#to the point if i'm not wearing a brace it just shakes

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Thinking about my coworker who grew up on the street I live on now and incidentally knows my grandma who's technically not related but we kept her and apparently immediately clocked me from coworker's vague description

[ddejavvu]

can i request spencer reid w bau!reader and their married but reader forgets to put her wedding ring back on and derek’s asking spencer about what happened/if theyre having marital problems and spencer starts panciking but she just forgot about it in her pocket😭

Derek's brow is knitted in real, authentic concern when he corners Spencer in the BAU's kitchenette, and it turns Spencer's stomach. Usually, Derek has a teasing glimmer in his eyes, but it's scarily absent today, and he braces a large hand on Spencer's lanky bicep.

"Pretty boy," Derek starts, and his tone is soft, soothing, kind, "Anything you wanna talk about? I'm here if you need me, y'know."

Spencer tries feigning calm, which is terribly hard to do as someone who's fraught with nerves constantly, but he keeps an even tone when he speaks.

"I don't think so. Should I want to talk about something?"

Derek smiles sympathetically, almost a grimace, and Spencer feels a flash of fear run through him. Has Derek heard something about his mom?

"I don't think anyone else has noticed yet," Derek assures Spencer, "But I saw Y/N's not wearing her ring."

It's not what he'd been expecting, dreading, but it's not pleasant either. Spencer's eyes dart hurriedly to your hunched form, shoulders bent and crowding your desk as you devote yourself entirely to your paperwork. Sure enough, your wedding ring is absent from your finger, leaving an uncomfortably blank space on your skin, and Spencer's brows knit together.

"I didn't know," Spencer admits, keeping his voice to a low murmur, "I- But- we aren't having any problems. I don't think."

Derek shoots that awful pitying grimace his way again, and Spencer shakes his head, his stringy hair flying.

"No, no- we're not- we're not having problems," He asserts, but he's not sure if he's trying to convince himself or Derek more, "I mean, we bickered about coffee this morning, but not- not marriage problems bad. She just forgot it."

Spencer knows what expression will be on Derek's face if he looks, so he doesn't. He busies himself with stirring the rest of the sugar into his coffee, excusing himself before Derek can press the issue even further.

On his way out of the kitchenette he snags a donut from an open box on the counter, slipping a napkin beneath it and trying not to rush to your desk. He doesn't want to seem obvious, but he's a flaming bundle of nerves.

"Angel," He gets right to the point, placing the donut beside your hand on the desk and leaning over the back of your chair. He nestles his cheek to yours, pressing his lips against the curve of your jaw and blocking your conversation from view of the bullpen with the way he shrouds you from behind.

"Spence," You begin, alarmed at the sudden ambush of sugar, both literally and figuratively, "What-?"

"Are you mad at me?" He asks, sounding rather like a child worrying to their parents. You're only more confused after his question, and you tentatively shake your head.

"No? Should I be?"

"I don't think so," Spencer hums, "But you're not wearing your ring."

You blink, glancing at your bare ring finger.

"Oh!" You gush, your shoulders pressing back against his own as you maneuver your hand into your pocket. It's difficult sitting down, but you retrieve the ring and jam it back onto your finger, "I took it off earlier because I was taking the trash out. I didn't want it to get all goopy, and I guess I just forgot it was in there." You let your explanation hang in the air for a moment, but your eyes flash with sympathy, remembering Spencer's initial question, "Oh, Spence, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's okay," He breathes out a shaky sigh of relief, reluctant to straighten up from where he's hugging you from behind, "You didn't even freak me out. Morgan did."

You laugh, and the sound soothes those frayed nerves in his chest, the ones that had lit with sparks of panic at Morgan's pity, "Well, don't listen to Morgan from now on. However," You reach for the donut, tearing it in half and holding one end out to Spencer while you catch the other between your teeth, "If it means I get donuts in apology, maybe I'll forget my wedding ring in my pocket more often."

[libraryofgage]

Librarian Steve :)

Was talking to a friend about people (specifically this one kid that gives such Dustin energy hfjdks) I meet at work (I'm a librarian) and that evolved into this plot bunny so:

Librarian Steve, rock star Eddie, and the 5 times Steve pretends he doesn't know who Eddie is while they flirt + 1 time Steve reveals he knew about Eddie's rock star status the whole time

There is also, definitely, at some point, going to be a second part where the kids keep just barely missing Eddie and refuse to believe Steve is actually dating anyone but especially not Eddie Munson of all people

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

One

Steve stares at the man on the other side of the circulation desk. He's wearing a Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, a guitar pick necklace, clunky rings on each finger, and an expression that says he's bracing himself for something painful.

Here's the thing: Steve knows who Eddie Munson is. It's hard to listen to alternative rock or punk or any other genre like that and not know Eddie Munson. It's hard to be a librarian who works primarily with kids in middle school and high school, all going through that painful, angsty phase that they express through music, and not know Eddie Munson.

So, yeah, Steve takes one look at the admittedly (incredibly) attractive guy and immediately knows he's Eddie Munson. Like, of Corroded Coffin fame. Of Rock n Roll Hall of Fame fame. Of platinum-level album sales fame. Of--okay, his point has probably been made.

Anyway, yeah, Steve knows this is Eddie Munson, and while he'd love to say he's a fan and smile at Eddie and maybe ask for an autograph, Steve also grew up as a Small Town Rich Kid. So he knows that look on Eddie's face, the one that says he's bracing himself for someone to start fawning over him and potentially ask for uncomfortable favors or his number or any other request that's definitely crossing the line into invasive.

Steve easily makes the decision to pretend he doesn't recognize Eddie. So, he puts on his customer service smile and says, "Hello, how can I help you?"

The sheer relief in Eddie's eyes is more than enough to tell Steve he made the right choice. "Right, uh, this is my first time here," Eddie says, shifting slightly before placing his hands on the counter and drumming his fingers.

"Oh, congratulations," Steve says, his tone and smile becoming more genuine. "Did you come here to print something?"

Eddie shakes his head, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a library card. "My friend has, like, a...hold? Yeah, a hold on something and asked me to pick it up," he explains.

Steve nods once and takes the card when Eddie offers it. He scans it and watches the computer load for a few seconds before opening an account window for someone named Asher Katz. "Since you aren't the cardholder," Steve says, navigating to the "Additional Information" tab in the account, "I'll need you to tell me the four-digit pin or code word connected to the account."

He clearly wasn't expecting that requirement, and Eddie flounders for a moment. "Is that a requirement?" he asks.

With an apologetic smile, Steve nods. "Yeah," he says, stretching out the word as he tries to think. "Oh, you could also call him and have him tell me the pin. Then I could confirm that it's okay for you to check out materials on his behalf."

"This is a lot of hoops for a book," Eddie says, frowning slightly as he takes out his phone.

"We have to make sure people's materials are secure. Also, we have to keep track of what people check out for the library's stats report at the end of each quarter."

Eddie looks like he understands about half of that, and Steve once again flashes an apologetic smile. After a few taps on the screen, Eddie glances around the library, ensuring it's empty, before putting the phone on speaker. The moment it picks up, and before Asher can speak, Eddie says, "Hey, man, I'm at the library. Can you tell, uh--" Eddie looks up to check Steve's nametag "--Steve what your pin is so I can check that book out."

A few seconds pass before Steve hears a sigh on the other end of the phone. "1234," Asher says.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks.

Steve glances at the account page, confirms the pin, and nods. "Could you also provide me with your code word?"

"Password."

"Dude!" Eddie says, staring at the phone like he's once again being reminded that his friend is a dumbass.

Steve checks the account again and nods once more. "Great, thank you. Could you confirm that...," Steve trails off, looking at Eddie expectantly.

Eddie blinks like he forgot Steve didn't know who he was and hesitates before clearing his throat and quietly saying, "Eddie."

"Thanks," Steve says, flashing another smile before looking at the phone and continuing, "Can you confirm that Eddie here is allowed to check out holds on your behalf?"

"Uh, yeah, that's fine, man."

"Great, thank you," Steve says, checking the card number once more before heading to the hold shelf behind the desk. He crouches and starts scanning stickers on the spines for Asher's last name and the last four digits of his number. Behind him, he hears Eddie say goodbye, his voice sounding a little strained for reasons Steve can't really figure out at the moment.

He finds the right book after a few moments and pulls it off the shelf. "Here it is," he says, walking over to the desk and pulling up the check-out window on his computer. He scans the library card once more, carefully pulls the sticker off the spine, and scans the book.

"It's due in two weeks, but if your friend needs more time, he can just give the library a call," Steve explains, passing the book and card back to Eddie with a smile. "Was there anything else I could do for you?"

Eddie just stares at him for a few seconds, his cheeks looking a little pinker than before, and Steve wonders if the building's A/C somehow gave up on life. Again. But he can hear it running so that definitely isn't it. "Uh, nope, that's it," Eddie says, gripping the book tightly in his hands, his rings pressing into the cover. "Thanks, Steve, appreciate it."

"Of course, man. Have a good day," Steve says with a genuine smile and wave as Eddie heads toward the door.

With a slightly awkward wave back, Eddie walks out the door, glancing back over his shoulder once before the door completely shuts. Once the library is empty again, Steve hears the door to the backroom open, and Robin practically slides up to the counter, leaning onto it next to him.

"Was that?" she asks. Steve instantly translates the question in his head: Was that Eddie fucking Munson?

"Yep."

"And did you?"

And did you just pretend you didn't know him?

"Yep."

"Did he?"

Did he catch on?

"Nope."

"Do you think?"

Do you think he'll be back?

Steve shrugs, glancing over at her. "Don't know," he says, pausing for a moment before adding, "He's hotter in person."

Robin barks out a laugh. "Maybe you'll actually get to flirt next time," she says, and Steve grins at her, kind of hoping she's right.

Two

Eddie returns exactly two weeks later, and Steve is lucky enough to once again be working a desk shift when he walks through the door. He's wearing a Nine Inch Nails shirt this time, and his hair is pulled back into a messy bun with strands escaping to frame his face. He goes up to the counter, focused on Steve and completely ignoring Robin sitting at another computer, and sets the book down. "I wanna return this. And get a library card for myself," he says.

Steve can't help a clearly amused smile as he takes the book and scans it in. "Do you have an ID with you?" he asks, sliding the book along the desk to rest next to Robin.

He ignores the glare she shoots at him before grabbing the book to place it on a reshelving cart for later.

"Yeah, do I need anything else?" Eddie asks.

As Steve shakes his head, he leans over to grab a library card application from a small organizer. He places it in front of Eddie and passes him a pen as well. "Just fill that out," he says, leaning forward on the counter as Eddie picks up the pen.

"So, uh, what can I do with a library card?" Eddie asks, glancing up at Steve briefly before focusing on carefully writing. His letters are blocky but awkward like he's consciously thinking about how he's writing each one.

Maybe he just doesn't want to risk his writing being recognized, too? From what Steve remembers of the signatures he's seen, Eddie's handwriting is fairly distinctive.

"You can borrow up to 75 materials at one time, place items on hold, use the computers, and you get one dollar of printing credit that renews each day," Steve lists, tilting his head slightly as he watches Eddie write.

"That's it?"

Steve snorts, raising an eyebrow at Eddie when he looks up. "Oh, that's not enough for you?" he asks, unable to help a slight grin, "You can use it at any library within our system, too. So you'll still have options if you get banned from this one."

"Oh? And what would I be banned for?" Eddie asks, his writing pausing long enough to meet Steve's gaze once more and smirk at him.

"I wonder," Steve says, not missing the way Eddie's gaze drops to his lips for less than a second before moving back up.

Holy shit, he's flirting with Eddie Munson.

"I can also help you find books to read based on what you've liked previously," Steve adds, somewhat clumsily pulling back from the flirting. It's only Eddie's second time here, and he doesn't want to let himself get too caught up in...well, Eddie when there's no guarantee he'll be back.

Eddie hums softly as he looks back at the application. "Oh? What would you recommend for me?" he asks.

"What's your favorite book?"

"The Hobbit."

"What did you like about it?"

"The adventure and the characters."

"Do you prefer fantasy? What about sci-fi?"

"Yeah, those are fine."

Steve hums softly, thinking as Eddie sets the pen down and slides the application to him. "Thanks. I also need to see your ID," Steve says, opening a drawer in the desk and pulling out a library card. He scans it, a new account window popping up and waiting to be filled out.

"What's the ID for?" Eddie asks.

"To confirm that you live in our service area," Steve explains, taking the ID when Eddie offers it. He glances at the photo briefly, confirming that it is, in fact, Eddie Munson, and then double-checks the address. It matches what Eddie wrote on the application, so he nods and slides the ID back to him.

"That's it?"

Steve nods, beginning to type Eddie's information into the account page. "Yeah, that's it," he says, glancing up and smiling at Eddie, "Anyway, I think you'll enjoy the Murderbot Diaries. It's about a cyborg that hacks its control module, thinks about maybe going on a killing spree, and then discovers TV instead. It then just goes on adventures through space while fighting, like, capitalism and corporations."

"Sounds pretty badass," Eddie says, leaning forward on the counter like he wants to get a peek at the computer. "How long is it?"

"It's mostly novellas, so they're quick reads."

"Got any copies here?"

Steve hums, entering the last of Eddie's information. "I can check," he says, "but first, I need a code word for your account. Like, if you forget your pin or have someone else come pick up a hold, this word will confirm it's you."

Eddie thinks for a few seconds, his gaze dropping to Steve's nametag once more. "Stevie," he says.

Steve's fingers falter, accidentally typing an incomprehensible key smash into the information field. He glances up at Eddie. "...as in Stevie Nix? Don't forget, this has to be something you'll remember," he says, raising an eyebrow.

With a playful grin and a wink, Eddie says, "Well, I think you're pretty unforgettable, Stevie."

A beat passes as Steve stares at Eddie, feeling a rush of heat to his cheeks. He clears his throat and looks back at the computer, hesitating for a second more before typing "Stevie" into the field and saving the account. When he's done, he slides the card to Eddie along with a Sharpie. "That's your card, please sign on the back."

He notices Eddie stiffen at the request, but Steve doesn't comment. As he instead searches the library's catalog, he tries to ignore the sheer panic coming from Eddie as he tries to figure out how to sign the card. Eventually, Eddie picks up the Sharpie and writes his name in the same awkward, blocky writing he used for the application.

"So," Steve says, getting Eddie's attention once more, "we don't have any copies of the first book here, but I can put it on hold for you. It should be here in around four days, and you'll get an email when it's available. Does that work?"

Eddie nods as he places the Sharpie down. "Sure, I'm happy to swing by and pick it up," he says, his tone and smile and the playful look in his eyes telling Steve there are more reasons than that for him to come by the library.

And as Steve places the book on hold for Eddie, he can't help a tiny, eager smile.

Three

The D8 sits innocently on the counter in front of Steve, marbled colors of blue and red with streaks of gold to complement the gold-painted numbers. Steve had immediately recognized it as Will's when he was cleaning the meeting room, and he knew the kid was probably losing his mind right now searching for it. He feels kind of bad knowing Will is going to lose all hope of finding it before his next visit to the library.

At the same time, though, he's looking forward to the expression of sheer joy on Will's face when he next comes in and Steve gives it back. Maybe it'll even score him a bonus point with Mike, and he'll be a little less of an asshole. Though, knowing Mike like he does, Steve is sure he'll just get jealous that Steve made Will smile like that instead of himself.

That kid is incredibly skilled at finding new grudges to hold.

"Whatcha got there, Stevie?"

Steve blinks, looking away from the D8 to find Eddie leaning on the counter, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. His hair is loose today, falling over his shoulders, and he's boldly wearing a Hellfire Club shirt, like he's confident that Steve won't recognize any of Corroded Coffin's merch.

Which, sure, Steve is great at pretending by now. Especially after he and Robin made a bet on whether Steve could keep the secret until Eddie asked him out. Steve has incredible faith in himself; Robin says he's too dumb and gay to last that long. So far, after around two months and multiple visits from Eddie, Steve is still going strong.

"A D8," Steve says, holding it between his thumb and forefinger so Eddie can see it clearly. "One of the kids left it behind yesterday."

"They were playing D&D here?" Eddie asks, tilting his head slightly as he holds his hand out.

Steve drops the dice into his hand, watching as Eddie inspects the gold numbers and hums softly with appreciation. "I host a weekly D&D program," Steve explains. "A group of regular kids plays, and they were getting a little disruptive when they played in the common area--" Steve gestures to the cluster of tables where the kids used to set up "--and the program gives them the meeting room for a whole afternoon."

Eddie looks up at him like he's just said he's a volunteer firefighter on the weekends. It's not an awe and appreciation that Steve really deserves, but he also can't help the slight puff of his chest when it's coming from Eddie. "Do you play, too?" Eddie asks.

"Sort of?" Steve frowns slightly, trying to remember how Dustin and Will explained his role during the campaign to him. "I'm, like, extras. Their DM, Will, wanted his, uh, NPCs? Yeah, NPCs. He wanted the NPCs to feel more real, so he'll give me, like, a little script before each session and then have me voice the NPCs and give me signals to guide my interactions."

"Signals?"

"Yeah, like, if I'm a shop owner and the characters bargain for stuff. He'll give me a signal of when their, like, rolls are effective or when they suck. And if I'm a villain NPC, he'll give me a signal of when to die and give dramatic monologues," Steve explains.

And Eddie grins again, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement and curiosity. "I kinda wanna hear a dramatic monologue," he says, propping his chin in his palm and looking at Steve expectantly.

He's clearly settled in to watch a show, and Steve isn't one to disappoint. Steve does a quick sweep of the library and confirms that it's just as empty as he remembers. Then, he sits up a little straighter in his chair, clears his throat, and tries to remember his whole dying monologue from the most recent session.

When he speaks, it's with a raspy voice, laced with pain and anger at being defeated, "Curse you, adventurers! You may have won the battle, but the war! The war yet rages, and you will be caught in its carnage! Savor this victory now, for it will be your last, and you will fa-"

Steve cuts off, grinning when Eddie blinks and pouts. "Why'd you stop?" he asks.

"Mike's character killed me before I could finish. Said my monologue was boring."

Eddie snorts, raising an eyebrow at that. "It sounds like your monologue was going to reveal info about the BBG."

"Yep. It was, but Will refused to tell them what the rest would've been, and Dustin threw his dice at Mike for killing me."

"He's lucky it was only that," Eddie says, completely serious, "I might've just killed him."

Steve can't help laughing, imagining Max leaping over the table to tackle Mike to the floor. She's done it before, actually, and the only thing that keeps her from attacking again is the knowledge that Steve will ban her from the library for at least a month if she gets violent again.

"He's lucky none of them want to be temporarily banned," Steve says.

"Oh? That's all it takes to get banned?" Eddie asks.

Steve smirks at the teasing lift to Eddie's question. "Yep, so you'd better watch yourself, Munson. I expect you to be on your best behavior," he says.

"I've never been very good at behaving."

"Great, you'll fit right in with the kids."

He looks up to see Eddie's smile growing wider, and Steve suddenly finds himself wondering how it would feel to kiss that smile away.

Four

Something library school never prepared Steve for is how overwhelmed certain days would make him. That's the thing about working with the public: some days are just never-ending, a line of patrons needing something practically wrapping through the stacks, meaning Steve can't turn off his customer service voice and smile.

Usually, he'll just escape to the back, lock himself in the employee bathroom, and take five minutes to cool down. Robin has gotten great at knocking on the door when the five minutes is up, pretending she needs to use the bathroom so the other staff members don't suspect Steve of breathing away a breakdown.

Today, though, Steve can't hide in the bathroom because of the music Robin is playing in the back. It's grating on his ears, scratching against his brain and down his spine like nails on a chalkboard, made all the worse by his interactions with an older patron with a voice that was rough and somehow rounded with sharp edges at the same time.

If Steve asked, Robin would definitely turn off the music, but he also saw her tense shoulders, how on edge she was, and how the music was the only thing helping her calm down. So Steve couldn't. Instead, he just said he was going to shelf-read the non-fiction section.

Because nobody goes into the non-fiction section. At least, nobody goes to the part of the section filled with encyclopedias. It's a safe corner, tucked into the back of the library where few people wander unless they're desperate for an outdated book of information that has no real bearing on their life.

