too quiet, Ellie muttered, “It’s perfect”

You smiled, heart thudding a little too hard. “It’s just a dress, Els.”

“Sure,” she said, adjusting the straps of the dress, her cold fingers lingering at the base of your neck for a beat too long. When you turned around, you were both flustered, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.

You looked in the mirror one more time before rushing back into the dressing room and changing before you could combust. Still a little breathless from the previous moment. Ellie’s hands had been cold and just a little shaky as she helped you into the dress, and the moment had hung in the air like something fragile.

Now, the two of you were heading to the register, your dress in hand, Ellie’s outfit inside the stupidly big paper bags from the first store you had gone to. You bumped shoulders as you walked, laughing about how you almost bought the glitter monstrosity “for the bit,” and then—

“Next in line?” called a voice that made Ellie freeze. There was no fucking way.

You looked up to see a girl behind the counter with a pixie cut and a nose ring, smirking slightly when she spotted Ellie.

“Shit, it’s Cat” Ellie muttered under her breath, too low for anyone but you to hear.

Your brow furrowed. “No fucking way”

Before Ellie could even pretend not to, Cat was already grinning.

“Well, shit,” she said, tapping on the register lazily. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Ellie cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in the hem of the garment bag. “Hey. Uh—yeah. Small world.”

You glanced between them, your stomach doing that weird thing it had done when Ellie first mentioned her.

Cat looked over at you, giving a once over that wasn’t exactly subtle. “Ah I see why you never called back.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Cat added, smiling wider now. “Congrats, you two look cute.”

Ellie’s eyes went wide. “She’s not—I mean—we’re not together,” you both blurted at the same time, face already beet red. “She’s my—she’s my best friend.”

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how warm your cheeks were. “Yep. Just friends.”

Cat raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Riiight. Well, here’s your ticket and have a good rest of your day. That dress is definitely turning heads.”

You gave her a tight lipped smile, unsure if you were annoyed or weirdly flattered. “Thanks…”

Ellie quickly handed over the card and practically snatched the bag once the transaction was complete. You both mumbled some version of a goodbye before turning on your heels and speed-walking toward the nearest exit.

“Well that wasn’t awkward at all,” you said dryly once you were outside.

Ellie groaned into her hands. “I need to walk into traffic.”

You nudged her with your elbow, trying to keep it light, though your stomach was still doing some type of weird slow roll. “So, uh... that was Cat”

She sighed. “Yup. Bridesmaid number 3, the one I gave Joel’s number, I thought I would never see her again”

You hummed, pretending not to care. “You sure you don’t want her to come to the gala instead?”

Ellie whipped her head toward you. “Fuck off” she snorted.

You shrugged, half-smiling. “Just checking–” she caught the tiny grin tugging at the corner of your lips “Froyo?” you suggested, already pulling out your phone to check if the place in the corner of the mall was still open.

Ellie looked at you like you’d just offered her the key to heaven. “God, yes. I need something sweet after being humiliated..”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s literally your fault for being a flirt.”

You made your way to the frozen yogurt spot, picking your usual mix of flavors and toppings while Ellie piled on way too many cookie crumbles and a questionable amount of gummy worms. After grabbing your cups and two tiny spoons, you wandered back to the parking lot, the sky now a soft pink orange as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

Once you were in her truck, bags safely in the back seat, Ellie started the engine, one hand on the wheel, the other already holding her cup.

You side eyed her. “You are not about to eat that and drive.”

“I’m a multitasker” she said, taking a wild, wobbly spoonful that almost dropped onto her jeans.

You laughed, snatching the cup from her lap. “More like the cause of our death.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered, glancing at you as she pulled onto the road. “You are loving this.”

“You fed me fries the other day. It’s called balance,” you said, scooping a careful spoonful of her frozen yogurt and holding it up to her mouth. “Here comes the airplane.”

She groaned dramatically but leaned over to take the bite, her lips brushing the spoon. “Mm. Okay that’s good.”

“Right? It’s the cookie crumbles.”

You alternated between feeding her and stealing bites from your own cup, giggling every time she tried to talk with her mouth full or pulling a face when she got brain freeze.

At one point, she tried to make you laugh mid spoonful and nearly made you drop it all over her dashboard.

“Ellie, focus on the road!” you shrieked through laughter, one hand gripping the dashboard as she cackled beside you.

“You’re the one that lacks feeding skills” she said, eyes crinkling with joy.

By the time you pulled up to your apartment, The sun had already dipped low. The sky outside was getting darker, the moon already visible, it was cold and quiet in that early night way. Ellie parked just outside the building, fingers drumming absently against the steering wheel.

You turned to her, both of you still glowing from the laughter that had filled the car ten minutes earlier, you feeding her spoonfuls of frozen yogurt like a menace, almost causing a near death experience from a brain freeze at a red light.

“Thanks for driving,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. “And for the dress thing. And the yogurt. And surviving the Cat ambush.”

Ellie chuckled, rubbing a hand over her face. “Barely survived, but yeah. Anytime.”

There was a pause that lingered, just a second too long, where neither of you moved. You reached for the door handle, hesitating. “I’ll see you Saturday?”

Ellie nodded, her voice low. “Yeah. I’ll be here early. Gotta make sure you don’t punk out on me.”

You smiled at her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You stepped out and gave the side of her truck a light tap before heading toward your building, turning just once to wave. She waved back, leaning her elbow on the open window, watching until you disappeared inside.

Later that night, Ellie sat on the edge of her bed, barefoot, still wearing the black hoodie she hadn’t changed out of since that morning. Her studio lights were off for once, the room only lit by the soft glow of her phone screen. A half edited photo sat abandoned on her laptop.

She had told herself she wouldn’t overthink it, that you were just her best friend, and that the zipper moment and the way your laugh lingered in her head wasn’t anything serious.

But then you smiled at her like that. Like you trusted her with something small and precious. And it killed her in the quietest, stupidest way.

She flopped back onto her bed, arms spread wide, eyes burning into the ceiling.

“Fucking idiot,” she muttered under her breath, dragging a hand over her face.

She reached for her journal out of instinct, but stopped halfway.

No sketches tonight.

Because no matter how many times she put you on paper, none of it could match how it felt to see you. Really see you, and know she couldn’t touch. Couldn’t tell you.

Not yet. Not ever.

So she grabbed her pillow, buried her face in it, and groaned loud into the silence.

Saturday was going to be interesting. Don’t fuck this up.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

taglist ♡‧₊˚₊✧

@adoreasconnie @liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone

lmk if anyone wants to be added!

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criminalyapping · 12 days ago

Text

due for trouble | head first, fearless

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: widower jack backstory time hey ya. hello, word vomit!! hope u like it besties and as always, if there’s anything you want to see in this world, send me an ask and i’ll write it for you <3

title from miss t swizzle because i am an unapologetic swiftie tysm

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, age gap, language, jack’s backstory includes his time in the military, losing his leg, and death via car accident

< part 9 | part 11 >

Somehow, after almost a week at this point, Jack and you are still on the outs.

He’s done his best to stay present; he’s supposed to be helping his own case about sticking around, so ignoring you isn’t an option. Not that he would even want to. He’s been texting you regularly; asking you how you’re feeling, checking in, all of that stuff.

He typically receives dry answers, a few hours after he sends them.

He feels as though he’s at an impasse. What could he do to prove to you that he’s there and not going anywhere?

He’s thought a lot about actually getting down on one knee and proposing to you. Telling you that you can go get hitched right then, with absolutely no prenup and the promise that even if you want a divorce, he’ll be required to pay child support. Probably a lot, based on how much he makes. But he would do it happily and with no ill-will.