So here Steve is, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes closed. This part of the library is quieter, but he can still hear the general ambiance of the building: people talking in hushed voices, the keyboards clicking as people type, chairs scraping against the floor as people pull them out.

And quiet footsteps coming closer. They're accompanied by the gentle sound of metal bouncing against itself. Steve doesn't open his eyes, but he does know that it's Eddie, and he's not at all surprised that Eddie managed to find him deep in the stacks.

It makes him feel a little warm, actually.

When Eddie reaches him, he doesn't speak. He just sits next to Steve, close enough for Steve to feel his presence without their shoulders touching. And he seems content to stay in silence for as long as needed, but Steve doesn't want silence. He wants to hear Eddie's voice; maybe it will override the discomfort of the music and the patron from earlier.

"Could you talk?" Steve asks, his voice soft and barely audible.

But Eddie hears him and scoots a tiny bit closer, letting their shoulders brush.

"I have opinions about library shelving because of you now. Like, why are science fiction and fantasy shelved together as one category? They're two different genres; they represent different things. One is a reflection of our society and all that it could be, an escape into something new, and the other is a reflection of what our society was through the eyes of a new world. And, like, it's not even the ones you think. They both embody different lessons and values and pairing them together is, like, demeaning to the hallmarks of the genres and what they can do for readers."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like an opinion about library shelving and cataloging. Steve can't help a soft laugh escaping him as he finally opens his eyes and looks at Eddie. "What started this?" he asks.

"There are Star Trek novels right next to, like, Seven Blades in Black on the shelves, Stevie. It's horrendous. What the fuck?"

Steve smiles a little, gently knocking their elbows together. "Unfortunately, I can't control how our cataloging department works," he says.

"Sounds like a skill issue to me," Eddie says, "Maybe you should just get good."

Steve barks out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand at how loud it sounds. He glares at Eddie, his eyes holding no real heat.

Eddie grins right back and leans in a little closer. "Feeling better, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice soft and gentle and brushing against Steve's brain like a cool stream of water on a hot day.

It makes his shoulders relax, something in his stomach uncurling and draining all the tension from his muscles. "Yeah," he replies, "thanks."

"Anytime, Stevie," Eddie says, smiling at Steve like he's capable of hanging stars in the sky, like he'd do a backflip with a broken spine if Steve asked.

And Steve...Steve finds himself getting lost in Eddie's eyes, and he has no plans to find his way out anytime soon.

Five

Most of the library staff hates reshelving books, but Steve loves it. He doesn't have to use his brain beyond remembering the alphabet, and he can listen to music while he works, easily zoning out so the time passes quickly.

Which is what's happening now. He's probably been shelving for a while, but he's been listening to a Corroded Coffin playlist the entire time, humming along to Hellfire and Chains. His head is bobbing along to the music as he works, and he turns to grab another book off the reshelving cart only to find Eddie standing right behind him.

Steve jumps, his heart leaping into his throat as he chokes on air and Corroded Coffin notes. Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, somewhere between afraid and infatuated, and Steve can't help asking, "What the fuck, man?" in a whispered voice.

"Whatcha listening to, Stevie?" Eddie asks, ignoring Steve's question.

Oh. If he admits to knowing Corroded Coffin's music, then he'll probably be giving up the whole "I know you're famous" thing, and based on Eddie's somewhat terrified look, that's not a great idea right now. But he also can't lie about the music because Eddie's going to recognize his own songs.

"Uh, Corroded Coffin, I think? I heard Lucas playing one of their songs. It sounded catchy and he sent me a playlist he'd made on Spotify," Steve explains.

It's not a lie, technically. That is how he discovered Corroded Coffin, but that was almost two years ago now.

"And, uh, what do you think?" Eddie asks, glancing at the earbuds still playing in Steve's ear.

Steve studies him for a moment before smiling. "They're really good," he says, turning around to continue shelving books. "I like stuff from their second album best so far."

"Do you usually listen to metal and rock?" Eddie asks, glancing at the shelving cart before passing Steve another book.

Steve almost tells Eddie to let him do the shelving, but then he sees that Eddie passed him the correct book for this section, so he bites back the words. Instead, he nods and crouches to slide the book into a bottom shelf. "Yeah. More older stuff, I guess. Guns N' Roses, Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Queen. That kind of stuff," he says.

"Holy fuck, you're perfect," Eddie says, his voice soft and full of awe and Steve is about to laugh when Eddie adds, "Marry me."

Steve blinks, nearly losing his balance and falling on his ass. He saves himself at the last minute, quickly standing up again so he can look at Eddie. "Seriously?" he asks, wondering if maybe he had just misheard.

He did not. And this is proven by Eddie moving around the shelving cart, grabbing Steve's hand, and getting down on one knee. "Incredibly. Your music taste is fucking immaculate, sweetheart. Also, you're funny, hot, and sweet, and I've recently developed a librarian kink, I think. So. Marry me," Eddie says before using his teeth to pull off one of the chunky rings on his left hand so his right hand doesn't have to let go of Steve.

He then holds the ring up, and Steve really shouldn't find that as hot as he does. Like. Really hot. And he almost considers saying yes. But then he fully processes Eddie's words and almost laughs. "You've developed a librarian kink? So, what, you'll drop me the moment another librarian starts ranting about the Dewey Decimal system?" he asks.

"Okay, fair," Eddie says, nodding once. "Let me rephrase that. I've developed a Librarian Steve Harrington kink. Only you, big boy. Nobody curses out the Dewey Decimal system like you, sweetheart."

That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Steve, actually. "It's a shitty cataloging system," he says without thinking.

Eddie nods in agreement, still on one knee, still holding up the ring (it's shaped like a coffin, now that Steve spares it more than a quick glance) and still looking up at Steve with an infatuated smile. "It is," he agrees, voice a little softer than before like he's ready to just kneel through Steve's passionate rant about it.

And Steve thinks that might be the final straw for him. "I'd prefer at least one date before marriage," he says, grinning down at Eddie and pulling him back to his feet.

Eddie follows his lead, standing a little too close considering Steve is, technically, still at work. He turns Steve's hand over so it's palm up and drops the ring into it. "Of course, Stevie. How about lunch tomorrow? My treat," he offers.

Of course, Steve says yes.

+ One

"I still think there are funnier ways to tell him," Robin says, crossing her arms and pouting as Steve leans against the counter, his back to the door.

Steve sticks his tongue out at her. "You're just mad you lost the bet," he says. Telling her she lost had made Steve's entire week, especially since it means Robin is finally (finally!) going to dress up with Steve the next time they go to a basketball game together. He's got a jersey and shorts ready for her; he's had them ready since the first game he invited her to. They have her name across the back, are the ugliest shade of mustard yellow he could find, and match his perfectly.

"That jersey is the work of the devil," she says, her nose scrunching in disgust at the thought of it.

Steve just grins. "You never know, maybe a nice girl will be enraptured by your awkward lesbian swag," he says.

Robin is about to answer when she looks over Steve's shoulder and grins, her eyes lighting up. Steve looks over his shoulder to see Eddie smiling at him. "Hey, Stevie," he says.

And here it is. The moment of truth. Steve grins right back at Eddie and turns around, letting him see the graphic on his shirt. It's one he bought at a Corroded Coffin concert a year ago. It has the band's first album cover emblazoned across it with Eddie front-and-center, playing his guitar with the other band members around him as bats swirl in a red haze above their heads.

Eddie stares at the shirt, his smile freezing on his face and his body tensing. Panic starts to fill his eyes, and he glances up, looking ready to explain himself only to stop when he sees Steve's soft, endeared smile. He pauses, studying Steve's expression for a moment before laughing a little awkwardly and tugging on a lock of his hair, using it to cover his mouth. "So, uh, you knew the whole time," he says.

"Yep," Steve replies, leaning forward on the counter so it's harder for Eddie to avoid looking at him. "I did."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Eddie asks.

"You didn't want me to," Steve says. Then he considers his words and corrects, "Or, you didn't want to be recognized. When you first came in, you were bracing yourself for it, and I figured you'd feel more comfortable if I pretended not to know you."

"What about all the other times?"

Steve shrugs, his smile becoming reassuring. "I figured you'd either tell me when you were ready, or I'd tell you when we went on a date because you'd probably get all in your head about having a secret like that while we were dating."

And Steve is right. Eddie would have freaked out over the secret, and he would have struggled with telling Steve at just the right moment, and time would have stretched on and on until it had been too long to tell him anything. It would have been agony for Eddie and left Steve concerned and just not a good time for anyone.

"So, uh, how long have you been a fan?" Eddie asks.

"Well, I wasn't lying about hearing your music from Lucas, but I did lie about the time. It was two years ago," Steve explains.

Eddie slowly nods and then starts to grin. "So, how's it feel dating a celebrity?" he asks playfully, leaning closer and wiggling his eyebrows at Steve.

"Like a Wattpad fantasy come true," Steve deadpans, nearly cracking when he hears Robin lose her shit behind him, her laughter turning into wheezes within seconds.

Eddie laughs, too. It's loud and bright and makes Steve feel warm and happy, like every problem could be solved simply by making Eddie laugh just like this.

Steve is eager to find out if that's true.

[ssahotchnerr]

ALSO ALSO ALSO, Aaron keeping a pair of readers fuzzy socks in his go-bag for reader when a case is rough/they’re in a super cold area/just because 🤭🤭🤭

perfect pair

SCREAMING i'm setting this in the alaska episode it's the first thing my mind went to <33 cw; bau!reader, established relationship, fluff!!!!!

even with the burning fire going, countless chills continuously rushed through your body; you were shaking in place.

upon receiving word the case was in alaska, the customary temperature had been an afterthought. sure, you had packed (some of) your winter trappings; long sleeves, a heavy lined coat, boots. but you hadn't thought to layer, pack a set of gloves or a hat, wool socks rather than your usual cotton ones. rather, the excitement of purely being able to say you're going to alaska, of all places, had taken priority.

even today as you were getting dressed, you managed to talk aaron into lending you one of his favored quarter-zips. 'talk into' was a loose term, he hadn't needed the persuasion; you asked, he immediately accepted - never the one to deny you wearing his clothing, or the extra, provided warmth.

on the bright side, however, you had been hunkered down at the inn with penelope, researching the residents of the small town and not needing to brace the cold. but you might as well been, the heat coming through the air vents wasn't nearly enough, especially when the door frequently opened and the cold air drifted in. the fire was slowly weakening, and just thinking about the cold, made you freezing. the lingering frigidness was numbing your feet within your shoes, your fingers were just as biting - the bitterness was painful.

you were counting down the minutes until the day ended, eager to be warm in the comfort of bed, curled up with aaron 'the furnace' hotchner - the best perk of minimal rooms available and having to double-up. the two of you didn't typically share quarters while on the job, wanting to uphold professionalism, so this was a welcomed treat.

but when aaron had entered (and brought yet another rush of crisp air with him) to regroup with you and penelope, to discuss findings that would contribute to the profile, and hopefully narrow your search down, all he had to do was take one look of you shivering.

aaron walked behind the couch you were seated at, his hand finding your shoulder and giving it a squeeze hello, before heading up the stairs. at the gesture, you were quick to look up and acknowledge him, giving him a soft smile before your attention returned to penelope's screen.

aaron came back down a minute or two later, lightly tossing something onto your lap. it landed softly, but you still jumped a smidge, taking you by surprise.

you were met with your polka-dot fuzzy socks, a pair you hadn't seen in your drawer quite in a while, actually. your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity, grabbing the soft sherpa material and turning the pair over, analyzing as if you've never seen them before.

"you had these?" your eyes shot back up to aaron, arching an eyebrow in an accusatory, but playful, manner. the ends of your lips tugged upwards in a smile, your heart warming.

"given the circumstances, i'm sure you're glad i did." aaron's face matched your cheeky expression, a light smirk on his face. but he dropped the teasing demeanor, his gentleness returning, "i packed them into my go-bag a while ago. i figured they come in handy in one way or another, at some point. for comfort, warmth, when your ice cold feet touch my leg at night." his eyes smiled at you, and you couldn't help but grin.

aaron's immense, loving look was enough to melt everything in you, physically warming you. the sensation started in the middle of your chest, fanning out to the rest of your body, leaving you toasty and almost giddy.

forget the socks, layers, fireplace - all you needed was aaron.

"god that's adorable." penelope chimed in, who had been listening so quietly you'd forgotten she was there, a slight whine present in her voice, "never thought i'd be crying over a pair of socks, but here we are."

she turned back to her laptop, but her fingers paused above the keyboard, as thought came to her. her gaze drifted back towards you and aaron, a tickled glint in her eyes. "wait, i take that back. you two are the most, adorable pair."

[lostbookmark]

WHISPERED SECRETS

MDNI 18+

WHISPERED SECRETS MASTERLIST here

MAIN MASTERLIST here

Summary: After four years your sister's ex-boyfriend comes back into your life. Can you keep your entanglement a secret? Will the guilt eat you alive.

Pairing: Sisters ex Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader. Possessive Yoongi.

Genre: SMUT, angst, hurt - comfort, romance.

Warning: Explicit sex, Possessive Yoongi, swearing, reader is insecure, jealousy, unprotected sex, drinking, praising, degradation, spanking, hair pulling, arguments. Overuse of the name, baby.

A/N: Welcome to my first story. This will have chapters. I just have to figure out how to add as I go. I'm so nervous! Let me know if I missed any warnings so I can add them.

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You clutch your phone in your hand tightly as you look around at your surroundings. Your other hand was preoccupied pulling down the too tight, too short dress you were forced into wearing. This is something that you have been doing all night. The thin, flimsy material kept riding up your thighs all night. The chilly wind kept blowing your hair in your face, making you have to shake it out of your face every 30 seconds. It was all so tiring and you just wanted to go home.

The sidewalk outside the bar is littered with drunk people stumbling away to their next destination in search of their next drink. Their faces lit by the luminescent sign in the dark night. It was only 10 o'clock on a Friday night, and you were already over it. You didn’t want to be there but your friend Lisa promised you some birthday shots. You didn't like shots but didn't want to let her down either. Unfortunately, she was your driver for the night, and you are pretty sure she ditched you. Great.

“Y/N?” A deep voice asked, making you jump slightly.

You whip head to the side where the deep voice comes from. Min Yoongi stood next to you with a question in his stare. Min Yoongi, your sister's ex-boyfriend. You were sixteen the first time you met him. He was eighteen when she first brought him home, declaring to you in secret that he was the love of her life. Gone was the slim, dark-haired teenager with a soft stare Yoongi. The man beside you with sharp eyes, ripped jeans, and silver hair almost made you second guess yourself. It's been four years since you last saw him. He was still beautiful.

“Yoongi,” you say so softly you think that he didn't hear you.

“I thought that was you when you walked out. Why are you out here alone?” He questioned you. The concern in his voice is evident. "Are you okay?"

Your phone beeped right as you were about to answer. You nodded your head sadly as your text message revealed what you already knew. “Hey sweets, went home with that hot guy from the bar. You're good to get home, right?” With a sigh, you reply with a thumbs up.

“My friend Lisa just ditched me. Happy birthday to me, I guess,” you say and give Yoongi a tight smile.

“It is your birthday, isn't it? Twenty-two now, right?” He asked with a smile on his face, and you just nodded your head in response. You feel the warmth of his body closer to you. When did he move closer? “Look at you all grown up now. ”

Min Yoongi didn't miss your birthday in the two years he was with your sister. He went out of his way to get you a cupcake and a little gift. He even lit a candle and made you make a wish. It was when you turned seventeen when you realized your small…… strike that, big crush on him. That was the day that you looked at him, and those butterflies came alive in your stomach

“You mean I'm no longer gangly with braces?” You asked yanking down the dress again.

“You were beautiful then, too. Do you need a ride? My car is just over there,” he asked with a flick of his hand, pointing his thumb behind him. His eyes swiftly move to watch you fix yourself once more. His eyes snap back up to your face with a gentle smile on his lips,“ I'll take you anywhere you want. Let's try and salvage this birthday for you.”

“I don't want to ruin your night. I..I can just take the bus,” you stammered. You didn't want him feeling bad for you. This was just embarrassing. "I'm sure you have better things to do."

He shook his head, held out his hand, and you hesitantly took it. He's warm and calloused, but it seems to fit perfectly. You were scared yours would be sweaty and be a dead giveaway on how nervous you were. If not a sweaty hand, the heat going to your face certainly was. You look up at Yoongi, and he gives you a knowing smirk. Yup, you were caught. He chuckled deeply and guided you to his car with hand on your lower back. Opening the door for you, he waited until you were all settled in the passenger seat before closing the door and getting in himself.

As he turned the car on, the lights on the dash illuminated his face. Min Yoongi, your sister's ex who she cried herself to sleep over after he broke up with her. She constantly stared at her phone for weeks, hoping that he would call her. He never did. She told you loudly one night that he was a loser. How she was so mad she lost two years to him. She never told you why he broke up with her. In fact, she didn't say much to you after that. She left home and moved five hours away not long after. You barely see her. You hope she's happy.

“Baby?” Yoongi's voice broke you out of your thoughts. He placed his hand on your bare thigh, gently moving thumb across your skin, causing goosbumps to race down over your body. “You okay?” You nod silently, yes. Your eyes are locked on his thumb. Gentle circles, making the heat in your face spread further down. You try not to squirm or press your thighs together, but the ache in your core is making it hard. Yoongi tilts your face up to look at him. Your heart is beating a hundred miles a minute as you stare into his eyes. “Can I kiss you?” he asked in a whisper. Again, you nod your head silently. Yoongi cups your face and brings you closer. His breath ghosts ever so lightly over your lips. “Happy birthday.” He presses his lip surely over yours.

You let yourself get lost in the kiss. You feel his tongue lick your bottom lip, and obediently, you open your mouth for him to explore. His skilled tongue massages against your own. These are kisses that you don't ever want to come back from. Kisses that are making you lightheaded, but you dont dare pull away. You moan into the kiss and tightly clutch his black jacket, pulling his to you. You need to feel him closer to you. His hand drops from your face back to your thigh. His fingertips run up and down the outside, inching just under the hem of the too short dress. You shiver and don't even hide pressing your legs together this time as you start to squirm in his passenger seat. Yoongi nips your bottom lip as he pulls away. You watch him slowly lick, then bit his bottom lip.

“Come home with me?” He asked. His voice is somehow even deeper and more gravelly than normal. Silently, you nod your head, yes.

[allbark-no-bite]

Maniac || Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: she’s dancing in the kitchen while Rafe’s falling in love

word count: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ smut

author’s note: inspired loosely by Macklemore’s ‘Maniac’

He's laughing now, low and attractive, his pearly teeth on display. His crossed arms bounce against his chest as it rumbles. From the radio sat on the counter, music bounces through the expanse of the kitchen.

"I am not dancing with you."

"C'mon! Get over yourself, Cameron!"

Warm, lemon yellow light slowly creeps across the white kitchen walls, and it makes her hair flash a rich golden color as she twirls through the sunbeams.

Rafe remembers exactly when he fell in love with her because it was a moment similar to this one. She's half dressed, dancing in the kitchen in her tube socks. Her hair is a mess, falling out of the already sloppy bun it's been thrown in, and he's not even sure she's wearing anything under the billowy mass of his shirt. The buttons are misaligned and he's half hoping it will fall further down her shoulder just so he can prove his theory.

God, does she get on his nerves. "Of you? Or looking like an idiot?" Rafe braces himself against the countertop, his lean body relaxed.

Right now he's just content to watch her, socked feet sliding against the white kitchen tile as she does what he has to admit is a fairly decent impression of the moonwalk. Thankfully he doesn't speak too soon because she stumbles over her own feet at the end, catching herself just before she hits the floor.

Rafe just shakes his head, blue eyes shining with a light that only she can put in them. "You're a maniac." His heart hurts. He wishes this wasn't so complicated.

Rafe met (y/n) through Topper, his best friend since grade school. Consequently, Topper was also (y/n)'s older brother. Now, he wants to make this point clear, he never set out to fuck his best friend's kid sister. Shit just happens. He had always liked her, of course, but everyone did. She didn't rat out anything they did at parties, and she was always down to hang out and do... other things. His favorite of those things being the time they had sex in the backseat of Topper's jeep. They'd emerged an hour later, faces hot and clothes rumpled, and returned back to the party as if nothing happened.