If that will put you at ease, just enough to let him carry some of the weight on your shoulders, then he would do it.

But in his wildest dreams he would want to wait, buy you a nice ring that he knows you’ll like and ask you to marry him without the fear he knows is clouding your mind.

He did the whole rush into marriage thing before; and while he doesn’t regret his first marriage, the 12 years he had with his wife weren’t all sunshine. The time he spent deployed, the trauma and fallout from losing his leg, and his emotional immaturity from getting married at 19 didn’t lead to the healthiest of relationships. He and his wife were already estranged when she passed away in that car accident.

Not to say that her passing hadn’t wrecked him; it had. How do you spend 12 year tied to someone like that and have it all gone in the squeal of some tires on a snowy day? At 31, Jack knew that he had a lot of life ahead of him. He had hoped that he and his wife would have been able to work it out. Instead, he planned a funeral, picked out a headstone, and watched as they buried her, all hopes of reconciliation gone before they could even start.

Jack had always thought that he would be a good dad. But after his wife died, he had no interest in putting himself out there, and decided that having kids wasn’t in the cards for him. That is, until you came along.

You, with your snarky attitude and your drive and determination, came into his life at that bar one night and turned his world completely on its head in just over a month.

Now, once again he finds himself thinking. Thinking of a little girl with his nose. Building a trampoline for the backyard. Watching t-ball games and cheering a little too loudly when his kid touches home plate. Learning to braid hair, or paying too much for swimming lessons, or watching an elementary school talent show.

And he’s excited about it. For so long, his life has felt like a routine. Go to work, go home, think about work, go to therapy, think about work, and go to work. He’s tried all the hobbies. He’s read and he’s built things and he’s crocheted and he’s collected and about a million other things.

Boredom is what finally pushed him to start going to bars, alone, and seeing what’s going on. He had great conversations, talking with other vets over scotch, talking with med students about their classes, talking with bartenders about their lives. Getting little peeks into others’ lives as his own felt more and more isolated and monotonous. And luckily, his boredom had brought him you.

You, and what he now thinks is the biggest gift of his life.

So again, he asks himself, what can he do to show you? He thought he was doing a good job of being present. Try as he might, he can’t seem to come up with and initiate a plan. Truth be told he’s hurt at your hesitation. But he also reflects on the differences between you; your ages, your money situations, your place in your lives, and he gets it, to a certain extent. He would tell any young woman to do the same, be cautious. But this is different because it’s him.

Jack lives in a roomy duplex, 3 beds and 2 baths. He curses himself for not getting a house. One with a backyard, and a bathtub. All he has is two shower stalls; not perfect for a baby’s bath time.

He has a running list of furniture that he needs to buy. A bassinet and a crib and a changing table and about a thousand other things. He’s trying not to think about living situations. He had the thought that you could move in, share in his life and have the baby’s room just down the hall from yours. He still thinks about that, but reins it in and tells himself not to get ahead of himself.

So for now, he’ll stay here, seated in his spare room, which currently houses his record collection, his books, and a desk, all collecting dust, and ponder to himself about nursery decor.

It’s 1pm on a Sunday, a shift waiting for him tonight. He should be sleeping, but he can’t.

He’s glad he’s not, because he hears a knock at his door that pulls him up from the floor, groaning.

Opening it, he’s delighted to see you standing in front of him. His delight turns quickly to worry as he sees the tight expression on your face. As he looks closer, he sees your flushed cheeks, sweat beading on your forehead, and puffy and dark undereyes.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” he asks you.

Your eyes dart around wildly as you bite your lip, your eyebrows tilted down in a mournful expression. You sniff once.

“I don’t feel good.” you tell him in a vulnerable voice. He ushers you into his home and closes the door behind you, watching the way you immediately start to shiver as the air conditioning hits your frame.

He smooths your tangled hair back from your face and places a hand on your clammy forehead.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “you have a fever.”

He works fast, getting you in his bed and sipping on a glass of water.

“What hurts?” he asks you tenderly.

“My throat,” you manage to say, swallowing some water with a wince.

“Let me see,” he urges, turning on the flashlight of his phone and looking in your mouth.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “no way to tell for sure but it’s probably strep. We need to get your fever down, I’ll get you some Tylenol.” he says, walking to his bathroom and retrieving the pills.

He hands over two pills, and you choke them down with another sip.

“How long have you had the fever?” he asks.

“I didn’t feel great last night, and when I woke up this morning it was worse.” you tell him.

“Well, thank you for coming to me,” he says gently, brushing more hair away from your face. “We need to get a test to make sure and some antibiotics.” he says.

You groan, not looking forward to leaving his big, comfy bed you had just settled in to.

“I know,” he coos, “but as soon as we’re done and have the prescription, we can come right back here.”

“Do you have to work tonight?” you ask.

“No.” he says, lying through his teeth and thinking about who he’ll text for coverage.

He helps you stand up again, holds you up while you slip on your shoes, and ushers you into the front seat of his truck, driving you to the nearest urgent care.

Jack checks you in, and returns to sit next to you on a stiff waiting room chair. You sleepy head falls onto his shoulder, and he gives the top of your head a quick kiss.

After about 15 minutes, your name is called and you stand up.

“Do you want me to come?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” you agree.

After a quick explanation and round of vitals, your throat gets swabbed and sent for a rapid test.

You’re left alone in the room with Jack as you wait for the results.

“Thank you, Jack.” you say quietly.

“Of course, honey,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face.

“No, really,” you clarify, “thank you. I was a dick the last time we talked.”

Jack sighs.

“You weren’t a dick.” he disagrees, “you’re scared, and I understand.”

“Still,” you croak, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. And I come crawling back after a week when I’m sick and you don’t think twice.”

“Of course I didn’t.” he says.

“You’re a good man, Jack Abbot.” you tell him.

“Ahh, sometimes.” he jokes, getting you to crack a smile. Jack stands up, coming to sit next to the exam table you’re perched on, and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He squeezes, just a little, and rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Just for the people I love.” he says, his chin moving gently against your skull.

You freeze. While you and Jack have skirted around it, saying that you ‘mean a lot’ to each other, hearing him say out loud for the first time that he loves you is like getting straight ice water poured on you. Before you can respond, the doctor returns.

“So, the strep test was positive, so I’ll call in a prescription for some antibiotics. Take them once a day until they’re gone. Keep using Tylenol as directed for the fever, keep hydrated, and get lots of rest.” she urges.

You’re barely listening. Jack loves you. He loves you.

You’ve really got to think about where to go from here.

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 5 months ago

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How the Moon Signs Crash Out

For those who don’t know what crash out means here is the Urban dictionary definition: Means to get really mad or upset; lose all your self control.

We think the water signs would crash out but every element has a point of crash out when it deals with their emotions, read below.

Fire Moon

Fire moons are the most obvious “crash-outs.” They’re the first to crash out because they act impulsively; they don’t always think things through before reacting. So, why do fire moons crash out? It’s primarily over their pride. If you play with their image or challenge what they deem as right, they’ll crash out. If you try to make them seem weak, attempt to overpower them, or force them into a position of submission or docility, they’re going to crash out.

Fire moons also crash out if you try to make them understand your perspective—especially if it clashes with theirs—and they perceive it as the start of an argument. Any slight form of disrespect will set them off. If they feel disrespected in any way, they’re crashing out. Attempts to control them can also trigger this response. However, if you respectfully suggest something, they might listen. It’s when your tone shifts to one of disrespect—like raising your voice—that they crash out.

Ignoring a fire moon is another sure way to provoke them. They will crash out if you play with their image, reputation, or how they see themselves. Similarly, if you try to dictate how they should live their life or act smarter than them, questioning their intelligence or ability to think critically, they’ll crash out.