Rafe is sure Topper knows he's doing less than decent things with his little sister — they did leave his car reeking of sex for the whole next week — but for the most part, they keep whatever is between them under wraps. She says it's because she doesn't want to hurt her brother if things go south. Rafe knows it's because she's seventeen and doesn't want to commit to anything she doesn't have to.

"We aren't dating, Rafe. You know that."

He's just proposed that they go with Kelce and his girlfriend to the golf club tomorrow.

"Bullshit," he laughs, grinning from ear to ear. She was bad for him, her and her flighty indecisiveness, but so were a lot of other things he did. Rafe figured there were worse things that could kill him.

"You'll get over me eventually. I promise."

He's really grinning now because he knows she's all talk. "Sure," he relents, playing along for the sake of the conversation. "And when I don't?"

She's rolling her eyes now but still smiling as he takes her hand and twirls her around, her toes twirling delicately across the kitchen floor. "You're just like my brother. You'll find another Sarah Cameron and move on with your life."

He actually scoffs at that. "I'd rather not think about the things your brother does to my sister."

"I'm sure Top feels the same way," she refutes, sidling closer to Rafe until they're nearly pressed chest to chest. The collar of the shirt has slidden off her shoulder, well below her collarbone, and still there's no bra strap in sight. He swallows, a hand sliding up the back of her bare thigh to cup the curve of her backside and pull her closer to him.

She must notice his tentativeness because she offers him a cheeky look, cupping her hand over his own. "No need to be shy. If you're going to touch me then get going with it."

Rafe's blue eyes flit to hers, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into a shy smile, as if he's been caught contemplating and she read his mind. His other hand glides up her shirt, reveling at the warmth of her skin before sliding home. The bud of her breast pebbles under the swipe of his thumb and she shivers.

"What's wrong with being shy?" he mumbles, his head ducking to mouth at the cavern of her collarbone. Her body is warm and impossibly alive in his hands. There are often times like this one that he cannot fathom the fact that like him, she is a living, breathing person. He can feel her heart thumping under the weight of his palm, almost unbearably alive.

The tent in his pants must betray him because she laughs. "Rafe Cameron, you have never been shy a day in your life." Her hips grind up into his and he muffles a groan into her skin. He would say she knows him too well but really there's no hiding what's happening in his pants.

His fingers tug down at her shirt as he cranes his neck lower to mouth at the tender swell of her breast. A pleased sound escapes her. Before she can grip him through his shorts, he swiftly grabs her wrist, placing it instead on his waist. "Later," he huffs. His dick can wait.

When her hand again slips past the waistband of his boxer, his teeth catch her skin, reprimanding her. "Later, dammit," Rafe scolds, but there's no bite to his voice. He's smiling again as he kisses the welp better. His hands are on her waist, thumbs digging in below her hipbones to pull her body into his. Her fingers are in his hair, tickling his scalp and making him sigh into her skin. Rafe smoothes his tongue over the hickey forming on the top of her breast, making sure to attend to the other side as well.

With her hands still in his hair, Rafe drops to his knees on the kitchen tile. He is very, very pleased to find that she is not wearing panties. Narrowing his blue eyes, he shoots her a knowing glare. "You're nothing but trouble, kid."

Her hands tangled in his hair push his head back down. "You sound like you're trying to catch a case calling me that."

Rafe laughs at her impatience. At first he had been painfully aware of their three year age gap. She was Topper's litter sister for god's sake — practically a baby when he was a senior in high school. That number has faded over the years but it doesn't mean he doesn't like to tease her.

Grinning, his nose drags along the tan of her bikini line. She smells like sun tan oil and something he can't quite place. He would like to linger a while longer to figure it out but he's afraid she'll get too impatient with him.

Palms griping the backs of her thighs, he licks through her folds. The contact makes her body jump, but her fingers tighten as much as they can in his cropped hair, forcing his face closer. He just knows his jaw is going to ache tomorrow. Is it actually good head if it doesn't? He doesn't think so.

Rafe drags his tongue up to her clit before sucking at it. She squeaks at this, legs quivering beside his head. Just when he thinks she's going to lose her balance, she thankfully grabs on to the counter behind her before they both topple to the floor.

"Holy..." she begins, but doesn't even finish her sentence.

Grunting, Rafe has to force his wide shoulders in between her knees to keep them open as he laps at her. His tongue dips further into her, causing his nose to nudge her clit each time his mouth explores her further.

Eventually he becomes more insistent with his actions, lapping at her clit until she's whimpering, sensitive to the point that he doesn't know if she's more keen on shoving his head towards her or pushing it away. She comes with a cry, squirming in his hands as his tongue finishes the job properly.

"Oh god, I love you. Please. Fuck, you're— Right there."

Rafe pulls away just a fraction to breathe. "What'd you say?"

He's sure she can still feel his hot breath against her weeping cunt. There's arousal leaking down her thighs and he can feel it dripping down from his chin to his neck.

Panting, her cheeks are flushed as she looks down at him, but he has a feeling it's not from him. "What?" she stammers. "Nothing."

He grins cheshire-like up at her. His hands rub the backs of her thighs soothingly before squeezing her calfs. "You said the "L" word," he accuses.

Her eyes widen in realization. "No. No, I didn't," she protests.

Rafe rises to his feet, hands trailing up her body as his smile grows wider. She's trapped between his body and the counter and has no choice but to try and dodge him as he tries to catch her eyes. "What was it?" He taunts, laughing. "Say it again, baby?"

She tries to cover her face with her hands but with Rafe's overpowering strength, the attempt is useless. Even hiding halfway behind her arms, he can tell she's smiling. "I didn't! I didn't say anything!"

"C'mon! Baby. Baby, look at me." Rafe pulls her her rigid arms away from her face and holds them out to either side of her head. "Hey, I said look at me."

Leveling his gaze with her, they lock eyes for a moment, neither saying anything. Although her expression is fairly calm, if not a little pensive, he can tell she’s searching his face for a reaction. Timidly, he presses his lips to hers, stealing a chaste kiss before pulling away again.

“I love you too.”

[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.6

Chapter Summary: You arrive at Ellie's family's house, but it's not what you expected.

Chapter Warnings: language, mentions of child abuse (not SA), mentions of slavery, angst

WC: 6.3K

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Ellie was quiet the next morning, picking slowly at her granola bar and bent over, staring at her book. It was the day you expected to arrive at her aunt and uncle's house, and you had a hunch she was feeling bittersweet about it. When you woke up, you had a pit in your stomach that you assumed had something to the conversation you had with Joel the night before, but as the morning wore on, you realized there was a different reason. You weren't ready to let Ellie go.

"Hey," you said, nudging her knee so she would look up. "You excited to see your family?"

"I guess," she said with a shrug. Joel appeared to only be half listening as he nursed his coffee across from you.

"I'm sure they'll be happy to see you," you replied. "They probably don't even know you're alive. You said you were taken from their house, right?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "After my parents died, they took me in. I can't really remember much, but I know it was nighttime and I had a bag over my head, but I don't remember them breaking into the house, I must've been asleep."

"And it was the Fireflies who took you?" you asked.

"I'm not sure. It wasn't Marlene's group, if it was. There was more of us, they kept us all in this gross basement or something. No one could tell where we were, and whenever they moved us, they had the bags over our heads."

"Jesus," Joel muttered to himself with a shake of his head.

"How do you know it wasn't Marlene?" you asked gently, curious to learn more, but worried about upsetting her.

"Because after a few months, they took me and a couple others to Marlene's camp. She never made us wear the bags," Ellie explained.

"They hurt you?" Joel asked. His eyebrows were pinched as if he were bracing himself.

"A little," she admitted quietly. Your gaze dropped down to your hands, trying not to show her the emotion on your face. "They'd hit us if we weren't working fast enough, or trip us just for fun, I guess."

"I'm so sorry, Ellie," you whispered, reaching out a hand to place on her knee.

You exchanged a pained look with Joel before dropping the subject. At least she was going back home. She might not be excited yet, but you were willing to bet she would be once she saw her family again.

"We're doing the right thing," you murmured to him when you were out of earshot as Ellie packed up her belongings. "I know you weren't on board with this at first, but we're giving her a chance at a decent life."

"Second we get back I'm tellin' Tommy we are cuttin' all ties with these people," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't care what they got to offer."

You nodded, feeling the anger rolling off of him as he aggressively folded up his sleeping bag. You grabbed your pack and kicked dirt over what little fire remained, snuffing out the embers before reviewing the map once more.

Thankfully, her family didn't live within the city itself. Cities were heavily populated, which meant more risk of infected, soldiers, or hostile people. You tended to avoid them at all costs. They lived in a small town outside of the city called Morristown, which didn't have much outside of a post office, a school, and a fire department. The residential homes were built far apart from each other, scattered and disorganized. You got the feeling that people who used to live in this town knew everyone's business, it was so tiny. And you also had the feeling these were the types of people that shot first and asked questions later, given the extent it appeared they went for privacy.

"That's my school!" Ellie said excitedly, pointing down the street. Joel was focused on the map, trying to find the way to Spirit Drive, but you twisted your head so you could see the building she pointed out in the distance.

"That's cool, Ellie," you said warmly, happy to see she finally had a small smile on her face. "What was your favorite subject?"

She went on to tell you about her art class and a teacher she adored, and all the while you stared at her, listening to her stories while your heart ached. You imagined her in that school, with her friends, playing sports, eating lunch, and something inside you burned. It almost felt like jealousy, but that didn't make sense. It was a feeling you couldn't put your finger on, but you thought you knew what it was when you turned down her street, swallowing the lump in your throat when the realization set in that you were minutes away from never seeing her again.

"This the place?" Joel asked Ellie, squinting his eyes between her and the map. The house didn't look like much. It was a small, brick ranch with a long, gravel driveway that led up to a dilapidated grey barn. The hinges on the storm door to the front house were originally black, but now orange with rust. White paint chipped from the door in long strips, and the front garden was long abandoned and overgrown.

"Yeah," she said, looking at the barn.

"Do you think they're still here?" you asked, a flicker of hope igniting in you. Maybe if they weren't here, you could convince Joel to take her back to Jackson.

"Oh, yeah. They're here," she said confidently. You both glanced down at her.

"How're you so sure?" Joel asked, and she tilted her chin up towards the corner of the house. You both followed her gaze, noticing the cameras for the first time. They were small, it was no wonder you missed them, but they were there and definitely working. You could see a little red light flashing in the lens when the camera swooped across the lawn and over the driveway, where you all stood.

Joel slowly flicked his eyes around the house, counting at least seven cameras that he could see from his position. Then his gaze traveled to the barn, where he thought he could make out at least five more.

"How in the hell did you get taken from this place with all these cameras?" he asked. She didn't reply, and he wasn't really expecting an answer.

"So, what do we do?" you asked Joel quietly. "Do we just go up and knock?"

Joel twisted around to glance at Ellie, but she wasn't paying attention. She fidgeted her fingers inside her long sleeves as she stared out across the wide open dusty, dirty land the house was built on.

"I'll go up and knock, you two stay back," he decided, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck before venturing further down the driveway. The sun was blazing, even more so in the desert with little to no shade. You couldn't imagine how uncomfortable Ellie must have been in her long sleeves.

"That's far enough!" a man's voice rang out. Joel stopped dead in his tracks, whipping his head around to try to locate the source. Then he saw movement. An older man with a scraggly grey beard and balding head emerged from the barn, aiming a rifle right at Joel. He held his hands up in the air, showing from a distance that he meant no harm.

"Is that your uncle?" you whispered, holding your hands up as well.

"Yeah, that's Uncle Dave," she said, but she seemed unbothered by the threat. In fact, she shoved her hands in her pockets as she waited for him to approach.

"We aren't lookin' for trouble," Joel called out as Dave slowly made his way closer, his eyes transfixed on Joel. "We're here-"

"Toss your weapons on the ground!" Dave ordered, readjusting his grip on his rifle.

"Okay," Joel said, nodding, and slowly reached around to pluck the handgun from the back of his pants with two fingers. He held it up and gently tossed it on the ground in front of him.

"You too, missy," Dave said without even looking at you. You followed suit, slowly removing your gun and tossing it on the ground at your side. When you were no longer armed, Dave relaxed a bit, letting his shoulder drop but still aiming the rifle at Joel's chest. He finally allowed his gaze to drift behind Joel, looking briefly at you before his eyes landed on Ellie. He hesitated and swallowed roughly before forcing out a harsh chuckle.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Junebug! Get out here, you ain't never gonna believe this!"

A rounder woman with glasses and tight curly blonde hair emerged from the barn behind Dave, a scowl painting her features as she walked forward, aiming a revolver at Joel. When she looked over and noticed Ellie, her expression changed. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and she let her gun fall to her side.

"Ellie!" the woman cried out, trotting clumsily down the driveway towards you. You looked down at Ellie, expecting her to finally show some excitement, but she only offered them a pained smile.

"Hiya, Aunt June," Ellie said before being enveloped in a huge bear hug.

"Oh, my sweet girl! I thought I would never see you again," June said with tears in her eyes. Dave watched the two reunite from his position in front of Joel, the rifle now slung over his shoulder.

Ellie stepped back and introduced you and Joel to her family. She explained you were helping her and keeping her safe, and the two adults began to warm up to you after that.

"Please, why don't you stay the night?" June offered. "We'll make you dinner and give you a warm bed, it's the least we could do." Ellie turned to you and nodded, a genuine smile finally spreading across her face.

You felt Joel hesitate next to you, but you quickly accepted her offer, not ready to leave Ellie just yet. He gave you a sideways glance before giving June and Dave a tight smile and followed them into the house, only after picking up your weapons from the ground.

The inside of the house matched the outside. It was well lived in and dated, but it was clean. You glanced around the living room, noticing there didn't seem to be any family pictures around, just landscape art and a clock on the wall.

June gave you a brief tour of the small house and showed you their spare bedroom, where you and Joel left your backpacks.

"Why don't you help me in the kitchen, dear, and leave the men to their own devices," June said, her pink cheeks pinching into a smile. You looked at Joel, trying to read his expression. He gave you a quick nod, confirming he was comfortable with being separated, and you returned her smile.

"That sounds great," you told her.

Dave led Joel down into the basement, explaining along the way that he would be 'blown away' by his set up down there. Ellie had mentioned they were preppers, and based on the cameras, you had to assume the basement was remodeled to be a safe room or a bunker.

You helped June chop up vegetables while she kneaded dough to make chicken pot pie. Your mouth watered at the prospect of a home cooked meal.

"We've been traveling for over a week, eating mostly trail mix and rabbit. This will be wonderful, thank you so much," you told her.

"Of course, dear. It's no trouble at all. Ellie!" June called out. Ellie came around the corner, her sketch pad hanging limply at her side.

"C'mon, girl, you forget how to help out around here?" June asked, her brows furrowed for a moment before she realized how harsh she sounded. She turned to you and laughed, her features relaxed again. "Kids, you know?"

You smiled and looked back at Ellie to gauge her reaction. She seemed quiet and closed off, but you brushed it off, chalking it up to the long day.

June held out a butcher knife to her, and Ellie hesitated, her eyes flicking from her aunt to the knife.

"Auntie, please don't make me," she said, eyes wide.

"You know the rules, don't tell me you forgot now," she replied lowly. Ellie reached out a shaky hand to pick up the knife.

"What is this?" you asked, putting your hand out to stop her.

"Well, we need chicken for the chicken pot pie, don't we now?" June said sweetly, and you were beginning to feel like that ruddy smile of hers was a little fake.

"I'll do it," you said, stepping in front of Ellie, hand outstretched for the knife.

"Now, I appreciate the offer, dear, but Ellie understands it's part of her chores, right?" she said, narrowing her eyes at Ellie. She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the floor.

"She can chop the vegetables and I'll take care of the chicken," you told her, your tone becoming more insistent.

June's watery eyes wavered between you and Ellie as she weighed her options. You glanced down at the butcher knife in her red, flour covered hands, then looked back at her.

"I insist," you said darkly, dropping the fake pleasantries. June's gaze dragged up to remain locked on you.

"Girl's gotta learn to be comfortable with killing," she replied, but you reached out and snatched the knife from her grip before she had a chance to blink.

"That's alright, I could use some practice, myself," you told her, refusing to break eye contact.

The tension in the room was thick, even Ellie was shifting her weight, trying to make herself as small as possible. You waited for June to try to argue with you again or say something to Ellie that didn't sit right, but it never came. As if storm clouds passed, her eyes cleared up and she blinked at you, a smile spreading across her flushed cheeks.

"Well, then," she said, dusting her hands on her apron. "Coop's out back. Suppose we should thank our guest, right Ellie?" June said, raising an eyebrow at the girl. Ellie nodded and looked up at you.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"No problem, kid," you muttered, giving June one last glance before heading out the back door.

"This here's an AK-47, got maybe six of these fuckers," Dave said, his fingertips grazing the weapon on the wall as he passed. "Just about anything you can think of, I probably got two of 'em."

For someone who hoarded weapons in an underground bunker, Joel would have thought the man would be a little more subtle. A little less eager to show a complete stranger his entire stash. But then again, men like Dave loved to show off. If they couldn't boast about it, then what was the point?

"Real nice set up you got here," Joel murmured, knowing the man was waiting for a compliment. Dave's chest puffed with pride before he opened a sliding door in the back of the basement, revealing a small room filled with different sized monitors, cameras all cycling through the different angles he had covering his property. Joel was wrong: he had way more than just the cameras he saw. They rotated to different views all around the outside of the house. He noticed the only cameras that were monitoring indoors were in the barn where he saw an old John Deere tractor and a pickup truck flash on the screen.

"Jesus," Joel whispered, taking a step forward, but still not entering the small room. "How the hell you manage to watch these all the time?"

"Ah," Dave said proudly, tapping his finger against his temple. "I got motion alerts. Sends out an alarm when I'm sleeping or taking a shit or whatever. Gets annoying, though. Mostly just birds or other animals, so I turn it off during the day. But sometimes... sometimes I get something good."

"Like us?" Joel said, and Dave laughed.

"Yeah... yep, exactly like you," he replied, trailing off as he stared at Joel.

"Y'know," Dave said after a moment, stepping back to shut the door. "There's folks around here who pay good money for things, if you're ever in the market to buy or sell."

"We don't got much, but we're doin' just fine," Joel said, beginning to feel uneasy.

"Nah, see, that's where you're wrong, friend," Dave replied, pouring two glasses of whiskey and handing one to Joel. "You do got somethin'."

Joel held the glass tightly, bringing it up to his lips and pretending to take a sip before setting it down. Something told him he should keep his wits about him. He raised his eyebrows at Dave, waiting for him to continue.

"That girl with you up there," he began, and Joel felt his stomach twist at the mention of you. "She would fetch you a fair price with the folks I know."

Joel froze, doing his damndest to not let his emotions show. The pieces were starting to click. He clenched his jaw and swallowed lightly before taking a deep breath.

"That right?" he replied, urging him to continue. He needed to get back upstairs, for the first time realizing you all might be in danger.

"Hell yeah. Medicine, food, weapons. I'm sure of it," he said with a click of his tongue. "I make one radio call and they could be here in two days."

"Hm," Joel replied, clenching his fists behind his back. "Lemme think on it, yeah?"

"Sure, sure," he said with a wave. "Don't think too long, though. One day, someone'll take her. It's just a matter of if you get to benefit from it or not, you get me?"

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Yeah," Joel said. "I get you."

Joel decided you weren't leaving his sight. He was relieved when June called down, letting them know dinner was ready, so he could make sure you were okay without making an excuse to leave and raise suspicion. A man like Dave with a whole arsenal at his disposal wasn't someone he wanted to tangle with. He had to be careful.

A cynical part of him wondered if he should be worried about the food, but he knew you helped prepare it. You were smart, you would have noticed if something was going on.

But when he climbed the stairs and locked eyes with you, he knew something was wrong. You didn't show it, but he could tell by the way your smile didn't reach your eyes.

He settled down at the table as you and June scooped out the meal on everyone's your plates while Ellie silently brought everyone glasses of water. When she set Joel's down, he tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him.

"Ellie, why don't you get Joel 'n me whiskies. You ladies want anything stronger?" Dave asked, tucking his napkin into his shirt. You shook your head and politely declined as you took your seat next to Joel, your knee purposely knocking against his under the table. He glanced at you, your lips pressed in a thin line as you looked down at your food, not wanting to raise suspicion but desperately wanting to warn him that these people seemed off.