Honorable mentions for what might make a fire moon crash out include:

• If someone flirts with their partner, they’re crashing out.

• If anyone disrespects their kids, even slightly, they’re crashing out.

• If someone talks badly about their family, they’re crashing out.

• If a trusted friend betrays or flips on them, they’re crashing out.

Fire moons are the ultimate crash-out personalities. If you ever meet one, tread carefully. Anything they perceive as disrespectful could set them off.

Earth Moons

Earth moons are known for their calm demeanor. People enjoy being around them because they provide a sense of stability and avoid unnecessary intensity—after all, earth moons struggle to handle too much emotional or confrontational energy. However, certain situations can push even an earth moon to their breaking point. Here’s what can make them “crash out.”

Because earth moons are naturally calm, they are particularly affected by intensely emotional and confrontational individuals. When faced with someone who is provocative, blunt, or openly expressive without regard for consequences, earth moons can lose their composure. They simply can’t handle that level of emotional intensity and may react by “crashing out.”

Triggers for Earth Moons:

1. Financial Instability:

Earth moons are deeply connected to material stability. If they lose their job, experience financial struggles, or dip into negative balances in their bank account, they will crash out. The loss of any valuable material possession they hold dear can have the same effect.

2. Breakups:

After a breakup, earth moons often struggle with overwhelming emotions. Their inability to process intense feelings calmly can lead to a full crash out.

3. Friendship Fallout:

Earth moons value long-term friendships, so falling out with a close friend can cause a significant emotional reaction.

4. Missed Opportunities:

If they’re rejected for a job or an opportunity they were counting on for stability, they can spiral into frustration and anger.

5. Disrupted Environment:

Earth moons need a sense of order in their living space. If someone starts moving their belongings or changing things around them without permission, they’re bound to crash out.

6. Overwhelming Demands:

Earth moons value their personal time and space. If someone demands too much of their time and ignores polite requests for space, the earth moon will eventually snap.

7. Being Wrong:

Earth moons take pride in their logic and reasoning. If they believe they’re right about something and later discover they were wrong, it can shake their confidence, leading to a crash-out moment.

8. Emotional Pressure:

Pushing an earth moon to express emotions in a way that feels uncomfortable to them can cause them to react negatively.

9. Being Controlled or Dismissed:

If someone tries to tell an earth moon how to live their life—especially someone they don’t respect—they won’t take it lightly.

10. Prolonged Exposure to Emotional Volatility:

Earth moons prefer calm, stable environments. If they’re forced to deal with someone who is consistently emotional, moody, confrontational, or volatile, their patience will wear thin, and they’ll eventually crash out.

11. Dealing with Bullies:

Earth moons try to avoid conflict, but if they’re exposed to bullying behavior for too long, they’ll eventually lose their calm and lash out.

Honorable Mentions:

• Earth moons crash out over material possessions. If someone moves, touches, or disrespects their belongings, it’s a major trigger.

• They also struggle with emotional instability after a breakup, the end of a friendship, or job loss.

• Being wrong about something they were confident in can push them to react strongly.

• Prolonged emotional confrontation or demand for their time will wear them down until they snap.

Although earth moons may not seem like the “ultimate crash-outs,” they can go all-in when their stability and calm are disrupted. Once they reach their tipping point, their reaction is swift, intense, and affects everyone around them.

Air Moons

Air Moons might seem chill because they tend to intellectualize their emotions. People often perceive them as logical when it comes to feelings, believing that emotions don’t bother them much. However, Air Moons can ultimately be the biggest “crash-outs.” Let’s break down why Air Moons might crash out.

Air Moons often analyze and intellectualize their emotions because they don’t fully understand the emotional landscape. When they’re forced to deal with intensely emotional situations, much like Earth Moons, they crash out. However, Air Moons crash out in a unique way—they try to process emotions through communication and logic, often failing to let those emotions flow naturally. This can lead them to accuse or assume things about people and situations that aren’t true. They rely on patterns and past experiences to create preconceived notions, which only adds to their frustration.

Triggers for Air Moons:

1. Things That Don’t Make Sense:

Air Moons crave understanding and clarity. If something doesn’t make sense to them, they lose control and crash out. Their curiosity is so strong that when they can’t figure something out, they start assuming things, which only fuels their frustration.

2. Lack of Communication:

If they feel ignored or if communication isn’t flowing the way they want, Air Moons will crash out. They thrive on dialogue and connection, so feeling shut out is a major trigger.

3. Challenges to Their Intelligence:

Air Moons take pride in their intellect. If someone plays with their intelligence—makes them feel dumb, uneducated, or less knowledgeable—they’re bound to crash out. They need to feel five steps ahead of others, and any slight to this will set them off.

4. Opinions and Beliefs:

Air Moons are deeply attached to their opinions, even when they aren’t entirely logical. If someone challenges their beliefs too much or tries to “win” a debate, Air Moons will crash out. They always want to feel right, and being told they’re wrong about their life, thoughts, or perspectives is a surefire way to trigger them.

5. Threats to Freedom and Independence:

Any perceived attempt to take away their independence is an automatic crash-out moment. In relationships, if their partner becomes possessive, controlling, or overly emotional, Air Moons will react negatively.

6. Emotional Intensity:

Air Moons struggle with highly emotional people. If someone is too intense or moody, constantly expressing their emotions, Air Moons will eventually crash out. They can’t handle being around excessive emotions for too long.

7. Petty Triggers:

Sometimes, Air Moons crash out over minor things. If they don’t like the way someone talks to them, or if they’re in a mood, even a small annoyance can set them off.

8. Perceived Verbal Threats:

Air Moons are highly sensitive to words. If they feel someone is trying to intimidate, disrespect, or talk down to them in a condescending or sarcastic way, they will crash out.

9. Lack of Praise:

Air Moons often feel a sense of superiority because they intellectualize their emotions. If they don’t receive acknowledgment or praise for their ideas, logic, or reasoning, they’ll crash out.

10. Being Called Emotional:

Never tell an Air Moon they’re emotional. They refuse to see themselves that way and will crash out if you try to label them as such. Comments like “You need to get over it” or “You’re stuck in the past” will only fuel their frustration.

11. Overstimulation:

While Air Moons enjoy being social, too much time around others can overwhelm them. They’ll start to feel overstimulated, with too much energy and inconsistency in the environment, leading to a crash-out.

12. Inconsistency (From Others):

Air Moons can be unpredictable themselves—they might ghost people, not text back, or fail to show up. However, if someone else is inconsistent or unpredictable, Air Moons will crash out. They expect reliability from others, even if they don’t always provide it themselves.

13. Challenges to Their Identity:

Air Moons will crash out if they feel someone is challenging who they are as a person. If they think they can take on the challenge, they’ll fight back. If they feel it’s too much, they’ll still crash out, but in a more chaotic way.

Final Thoughts:

Air Moons may not seem like the ultimate crash-outs at first, but once their calm exterior is disrupted, they can spiral quickly. Once the air starts moving, it doesn’t stop—it becomes a whirlwind of frustration, overthinking, and emotional outbursts. Tread lightly around an Air Moon if you don’t want to witness their crash-out firsthand.

Water Moon

Water Moons are often perceived as the ultimate crash-outs, but the truth is they can be quite calm—until they’re pushed too far. People don’t always understand this about them. Let’s break down why a Water Moon might crash out.

Why Water Moons Crash Out:

1. Self-Protectiveness and Boundaries:

Water Moons are extremely self-protective. If someone invades their personal space, crosses their boundaries, or confronts them abruptly, they’re going to crash out. They don’t tolerate invasive behavior or anyone overstepping their limits.

2. Lack of Emotional Understanding:

Water Moons will crash out if their emotions are misunderstood. If they express their feelings and someone twists their words or tells them they feel differently than they do, they’re crashing out.

3. Emotional Reciprocity:

If a Water Moon opens up and shares their emotions, but the other person doesn’t reciprocate, they’ll crash out. Vulnerability requires mutual respect, and they won’t tolerate feeling like they’re the only one opening up.

4. Loved Ones and Family:

Water Moons are fiercely protective of their loved ones. If someone insults or disrespects their family, friends, or those they care about, they’ll crash out—especially if it happens repeatedly.

5. Intrusiveness:

Water Moons value privacy. If someone pries into their personal life, tries to psychoanalyze them, or pushes for details they aren’t willing to share, they’ll crash out. They only share what they want others to know.

6. Feeling Disrespected:

A Water Moon won’t tolerate being made to feel stupid, weak, or incapable. If someone tries to undermine their emotional intelligence or strength, they’ll crash out immediately.

7. Not Getting Their Way:

Water Moons are deeply connected to their desires and emotions. If they don’t get their way in situations that matter to them, they’re likely to crash out.

8. Lack of Love and Nurturing:

Water Moons need emotional nourishment. If they feel unloved, unseen, or untouched—whether through physical affection, kind words, or emotional support—they’ll crash out. A lack of care or affection is a significant trigger for them.

9. Stagnation:

If a Water Moon feels like they’re stuck in life, in “stagnant waters,” or unable to move forward, they’ll spiral and crash out. A sense of progress and growth is essential for their emotional well-being.

10. Breakups or Friendship Endings:

After a breakup or the loss of a close friendship, Water Moons can lose control of their emotions. The pain and emotional intensity are overwhelming, leading to a crash-out.

11. Feeling Betrayed:

If someone switches up on them—acting friendly one day and then cold or hostile the next—Water Moons will crash out. They value consistency in their relationships.

12. Volatile Environments:

Water Moons thrive in calm, emotionally supportive environments. If they’re surrounded by manipulative, cold-hearted, or emotionally unavailable people, they’ll eventually crash out. They also won’t tolerate rudeness or outright disrespect.

13. Feeling Unappreciated:

Water Moons invest deeply in their relationships and emotional connections. If their efforts go unnoticed or unappreciated, they’ll feel hurt and eventually crash out.

14. Being Pulled Out of Their Space:

Alone time is crucial for Water Moons. If someone tries to force them to engage when they need space, they’ll crash out. Respecting their need for solitude is key to maintaining harmony.

15. Forcing Realism or Logic:

Water Moons don’t like being forced into a strictly logical or overly realistic perspective, especially when they’re in an emotional state. If they feel pressured to abandon their emotions for practicality, they’ll crash out over time.

16. Dismissing Their Trauma:

Water Moons are deeply affected by their past experiences. If someone dismisses or disregards the emotional pain or trauma they’ve endured, they’ll crash out. Their experiences are integral to their identity, and invalidating them is one of the worst things you can do.

Final Thoughts:

If you don’t want a Water Moon to crash out, it’s important to respect their boundaries, emotions, and need for connection. Water Moons are like waves—when they crash, they can disrupt the emotional stability of everyone around them. Handle them with care, and avoid testing their patience. Once they reach their breaking point, they’re hard to stop.

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reidrum · 5 months ago

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let it once be me | the prophecy part 3

note: hey ,,, remember her ,,,,,,,,, ! feeling hashtag nervous to post this but pls tell me ur thoughts this went through !!! so many drafts !!! almost lost my mind like thirty times lol but thank u for reading <3 (reading prior parts may be helpful in having context for this part but im not really sure it's necessary, they're way shorter than this part either way)

summary: you and spencer are faced with yet another wedge in your relationship, and you're not sure if it'll survive this time

cw: heavy spoilers for everett lynch arc (15.10), we're ignoring the cm tl and time doesn't exist, maeve flashback, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending !

wc: 8k (wtf)

part 1 part 2 part 3

Spencer feels he’s lived many lives, and that his lived experiences have thoroughly prepared him to navigate novel situations with a small familiarity. A cushion really, to allow him the comfort of seeing the path before he has to walk it blind. It almost acts as a sense of pride for him, a testament to what he’s overcome and capable of facing.

There’s nothing prideful about how awful things have been going with you.

It’s been weeks since your talk with him. Weeks since he vowed to prove to you that you were it for him, and he’s made so little progress he finds it embarrassing for someone with his caliber of intellect.

He’s toeing a fine line between being in your presence enough for you to see that he’s trying, and giving you space so that you don’t feel smothered. It was harder in the immediate days after your talk, when you couldn’t even stand to stay in the same room as him for more than five minutes. You had come home to his apartment the day after having decided Penelope had enough of your moping. Once you got in you immediately went to settle into the guest room.

It was near radio silent between you both those first few days. He didn’t want to force you, but it didn’t feel great when you would leave a room as soon as he’d enter. As the days went on, Spencer started getting resourceful. He’d make you breakfast in the morning and leave it on the table for you, your coffee next to it made exactly how you take it. Then it was little notes left in the most random places, all written with different things he loved about you. He never saw your reaction when you read them, but they’d always disappear from its spot the next day. Little things to remind you he’s there for you.

More days passed and it finally felt like the ice was starting to melt away. You’d started lingering longer in the living room if he was sat at the table still. One time you even made breakfast for the both of you, and although you weren’t there to eat it with him Spencer had never felt more hopeful.

In the field your dynamics changed even more. Normally, he would make sure to be paired up with you in the field to personally ensure that you were being safe. Since the fallout however, he didn’t want to be an unwelcome presence that only left you more tense in high stake situations. So he’d do things like privately tell Emily to double check your bulletproof vest, or make sure Luke was at your 6 if he couldn’t do it himself.

The last thing he wanted was for your current circumstance with each other, one that he knows he created, to distract you in the field and god forbid cause something to happen to you. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him, but Spencer remembers he’s already done the worst hurt he can fathom to you, and what he really means is that he can’t afford to hurt you any further. As much as it worried him to do so, he had reluctantly learned to place some trust in his teammates to keep you safe. It was a balance he’d learned to adapt to.

It worked fine until it didn’t.

The silent car ride from the jet back to your apartment was so thick with tension, but not the one you’ve both become accustomed to over the weeks. No this was a different strain of anger, one that descended down to the primal nature of your relationship—you endangering yourself.

Spencer opens the door, barely waiting for you to enter behind him before slamming it shut. “That, what you did today, was fucking reckless.”

The anger flares through your widened eyes, “Reckless? I saved the hostages, Spencer. He would have killed them!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me, I had it handled.” you huff.

He raises his hands in exasperation, “He had a gun to your head!” he yells, “You have no idea what it’s like to see that.”

“This isn’t the first time someone drew a weapon on me, and there’s definitely more times than I can count when they’ve drawn one on you,” you pause, “Or is it different right now because you got deja vu?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Spencer’s face pales in recognition, “That’s not fair.”

“The hell do you mean it’s not fair? You expect me to believe otherwise?”

“He was going to shoot you!” he loudly repeats, “You don’t think I care about your safety?”

“I think you only give a shit right now because you thought another girl you loved was about to get her brains blown out in front of you. Again.”

He’s stunned into silence. Your words feel like a paralytic to Spencer. Like venom slowly traveling down his veins seizing any chance for his body to save himself. All the progress he thinks you both have made just unraveled itself into nothing. It’s paradoxical that his mind is quiet. You’re usually the reason his mind can relax, but somehow you’ve achieved the same outcome by metaphorically stabbing him square in the face.