"You know, I've been meaning to try that margarita mix we traded for last week," June said thoughtfully. "Ellie, let me show you how to make it." June waddled out of the kitchen and into the living room, behind Ellie. You heard their voices carrying over faintly as June instructed her how to make her drink.

"This looks great, honey. What's in it?" Joel asked, turning and giving you a pointed look. Honey. He never called you that. It got your attention, and you gave him a quick, curious look before you understood his underlying question. Is this safe to eat? Your gaze drifted back to Dave, who was watching the two of you talk.

"Just normal stuff," you told him. "Nothing special. Veggies, chicken."

His eyes bored into yours, trying to communicate silently with you. You figured it out. Something happened in the basement that worried him, the same way June's behavior worried you.

"Alright, let's dig in!" June said cheerily, entering the kitchen with a yellow drink in her hand. Ellie followed dutifully behind with two glasses of whiskey, placing them in front of the men before sitting across from you.

"This is great, Junebug," Dave told his wife after a few forkfuls. June smiled as she sipped from her glass. You and Joel choked down the meal, offering your compliments and thanks once again, while Ellie silently pushed her food around her plate.

"Not a whiskey man, Joel?" Dave asked, his eyes growing glassy from the drink he had in the basement and now his second one.

"It's just been a long journey," Joel explained, but took a small sip anyway. "Feelin' real tired, is all."

Ellie glanced up and looked at Joel, knowing full well he wasn't tired. In the short time she knew him, it was like pulling teeth to admit he was tired. She looked back and forth between him and you, trying to read your faces without being obvious.

"Quit playing with your food," June told her harshly, finishing up her margarita. "You should be so lucky to have a roof over your head and food in your belly."

Joel stiffened next to you but didn't look up from his plate, his mind racing, trying to formulate a plan.

"You know what? That drink looked good," you said suddenly. "Ellie, why don't you show me if you remember how to make it?" You stood up from the table and Ellie jumped to her feet to follow you.

"Bring me another, too," June barked as Ellie followed you around the corner to the bar cart in the living room.

"What the hell is going on here, Ellie?" you muttered quietly, picking up the margarita mixer and pouring it into a glass.

"It's how they always are," she whispered. "They aren't exactly good with kids, but it's fine."

"No, it's not fine," you whispered back, holding your hand out to keep her from pouring tequila in your glass, choosing to just drink the mixer, not wanting alcohol to dull your senses. You nudged her hand to make her pour a little extra tequila in her aunt's glass. "This isn't how you should be living."

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?" she asked sharply before turning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen. You trailed after her, finding your seat next to Joel and taking a sip of the fake drink and trying to ignore the guilt. You had no idea how you were going to be able to leave her behind with these people.

You helped June clean up the dishes after dinner while the men filed into the living room. Joel had drank his first glass, but held up his hand when Dave offered a second, rubbing his eyes and reminding him how tired he felt. He needed to get you alone and get you the hell out of here, paranoid that Dave would call those people to do a "trade" for you like he was already suspecting happened originally with Ellie. What else would explain kidnappers being able to bypass his security system?

As if reading his mind, Dave asked "Think any more about what I told you downstairs?"

Joel yawned, trying to hide his anger by contorting his face.

"Lemme sleep on it, get back to you in the mornin', I'm beat," he said, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick. If he was, Dave didn't seem to notice, the whiskey doing its job by keeping him oblivious.

"Alright now, Ellie. Time to get ready for bed," June said, her drink sloshing in her glass. "Say goodbye and thank you to your friends."

You could see the despair in Ellie's face. Trying hard not to cry, you wrapped her in a hug and whispered it will be okay in her ear before pulling back, swallowing hard. She was about to reach for her sketch pad when, much to your surprise, Joel suddenly leaned down and pulled her into a hug. Ellie also looked shocked, not sure what to do at first but eventually brought her arms up around his ribs. You thought you could see him whisper something in her ear, but it happened so fast, you weren't sure.

"Okay, off you go," June told her, and Ellie quickly walked down the hall without another word. You watched her go, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You sat next to Joel, trying to appear interested in what her aunt and uncle were talking about, but you realized it didn't matter the more they drank. Joel's hand dropped on the couch next to you, grasping your hand and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. You looked up at him sadly as he tried to wordlessly say it's okay, I'll get us out of this.

After another hour, Dave stood to tend to the fire, stumbling in the process. June chuckled, her face redder than usual.

"Time for bed, old man," she teased, and he grunted in response, pushing a log around with the poker before straightening back up.

"Suppose you're right, Junebug," he replied. You could hear the alcohol in his voice, the way he spoke slightly louder and slower than usual.

"You two need anything, you just holler," June said, pushing herself off the couch. "Clean sheets are in the closet."

You and Joel stood, watching as they made their way slowly down the hall to their bedroom, June mumbling to Dave until their door quietly clicked shut.

You immediately swiveled around to Joel but he clamped a hand over your mouth, shaking his head. You nodded and he removed his hand, leading you down the other end of the hall to the guest room, and shut the door.

"Joel-"

He held his finger to his lips before he made his way around the room, checking the furniture and closet for any possible hidden cameras or bugs. When he was satisfied, he finally spoke.

"Don't get comfortable. When they fall asleep, we're leavin'," he whispered.

"We can't leave her here," you said, sweeping your arm towards the door.

"I know," he said, and you breathed a sigh of relief. "They'll sell her off again the first chance they get."

"Wait, what?" you asked, eyes wide. "I thought someone snatched her?"

"I really fuckin' doubt it," Joel said, running his fingers through his hair. "When we were in the basement, that asshole was tryin' to convince me to sell you to slavers. Said if I don't do it, somebody'll take and sell you anyway. Sounded awful lot like a threat, if you ask me."

"Jesus Christ, Joel!" you whispered, wrapping your arms around your ribs and pacing nervously around the room. "So you think they sold Ellie into slavery? Their own niece?"

"Wouldn't put it past 'em. You should see the shit he's got in that basement. Must've cost a fortune. I'm sure Ellie wasn't the only one they sold off."

It started to make sense. The way June spoke to and treated Ellie like she was a servant didn't leave you feeling warm and fuzzy.

"But they seemed so happy to see her," you said, thinking back.

"Yeah, probably saw her as another paycheck. Two for one," Joel said with a scoff.

"So what's the plan?" you asked him, biting on your fingernail anxiously.

"Give it an hour or so," he began, sitting down on the bed. "Make sure they're passed out. Then, you go get the kid, and I'll go to the basement. I gotta figure out how to turn off the motion alerts on those cameras so they don't wake up. Then we get the fuck outta here."

"Okay," you said quietly, sitting down next to him, stunned. Twenty minutes ago, you just thought they were bad guardians. You had no idea it was this bad. You buried your face in your hands, feeling guilty for bringing Ellie back into this house. You should have fought harder to get her to stay in Jackson. Now, you all ended up in danger, anyway.

"We have to try to warn Tommy and Maria," you whispered. "What if something happens? It'll take us a week to get home."

"Maybe not," Joel replied. "I saw on his cameras that they got a truck in that barn."

Joel stuck his head out into the hallway, craning his neck to listen for any movement from the master bedroom. After a few minutes of silence, he looked back at you and nodded. Quietly, you followed him down the hall, pausing outside of Ellie's room. Before you could open the door, Joel put his hand over yours. He cupped your face and quickly pressed a kiss against your lips, then pulled back to look deep into your eyes while his thumb caressed your cheek.

I'll get us out of here, I'll keep us safe.

You nodded, understanding without him having to say a word. He dropped his hand and made his way down the hall to the basement door, clicking on his flashlight before descending the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly pushed the bedroom door open. You took care to close it gently behind you, then turned around to find Ellie fully dressed and waiting for you at the foot of her bed.

"Hey," you whispered, and she stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"I'm ready," she whispered back.

"How did you-"

"Joel told me," she said quietly. "He said to keep my bag packed, and not to fall asleep."

So he did whisper something in her ear when he hugged her.

"Okay, good," you breathed, trying to hide your nervousness.

"I packed all new clothes, and a few other things I wanted. Do you think I need anything else?"

"You have your flashlight?" you asked.

"Yep. And I got this," she said, proudly reaching into her pants pocket and pulling out a switchblade.

"Where did you get that?"

"Does it matter?" she replied.

"Just be careful with that thing, put it away," you told her. She folded it back up and shoved it into her jeans.

You poked your head out of her door, making sure the coast was clear before taking a step out. You made it two feet before Ellie's hand shot out and grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her room just in time. The master bedroom door swung open and June hobbled out in her nightgown, making her way groggily to the bathroom. You and Ellie stood with your ears pressed against the bedroom door, listening intently as the toilet flushed and the sink ran.

"Where's Joel?" Ellie mouthed.

You pointed down to the floor and mouthed back basement.

You waited until you heard her door click shut and the squeak of the boxspring before opening Ellie's door again. Silently, you made your way down the hall and to the dark kitchen, where you waited for Joel.

"What's he doing?" she said as softly as possible.

"Motion sensors," was all you said back. She shook her head.

"He won't know - I'll do it," she replied, and before you could stop her, she opened the door and made her way down the steps, turning her flashlight on in the process. You went after her as quickly and quietly as you could, knowing Joel wouldn't expect you to be down there.

You entered the bunker, taking a second to gawk at all the guns adorned on the walls. There was also an elaborate looking radio and a workbench filled with electrical parts. You passed five dressers that looked to be filled with different types of ammunition, and you thought you even saw a couple grenades.

"Joel," you whispered, and you heard him shuffle near the back of the room. You swung your flashlight towards the noise, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped out from behind a tall shelf of canned goods, shaking his head and holstering his revolver.

"This wasn't the plan," he scolded with a deep frown, but before you could explain, Ellie pushed past you both and made her way to the little room in the back that housed all of the security system equipment.

"Ellie!" Joel whispered, going after her.

"I know what I'm doing," she said over her shoulder. He glanced back at you and you shrugged.

"There, the alarm is turned off and so is the recording," she said, emerging from the room. Joel gave her a confused look.

"Recording?" you repeated.

"Yeah, the cameras record everything. So they won't know what direction we go when they wake up tomorrow and try to review the footage," she explained, looking at you like it was obvious before heading to the stairs.

"Did you know-" you began to ask, but Joel cut you off.

"Hey, wait," he whispered, making Ellie stop on the bottom step. He unscrewed the cap of whiskey Dave had shared with him earlier and poured it all over the radio, watching as it sparked a bit. And for good measure, he cut the wire that powered the device before making his way toward the stairs, pushing past Ellie to lead you both out of the house.

Joel led you to the barn, maneuvering on the soft grass instead of the noisy gravel. There was a standard padlock on the door, which he was able to break relatively easily with his hunting knife. He was beginning to realize Ellie's aunt and uncle had all the appearances of being survivalists, but lacked most of the skills. He had lost count of the things he would have done differently if he was defending his own home.

Still, he didn't want to wake them when he was so close to safety. So, he put the truck in neutral and had Ellie steer from the driver's seat while the two of you pushed the car down the long driveway, waiting until it reached the road before making Ellie move to the back and starting it up.

He drove for a few hours until you were both struggling to keep your eyes open, the adrenaline that was previously fueling you both long since worn off.

"Let's pull off here, maybe we can find some gas before we head out in the mornin'," Joel said softly, trying not to wake Ellie.

"Okay," you said quietly, staring out the window as he got off the interstate. He drove for another half hour until he found a volunteer fire hall.

There were a few abandoned cars in the large lot when you pulled in. Joel parked the truck and turned to you.

"Lemme go in and check it out, you stay with the kid," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I'll come with you," you said, but he held out his hand.

"Stay," he repeated firmly, and you shook your head.

"What if-"

"Just do as your told for once," he snapped. You clamped your mouth shut, too tired to argue. He was clearly annoyed that you improvised back at the house and brought Ellie in the basement.

"Fine," you seethed, and he slid out of the truck. You watched with your arms crossed as he approached the door, shining his flashlight inside the window before working on the lock and pushing his way in. You could see the beam of his flashlight through the windows as he moved from room to room, carefully checking out each one before finally coming back out to let you know it was clear.

"Ellie," you whispered, nudging her shoulder gently. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up with a yawn, turning around to try to figure out where you were.

"We're gonna stay here for the rest of the night and try to get some sleep before hitting the road tomorrow," you explained as you hopped out of the truck.

She silently followed you into the building, where Joel was waiting, holding the door open. He led you both up the stairs where the firefighters had a small living space with bunk beds. Ellie snagged the first one she saw, curling up with the blanket that was already draped over the bed and falling back asleep.

"You good?" Joel asked, looking over as you flopped down on one of the beds.

"Yeah, are you?" you replied. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Long fuckin' day," he murmured.

"Why don't I keep watch tonight and you get some rest, I'll sleep in the car tomorrow," you told him. You could tell he wanted to argue with you but his exhaustion won.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed after a moment.

You stood back up, checking your gun before heading back downstairs. After you peeked out the windows to confirm everything was all quiet, you wandered around the first floor a bit. It looked like after the outbreak, the building may have acted as a safe zone. There were abandoned bags, cots, blankets, and trash overflowing in the bins.

You were looking through some duffel bags for anything useful when you heard a noise outside. You froze, quickly pulling your gun from the back of your jeans as you made your way cautiously out into the room. At first glance, your flashlight didn't show anything out of the ordinary. You were about to give up when you heard the same noise again. Whipping to your left, you advanced towards the sound with your gun drawn.

The last thing you remember is a hand gripping your throat from behind and a needle slipping into your neck.

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18+below the cut

"Whatcha doing?" Nicholas asks, coming up beside me. "Grocery list. Need to add anything?" "Nutella. I used the last of it yesterday." I write his request down, smiling when he kisses me on the cheek and says thank you. "What would we do without you, Y/N?"

"More than likely starve," Jolly points out, coming into the kitchen. "Can you put black licorice on there for me, too?" "Dude, don't make her buy that! That shit tastes like fucking ass."

I hide my smile behind my hand, trying my best not to laugh. Nick is right, but the look on Jolly's face is priceless. "Hey, I'll get it, don't worry," I reassure him, pressing my hand against his chest. Jolly looks down at me and I feel his body ease.

"Thank you." "No problem." Jolly walks away, mumbling off words in Swedish, knocking Nick in the shoulder in the process. "Oh, what the hell, Jolly!" I return to my shopping list, shaking my head.

"Hey, Noah," I hear Nick say as he leaves the kitchen. I freeze; my body tightening, my legs pressing together, and my sex tingling, making my panties wet. Long arms brace themselves against the counter, pinning me between it and the body they belong to. I can smell Noah's presence and it makes me weak in the knees even though I'm sitting down.

"Hey you." "Hey."

"I missed you today." "I missed you, too," I admit, hiding my grin behind the palm of my hand.

Noah's lips kiss my neck, making me sigh. My stomach tightens, my pussy clenches, and the "please fuck me" feeling rushes over me, causing me to press my thighs together again.

"I thought about last night. It was all I could really think about today." "Oh, really?" The memory of last night reminds me how sore my ass still is. "You still feel me there don't you, Princess." I squirm in my seat, just thinking about it.

Noah and I decided to try a new thing; anal sex. As hard and painful as it was at first, once he was in was the most unimaginably amazing feeling ever; for both of us. Especially when Noah pulled me up and had me sitting on him.

He made sounds I'd never heard him make before and bit my back so hard when he came that he left a massive bruise and bite mark on my skin. "You felt so fucking good. I still can't believe you let me fuck you like that, though. Thank you." Noah kisses the side of my head. "Well, you sound so fucking good, so we both win." HIs sweet, subtle laugh brushes warmly against my face.

"I didn't hurt you too badly, did I." I smile at his sweet concern, shaking my head. But that's when I notice something is different. He sounds different. "What's going on with you?" I ask. "What do you mean?" "You sound different?" "Do I?"

I turn around to face Noah, forcing him to straddle my leg, and stare at him. That's when I see it; something in his mouth. It's big. It's shiny. It's a fucking grill. "Noah! What the fuck? Where did you get that?" I gasp, trying hard not to feel turned on by the sight of it. "Oli. He sent it to me."

Noah proudly shows off the shiny piece of silver decking his upper set of teeth. I haven't seen him this cocky and proud of anything since the band's run with Bring Me over the winter. The piece is nice, and for some odd reason, all I can think about is what it would feel like if Noah ate me out while wearing it.

"You don't like it," he assumes. I shake my head, tugging at his pant leg. "Actually, that's not it," I confess, peering up at him through my lashes. "I'm thinking things." Noah's lips curl into a closed grin. "What kind of things?" "You should know." Noah huffs a light laugh. "Maybe I should. But maybe I just want to hear you tell me." "Alright," I agree, willing to play his game of cat and mouse. "I'm actually,"

"Hey, Noah. Jolly and, shit!" Folio enters the kitchen, interrupting me in mid-sentence. "Sorry, Noah." Noah chuckles. "It's alright. We're just talking." The dark gaze he gives me says otherwise. "Jolly, Nick and I are heading out. Y/N, if you're done with the grocery list, Jolly said we could pick it all up for you while we're out." I peer over Noah's shoulder. Folio looks utterly embarrassed. I grab the list off the counter behind me and push Noah out of the way, handing it to Folio, thanking him. He smiles and quickly turns to leave.

I feel Noah's looming presence behind me as he slides his hands around my waist and down the front of my legs, purposely grazing my pussy. I jerk, rutting my ass against his cock which earns me a low growl. "Are you going to finish what you were going to tell me, or do I have to force it out of you," he mutters in my ear, taking it between his teeth and biting lightly. I can feel the coolness of the silver grill on my skin and I shiver a little. "You really want to know?" "I asked, didn't I?" "I want you to use it on me."

At first I think maybe Noah didn't hear me. But then I hear his whispered "fuck". "You want me to eat you out while wearing my grill. Is that what you're saying, Princess?" "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Noah hums, undoing the button of my jeans and slipping his hands down inside them. I moan at just the feeling of his hands on my skin. Sliding them further down until he reaches my sex, he stops and pushes my panties to the side, inserting two fingers at once knuckle deep inside me. "Oh god, Noah," I moan, gripping his arm tightly while pressing my hand against his, forcing him deeper inside me. "Fuck. You're walls are so fucking tight, and wet. Goddamn, your so wet for me, baby," he growls, sliding his fingers in and out of me rapidly. "Noah," I moan.

Removing his hand from inside me, Noah picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, taking me to our bedroom and closing the door, locking it behind us. He sets me down gently, walking me back towards the bed and shoving me down. Yanking my jeans and panties off, he pockets my panties, before kneeling down before me. "I'm going to need those back," I grin. Noah shakes his head. "Nope, they're mine now." When he smiles, the grill shows, making him look hot as fuck.

"Alright, spread your legs, baby. I want to see everything." I do as Noah asks, letting my legs fall open and making my pussy entirely visible to his eyes only. They're blown wide, consumed with lust. "See anything you like down there?" Noah's eyes peer up at me, and he grins. "You have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen. Fuck," he sighs, shaking his head and licking his lips. "And it's all mine. I can't promise I won't bit you. I'm hungry." He looks at me again, almost in an apologetic way.

Taking his thumb, Noah presses it down on my clit, massaging it in circles. I throw my head back, completely succumbing to the feeling of whatever Noah is about to do to me. "You like it when I play with you first, don't you princess?" I nod, eyes shut tight. He pinches my bud, and I moan loudly, just as he slides his fingers inside me again.

"Noah, shit," I cry. "You'll make me come just from doing this." Noah pulls his fingers out immediately, standing up and climbing onto the bed with me. "I haven't even properly fucked you with my tongue, yet," he smirks lifting my legs. "Well, you're just that good." "That's because I'm the fucking king, baby!" I laugh at the jab at his own song lyrics.

Noah sinks down, resting my legs on his shoulders, and spreads open my folds, giving way to my entrance. His tongue is the first thing I feel, the light gentle feeling sending shockwaves of energy through my entire body. Taking his time, Noah swirls his tongue around my clit, nipping it before abandoning it to kiss the inside of my thighs. He bits the flesh beneath his lips, sucking it afterwards once I've cried out, biting back moans. I grab his hair aggressively, because letting go is the last thing I want to do. The subtle moan he lets out, makes my skin prickle and I tug his hair each time he does something that enforces the heat and tension to coil in my lower abdomen.