He can’t understand when you developed the idea that he could care less about you. He can’t understand how you can even think he would be capable of

of not being with you entirely. He can’t understand where along the line you started believing that he stopped loving you.

It may not be a sentiment you actually hold, but he prides himself on being a good profiler, and more so knowing you better than himself. He knows that’s what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

He speaks under his breath after a couple of minutes, “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what—“

“This!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “This back and forth where you’ve convinced yourself you’re able to move past this but clearly can’t!”

You stare at him, “Look, I’m trying.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

The familiar sting burns the backs of your eyes, the first sign of your resolve crumbling. “That’s not fair.”

He sighs and moves closer, your head hanging low and finding the wooden floor patterns deeply interesting. “You won’t even look at me.” he whispers, “Do you still love me?”

You look up at him stunned, “Spencer…I—I do…It’s just…”

He feels his heart breaking in a new way, “That’s not convincing.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess I can't,” he shakes his head defeatedly. “I don’t know what else I can do, baby.”

“…I want to forgive you.”

Spencer’s eyes blur from tears, “But you can’t.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper before a sardonic chuckle leaves you, “You know me, memory like an elephant.”

Spencer refrains from telling you that dolphins are actually the species with the longest memory capacity, and that the reason for possessing such a feature is to maintain the social dynamics and relationships that come with survival in the ocean. A dolphin’s memory is what keeps them rooted back to where they belong, being able to remember individuals and behaviors even after being apart for so long. That no matter how far they stray, they’ll always come home.

He settles for a soft agreement, “Yeah, I do know you.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, equally and tragically as broken as yours, puffy and red rimmed.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whisper brokenly.

“I don’t either.”

The silence weighs heavy in the living room. The metronomic tick of the clock becomes louder, the birds and the wind outside whistle louder. You’re cornered, forced to come to face the results. And like a prey backed into the corner you do what the prey do best—You run.

“I have to go.” you grab the keys and put your shoes on.

“What?” he steps closer, “You can’t just leave, we just got home.”

“I can’t be here right now,” your voice cracks, “I just…need some time to think.”l

Spencer’s heart falls straight through the floor. Time to think about what? Is this when the foundation beneath you both finally buckles under the immense pressure it’s been on for weeks, and you’re left to scavenge the ruins?

As much as it pains him to let you walk out the door, he knows that nothing would be accomplished at home and it would only hurt you more to stay.

“Okay.” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Be safe.” I love you.

You look back, “I will. You too.” I love you too.

The door shuts gentler this time, as if careful not to disturb the few pieces of Spencer still left standing behind the door. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already fallen over. Any resolve he had left is slipping away with every step you take further away, never feeling more defeated in his life than this moment.

He trudges over to the study, hoping he can at least bury himself in work to distract himself from the turmoil of his reality. The desk is strewn across with files and papers, mentally making a list of the tasks he has to do. At the top of his to-do list is the Everett Lynch case, having just closed the case a few days back meaning the paperwork would be due to the brass soon.

Spencer glances over the open file and reviews the details of the final moments of the case, recalling the stark change in Lynch’s MO that still left him puzzled. The victimology and the profile just didn’t add up to what actually happened, why he ended up dying with his mother in the house. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Spencer wasn’t supposed to send five SWAT agent in not knowing their fate only seconds later. How the case simply ended anticlimactically after nearly a year long chase. A dull ache begins to form in his head as he thinks, the bureau is going to have a field day processing this case.

He rubs his forehead with his hand to soothe the pain building up, making a note to get painkillers after he finishes. As he continues to read the file he starts to see his confusion take a basis as the initial profile doesn’t add up at all to what actually happened, in fact for as long as he evaded the FBI he really shouldn’t have just, died.

Spencer freezes. Did he die?

Lynch wouldn’t just commit suicide, that was too easy. He watched the house blow up with him and his mother inside, not even including the agents the explosion took out with it. The pain in his head is too much to bear at this point and he decides that getting Advil can’t wait until he’s done. He stands up and immediately wobbles as he grips the desk for support. Through the blurred vision and spinning room Spencer tries to makes sense of Lynch’s discrepancy.

Everett Lynch wouldn’t commit suicide, because he didn’t.

“He’s still alive.” he realizes gravely. Then it all goes black.

———

You get in your car and drive off to god knows where, just not there. It’s sheer autopilot driving you to the other side of town, which is more than welcomed as the tears threaten to blur your vision coming down in hot trails. You end up pulling into the parking lot of your favorite donut shop, one that you discovered with Spencer a little before you started dating. There was time to kill after being paired up to visit the unsub’s dump site and you were so insistent about needing a sweet treat, Spencer thought it was clinical.

“You’re acting like you’ll die if we don’t stop for a, what did you call it? A sweet treat?”

“I will!” you whine, “Don’t you know that girls, specifically me, are mandated to have at least one sweet treat per day?”

He pulls into the parking lot of the donut shop he’d spotted on the way there. “Oh yeah? What happens if you don’t?” he teases.

“You’ll see me as the unsub in the next case.”

Spencer can’t help the laugh that leaves him, loud and earnest. “Alright, c’mon. We already have enough criminals to last us till retirement.”

You and Spencer are definitely not together at this moment in time, but the little old lady owner of the shop really can’t believe otherwise as she watches you both bicker about which flavors you’re getting for the half dozen box. She’s almost certain you’re together as she watches Spencer end up getting all the flavors you wanted despite putting up a fight for others. And she’s fully convinced, with no room for sway, that you are together as Spencer pulls his card out before you can even protest and watches as you miss the look he gives you as you dramatically sigh in content after the first bite.

Spencer would later tell you after a few months together, that the donut shop was the first time he realized he was in love with you. You recall how the same half dozen would appear on your desk every Friday since that first visit, with one chocolate sprinkled donut missing but placed on a napkin on Spencer’s desk. You would joke that he pavloved his way into your heart with donuts, but wouldn’t reveal your true cards that you fell in love with Spencer after a month on the job. The donut shop happened the week after.

“You alright, hon?” the little old lady owner breaks your thoughts.

You look around and realize you’ve walked yourself into the shop. You wipe at your eyes quickly, “I’m okay, Dolores. Can I just get the usual half dozen please?”

She’s not convinced but it seems she knows better than to ask and pry. She gathers the usual six donuts for the box, slipping in an extra one just for good measure, and rings you up at the register.

“Seven right?” you mumble as you file through your bag for the loose ten.

Dolores smiles, “It’s on the house today, hon. Don’t worry.”

You look up at her, knowing she’s only doing that because you showed up with tear streaks on your face, “Oh, no it’s okay you don’t have to do that let me just—“

She pushes the box towards you, “You both tip enough to cover the box anyway, please just take it. Hope you feel better soon, hon.”

Her kind gesture thaws your heart out a little and you give her a small smile. “Thanks, Dolores.”

You walk back to your car, locking the doors once you get in. You don’t move to turn the car on, opting to allow your emotions to overflow again in solitude with the comfort of a bavarian kreme donut. The tears prick your eyes on instinct thinking of the current state of your life, of your relationship.

Spencer was right, have you convinced yourself you’re capable of moving past this? You do still love Spencer, you knew that much. But you are hurt, you are tired, and you just want to stop feeling like you’ll always come in second place even when there’s no one to occupy first place. You’ve waited so long to feel chosen, like someone has waited all their life for someone like you to come around. Meeting Spencer felt like finding the little daisies that grew in between the cracks of concrete, proof that despite your stone hard exterior you were still worthy of being loved.

The sound of your phone ringing jolts you up, almost dropping your donut. With your free hand you look at the caller and press accept.

“Hi, Emily.” you try to make your voice sound even.

“Hey we’ve got a—wait are you okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, totally fine don’t worry. What’s up?”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe you but Emily really doesn’t have time right now, “Listen, Lynch is still alive.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“The casualty report doesn’t include Lynch and they couldn’t find his body anywhere. While they were searching the house they found tunnels. He escaped.”

“Fuck, okay what do you need me to do?”

“There’s a gas station clerk who thinks he saw him and his car, I need you and Matt to go check it out and see what he knows.”

You scramble to put your donut down and wipe your hands on the napkin, “Yeah, of course I’m on my way.”

“Okay, Matt will meet you there,” she pauses, “I…Is Spencer with you?”

Your heart clenched again, “No, he’s not. He’s at the apartment.”

Emily hums, “He didn’t pick up when I called, it’s okay I’ll send JJ and Penelope to go get him. Reconvene at the bureau in a couple hours?”

“Sounds good.” you hang up and immediately start driving over to the gas station. Something doesn’t feel right, you can feel it in your gut. You quickly check Spencer’s location just to be safe, and relax when you see he’s still at home. He’s probably just taking a nap.

What Emily decides you can’t ever know about is the call she gets twenty minutes later from a hysterically crying Penelope, who in between sobs tells her that they’re on the way to George Washington Hospital. That when JJ and Penelope opened the door to Spencer’s apartment he was passed out on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. How when JJ went to start CPR he entered a seizure and coded in the ambulance.

No, you can’t know this, because Emily knows that the call alone that she has to give you is going to shatter your broken pieces even further.

—

You pull out your phone to call Emily and see an incoming call from her, “Hey, I was just about to call you. The guy said he drove a red ford pickup, we were able to get the license plate from the security cameras but it came up as a stolen plate—“

Emily says your name in a tone you’ve never heard her use. It makes you stop in your tracks, an icy chill shooting down your spine, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You step outside of the gas station shop holding your breath, “What do you mean?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s about Spencer, he’s…”

She pauses for too long. The panic rises fast. “Emily.”

“They found him passed out on the floor of his apartment. Penelope called 911 and they’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

No.

No, no, no.

The color drains from your face as fast as your heart plunges to the ground. “Wh—what?”

She’s lying, she has to be right? You just saw Spencer literally a few hours ago and he was fine. No signs of distress or anything, she has to be lying. She has to be lying.

“The EMT thinks he has a brain bleed, it um…caused him to have a seizure when JJ and Penelope found him.”

The nausea rises before you can anticipate it, scanning your surroundings for a trash can and immediately hurling up the contents of your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you put the phone back to your ear, “Which hospital?”

“George Washington Memorial, they should already be there by now.”

“Okay, I’m on the way.” you sniffle.

Emily doesn’t know what other encouraging words she can provide you, she doesn’t think any words exist to comfort herself even let alone you. “Keep me updated please.”

The call ends and you have to steady yourself on the nearby wall, head reeling with mountainous emotions and unable to make sense of any of them.

You look around through blurred eyes for Matt calling out to him, “Matt, Matt give me the keys I need to go to the hospital.” you hold a shaky hand out.

He looks at you confused and concerned, “What? Are you okay, why do you need to go—“

“Sp—“ you stutter, unable to even speak the words into existence, “Spencer’s in the hospital.”

Matt’s face pales, “I’ll drive you, come on.”

—

“They said it’s a brain bleed.” you mumble after a few minutes of silence in the car.

“A brain bleed? How could that have…” he trails off in realization.

“What?” you ask nervously.

He grips the steering wheel harder, “The bomb, at the Lynch house.”

Fuck. The EMTs who checked him out that day said he only had a mild concussion, nothing else to be concerned about. A few cuts and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

You sniffle and hastily wipe at your face again, your skin growing red with irritation with every contact.

Matt looks at you with a look he wouldn’t call pity, but certainly close, “It’s going to be okay, he’ll pull through. He always does.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as if it could prevent the fresh wave of tears from falling, “You don’t know that.”

He sighs deeply and turns into the hospital parking lot, stopping in front of the entrance, “Go in, I’ll park the car.”

You open the car door and rush inside the lobby, finding the receptionist immediately. She looks up at you and her face softens in empathy, “Who are you here for?”

“Um, Spencer Reid. He should have just gotten in.” you strain.

The receptionist clacks a few buttons on her keyboard before speaking again, “It looks like he’s in the ICU, are you blood related?”

“Are we…what?” you ask confused.

“Well honey, because he’s in the ICU we can only let in blood related family or spouses to stay with them.”

You outwardly deflate, “Oh…I—“

“She’s his fiancée!”

You look to the source of the new voice and are met with Penelope, donning matching red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Her eyes look at you in silent communication and you turn back to the desk, “Y—Yeah, I’m his fiancée.”

If the receptionist isn’t convinced she doesn’t show it, willing to turn a blind eye in pure understanding of the situation. “Room 204.”

“Thank you.” You duck down the hall scanning the numbers before coming up on 204, the door cracked open slightly. Your hand hovers over the handle in hesitation, scared of what you’ll find on the other side. Penelope comes up behind you and rests her hand on yours and helps you open the door.

The sight hits you like a truck. All the wires hooked up to his limbs pumping IV fluids and the heart monitor beeping steadily. He’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. His skin is clammy, the hair sticking to his forehead. You can see that from across the room and all you can think about is how uncomfortable he must feel from the sweat coating him. You used to tease him once upon a time when he’d sometimes take multiple showers a day because of how much it bothered him.

“Another shower? Spence, our water bill is about to be crazy.”

He laughs and waves you off, “Don’t worry about that, I can charge the water bill as bureau compensation.”

“Okay, one that sounds illegal. Two, the more time you spend in the shower, the less time you spend with me.” you moan with fake petulance.

You yelp as he suddenly sneaks up behind you, caging you to his chest with his arms, “So join me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting clean?” you giggle, leaning your head back into the crevice of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “You do know what showers are for, right?”

You nod, “To get clean! It would get even dirtier before it got cleaner.”

“I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The smile on your face grows the widest it can before you break off into a sprint down the hallway towards the bathroom, Spencer trailing behind with your laughs mixing in the light air.

You don’t know why you’re thinking so deeply about the state of his perspiration, maybe a convoluted defense mechanism your brain conjured up so you don’t have to come to terms with Spencer lying near comatose a few feet away.

Your feet hesitantly carry you closer to the bed, feeling somewhat calmed by the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lean down and look him over, as if you could see the damaged inflicted on him even though it’s nestled deep in his brain. Spencer always said his brain would lead to his demise, and you hope all those times you played it off as a joke that it cemented itself as one, a joke. That you would be able to see his hazel eyes open again and they’d fill you with reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, that all he needed in this world was you, and that he loved you.

You will and wish and hope to have his eyes open. You try not to think about if you’ll ever get to see them again.

A choked sob escapes your throat before you can help it, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle the impact. Spencer is hurt. Spencer is fighting for his life, and you were fighting him not even a few hours ago.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope reaches for your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, “He’s gonna be okay, the doctors said the surgery went well. Just waiting for him to wake up now.”

You cry even harder and Penelope tightens her grip on you, determined to not let you fall further down the slope.

“W—We got into a fight,” you sniffle, “before I left. It was bad, Penny. He was so mad, and then I was so mad. And then I just left.”

“You didn’t know this would happen, honey. None of us did.”

“I didn’t even say I love you. Th—The last conversation we had was a fucking fight a—and now…” you cry, “He can’t die, Pen. He can’t die I didn’t even get to tell him—“

Penelope grabs your face with both of her hands, “Hey. No, we’re not doing that. We are not spiraling, not when there’s no reason to. Okay?”