"God, your sex smells so good," he whispers, coming up to me for a kiss. I can taste myself on his tongue the moment he slips it inside my mouth, tasting the inside.

"I love the way you taste, princess," he coos, caressing my face. "You taste like heaven. You are my heaven," he tells me, kissing the end of my nose. His dark, almond eyes stare into mine, lovingly looking at me. I run my hands over the sides of his face and he smiles as he slides back down between my legs, retaking his former position.

His tongue plunges deeper inside my core, stealing whatever protest I may have in me, and this time I feel the rough unevenness of the sliver grill over every part of my sex. Noah doesn't miss a spot as he laps up all his spit mixed with my juices and swallows it, humming in approval each time.

"That's it baby, fuck yeah, grind your pretty cunt on me." "Noah," I whine, feeling the building pressure coming to a head. "Fuck, Noah," I moan, chocking back soft cries.

Noah slips his fingers inside me, fucking me sweetly, as he slides his tongue against my clit in a steady rhythm.

"You're about to come for me, princess, aren't you?" I nod, squeezing my eyes closed and biting my lips. "Don't hold back, baby. Don't overthink it. Just let it go, baby. Let it go so I can fuck you the right way and fill you with my cum."

Noah uses his hand and presses down gently on my abdomen while his fingers are still moving in and out of me. The feeling is incredible yet unbearable at the same time. He finds my clit once more, massaging that one spot that he knows is going to give him the reaction he wants.

"Oh god, Noah," I pant, gripping the bed sheets. "Fuck! Baby, don't stop," I beg. Noah doesn't let up, working me up to the edge of my sanity until my orgasm hits me hard, sweeping through me like a desperate wave in a storm. My head falls back and I collapse against the bed, trying to recover my senses.

Noah quickly strips out of his pants and boxers, nudging my knees apart and moves his way in between, laying his weight on top of me. With his hands on my wrists, his mouth imprisons mine, and I sigh into his mouth as my body begins to mold with his. Softly he groans, yielding his body to mine, rutting his fully hard cock against my aching, throbbing pussy. "God, you're so hot," I breathe, unable to peel my eyes away from him. The look he gives me is as if he doesn't believe me. "I'm serious, Noah. You're beautiful." "You're prettier," he jokes, giving me a half smile. The shine of the grill shows behind his lips, causing me to pull him down into me and devour his mouth until we both almost can't breathe.

"Who owns you, princess," he whispers in my ear. "You do," I whimper, feeling the head of his dick probe my entrance. "Tell me you're mine. That you're my slut and this pussy is all mine to fuck and eat," Noah demands, slowly thrusting his cock a little further into me. "Noah," I moan, crying his name and arching my back and meeting his thrust. His teeth find my neck and he bites me, the coolness from the silver grill penetrating my veins, as he fully enters me, his cock bottoming out entirely in me, automatically hitting my cervix. "Oh fuck, baby!" I cry out, following it with a loud cry.

Noah grunts, releasing a deep heavy growl, pushing up off me, and slowly starts to fuck me; not fast, but driving each thrust hard into me. His hand found my throat, wrapping around it tight, enough to feel myself letting go. With the pressure of his fingers and the sensation of his cock filling me, I knew I wasn't going to last long.

Soon, the only thing that can be heard is our desperate panting, loud moans, and skin slapping against skin. "Fuck!" Noah murmurs, pounding into me, spreading my pussy and stretching it as he sinfully consumes me.

"Fuck, fuck, princess! Fuck, your cunt feels so good," he moans in my ear. "It's making me loose my fucking mind, every time I'm with you."

Noah pulls himself up, fucking me harder and harder until I hear him say he's about to cum. I can feel his body trembling as his thrusts grow sloppy. My choked moans fall like rain from my lips, spilling out into the air around us.

"Your moans," he growls, "they're driving me so goddam insane, princess. You're about to make me cum so fucking hard for you," he mutters. "Can I cum in you, baby? Can I make it drip down your legs?" "Mmmhmm, please, Noah cum in me," I whisper to him, and he does. With a loud grunt and one more hard thrust, Noah spills himself into my pussy, coating my inner walls with his seed. He collapses into me, burying his face in my neck. I can feel his heart pounding against my arm, the sound of it being the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

"You're going to be the death of me, woman, fuck," he mutters, sounding exhausted, "You've already killed me, so I guess we're even. Noah looks up at me, confused. "How so?" I smile and brush the tendrils of hair out of his face. "You've stolen my heart, baby. Ripped it right out of my chest." Noah kisses me and I run my tongue over his grill one more time, already anticipating the next time he'll use it.

"I fucking love you, princess," he confesses, laying back down beside me. "I love you back. Now," I say, climbing on top of him and placing my hands on his chest, "are you gonna smile for me and let me see your grill?" I give Noah a wink and watch his face light up with laughter. He grabs my sides and tickles me, sending me into a fit of raging, squealing laughter. "Only if you rob the jewelry store and tell them to make me a grill." "Oh my god," I cry, laughing at his cheesy come back. "You're such a dork!" "I'm your dork," he says, gathering me up in his arms and laying us back into the comfort of the sheets. "Yeah, you are." Noah kisses my forehead as I cuddle up into him, finally feeling utterly exhausted. "I love you, Y/N. Always and," "Forever," I say, and he squeezes me tighter.

[ticklystuff]

Feather Weather

a/n: i had a silly little idea last year and decided to run with it

wc: ~1.8k

summary: ayato knits a sweater for thoma out of the goodness of his heart

---

"Go on, open it."

Thoma held the box in his hand, looking warily between the unopened parcel and his lord standing in front of him. Gifts from Ayato were always the.. special kind that often resulted in humiliation of some form, usually nothing more than the playful sort, yet were common enough to condition Thoma that keeping his guard up around this particular Kamisato was more than necessary. The seemingly innocent smile that Ayato wore well was no longer enough to fool Thoma at this point.

"What's wrong?" His expression morphed into one of genuine curiosity, yet Thoma knew better, his ears tuned to pick out the traces of mischief often laced into Ayato's voice. 

Surprisingly, his voice was clean.

"You know exactly why!" He said after moments of hesitation, prompting an amused chuckle from his lord.

"I'm curious as to what you think could possibly be inside the box," Ayato mused with a delighted glint in his eyes, clearly reveling in the apprehension.

"Anything!" Thoma huffed with a pout. "You manage to turn anything into a prank!"

"You flatter me."

"M'lord, please," came the usual sigh of dismay, contrasting the comical giggles that escaped Ayato's mouth. "I'm not going on anymore boba runs for you if this is something bad."

"Alright, alright," Ayato shook his head, heeding the warning, "I assure you that there's nothing wrong with the gift."

Thoma raised an eyebrow, reading Ayato's voice for the inevitable lie. "You promise?"

"I promise." Ayato proceeded to place a palm to his own heart, ending the gesture with a firm nod. "It was made with love, of course."

"Or demonic ambition."

"And love," Ayato tacked on, flashing a wink that Thoma could only respond with an eye roll.

Despite his suspicions, the package itself lacked hints of ulterior motives. The blue ribbons with silver trimmings were held together over the beige gift box in the form of an awkward bow, handiwork that could belong to none other than Ayato himself. Arts and crafts were not exactly his forte, indicating that Ayato had a direct hand with the package, which only served to further keep Thoma on edge.

Glancing at the parcel with hesitation, Thoma lifted the box and gave it a gentle shake, straining his ears as he repeated the motion twice more. Whatever was inside didn't create much force from the inside, barely tapping against the inner walls of the box. Clothes, maybe? 

His fingers pinched at the ends of the ribbons, tugging gently to let the thin piece of cloth fall away, revealing the white cardboard box underneath. Slowly, his fingers pushed at the top and Thoma braced himself for what might just jump out at him, but was pleasantly surprised at what looked to be a sweater. He lifted the sweater from the box, eyes gleaning over the warm orange threads as his fingers dug into the soft material. "Where'd you get this?" was all Thoma could murmur, taking in the sweater in awe.

"I made it myself, of course," Ayato said with pride. "Only crafted with the finest material during my trip to Fontaine. I ran into Chiori along the way and she guided me during the process."

"It looks amazing, m'lord!" Thoma gushed, eyes going over the sweater repeatedly. "Thank you, thank you so much! I-I'm going to wear it now, if that's alright!"

"It's yours, so do with it as you please," Ayato chuckled. "It's the perfect time for sweater weather, after all."

---

The sweater was everything.

It perfectly fit his body without being too snug, allowing for plenty of wiggle room, it was of notably high quality with how the fabric felt delightful against his skin, it even smelled faintly of vanilla, but most importantly, it was warm. And what paired better with a snuggly sweater on a snowy day?

Candles.

Thoma hummed to himself as he sorted through the variety of candles he kept neatly arranged, eyes scanning the shelf for the perfect scent to match his mood. Cinnamon was a classic choice, or he could go with one of the newer ones Ayaka had brought home from Fontaine-

"Ack!"

The sudden feeling of arms wrapped around his waist interrupted his candle perusing, but his nerves were put at ease with the familiar sensation of another's cheek gently nuzzling the crook of his neck. All these years working under the Kamisatos, yet Ayato always managed to sneak around, flying under his nose.

"Enjoying the sweater, love?" Ayato's voice softly brushed against the skin of his neck, sending tingles down his spine.

Thoma could only reply with a simple "mhm" as he relaxed into Ayato's hold, sighing whenever Ayato nuzzled into his neck. Strange to be holding such an intimate moment in the Kamisato Estate's storage closet, but Thoma would take anything he could get, what with his lord always having his hands full, not to mention being pulled away for so long during his recent trip to Fontaine. The occasional kiss to his skin and the gentle caress of Ayato's fingers under his sweater were enough to make his brain stir, causing Thoma to—

Wait a moment....

Ayato's fingers.. under his sweater??

What- How did they get there? His hands repeatedly patted at his abdomen where Ayato's hands currently rested against his thin undershirt, protected by the fluffy material of his new sweater. Surely he would've noticed Ayato's sneaky hands slipper under the hem of his sweater, yet somehow they've managed to evade his watch.

"Something the matter?" His tone was innocent, yet there was that familiar artificial tinge to his lord's sickenly sweet voice.

Something was up.

"M'lord.." Thoma's voice tremored as it dawned that he most likely played into whatever the devil himself had planned.

Yet the sickly sweet gestures persisted, now with gentle but firm grip to undoubtedly keep Thoma in place the minute he attempted an escape. "The little holes in the sweater are so convenient," Ayato explained, perfectly reading Thoma's mind. "They make it so convenient for times like these."

"Holes?! Why does the sweater have holes?! Did you not have the budget for fabric?" Thoma couldn't even begin to wrap his head around what purpose this would serve, let alone how he never noticed such a detail, or lack thereof, in the first place. This would teach him to never get too excited over what should've been a harmless gift, archon forbid. 

Ayato hummed in response, drumming his fingers against Thoma's torso that made the blond fidget. "Ah, you seem to be misunderstood," he sing-songed, his chin resting atop Thoma's shoulder. "It's an intended feature, of course. I can show you, if you'd like."

He was too afraid to ask, not that it mattered in the end.

"Wah- no! Nohoho! Whahahat are you dohohoing?!"

"Mm, is it not obvious?"

It was a rhetorical question, no doubt, yet there was a sliver of hope that Thoma himself was mistaken, only for those thoughts to be quickly dashed when Ayato's hands persisted, running up the length of Thoma's torso, each touch penetrating the thin material of his undershirt to make the blond squirm. His body twisted and squirmed in response, his own hands grasping uselessly at the other set currently messing with him, anything to escape whatever Ayato had planned.

"Isn't it excellent? A comfy sweater designed for easy access to tickle its wearer," Ayato expressed in low tone, bordering a whisper, though he made no attempt at masking the amusement in his voice.

"B-But you tihihickle mehehe all the tihihime!" Thoma managed through his snickers, squealing when one of Ayato's hands sneakily squeezed at one of his pecs.

"But this is more fun, no?"

"NOHOho!" The desperate cry was enough for Ayato to laugh alongside the giggly retainer, a contrasting mix to Thoma's own frantic laughter. He could just picture the smirk playing on his lips. "EheheheHAHA! Let gohoho! Stahahap!"

"Mmm, but I don't believe I can, even if I wanted to," Ayato remarked. "If you keep moving, my hands will be tangled up in the sweater. Best you do your best and sit still."

But he couldn't, not with how methodical the tickling was. Ayato wasn't the type to go in for the kill, as Thoma knew very well, often going through the bits and pieces in a more systemic way. A pinch to his side, tweaks to his ribs, finger drabbles along his underarms, even going so far to poke at his navel. Thoma could never get a read when he needed it the most, often distracted by Ayato's signature brand of teasing that somehow elevated the subtle pricks into something more unbearable, dissolving Thoma into helpless giggles the further his defenses broke down.

"And, y'know, why stop at sweaters?" Ayato pondered over Thoma's laughter. "Pants with slits at the hips, some modified tabis, maybe even just borrowing a crop top from the traveler."

The teases were enough to send Thoma over the edge, unable to protest once Ayato went down the list of clothing choices he could potentially threaten Thoma with. Laughter after laughter poured over, filling the small storage room with hapless shrieks as Ayato's hands made the most of the custom sweater and its unfortunate victim.

"HeheHAHA! No! Cohohome ohohon! Stahahap PLEAHAH-!"

Despite the menace Ayato often lived up to be, there was still the other side of the coin, the merciful part that knew not overburden his favorite tickle victim. Per routine, the tickling ebbed to a relaxed rhythm, still procuring giggles, while allowing Thoma more leeway to breathe, before his fingers came to steady stop, drumming along Thoma's torso once more as they awaited the blond's next action. Now, with the loosened grip, Thoma used the opportunity to quickly detach himself from Ayato before his lord could have a change of heart, allowing himself to catch his breath, ignoring the smug smirk that Ayato wore well.

"I'm fixing this sweater," Thoma finally exhaled. 

"No! You absolutely cannot!" There was a genuine tinge of disappointment behind Ayato's voice, one that didn't commonly occur. "I put a lot of effort into making this."

"Yeah, a lot of effort for evil," Thoma snapped with a tilt of his head.

"It started out with love, I assure you," Ayato explained, shifting his eyes about. "I might have gotten sidetracked during the process, but I can make you a normal one, as long as you promise to keep this one.. and maybe occasionally wear it every once in a while."

Thoma opened his mouth to respond, only for a sigh to escape his lips at the ridiculous request, yet the puppy eyes Ayato flashed him practically forced him to reconsider. "Alright, alright."

"Fantastic!" Ayato's eyes lit up at the response.

"Uh-uh, but on one condition," Thoma tacked on, earning himself a curious glance. "I get to make you an identical piece. That way we'll be matching for sweater weather."

[funnylittlelad]

What's your favorite color? - steddie blurb

It comes as a shock, frankly. No, more like an affront. Maybe both. Either way, Steve finds himself wondering for the first time since they started dating if Eddie is lying to him. The whole conversation started over something stupid. Really, the whole conversation is stupid. Steve is the only one of them with a wrinkle between his brow and a twist on his lips. Eddie is looking at him all soft eyes and easy smiles. They're in their tiny kitchen. Steve has his arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to the landline. Eddie is bracing himself on the little table they got to use as an island for some desperately needed extra counter space.

"You're not being serious," Steve decides out loud.

Eddie laughs, only a little in disbelief. Mostly it's amusement at Steve's current childlike behavior. Eddie thinks he's endlessly cute and endearing when he gets like this. Especially because it's never about anything serious so Eddie never have to worry about it devolving into a real fight. It's just another flavor of conversation.

"I'm being serious!" Eddie insists.

"There's no way, Eds. I mean, have you seen your wardrobe?"

"Yeah, I see it on a pretty regular basis, believe it or not."

Steve levels him with an overly serious, analytical stare.

"Are you seriously telling me that you- Eddie Munson, metalhead extraordinaire- your favorite color isn't black?"

Steve's head shakes a bit in what Eddie would consider a bitchy move. That's okay, Eddie likes when Steve gets bitchy too. Hell, Eddie just likes Steve.

"It's not!" He laughs defensively.

"It's all you wear!"

"So, your favorite color is yellow," Eddie states matter-of-factly.

Steve squints, shaking his head a little more. Steve's hands can't stay still for too long while he's talking, no matter how hard he may try. Eddie has insisted he loves how expressive Steve can get. Even if Steve's parents didn't. Especially because they didn't. One hand breaks free of the opposite arm and begins to fly around as he speaks.

"Since when is my favorite color yellow?" he asks.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his smile never leaves his face.

"It's all you wear!" he throws Steve's words back at him.

Steve pouts. He knows it's true. There has been a lot of yellow spotted in his wardrobe lately. That's just because he thinks he looks good in it... because Eddie told him once he looks good in it.

"Alright, fine, point taken. What is it then?"

Eddie's face softens. His smile becomes something warm and sweet like chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. He walks around the makeshift island to invade Steve's space. Steve isn't phased in the slightest. Eddie places a quick kiss to the tip of Steve's nose. The act earns him a smile that Steve works hard to fight off.

"Funnily enough, my favorite color is yellow," he answers easily.

Steve's face goes from bitch mode to genuine surprise. Then some confusion trickles in via his eyebrows.

"You're not fucking with me right now? Dustin isn't going to jump out with a camera to catch the dumb look on my face?" Steve questions, playfully looking over Eddie's shoulder like he actually expects Dustin to be there.

Eddie breaths a chuckle across Steve's face. For a moment there's nothing but the scent of mint and cigarettes.

"First of all, your face never looks dumb. No, I'm not fucking with you. My favorite color is yellow," Eddie insists.

"But... why? I mean yellow is so- and you're so- why?" Steve struggles to understand a world where Eddie Munson's favorite color is yellow.

A light blush blooms across Eddie's face.

"Because you wear it a lot and you look really fuckin' good when you do. Now whenever I see it, it makes me think of you," he admits softly.

Steve absolutely melts. How can he not? His arms end up around Eddie's neck as he presses a gentle kiss to his lips. Their foreheads rest against each other when they part.

"You're so cheesy, y'know that?" Steve chuckles lightly.

"Yeah, but you love it," Eddie grins.

"Yeah, I do."

After that, Steve realized that his favorite color is black.

Masterlist

[reidmarieprentiss]

Bridges to Belonging

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven

Summary: Spencer and Y/N go on their date!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: suggestive conversation, self doubt, glasses Spencer, reader wears glasses/contacts but other than that i'm trying not to give her a physical description, let me know if i do put her in a narrow category!! i know i said she had curves at rossi's dinner party but to be objectively fair every human has at least one curve lmao

Word count: 5.4k

a/n: i am really enjoying writing these two :') life has been so boring since i graduated. if you're wondering how i bust these out so fast, one -- i don't have a life, and two - i wrote all of my essays the night before or the day they were due hahah

main masterlist

It was Saturday morning, and the air held a crispness that hinted at the excitement of the day ahead. Y/N stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her outfit for the day. She opted for something comfortable yet dressy enough for wherever Spencer might be taking her. The outfit was stylish but not overly formal, perfect for a day that could involve a fair amount of walking yet elegant enough for an unexpected dinner venue. She chose layers—a practical choice that allowed for adjustments depending on whether the day turned warm or cool.

As she dressed, a flutter of excitement danced in her stomach, mixed with a tinge of anxiety that she couldn't shake off. Y/N was excited, truly, but she couldn’t help tempering her anticipation with a cautious restraint. Her past experiences with relationships and dates had taught her to guard her heart. More than once, she'd been let down, left to pick up the pieces after what she thought were promising beginnings fizzled into disappointment. These memories, still vivid, cast a shadow over her current excitement, reminding her to brace for any outcome.

Approaching her dresser, Y/N paused, her hand hovering over her contact lens case. Usually, she preferred contacts for a more put together look, especially when putting extra effort into her appearance. However, remembering the discomfort of her contacts drying out during unexpected long hours, she opted for her glasses instead. She hadn't worn them the first time she met Spencer, and a small part of her worried about what he'd think. Would he notice? Would he care?