Whatever response you had falls dead on your lips when you take another look at Spencer’s motionless body on the bed. The calmness on his face is a stark difference from the Spencer you saw only a few hours ago.

She was right, there’s nothing you can do right now but wait. You’d just have to trust that Spencer would pull through.

You almost chuckle dryly through the tears. Trust and Spencer? The irony of it all laughs in your face.

—

Spencer’s eyes blink open and adjust to the bright light blinding him. He takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s standing in the middle of the bullpen. That’s weird, he thinks, I thought I was in the study.

“Reid, you sure you don’t want to join me and Elle in Jamaica?” Derek sings, “My guy can swing you a great deal.”

Derek? Elle?

He snaps his head in the direction of the voice, seeing Derek not even looking in his direction but still looking towards Spencer. Just, a different and much younger Spencer.

“Have a great two weeks off everyone, you all deserve it. Don’t call me at my cabin.” Gideon rushes out as he beelines to the door right past Spencer. “Seriously, don’t call me.”

Gideon? But Gideon…died. Where is he?

The scene changes with a snap and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, his old apartment. The one he lived in before he moved in with you. He is definitely in a dream, though with the vividity and theme of important people in his past he’s not entirely sure he’s only sleeping. A head of blonde hair on his couch catches his eye. He slowly walks around and his breath hitches at who he sees.

“Maeve?”

She smiles softly, “Hi Spencer.”

He slowly walks around the couch and kneels in front of her. The tears prick his eyes before he can help it, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I—I’m so sorry for—“

Maeve holds a hand up, “What happened to me wasn’t your fault, I promise. You did what you could. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head. “You’re dying, Spence.”

His face falls, “I am?”

“Collateral from the explosion, you have a brain bleed.”

It takes a few minutes for him to comprehend what she said, and he can feel his head spinning fast in his head. He can’t actually be dying right? The explosion happened days ago and yet now is when his brain decides to tap out, that can’t be right.

It simply cannot be right because that’s when he remembers you and the last conversation he had with you, and he has to clutch his heart at the prospect of his fate.

He won’t know if you’ll ever forgive him, if you’ll ever learn to trust him again, if you even still love him. He won’t know anything if he dies. He cannot die.

“M—Maeve, I can’t be here I—“

She places her hand atop of his own and he feels her. He can feel her hand on his, like she’s real and here. It’s alarming, and warm. “I know, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Maeve gestures for him to follow her and before his eyes the scene changes again to a nearby park, one that looks a little too familiar to him.

She starts walking through the park, “We’re all okay up here you know? I get to read a lot more now, there’s so much time to read and postulate. Sometimes I get lucky and I can meet the authors. I got to meet Kant and Dostoevsky a while ago, very interesting people. Gideon plays with this nice little octopus friend. I know he’s having the best time.” she laughs, “But you, Spencer Reid, are not okay down there.”

He looks up at her and swallows, “I know.”

She turns onto the fork in the trail, “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I think you do know.”

A few silent minutes pass. “I…I’m scared to let myself be happy again,” he admits.

Maeve looks at him with a saddened smile, “And why’s that?”

Because everything he loves leaves him. Because when he laughs just a little too hard, he’s already scanning the surroundings waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because when Spencer feels he’s trekked up the mountain with long and winding breaths, something always seems to be waiting at the top ready to knock him down.

“Don’t think I deserve it, to be honest.” he admits, “I keep…messing up everytime.”

Maeve stops walking, “You love so deeply, Spencer. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Emphasis on the curse.” he deprecates.

“It’s only a curse because you don’t let yourself feel wholly. I know given everything that’s happened it’s hard but,” she pauses, “You’re not a clipped bird, Spence. You just…lost a few feathers. Nothing you can’t get back.”

It’s easier said than done when it feels like his mere existence causes you pain as of late.

“I feel like I have to hold parts of me back so I can protect her…from myself.”

Maeve turns to him, “She deserves all of you, Spence. It is a privilege to be loved by you, but it’s a greater privilege to be loved. And you deserve to feel loved.”

“What if I ruin it?” More accurately, what if he’s already ruined it, is what he means.

“You are not destined for sorrow and misery, despite what your life has made you think. She loves you. She would not have stayed this long if she didn’t. But there is one thing I think she could use from you.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“She wants to feel chosen, Spencer. And I know you think you choose her everyday just by loving her. But the reality is, you can’t fully choose her without choosing yourself first. That means allowing yourself to be happy.”

A few stray tears streak down his face and he haphazardly wipes them away. For the entirety of Spencer’s life his purpose was to be of service to others. With his intelligence, his kindness, his courage. His needs always came second because the few times he thought to put himself first, disaster struck.

When he met you this notion only reinforced itself, wanting to ensure he could make you as happy as he could. You became his priority and he didn’t mind that at all. It was easy being with you, you made life feel easy. So when Spencer started to let his guard down piece by piece, allowing himself the little bits of your happiness to seep into his being, he wasn’t thinking about the abyss that had always loomed over him his whole life.

He couldn’t, not when you managed to infiltrate his entire existence by wrapping and tethering yourself to him with strings of gold. How could he? You made things so easy.

But then prison happened. Then Cat, again. Then Maeve, again. Three strikes. It should have been game over by now. He broke your trust, betrayed your love and he wasn’t sure if you would even stay long enough to see the damage unfold. But you did, and he still can’t really figure out why.

So here he is in limbo? Purgatory? Some figment of his mind in the wake of near death that is giving him the opportunity to make amends. Not with Maeve or Gideon or you or any other grudge he has yet to settle in his life. No, he has the chance to make amends with himself and forgive himself for standing in the way of what he really deserves.

A faint beeping in the distance reels him back to the present moment, Maeve’s face coming into focus again. The dull ache in his eyes coming forward again with how many tears are falling.

“Love is our true destiny, we do not find the meaning of it alone, we find it with another.”

He smiles with a watery chuckle, “Thomas Merton.”

“Spencer, I promise you, you will be happy again. And forever. Just keep the door open when it comes knocking.”

The beeping starts to get louder, like it’s approaching him fast. A warm glow begins to build around him, then light. He looks around the park again and sees the trees and benches begin to blur. He looks at Maeve as she stands with a fond smile, her figure slowly fading as well.

“Take care, Spencer.” and with a blink Maeve is gone.

In the silence he is left in, he looks to the epitaph of Jason Gideon in front of him and back to the spot where Maeve was standing, whispering a soft, “You too.” before closing his eyes and succumbing to the beeping.

—

It’s been 4 hours since you’ve been sat next to his bed. You’d be a lot more concerned than you were, which is already a lot, if it wasn’t for his heartbeat monitor beeping steadily throughout the hours. A sign of life, as morbid as it sounds, but it’s hard to be rational given the circumstances.

It had taken all of 3.5 hours for you to braven up and hold his hand in comfort. Hour one you simply stared at his hand, as if it would regain mobility and reach out for you. Hour two you were able to place your hand on the bed, not anywhere near his obviously. But enough to feel close, satiated. By hour three you had your fingers mere millimeters from his own, feeling like a magnetic force of the same poles was repelling you.

The 3.5 hour mark is when the exhaustion of the day caught up to you, and finally allowed yourself to relax in his hand.

At hour 4.5 is when you felt the twitch.

You look up and whisper, “Spencer?”

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing his hazel brown irises with gold flecks on the insides that meet yours sitting right beside him. You can see the recognition begin to flood his face, but is stopped momentarily when he starts to panic realizing the breathing tube is still in his throat. You hit the call button besides his bed and watch the doctors rush in to help stabilize him back down.

It’s another two hours of testing and scans before the three of you are left alone again, with the nurse promising to check on him in a few hours.

You’re stiff next to him, unsure what to do now that he’s awake and perceiving you again. With a small voice you speak, “They said they found you in the study.”

Spencer racks his brain for memories of before his fall, only able to remember bits and pieces. He remembers fighting with you and when you left. He remembers walking to the study. And he remembers reading…”Lynch! Did you get him? He’s still alive, you have to call Emily—“

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you shush. “We know he’s still alive, they’ve almost got him right now. It’s okay.”

That seems to make him visibly relax knowing the immediate stressor was almost resolved. Now there’s just the matter of the other elephant in the room.

“You’re here.”

Your eyes soften as your brows raise in shock, “Of course I’m here, Spence.”

He stares at you and takes in your features—your puffy cheeks and red eyes, the skin around your nails picked to death, your lip nearly split in half from the bites and bleeding. He needs to apologize again, he knows that. But the second he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“Penny, can you give us a minute please?”

She smiles and stands, “Sure hon, I’ll be right outside.”

Once she leaves you turn back to Spencer, “We don’t have to talk about all of that anymore, it’s okay. You’re hurt and that’s more important right now.”

He should have expected that you would do this, selflessly push your discomfort and feelings down because someone you cared about was hurting. It was one of the few things he didn’t like that you did, and he’s not going to let it go again.

“Angel, you can’t forgive me just because you thought I was going to die.” he says sadly.

You’re taken aback. “I—I know.”

He swallows, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes blur again, “I know.” Another pause. “I’m trying really hard.”

A gentle squeeze, “I know.”

“I…I still love you, Spence. I don’t think that will ever change, but I’m nervous if one day it won’t be enough…that I won’t be enough.” you trail off.

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised that’s what you’re thinking. He hasn’t done a very good job at convincing you yet. It still hurts knowing that you feel that way.

“Do you know what I thought about everyday when I was in Millburn?”

You shake your head as he continues, “I thought about how when you eat cupcakes you tear the bottom half and stick it on top to make a cupcake sandwich. When we’re watching Doctor Who and you’re singing along to the theme song with only syllables. How you let me eat the olives on your plate and I give you the pickles on mine.”

“Why would you be thinking about that?” you ask confused.

“Because I don’t think I would have survived if I didn’t.”

The lump forms in your throat, “But…you took me off the visiting list after the first time I came to see you.”

“I couldn’t let you keep seeing me like that, honey.” he strains, “The way they were looking at you, what they did to me. I had to protect you.”a

You swallow hard, a few tears falling down your face, “Th—That’s not fair, Spence. I understand why you did it, but then when all the other shit happened… I don’t know what I was supposed to believe. I couldn’t stop wondering if I ever was enough for you.”

Spencer can feel his heart splintering.

“You will always be enough, because it is always you. God, sweetheart it’s not even a question of how much, it just is. I see you in everything I do—you’re the tangled headphones we use to listen to music flying back on the jet. You’re the annotations I make when I read something that reminds me of you, or if I think you’d enjoy it. You’re the smell of bavarian kreme donuts from Dolores’ even though the chocolate sprinkle ones are far superior.”

His heart blooms hearing a soft giggle from you, an earnest smile forming on your face.

“You are entangled in the things that make me happy, and you make them too good to be true. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I meant it when I said I would spend all of time making it up to you. You are my Catalina comet, and I love you.”

You can’t help the sob that leaves you as you remember the memory.

“I’m cold Spence, are you sure we’ll be able to see it?”

He tugs you closer under his arm as he keeps trekking to find the perfect spot, a chaste kiss to your temple, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Come on, I think it's a good spot over there.”

You help Spencer set out the blanket on the ground and use the extra one to wrap around you both, huddling closer together as you wait for the celestial body to make its appearance.

“The first time they did the calculations they used old observational data that led to some incorrect results, and they thought the orbit was only four years.”

“They just got it wrong?”

“Not everyone gets it right on the first try, sweet girl.” he says softly, “But then they did the math again, made sure all the factors and numbers were correct. And you know what they found?”

You ponder for a moment, “Did they realize the orbit was longer?”

Spencer beams down at you, “My smart girl. That’s exactly what they found. So when they did the calculations again, they found out that the Catalina comet is even more special than anyone thought. It’s even more of a rare sighting to get to see it, once in a lifetime really.”

You hang onto his every word, captivated by the story, “Do people wish on comets?” you ask doe eyed.

His hand smooths your hair back, “They do, some say the rarer comets have extra special energy to aid their wishes.”

You look at him skeptically, “Do you really believe that?”

“Do you?”

You look back to the sky, “I think I do.”

Spencer doesn’t look away from you, “Then I do too.”

You giggle and lightly shove him, “Cheesy…” He smiles fondly and pulls you closer into his chest, his arms warming you up before you gasp, “Look!”

There across the night sky streaks the Catalina Comet in all her glory, Spencer watches the comet track through Ursa Major and before he can start telling you about why it goes that path, you’ve already clamped your eyes shut and squeezed his hand, silently gesturing for him to do the same.

He complies, obviously. You open your eyes again after making your wish, “Did you make yours?”

Spencer opens his eyes and admiringly looks at you, “Yeah, I did angel.”

He didn’t need to make any wishes.

“Spence…” you whine through sobs.

His hand comes up shakily to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “Didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.”

“Well, what did you expect by bringing that story up?” you laugh with fake anger.

“To be fair, you were already crying.” he chuckles.

You scoff, “Mean.” You look at his eyes, and really look at him and see nothing but love and adoration staring back at you. You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.” his eyes soften, you continue, “I love you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses it, “I love you so much. I’m sorry again, sweet girl.”

You lean up to him on the bed and press a soft kiss to his lips, and Spencer can feel his wounds start to hurt less and less. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You make yourself as comfy as you can whilst sat on the armchair, bent over to be able to rest your head next to Spencer. It feels okay for a bit, and then he tangles his hand in your hair gently moving back and forth and suddenly you’re satisfied with never moving ever again.

The quiet air between you both is enough to lull you to sleep, before a thought runs through your mind.

“You know something funny,” you mumble, “Pen told the receptionist I was your fiancée so they’d let me see you.”

And poor Spencer, in between his sleepy haze and the dull ache of pain from his injuries, only hears the word fiancée.

“You found the ring?” he sighs, “I thought I hid it well.”

You still under his hand.

“…There’s a ring?”

His eyes shoot open, realizing he misheard you and tries to play it off, “So…Penelope lied to staff. Tsk Tsk.”

“There’s a ring.” you say pointedly, the corners of your lips upturned to reach a smile.

Spencer thinks he can try and get out of this but decides it’s better to come clean, “Fine, okay. Of course there’s a ring.”

“Of course?”

The surprise on your face honestly stuns Spencer, and he feels a little saddened that you were in disbelief of the possibility.

“Yeah baby, of course.”

Your bottom lip wobbles with a creeping suspicion of his answer, “How long have you had it?”

“Got it after our six month.”

You shakily exhale. There is no ounce of doubt in your body that he loves you, and that you really are all he needs. “ ‘M sorry I ruined the surprise.”

He grins, “It’s okay, you won’t know when I’m going to do it. It’ll knock you off your feet, I promise.”

You definitely aren’t expecting it during a Planetarium date months later where he got the museum people to show the Catalina Comet passing over you both as he got down on one knee. You are expecting the endless stream of tears from the both of you, the aching cheeks from smiling too much, and the multiple missed attempts at sliding the ring on from how much you both were shaking.

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