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, now framed by the sleek lines of her glasses. Taking a deep breath, she told her reflection, "Just enjoy the day, no matter what comes," trying to bolster her spirits. She wanted to listen to that optimistic voice in her head telling her everything would be fine, that Spencer was different, that this time it wouldn't end in disappointment. Yet, she prepared herself mentally for any scenario, unwilling to let her guard down completely.

Y/N grabbed her essentials—phone, wallet, a light scarf—and slipped them into her bag. As she took one last look in the mirror, she practiced her smile, the one she’d use to mask her nerves when she met Spencer. She hoped the day would prove her fears unfounded, that it would be a turning point from her past experiences. But she kept her expectations in check, a self-protective measure honed by past heartaches.

—

As the morning sunlight streamed through the blinds of his apartment, Spencer Reid found himself standing before the bathroom mirror, his usual nerves mingling with a specific concern today. He adjusted his glasses, the frames unfamiliar against the bridge of his nose, as he leaned closer to examine his reflection. His contacts had dried out, an unfortunate oversight, leaving him no choice but to wear his glasses for the date with Y/N.

He studied himself critically. The glasses were practical, a necessity for his work, but he rarely wore them anymore. There was something about them that made him feel exposed, more like the bookish nerd he had always been, and who he had been made fun of for being, and less like the confident man he hoped to appear as today. What if she doesn’t like them? The question nagged at him, adding an extra layer of anxiety to his already jittery state.

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He remembered reading that people often perceive glasses as a sign of intelligence and reliability, traits he hoped Y/N would appreciate. Still, he couldn't help but worry that perhaps she might prefer him without them, or that they might alter the way she saw him—literally and metaphorically.

As he turned away from the mirror, he made his way to his bedroom to choose his outfit. He opted for a smart-casual ensemble that felt comfortable yet presentable: a crisp button-down shirt paired with a well-fitted blazer, and his best jeans. The glasses, he decided, would just have to become part of his look for the day.

With his outfit sorted, Spencer paced his living room, every potential topic of conversation he had prepared buzzing through his mind. His thoughts were filled with bits of trivia about the latest exhibits at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, hoping these would spark engaging discussions between him and Y/N. He rehearsed some points in his head, mapping out how he might transition from discussing ancient artifacts to more personal subjects, like her interests and hobbies.

However, as much as he prepared, his thoughts kept drifting back to his glasses. He paused in his pacing, catching his reflection in the window. The morning light cast a soft glow that somehow made the glasses seem less obtrusive, more a part of him. "Maybe it's not so bad," Spencer muttered to himself, adjusting to his reflection.

He grabbed his notebook from the coffee table, a little ritual that always helped calm his nerves. Scribbling down some last-minute notes about things he wanted to remember—like asking Y/N about her recent projects and ensuring to mention a little-known fact about an art piece he thought she'd appreciate—helped him feel more in control.

Yet, beneath the surface of his meticulous preparations, there was an undercurrent of excitement. This wasn't just any date; it was a date with Y/N, someone who had sparked a level of interest in him that was rare and invigorating. The glasses, he realized, were just a minor detail in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was the connection they might deepen today.

Finally ready, Spencer took one last look around his apartment to ensure everything was in order before leaving. He grabbed his keys and his jacket, pushed up his glasses with a newfound sense of acceptance, and headed out the door. Today, he decided he would focus on the possibilities, not the insecurities. After all, if their connection was genuine, Y/N would see beyond the glasses to the person behind them. And perhaps, in those museum halls filled with timeless artifacts, they could find something just as enduring between them.

—

Y/N arrived at the coffee shop Spencer had texted her about, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nerves. She spotted Spencer already there, waiting for her by the window, a steaming cup in front of him. He looked up as the bell above the door jingled, his face lighting up when he saw her. Despite her nervousness, Y/N felt a warm flutter in her chest at the sight of his welcoming smile.

"Hey, Y/N, over here!" Spencer called out softly, waving her over.

She walked towards him, her steps hesitant but eager. "Hey, Spencer," she greeted, her voice slightly quivering. As she sat down, she noticed his glasses and couldn't help but smile. "I like your glasses," she said, touching the frame of her own as if to point out the coincidence.

Spencer chuckled, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Thanks, I usually wear contacts, but, you know, they dried out."

"Same here," Y/N admitted, feeling a connection over their shared minor dilemma. "It’s a glasses kind of day, I guess."

Internally, Y/N felt a surge of relief. Seeing Spencer in his glasses, looking unexpectedly handsome, eased her worries about her own appearance. My god, I didn’t think he could get anymore attractive, she thought, her initial anxiety about her own glasses fading away and being replaced with a warmth that couldn’t be helped by removing her scarf. Maybe all of her clothes. 

Spencer felt a similar relief, his earlier concerns about his glasses dissolving as he saw Y/N's reaction. She doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she looks adorable in hers. Maybe this isn’t such a big deal after all, he reassured himself. His thoughts remained much more pure than Y/N’s, although he couldn’t help but think about how if he tried to kiss her today their glasses would clink together. The thought made a blush rise up his neck to his cheeks. 

There was a brief pause, an almost knowing silence, before Spencer leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. "So, I have something planned for us today. I hope you'll like it. We’re going to the Met. There’s a few exhibits I think you’d really enjoy, and then I thought we could grab dinner at a nice place nearby. How does that sound?"

Y/N's eyes widened, her earlier anxieties melting away into genuine excitement. "That sounds amazing, Spencer. I’ve always wanted to go to the Met! And dinner sounds perfect," she replied, her nervousness turning into anticipation.

Spencer seemed relieved by her enthusiasm. "Great! I wasn’t sure what you’d think. I mean, it’s a bit of a train ride, but I thought it might be fun to spend the day in New York."

"It’s more than fun, it’s perfect," Y/N assured him, her smile sincere. "I can’t think of a better way to spend the day." And she meant it, they could talk on the train ride there and back, maybe hold hands, brush thighs. It’s in the little things. 

They decided to take their coffee to go, stepping out together towards the train station. As they walked, the initial awkwardness began to fade. Spencer’s eyes occasionally met Y/N’s, each glance accompanied by a shy smile. "I’m really glad you’re here with me," Spencer confessed, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

"Me too," Y/N responded, her heart skipping a beat. "I’ve been looking forward to this all week."

Their conversation drifted to lighter topics, each shared laugh bringing them a little closer, building a bridge over their initial anxieties. As they boarded the train, Y/N felt a newfound optimism. Today was not just another date; it was the beginning of something special, she could feel it. And as they settled into their seats, watching the cityscape start to pass by, she believed, for the first time in a long time, that her hopes were well placed.

As the train clattered along the tracks toward New York, Y/N and Spencer found themselves in the comfortable cocoon of their shared booth. The cityscape blurred past, creating a serene backdrop for their burgeoning connection.

"So, Spencer," Y/N began, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eyes, "tell me about the most bizarre case you've ever worked on. I promise I can handle it."

Spencer chuckled, a blush already tinting his cheeks. "Well, there was this one time we dealt with a suspect who believed he was a 21st-century vampire..." As he recounted the peculiarities of the case, Y/N listened intently, occasionally brushing her foot against his under the table, sending a jolt through him each time. 

(Pretend this case happened earlier)

"Vampires, huh? Are you sure you aren't one?" Y/N teased, her tone light but suggestive. "You do have a certain... nocturnal charm."

Spencer's laugh was nervous, delighted. She's incredible, he thought. So bold and funny. It's utterly disarming. "I assure you, I'm not a vampire. Just a regular guy who happens to have naturally sunken eyes."

Y/N smiled and giggled, pleased with his playful response. "Good to know. I prefer my dates to be sunlight-friendly. Speaking of which, how do you usually spend your days off when you're not chasing fictional vampires or real criminals?"

Spencer found himself more relaxed as he shared more about his love for reading and rewatching sci-fi movies and TV. Y/N seemed genuinely interested, her responses peppered with witty remarks that kept him on his toes.

"Reading, huh? I should have guessed," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Next you'll be telling me you have a cat named Schrödinger."

"No cat," Spencer admitted, grinning. "But I wouldn't mind one. As long as it doesn't interfere with my reading."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly from books to favorite ways to spend a rainy day, each topic drawing them closer. Y/N's confidence and teasing made Spencer's heart race, but he found himself enjoying the thrill of it. She’s so refreshing, exciting even. I haven't felt this engaged in a long time.

As the train rolled closer to their destination, Spencer found himself wishing the ride wouldn't end. Y/N had the rare ability to make him blush and laugh in equal measure, a combination he found intoxicating.

"So, Spencer," Y/N leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper as the train noise crescendoed around them. "If today goes well... would you consider making our next date a night at the opera? I hear it's quite the experience."

Spencer's eyes widened, both at the suggestion and her proximity. "I'd like that," he managed to say, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach. "I'd like that very much."

Y/N smiled, her gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary before she leaned back in her seat, satisfied with his response. Spencer watched her, a smile tugging at his lips, his earlier nerves replaced by anticipation and hope. She’s already wanting another date? I’m still hoping I can work up the courage to kiss her, he thought as the skyline of New York City came into view.

As they stepped into the grandeur of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the vast spaces filled with centuries of art and history, Y/N's excitement was palpable. Her eyes sparkled with each new room they entered, each piece they observed. Spencer, usually reserved, found himself drawn out by her enthusiasm, his voice animated as he shared insights and facts about the artworks around them.

They wandered through the exhibit "The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions," where Y/N's favorite pieces resided. Her gaze lingered on each work, genuinely appreciating the artistry and the stories Spencer told her about the origins and significance of each piece.

"Did you know this particular painting was considered lost for almost two centuries before it was found in a small, forgotten chapel in Italy?" Spencer pointed to an intricate Renaissance painting, its colors vibrant even after all these years.

Y/N listened intently, her interest deepening with each fact. "I had no idea," she responded, her tone full of genuine fascination. "You know so much about all of this, Spencer. It's incredibly... exciting."

Spencer, caught off guard by her candid compliment, blushed deeply but couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. "Really?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and delight.

"Yes, really," Y/N affirmed, stepping closer to him. "Your brain is the sexiest thing about you, Spencer. The way you know all these things, the way you're so passionate about sharing them—it’s captivating."

Encouraged by her words, Spencer found himself sharing even more. They stopped in front of a medieval tapestry, its threads telling tales of battles and legends. As he explained the symbolism woven into the fabric, Y/N's admiration only grew. She watched him, not just listening but truly seeing him—someone who had finally found a receptive audience for his wealth of knowledge.

Spencer felt a thrill unlike any other. For so long, he had been used to people tuning out his ramblings, to seeing eyes glaze over halfway through his explanations. But with Y/N, it was different. She hung on his every word, her curiosity feeding his own, her enthusiasm fueling a confidence he rarely felt in social settings.

As they moved through the museum, their conversation flowed effortlessly from art to personal anecdotes, each story Spencer shared bringing a new sparkle to Y/N's eyes. He talked about his mother, his childhood filled with books instead of playdates, and she listened, understanding and nodding, sharing bits of her own life in return.

The day at the Met became more than just a date; it was a revelation for both. For Y/N, it was discovering that someone could match her enthusiasm for learning and experiencing new things. For Spencer, it was the joy of finding someone who not only appreciated his intellect but was genuinely excited by it.

As the museum began to close, and they slowly made their way out, neither of them wanted the day to end. They were lost in a bubble where art and intellect intertwined, where every fact shared was a thread pulling them closer together.

As Spencer and Y/N stepped out of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the energy of New York City enveloped them once again. The streets buzzed with the usual symphony of honking cars, chattering pedestrians, and the distant siren of an emergency vehicle. Spencer turned to Y/N, a thoughtful look on his face.

“There’s a restaurant not too far from here where the team and I ate after wrapping up a case once,” he suggested. “It’s really good, not too fancy but the food is excellent. It might be a bit of a walk, though, so we could grab a cab if you’re tired from all the museum walking.”

Y/N, reveling in the connection they had fostered throughout the day, shook her head with a smile. “I don’t mind the walk, actually. It’s a beautiful evening, and I’m enjoying spending time with you. Let’s walk.”

Spencer nodded, visibly pleased by her eagerness to extend their time together. They started down the sidewalk, navigating through the bustling crowd. The city seemed to glow with a warm, golden light as the sun began to set, casting long shadows on the pavement.

As they were walking, the crowd around them thickened momentarily as people hurried to cross the street before the light changed. In the midst of this, a passerby stumbled a bit too close to Y/N, jostling her slightly. Instantly, Spencer’s protective instincts kicked in. He placed his hand on her lower back, gently pulling her closer to his side, away from the rush of the crowd.

The contact sent an unexpected jolt through Y/N, a spark that felt electric. Surprised and thrilled by the sensation, she instinctively reached for his bicep, feeling the solid muscle under her hand, and linked her other arm around his. The gesture was intimate, natural, and it seemed to anchor them both amidst the sea of people.

Spencer, who was so often touch-starved and reserved in his physical interactions, felt a warm thrill at her touch. His heart raced slightly, a pleasant buzz of excitement coursing through him. The feeling of her hand on his arm, her body close to his, was unexpectedly comforting and exhilarating. It was a simple gesture, but to Spencer, it felt significant, a physical affirmation of the connection they’d been building all day.

As they walked on, navigating the streets of New York toward the restaurant, Spencer felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Y/N’s presence at his side, the way she fit naturally into his space, made the city around them fade into a soft background. He found himself hoping that the evening would stretch on, reluctant to let go of the moment.

The walk to the restaurant became a leisurely stroll, each step taking them deeper into a shared comfort. They talked easily, laughter mingling with the city sounds, the initial spark at their contact evolving into a steady, warm glow. By the time they reached the restaurant, Spencer and Y/N were closer than ever, both physically and emotionally, eager to continue their evening together.

At the restaurant, the atmosphere was imbued with a sense of romance and intimacy, exactly the kind of place Spencer remembered and hoped would impress Y/N. The lighting was low and warm, casting soft shadows around the room and illuminating the tables with a gentle glow from the candles placed on each one. These candles, unscented and subtle, added a touch of elegance without overwhelming the senses. In the background, a live band played soft, sensual music, their melodies weaving through the conversations and enhancing the romantic vibe of the evening.

They were seated in an intimate curved booth that offered both privacy and comfort, allowing them to share each other's space effortlessly. It was cozy but spacious enough to not feel crowded, perfect for leaning in close and sharing quiet conversations.

Following the waiter's prompt, both Spencer and Y/N opted for red wine, a decision made easier by the fact that neither of them needed to drive back. As they sipped their wine, the rich, bold flavors seemed to deepen the already warm atmosphere, loosening inhibitions slightly.

Y/N, feeling the effects of the wine which always tended to make her feel a bit more daring, turned her full attention to Spencer. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she began in a slightly lower, flirtatious tone, “about how someone as smart as you, with all those facts in his head, must have some hidden talents I’ve yet to discover.”

Spencer, usually more reserved, felt a rush of boldness fueled by the wine and the undeniable chemistry between them. He returned her smile with one of his own, this one tinged with a newfound confidence. “Well, I might have a few surprises left,” he replied, his voice deeper than usual. “But I’m more interested in exploring what makes you... you. Besides, I find myself wanting to know all about your talents, hidden or otherwise.”

Y/N was pleasantly surprised by his reciprocation, the boldness of his words matching her own flirtatious energy. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to match the intimacy of their booth. “Is that so? Well, I might just have to reveal a few secrets tonight,” she teased, her hand reaching under the table to lightly touch his leg.

The contact sent a thrill through Spencer, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, he welcomed it, letting her hand linger on him. The conversation shifted seamlessly from playful banter to deeper, more personal topics. They talked about their hopes, their fears, and the excitement of new experiences. Spencer found himself opening up more than he usually would, driven by the genuine interest Y/N showed in every word he said.

As the evening progressed, their connection deepened, bolstered by the wine and the enchanting setting. The music from the live band seemed to wrap around them, a soundtrack to the unfolding intimacy. Laughter and shared confidences filled their booth, the rest of the world fading into a distant murmur. For both Spencer and Y/N, the night was shaping up to be more enchanting than they had anticipated, each moment pulling them closer into a mutual fascination that promised only to grow.

As the train whisked them back towards home, the rhythm of the rails seemed to echo the residual buzz of the evening’s wine. Both Spencer and Y/N choose seats next to each other this time, their shoulders occasionally brushing in a comfortable, familiar manner. The closeness felt natural after the evening they had shared. They were both visibly tired, the excitement of the day and the indulgence in wine having drawn a gentle fatigue from them.

Despite the weariness, their conversation continued to flow smoothly, albeit with a quieter, more reflective tone than before. They leaned into each other slightly, the warmth between them palpable in the cool air of the train compartment.

“So, you’re a Doctor Who fan too?” Spencer asked, a hint of surprise and delight coloring his voice as they discovered yet another common interest.

“Yes, absolutely,” Y/N responded with a smile, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve been hooked since I was a kid. There’s just something about the Doctor’s adventures through time and space that’s captivating.”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, his own fondness for the show sparking further attraction towards her. “I totally agree. It’s the blend of science fiction and deep moral questions that gets me. Plus, the Doctor is a great character—always changing, yet fundamentally the same.”

Their shared enthusiasm for the show spun off into a deeper discussion about their favorite episodes and Doctors, each reference pulling them closer in mutual geekdom. It was during this exchange that Spencer found himself making a spontaneous invitation, surprising even himself with his forwardness.

“You know, if you’re up for it, maybe you could come over sometime and we could watch a few episodes together? I have a pretty decent setup for a Doctor Who marathon,” Spencer suggested, his voice a mix of casual and hopeful.

Y/N’s smile broadened, and she nodded, her heart warmed by the invitation. “I’d love that. It sounds like a perfect plan.”

The ease with which they continued to talk about everything from favorite books to music showed how compatible they were, not just on a surface level but in deeper, more meaningful ways. Their laughter and shared looks filled the space around them, creating an intimate bubble even in the public setting of the train.

As the train neared their destination, both Spencer and Y/N felt a reluctance for the night to end—a sign of the significant connection they had forged. They exchanged sleepy smiles and soft words as the city lights began to grow brighter outside the train windows.

By the time the train pulled into the station, Spencer felt a sense of anticipation for their next meeting. Having Y/N in his apartment, a space he had never shared with a romantic interest before, felt like a big step, but it was one he was now eagerly looking forward to. The night had started as a hopeful date and had blossomed into the beginning of something truly special. As they stepped off the train, their hands found each other almost instinctively, a fitting end to a perfect day and the promise of more to come.

After exiting the train station, Spencer insisted on walking Y/N back to her apartment, citing crime statistics that painted a stark picture of the risks women faced when walking alone at night. Though the mood was light and jovial from their shared experiences of the day, his protective nature was evident, and Y/N appreciated his concern. 

The walk to her apartment was filled with light conversation and reflective pauses, both savoring the last few moments together. The city at night provided a beautifully lit backdrop, with street lamps casting soft glows on the sidewalks and the distant sounds of the city nightlife buzzing around them. Their fingers slotted together providing enough warmth to keep fires blazing within them both.

Upon reaching her apartment building, a comfortable silence fell over them as they stood at her doorstep, reluctant to end the evening. "Thank you, Spencer," Y/N said, her voice warm and sincere. "Today was amazing. Truly."

Spencer, his hands now shoved awkwardly into his pockets, nodded, his face showing a mixture of happiness and the usual nervousness that came when he was unsure of what to do next. "I had a great time too, Y/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for going with me."

Sensing his apprehension and wanting to ease his nerves, Y/N stepped closer and, on an impulse, kissed his cheek gently. "Goodnight, Spencer," she smiled, her eyes holding his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer's face turned a deeper shade of red, his mouth gaping not unlike a fish before he managed a bashful, "Goodnight, Y/N." As she turned to enter her building, Spencer stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds, a hand reflexively touching the spot on his cheek where her lips had been.

He finally uprooted his feet and hailed a cab to take him home, his mind replaying every moment of the day and the evening, but especially that last, unexpected kiss on his cheek. He was absolutely buzzing with a mix of elation and disbelief. As the city lights passed by the cab's window, he couldn't keep the grin off his face, feeling an excitement he hadn't known in a long time.

Meanwhile, Y/N, after closing the door to her apartment, immediately dialed her mom. The time difference meant it was still early where her mom lived, and she knew she’d be awake. As soon as her mom answered, Y/N gushed, "Mom, I had the best date tonight. You remember I told you about Spencer from the FBI? It was with him."

Her mom's voice, hilarious and encouraging, came through the phone. "Tell me about it! But leave out the gory details."

“Mom!” Y/N whined petulantly but did as she asked anyway—she recounted every detail from the Met visit to the candlelit dinner and the casual yet intimate conversations they had shared. She described how considerate Spencer had been, walking her home and the protective reasons behind it, and she didn’t leave out the part about the kiss on the cheek that had left her feeling a pleasant flutter in her stomach.

"Mom, he’s different, really thoughtful and so smart. I think this could be something special," Y/N admitted, her voice a mixture of hope and a bit of wonder.

Her mom's reply was full of the usual maternal optimism and caution, "Just take it one step at a time. But he sounds wonderful. I’m happy for you."

Hanging up the phone, Y/N felt a contentment settle over her. The night had been perfect, and now, sharing it had made it feel even more real. As she got ready for bed, the memories of the evening played back in her mind, each one a promise of potential tomorrows.

— 

Sunday morning came too early for Y/N, her sleep interrupted by a loud banging on her apartment door. Disoriented and a bit alarmed, she pulled herself from the warmth of her bed, wondering who could be at her door at such an early hour. She wasn't expecting anyone, and the unexpected noise had her heart racing slightly as she approached the door.

Living in the city had taught Y/N to be cautious, but she also knew that only a select few knew her address—now Spencer and the Hotchners. With a mix of confusion and caution, she tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.

To her surprise and immediate relief, it was Penelope Garcia standing outside, her bright and colorful attire unmistakable even through the distorted view of the peephole. Penelope was holding a large carrier with what looked like coffee and pastries—a peace offering or perhaps a bribe for an early morning intrusion.

Y/N opened the door, her expression a mix of amusement and mock annoyance. "Penelope, what are you doing here this early?" she asked, though her tone was light and welcoming.

Penelope's face lit up with an excited grin, and she practically bounced on the spot. "Girl talk time! I brought reinforcements," she said, lifting the carrier slightly to emphasize the coffee and pastries. "I may or may not have used my magical database skills to find your address. I couldn't wait to hear all about your date with Spencer!"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head as she stepped aside to let Penelope into her apartment. "You're impossible," she said fondly. "But since you come bearing caffeine and carbs, I suppose I can forgive you."

Once inside, Penelope set the treats on the kitchen counter and turned to Y/N with wide, expectant eyes. "So? Tell me everything! Was it as magical as you hoped? Give me all the details!"

As Y/N poured them both coffee, she started recounting the events of the previous evening—from the walk through the Met to the candlelit dinner and the charming walk home. Penelope listened intently, occasionally interjecting with excited squeals or empathetic nods.

Y/N shared how comfortable she felt with Spencer, how their conversations flowed naturally, and how he made her laugh. She even blushed a bit when mentioning the protective gesture he made and the cheek kiss that ended the night.

Penelope was thrilled with every detail, her enthusiasm making Y/N relive the joy of the date all over again. "Spencer really likes you, you know," Penelope said with a knowing smile. "He even texted me because he had to tell someone how great the date went."

Hearing this, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her, her smile broadening. That man is just too sweet, I want to eat him up. 

[ya-zz]

hiii!!! my first time sending a request to someone, but i just saw your beautiful little post coming out like a minute ago and you're asking for more requests...so.....i'm being totally normal about how gorgeous you write for Ramattra...( and I'm being totally normal about how I'm so feral over him too like bark bark- )

So, if you'll be willing...how about just a little fluff? Ramattra's first time wanting to sleep with his fem!human in the same bed, but he actually doesn't know how to cuddle and not crush this fragile being beside him. So, reader has to teach that silly little omnic how to >< bonus points if Ramattra doesn't understand his strength from the human pov 👉👈

even if you'd dismiss it, it's alright! Just wanted to reach out and say thank u so much for your works, you're doing awesome with writing and art and you're making me smile every time i see something from you ( or cry okay i love good dose of angst- ). Srry for many words, well, have a great day/night!! ^^

Hi Hi! We love being feral for Ramattra on this blog~ bark bark

Also thank you so much for the kind words! It really means a lot to me 😭 It's messages like this that keep me writing ♥

"Since when did you want to cuddle?" You ask, arms crossed over your chest with a slight smirk on your face.

"Shut up..." He looks away and you could tell he was embarrassed for asking such a thing.

You laugh lightly before taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed. Luckily it was late, so it was the perfect excuse to be close to your partner.

Ramattra won't admit that it would be his first time cuddling with a human, anything beyond that was out of his trajectory regardless, but he wanted to be close with you tonight.

He lays down beside you, instinctively wrapping his arms around your curves and pulling you close. His grip was tight around your body which causes you to wince.

"I am sorry." Ramattra speaks softly, letting go of you when he notices the pained expression. He wasn't used to being gentle with another being.

You shake your head and smile up at him. "It's an honest mistake." Shuffling closer to him, you place his arms where you needed them, wrapped around your sides as your head lays against his chest, cowl protecting you from the harsh metal bracing.

The hum of his inner workings lull you to sleep almost instantly, but you fight to stay awake a little longer.

"This is... Comforting." He admits, thumb rubbing gentle motions on your side. He feels the warmth of your chest against his side, your own hand rubbing soothing lines up his tubing.

"Better than you imagined?"

"Far better." He stares up at the ceiling, systems heating up slightly to keep you warm.

You hum, shifting slightly as the fight wears out and you fall asleep against him. You were safe within his arms, all worries dissipating.

Ramattra can't help but let out an audible sigh, finally feeling content. He speaks in a sort of whisper, not wanting to disturb you.

"Goodnight, my love."

[nctnanajaemin]

my brother's bestfriend pairing: lee jeno x na!sister reader chapter six word count:1.2k warnings: cussing, fighting, mentions of blood.

you are currently eight weeks pregnant, and you and jeno are telling jaemin today because on a rare occasion, none of the other guys are over.

you knock on jaemin's door, "jaem. can i talk to you? it's serious. "

"uh- i guess, but jeno's here."

you walk into his room and see jaemin on his bed and jeno sitting in jaemin's gaming chair.

you walk over and sit down on the bed. "i have something important to tell you.. but please don't get mad. "

"i won't get mad as long as you haven't done something insanely stupid."

"promise me you won't be mad."

jaemin rolls his eyes. "okay, whatever. i promise."

you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for his reaction. "i'm pregnant."

jaemin immediately starts laughing.  "you expect me to actually believe that?"

you pull the pregnancy test and ultrasound out of your hoodie pocket, holding them out to him.

he stops laughing and stares at the test and ultrasound in your hands. "you're being serious?"

"yeah. i'm eight weeks."

jaemin looks from the test and ultrasound back up to you. "oh my god." he's silent for a moment before he speaks again. "who's the dad?"

"that's the thing.... it's jeno."

"please tell me i fucking heard her wrong and you did not get my little sister pregnant." jaemin says, looking over at jeno.

jeno nervously shakes his head. "no, you heard her right..." 

jaemin gets up and walks over to jeno. the second jeno stands up jaemin throws him against the wall. "i told you to stay the fuck away from her!"

"i know you did, but-"

"but what?!" jaemin yells in his face.

you get up and try to pull jaemin away from jeno but he doesn't budge. 

jeno waves you off. "it's fine. just let him get it out."

jaemin keeps jeno against the wall, his fist clenched but not making any moves to hurt him. "how long has it been going on?"

"four years."

"four years!? four fucking years, jeno!? how could you do this to me, to her? i fucking trusted you!" jaemin screams, punching jeno in the face.

"i'm sorry."

"you're sorry? you're sorry?! that doesn't fix the fact that she's fucking pregnant!" jaemin yells, punching him again.

"i know it doesn't!" jeno snaps. "but i'm still sorry!"

"you are dead to me." jaemin spits out. "dead. to. me."

jaemin throws one last punch before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

jeno slumps down against the wall, holding his nose. 

you quickly grab some tissues and kneel down in front of him.

"i'm sorry." you tell him, holding the tissues to his nose.

"it's not your fault. i deserved it."

"no you didn't." 

jeno winces as you dab at his nose. "i betrayed his trust."

"just because you betrayed his trust doesn't mean he had the right to put his hands on you."

jeno sighs. "i know. but i still don't blame him for punching me. if the roles were reversed i would have reacted the same way."

you carefully clean the blood from his face. "still. i don't like seeing you hurt. especially when you've been hurt because of me."

"i'll be fine. it's just a bloody nose." jeno says, placing a hand on your thigh. 

"and a black eye."

"it'll heal. this isn't the first black eye i've gotten, probably won't be the last."

you sigh, tossing the bloody tissues in the trash and taking jeno's face in your hands, gently tilting it from side to side to inspect his injuries. "you're just lucky he wasn't wearing his rings."

 "i know." jeno gently pulls your hands away from his face. "stop fretting over me, i'm not gonna break."

"i'm going to start telling you that when you worry about me."

"i have a reason to worry about you. you're pregnant."

"and? you're injured." you point out.

jeno rolls his eyes. "a few bruises and a bloody nose isn't the same thing as carrying a human being inside your body for nine months, princess."

"yeah, yeah. whatever. let's go get some ice on your eye." you tell him, standing up.

jeno stands up after you and follows you out of the room.

--------

it's been a few days since you told jaemin and he has yet to talk to either of you. 

you and jeno are currently sitting on the couch, watching TV, when mark, renjun, and chenle walk in.

mark looks at jeno's black eye and his eyes widen. "dude, what happened to your face?"

"jaemin."

"jaemin? what'd you do to piss him off?"

"more like who i did."

mark's eyes go to you. "oh." he says, slowly. "you didn't..."

"i did." jeno says.

mark looks at you, then back to jeno, then back to you again. "holy shit dude."

"how'd he find out?" renjun asks, sitting down on the other couch.

"we told him." 

renjun looks horrified. "you told him!? why on earth would you tell him!?"

"we didn't really have a choice."

"what do you mean, you didn't really have a choice?"

jeno looks over at you, silently asking if it's okay to tell the guys.

you nod, and jeno turns back to the rest of the guys. "she's pregnant."

"wait, wait, wait. hold on a second." mark says, holding up his hands. "you're pregnant? like... you have a baby growing inside of you, pregnant?"

you nod. "yeah, eight weeks."

"eight weeks? how did this even happen?"

"well, mark, when two people-"

mark's face turns bright red. "no- yeah, i get how it happened. i meant how did you guys even end up together?"

"technically we're not together, but we started hooking up at your twentieth birthday party."

"my twentieth birthday party? that's almost five years ago."

"and not one of us knew?"

"i mean two of us did." chenle says, making mark and renjun look at him.

"wait, you knew?" mark asks, looking dumbfounded.

"yeah. i've known since the start."

"why didn't you tell us?"

"i take my secret keeping serious."

"clearly." mark mutters, rolling his eyes before turning back to you. "who else knew?"

"jisung, but he only knew because his nosy ass read my diary."

they all laugh, and the sound of someone clearing their throat makes all of you look over.

jaemin is standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.

 "can i talk to you?" he asks, looking directly at you.

you nod and stand up, following jaemin out of the room. he leads you outside and turns to face you as you shut the door. 

"i'm sorry for how i reacted. i was angry and felt betrayed. it was just a lot to process at once, and i obviously made some choices that i'm not exactly proud of. I just... I never expected this, like are you two serious?"

you shake your head no. "we aren't together, no, but jeno and I are committed to doing what's best for the baby and we're still figuring everything out."

"he was the one friend i really didn't think i had to worry about when it came to messing around with you. it's going to take some time for me to forgive him."

"i know, and i get it. i'm not asking you to forgive him right away and i don't blame you for being upset and needing time to process everything."

"i'm sorry." jaemin pulls you into a hug. "you're going to be a good mom, i know it."

chapter five | chapter seven

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[melanieph321]

Okay hear me out: what about ruben’s girlfriend losing her memory temporarily, and ruben literally leaves everything to take care of her. He asks some time away from football to help her on her recovery journey, and he would make her one of his usual breakfasts, full of nutrients and he would help her exercice slowly and would help her remember little things at a time, and he would just do everything for her well being 🥺

THIS IS THE ONE, MY 100TH RUBEN FIC! 🥳🥳❤️❤️❤️🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳❤️🥳❤️🥳❤️🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

Love the many requests I've received, I have stories for days now 😅. But in honor of my 100th Ruben Dias fic I have written a 8 part series based on this request. Hope you enjoy!

Ruben Dias x Reader - Remember You and Me Part 1/8

Enjoy!

You slowly opened your eyes, groggily taking in your surroundings. You were in a hospital room, surrounded by your family and a man you had never seen before. The man, who you assumed was a nurse, was holding your hand and smiling at you.

"Hello, honey. Welcome back" your mother said warmly.

"What's going on." You grunted. The pain hit you all at once as you tried to sit up.

"What hurts the most?" Your mother was quick to pat you down, not wanting you to over extend yourself.

"My neck." You said and reached up to touch the brace that covered your throat.

"The doctors say you have to wear it for a couple of weeks. You were in a terrible car accident that almost left you paralyzied head down."

"What?" You tried to sit up again but squirmed as the pain hit.

"Careful." Said the male nurse, still holding your hand in his. "I know this isn't easy for you to hear Y/N," He said. "but the truth is that you've been in a coma for the last four days. You've had multiple injuries on your spine, ribs and if it wasn't for the doctors deciding to put you in a sedative state your brain would still be swelling."

Your brain swelled with all the information you were given. "I want to go home." You said. You hated the smell of hospitals and always have.

"I know honey, I know." Your mom stroked your head. "But I'm afraid it won't be that easy."

"Why not?" You looked around the room, meeting the faces of your family. They all carried the same expression of sadness and concern for you.

"What's going on?" You said through the tubes plugged in your nose.

"Honey..." Your mother tried to break it to you easily. "You don't live with us anymore, you haven't done so in the past five years."

"Um, what?"

"Honey, what is your last memory? How old do you think you are?"

"Mom what are you...I'm nineteen years old and I live with you, dad and Eddie. Why are you asking me these stupid questions? Why am I in the hospital, what happened to me?"

You were getting quite worked up, however your mother was patient. "Y/N, the doctors suspect a temporary memory loss as a result of your severe head trauma. You are not nineteen years old but twenty four years old. And you don't live with your father and I, you live in England with your husband, Ruben."

Your mother pointed to the nurse standing next to your bed, his hand still intertwined with yours.

"My what?" Your eyes widened in confusion. Husband? You had no memory of getting married. In fact, you had no memory of anything that had happened since you were a teenager. "What do you mean?" You asked, voice shaking. "I don't remember getting married."

The nurse smile faltered for a moment, but then he took a deep breath and explained. "You were in a terrible car accident a few days ago. And in a coma ever since this morning, when you finally woke up, not remembering anything. We've been trying to help you remember, but it's been a slow process."

Your mind was reeling. You had no memory of your childhood, your friends, your job, or anything else. It was as if your entire life had been erased.

"Mommy." You cried, letting go of the nurse/your husband's hand. "I want to go home, take me home right now."

"I know sweetie, I know." She brought you in for a hug, a tight and safe mommy hug. "The doctors say that your memory loss is only temporary, that it will come to you naturally as you go on with your daily life."

"Okay, so I'm free to leave the hospital then?"

"Yes, the sooner the better. However you have to leave with Ruben not us."

"What? I can't go live with him, he's a stranger I don't even know him."

The man's eyes widened in suprise, his expression unreadable.

"Yes, you do honey." Your mother was determined. "Ruben is your husband and you must stay with him. We will be here through your recovery, every step of the way. But for your memory to return to you naturally you must go back to living your old life, the life you spent together with Ruben, your husband."

[missredherring]

For A Good Time Call... Joel

Joel Miller x Fat!F!Reader

Rating: R

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: N/A

Content: pwp. strangers to lovers. edging. fingering. oral sex (f receiving). dirty talk. one butt smack. two labia flicks. one use of "slut."

Summary: Joel nods like your silence is the answer he expected. “I had plenty of time to think about it last night. All that noise and it still sounded like someone just gettin’ off.” He shakes his head a little. “I’m sure Tommy did good by you, but there was something missing. That desperate edge to your voice, honey. I bet you’ve never not come, always making sure to get yours. But where’s the fun in that?”

A/N: Here it is, folks! The idea wouldn't leave me alone and then it turned into something completely different. My notes literally went from "pussy eating" to "edging with Joel?!" As such, this is my first time writing edging and any silliness that doesn't make sense is mine.

The last part is going to be trickier, so I'm going to try to take my time with it.

So much thanks to @boliv-jenta and @prolix-yuy and @janaispunk for beta reading and encouraging these thirsty thots that haunt me.

Part One - Part Three

“Morning.” 

There's already someone in the kitchen. You left Tommy in bed, so this must be the brother he mentioned living with, Joel.

The morning sun has crept up enough to peek through the window, reaching in with its spindly fingers of light to bestow its Midas’ touch on the room and everything in it. Strong golden light bounces off the wood of the cabinets and makes everything glow with warmth. Even him, as he raises a mug to his downturned mouth. The steam swirls around his nose and then wafts away as he blows on it in an attempt to cool it down. 

The genes in this family are something else. It’s the first thought that makes its way through your stunned brain and it just keeps circling around as you take him in. He's broader than Tommy, all thick muscles and casual strength in his stance as he leans against a counter. His hair is just as dark, a hint of a curl in its short length. A long nose and another plump bottom lip. They even have similar facial hair, although his looks like it’s an afterthought instead of a styling choice. 

His eyes flick over you and while you don’t mind wearing last night’s dress, you do wish it was a little more comfortable. This kind of garment is meant to be worn for a short, good time, not after a night out when your body is feeling sensitive. He’s dressed in simple clothes: jeans, a t-shirt that has to stretch across his chest, and heavy work boots. That familiar annoyance at the clothing standards for men and women rises up as you give him your own look-over. He looks like he walked straight out of a coffee commercial. 

You return his greeting and nod to the coffee pot next to him. “Got enough for another cup?”

He blinks at you slowly. “I don’t know if I can spare any. Y’see, I was kept up all night by some couple fuckin’ in the next room.” He takes a sip, slurping the coffee just enough to make a point.

It’s an effort not to roll your eyes. “I’m sorry your walls are so thin.” 

He hums and offers you his mug.  

“What is it with you guys and sharing?” you mutter, but take the mug for a tentative sip. It’s still hot, but not enough to burn and the flavor is strong. It could use some cream and sugar for your tastes, but it’s good. 

“You never heard the saying ‘sharing is caring’? I’m serious about my coffee, honey, be glad I’m giving you any.” He watches you cradle the mug to your chest, your hands shifting over the surface to feel more of its heat. He tilts his head. “Did Tommy take care of you alright?” 

“Multiple times,” you say, smirking into the cup as you take another bracing sip and give the mug back to him. It’s bitter on your tongue, but the coffee is making quick work of waking you up.

“Oh, I'm sure he made you come. But did he take care of you? Or was he just another toy you used to get off?” he asks. 

You can’t stop your eyebrows from dropping down into a furrow this time as you take in his words. There's something about the way he says it, “take care” that means something more to him. The look in his dark eyes. The way his mouth forms around the words. His accent curling around the syllables and changing them into new shapes. You realize you don't know what he means. But you want to. 

Joel nods like your silence is the answer he expected. “I had plenty of time to think about it last night. All that noise and it still sounded like someone just gettin’ off.” He shakes his head a little. “I’m sure Tommy did good by you, but there was something missing. That desperate edge to your voice, honey. I bet you’ve never not come, always making sure to get yours. But where’s the fun in that?”

You open your mouth to answer him, to argue, but you can't. Why would you edge yourself when you masturbate? Coming, getting that pleasure, that release, was the whole point. And with a partner? Wasn’t mutual pleasure the main goal there?

Joel weighs something in his head before he finally looks away from you to glance at his watch. He puts his mug down and opens a cabinet behind him, taking out a beat up thermos. He pours the rest of the coffee from the pot into it and twists the cap back on with quick, efficient movements. His dark eyes are hot when they meet yours again, his voice just a touch lower. 

“You haven't, have you? Never had a reason to edge yourself. Never had a partner who cared enough for your pleasure to do it for you, I bet. It’s no one’s fault. It's a selfish world out there and we're all just trying to get by.” His tone turns contemplative; his eyes soften a little, and your skin prickles from the weight of the emotion there. “You want a reminder of what that's like?” 

He’s right: Tommy had left you plenty satisfied. You can feel the soreness between your legs even now as the blood flow increases there. How could you refuse this gorgeous man offering you a new sexual experience? A thread of desire drops down your spine to pool in your pussy, growing bigger by the second. You’d be silly to turn him down.

At your nod he’s moving, his long stride eating up what little distance there is between you. His heavy boots thunk on the linoleum covered-floor and send vibrations into your bare feet. His hands are still warm from the mug when he cups your face, swiping his thumb over your round cheek. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Take care of me, Joel,” you tell him. Or maybe it’s an order. You don’t know what your voice is doing, with the way it wavers on his name, but that doesn’t stop him. He bends down and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, his tongue sweeping over them and dipping into your mouth to deposit the last trace of his coffee’s bitter flavor on your tongue. 

Joel hasn’t stopped his forward motion either. Once he’s got his hands on you, he pushes you back until your hips bump the kitchen table behind you. 

“Up on the table, honey,” He instructs, dropping his big hands to your hips and giving them a squeeze. “One, two…” He bends at the knees just enough to use the momentum of your little hop to bring you up onto the table. Joel grunts, and while you can feel his muscles strain and see them flex with the effort, his face shows none of it. The lines around his eyes only deepen in concentration as he maneuvers you where he wants you, nudging you back further on the table. The wood is solid and only complains a little before settling under your weight. Your thighs spread out where they’re pressing on the surface, and you can see his eyes dilate to match as he takes in the way your body changes, flesh moving with how you angle your torso and lean back on your arms. 

You think he’s going to just crank your legs open and have at it, but he doesn’t. Joel gathers you to him, stroking his palms over your back and pausing when he gets to the edge of your dress. They’re working hands, warm and calloused, and you remember Tommy saying that they worked in construction together. Joel rubs his fingers back and forth from your dress to your skin and back again, before he pulls away to look up and down your body again. 

“Hold on. I got -” He's walking away now, out from the kitchen and down the hall. He calls back to ask you, “What size d’you wear?”

You tell him, wondering what the hell he's doing. He has a folded shirt in his hands when he returns. Shaking it out, he presents it to you. “Miller Contracting” is printed across the chest. Or it would have said “Miller” if it wasn’t misprinted to say “MIler” with half the ‘r’ missing.

“Here.” 

Your eyebrows are already up as you talk through the thought process. “You got me a shirt. To change into… instead of just getting me naked.”

He just motions with his hands again. You rock from side to side to get the fabric out from under you and then pull your dress up and off, dropping it to the floor. He kicks it away as he comes closer, taking his place between your legs. Again, he doesn't wedge himself in, but presses into your thighs, his torso steadying you when you lose the support of your arms. You take the shirt from him, checking the tag for the size. It wouldn’t be nice and loose like you were hoping for, but it would fit well enough. The fabric is only a little tight in the usual places when you wiggle into it and Joel doesn’t even take advantage of your raised arms or covered face to grope your chest. His hands stay where they landed on the tops of your thighs, each fingertip a warm point of contact on your bare skin. You admire his self control; your tits looks great when your arms are up and your back is arched. 

Your eyes meeting seems to be his cue to move. His hands follow the shirt’s hem around your thighs, and instead of going under it, they go up and over. He touches you everywhere, not just the erogenous zones most men know of. The cotton fabric is stiff, but the warmth between your body and his hands molds it to your body, softening it if only until his hands move on to the next area. Joel fingers the collar, tugging it aside to kiss the peak of your collarbone. His mustache sends goosebumps scattering when he drags it up your neck and you can’t help the breathy exclamation when he nips your chin.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, hands cupping your shoulders now. 

“Yea,” you say.

He nods and does it all again.

The thin skin of your inner arms and elbows, the tops and sides of your breasts, the curve where your belly meets your hip. Even as far down as the backs of your knees and calves. Joel touches them all, kneading you, his fingers sinking into you like risen dough.

His mouth frequently returns to yours after exploring the crest of your cheeks, nuzzling along the valleys that dip next to your nose. The angle of your jawline and sweet rise of your forehead, all brushed over by prickly stubble and lips that could use some lip balm.

“How is this related to edging?” you ask and earn a sharp tug of your bottom lip.

“It’s all in the build-up,” he says. His touch is changing now, firming where it has been gentle, and he finally reaches under your shirt to follow the line of your ass on the table. His thumb sweeps up the crease of your cheeks there before giving it a good tap with his palm. “‘Also a good lesson in patience.”

You want to throw a witty quip at him, to take back the verbal dominance from him, but you can’t because his tongue is in your mouth. And he takes his time there too; savoring the taste of you and rolling his tongue over and around yours to feel the textures there.

Joel retraces every touch, this time without the barrier of a shirt between you, and the stretch marks striped across your body turn into desire paths as his fingers go over them again and again and again.

It’s only when you’re moving your hips, imitating the movement of his tongue, that he takes a step back. The sight of him makes your entire body clench, ruining all his hard work. His mouth is swollen and red, shiny where he licks the taste of you from them. He’s breathing steady, but deeply, when he talks.

“You’re only patient for as long as it takes to get off, huh? You know exactly how and where to touch yourself to get that release, don’t you?” He’s not waiting for an answer, and you watch curiously as he takes the hem of the shirt and tucks it between two rolls of fat, lifting the fabric out of the way so he has a clear view of your belly, thighs, and everything between them. “Take my hand and use my fingers; show me how you like to be touched.”

You take his hand, eyeing the size difference between them hungrily. His fingers are weathered, beaten up over the years in his profession, but thick. He’s right. You know just the amount of pressure, the way two fingers need to swipe, to move on you, to be coming in minutes. 

This is where he might expect you to suck on his fingers, get them nice and wet for you, so you bring your hands up to his mouth instead, challenging him with just the lightest touch to his bottom lip. He huffs a breath out, but holds your gaze when he opens his mouth and bobs down on your fingers. His mouth is big enough for all of them, his tongue hot as he thoroughly coats them with his spit.

It feels different, when you press down on your vulva, using his fingers to spread it open and your own to dip down and brush your clit in greeting. But his dark eyes are watching, and his hand is quick to catch yours, trapping it against yourself.

“Use me,” he reminds you, and puts your hand back on top of his. You spread your labia again, lower so he can see your entrance and the slick gathering there. A tremor races through the back of his hand when you scoop into it, spreading it around your vulva. 

It’s a little confusing at first, the different sensory inputs of his touch and your own in such a concentrated area. But Joel is a quick learner, and his other hand comes in to hold your labia open, stretching you wide and applying just the pressure you want as you swell around his big fingers. 

His spit and your slick work well when you press your fingers into your pussy. Just a little, just the tips of so many fingers to stretch and spread and imitate the girth of what’s waiting in his pants. It’s only for a second, two heartbeats thrumming around those fingertips, before you take them out to spread more slick over your clit. 

Joel can’t stop the full body shudder that goes through him, the way his hips cant closer to yours, the curse he bites out that propels him into action, no longer a silent participant.

“Christ, honey, look at you.” His voice is lower, even gruffer and you preen under his words, sighing at the familiar desire building behind your clit.

“You’re so wet– ,”

“A little rougher, like– ,”

“So hot– ,”

“Smooth, keep it smooth– ,”

You talk over each other, only syncing up when you keep saying “right there, just like that.”

“I heard that whining all night, but not this.” His fingers make a squelching sound as they fuck through your slick. “Good thing too, else I wouldn't’ve been able to stay away from this sweet, juicy pussy.” 

Your eyes fly open–when did you close them?–when he brings both your hands away and back up to his mouth, pressing the fingers down on his tongue and sucking, his cheek hollowing while his eyes flutter but remain trained on you. Your hips jerk up in an aborted thrust, right into his body, catching on the ridge of the erection in his jeans. It feels good, but it’s not enough. You exhale a shaky breath as your orgasm subsides and melts away. 

The sun has moved while he played with you, catching on Joel’s shoulders and illuminating the dust motes swirling around him. He’s haloed by the light and it just makes the look in his eyes that much darker when he takes your fingers out of his mouth with one last lick to the undersides.

“That’s one.” 

He pulls a chair under him and sits down, descending from the sunlight into the shadowed valley between your legs. He rolls his shoulders once and lowers his head to lick a stripe up your sex. You’re sensitive and push down as he comes up, meeting in a perfect point of connection with his tongue on your clit.

Normally you’d be on your back at this point, head tilted up and eyes closed, but even as the rise of your belly and breasts obscure him from your view, you can’t look away. The curling ends of his hair stick up in every direction, a bead of sweat rolls down from his hairline. His eyes blink but don’t close as he tries out the motions you showed with his tongue instead of his fingers. You want to see it all. 

And his tongue; what is it about his tongue? When past partners had gone down on you before they’d just buried their face in you and hoped for the best, but not Joel. No, you could see the whole of his pink tongue as he uses it. The saliva there shines as he flexes the muscle against you, flicking this way and lapping that way. 

He licks up the side of your labia, wrapping his lips around it to give it a sharp suck that makes you gasp, the air catching in your throat when his eyes flick up to watch your face again. You watch his tongue work, darting out again and again. It hesitates once, his gaze catching the tremble of anticipation in your thighs, and he decides on something else, pressing his lips to your sex in a kiss you want to feel everywhere all at once. 

It doesn’t take as long to say his name in that tone and make him stop. Joel keeps touching you this time. Stroking outward from your aching clit with his hands, up your thighs and back and pressing kisses to your stomach, the secret dip of your belly button, and over your hips. 

You’re trying to get control of yourself, your blood loud in your ears, so it takes you a little to hear what he’s saying between kisses. 

“Just breathe through it. That's it, that’s two. Can you do that one more time for me? Do you got it in you, sweetheart? You got one more of those before you can come.”

The need to come is so strong, you’ve only felt it like this when you’re just on the precipice, already anticipating that curl of your wrist, or an increase in vibration, before the drop. But there’s none of that now, not with Joel keeping steady pressure on your hips to ground you, his mouth moving further and further up until he’s at your mouth again. 

You’ve tasted yourself before, but how it sits on Joel’s tongue is something new, something delicious. Pulling him in with arms and legs, you feast on him. He presses his forehead to yours and keeps talking into your kisses. 

“D’you feel that sharp edge to your pleasure now? How it’s built up on itself? It’s gonna be so good for you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to give you that. Are you ready?”

A string of yeses fall out of your mouth and even before his hand is back at your pussy, you’re spreading yourself open for him, fingertips gripping for a hold on the slippery skin.

It’s quick, easy work now. His fingers find an easy rhythm between rubbing your clit and teasing your entrance. Your orgasm is coming quick and you’re so engulfed in the penetration of his thick fingers in your pussy and his tongue in your mouth that you push it, gasping when he yanks his fingers out of you. You feel his mouth turn into a firm line against your lips. 

“You think I don't know what a pussy feels like when it's coming?” It’s a rhetorical question and you know now is not the time for cleverness when he flicks your labia, once on each side just in the space between your clit and fingers. You’re so swollen and sensitive that the little stings make you jump. “Maybe I shouldn't make you come, after you pulled that little trick. A greedy slut like you who doesn't know what's good for her.”

You tremble, his words as effective as his fingers. You don’t know him well enough to be certain if he’d carry out the threat or not, but you don’t want to take that chance right now. 

“I’m sorry, Joel. Please.”

He nods once and his kiss soothes your nerves even as your hips start to wiggle against him, eager for his attentions. “It’s hard to trust when others haven’t treated you right, sweetheart, I get it.”

“Please,” you ask again and he hums, talking to you between kisses. 

“Just like that. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re being so good for me. That’s it that’s it that’s it.”

It’s not the cliff-side jump you’re used to, the hit and run you depend on to sate your desire. 

It’s warmth, pinching in your hips and releasing to spread through your whole body. It’s Joel holding you and stroking you through the clench and release of your muscles and his weight keeping you pinned to the table when all your body wants to do is melt to the floor. It’s his words in your ear telling you which way is left and right when you lose your sense of direction, letting you find your way back to him.

“That’s right, catch your breath for me,” he says, and waits until your breathing is as even as his own before moving away.

Your eyes are focused enough to watch him go to the counter and lean on it. He sucks his fingers and licks the palm of his hand clean before picking up his mug and taking a sip of his forgotten coffee. He makes a face and gulps the rest down. It must be cold by now. How long has it been? You try to find the time, but the numbers on the microwave are small and blurry.

The sound of running water brings you back to him. He’s washing the mug, his hands sliding over the sudsy surface and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat. Which is slipperier, the soap or your cum?

He leaves damp fingerprints all over his jeans when he reaches in to readjust himself and you realize that his erection is still straining in his pants.

“What about you?” you ask, trusting your voice more than your legs to reach him. 

“S’not about me,” he says, coming back to you with a wet paper towel. His eyes drop to your pussy: hot, swollen from his touch, and so wet you can feel where your cum has spread up your thighs and between your buttcheeks. “Lemme just–”

“Ah–” it’s all you can get out because it’s warm warm warm. His tongue is on you–in you–dipping at your entrance and licking up all the cum he earned from you, pressing his lips to suck and swallow down as much of you as he can. The paper towel is just an afterthought as it follows his mouth.

Gently, Joel plucks the shirt from where it’s gotten tangled up in your body, straightening and smoothing it down to lay just at the top of your thighs, squeezing the plump skin there. He helps you slide down from the table, keeping a hold of you as you find your balance before letting go. The table gives such a creak when your weight finally lifts off it that you can’t help the worried look on your face. 

“Don’t worry about it. I can fix anything, honey, promise.” He winks at you and grins when you laugh in his face. 

Tommy comes in then, hair wet and dressed like Joel in jeans and a shirt. He makes a beeline for you, giving you a smacking kiss on the cheek before bumping into Joel’s shoulder as he passes by.

“Your shirt’s on backwards, big brother,” he says, his head already in the fridge.

Joel pulls his shirt away from him to get a look and rolls his eyes. “Shit. Have’ta change it anyway; someone got it all wet. We’re leavin’ when I get back. ‘Hear me, Tommy?”

Tommy makes a noise of agreement, but when Joel’s footsteps disappear down the hallway he turns to you, his eyes searching over your face. 

“Are you alright? Everything ok?” He asks you.

Was it awkward, being along with the guy you hooked up with last night after his brother made you come in a while new way this morning? Yea, a little. 

You expect to see anger or jealousy in Tommy’s expression, but there –in the turn of his mouth, the depths of his warm brown eyes, and the uptick of his eyebrows–it was all concern for you. 

“Joel can get a little… intense once things start rolling.” He continues and you take his hand in yours and squeeze it. 

“I’m good, Tommy, thanks. I had a good time, then and now.” You assure him and his shoulders drop, a heartstopping smile spreading across his face. 

“Me too.” He uses your connected hands to bring you to him and gather you in his arms. Tommy’s hand smoothing over your ass to play with the shirt hem. “I like this.”

Joel comes back into the kitchen with his own (correctly printed) “Miller Contracting” shirt on. He and Tommy share a look over you shoulder.

“Let’s go.” Joel says and Tommy only sighs. 

“There a reason we can’t wait ‘til her ride gets here at least?” Tommy asks.

“If we stay, waiting isn’t the only thing we’ll be doing, and believe it or not we have a packed schedule today.” Joel says and you turn to see him watching Tommy’s fingers tracing the crease where your ass meets your thighs.

You can’t resist the opportunity to tease, and shake your ass at him. He rolls his eyes and comes up behind you to reach around for the forgotten thermos on the counter. Joel’s hips press into you, letting you feel his hard on. With both of these gorgeous men touching you, you can’t make your mind up about your next move before Joel kisses the side of your neck. 

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your ear and turns away for the door.

[a-little-buggy]

"Amore mio, we cannot keep doing this." Ezio paced across the wooden floor, running his hand through his hair. It was entirely dark out, and the room was lit by a single candle on the table. "You were gone two full days! I practically turned this city upside-down looking for you!"

"How was I supposed to know I was still seeing things!? I genuinely thought it would wear off before now!" Desmond was sitting in a common room chair; the dark circles under his eyes were accentuated by his washed out complexion. He had just come from a bath, otherwise he would still be coated in sweat and hay. "I thought after a few weeks everything would just go back to normal! Well. . ." Desmond gestured around at the Renaissance assassin's guild hall. "Normal being relative, and all."

Ezio pulled a chair over by Desmond and sat down, picking at the stray straws of hay still glued to Desmond's skin. "I know that you are just trying to keep active, but please. If I get another report of you passing out in an alley, or landing in the river, I swear to Christo I will go gray." He stopped and cupped his hands around Desmond's face. "Don't do this to me, Desmond. I'm too young for gray hair."

"Oh don't worry, it'll be just as popular with the chicks as ever." Desmond gave a *swish* of his imaginary long locks, but the motion made his head spin. He braced his arms against the table. "Though I personally have less interest in the grandpa-type."

"Molto bene, that means you should have a personal investment in not causing me any more stress!"

"You think it's stressful for you? You're not the one running an imaginary Boston Marathon every other weekday!" Desmond scoffed, and laid his head down on the table in such a way as to still be able to give Ezio the stink eye.

"You know that isn't how I meant it. I just wish I could convince you to stay safe." Ezio rocked his chair back, and set his heels on the corner of the table. "At the very least, until we have some kind of answer as to when these episodes occur, or why."

Desmond gave a deep, shuddering sigh. "What if we never get any such answer? What little I know about bleeds is that I originally got them from using the Animus. Except now, I've somehow traveled back through time, so who even knows what kind of effects that could cause."

Ezio pressed a finger to his forehead. "Wait a moment. What is the Animus?"

"Seriously? It's the device that showed me your memories. We talked about this a few days ago."

Ezio removed his feet from the table and sat upright, eyeing Desmond suspiciously. "And when was this again, exactly?"

"Why? I. . . I guess it was four days ago, now, so Thursday? I remember it was raining."

Ezio bit his lip and grimaced, then giving a deep exhale placed a gentle hand on Desmond's leg. "I had a contract in Forl�� that day."

"No, no. You're kidding." Desmond pushed off of the table and sank down into the wooden chair, as if it could absorb the impact of this new revelation for him. Ezio couldn't have imagined Desmond getting any paler, but he had. "No. No no no no no Ezio I -"

"Hey, it's alright, you're alright, I just need you to breathe." Desmond was badly shaken by this point, and his legs had given out, leaving him sinking to the floor. Ezio grabbed hold of his shoulders, trying to ease his downward descent.

Desmond's voice cracked. "No, no, it's not alright!" He grabbed Ezio back, desperate for some kind of tether. "How can you stand there and tell me it's alright, just after telling me that you may not even be here!?!?"

"I am here, though. I'm here." Ezio wrapped his arms tightly around Desmond, holding him as close as he possibly could. What else could he do? "Just try to breathe."

And so the two sat there, as the candle burned down to a stump. Slowly, Desmond's shaking turned to shuddered breathing, which turned to deep breaths.

Ezio rubbed Desmond's shoulders. "It may not be much longer until daybreak. Do you think you are ready to try for some sleep?"

Desmond slumped forward, burying his face in Ezio's chest. "Honestly? I think I'm too exhausted to make it to bed. Here seems fine."

Ezio chuckled. "For you, perhaps, but I am a creature of comfort." With one of his arms still wrapped around Desmond's back, he slid the other one under Desmond's knees and stood up, carrying him off towards the bunks.

Desmond wrapped his arms around Ezio's neck. "My hero," he sleepily crooned.

"Don't sing my praises just yet, amò." Ezio shifted Desmond's weight, fumbling to turn the doorknob. "I may expect you to return the favor one day."

"What?!" Desmond gasped, playing up the dramatics. " 's not fair, you're much bigger than I am!"

"Is that meant as a compliment or an insult?"

"I dunno yet." Desmond yawned. "I'll decide later, when I need one or the other."

Soon enough, they both had clambered into bed, and were able to get some much needed sleep.

-----

Desmond spent the next few days occupying himself in the base. Besides helping sort through the dispatching of contracts, he got caught them caught up on some long overdue weapons orders and offered advice to whatever young assasin might come knocking. This was his favorite task. It was a reminder of a simpler time, of when he could stand behind a bar and just chat with people about whatever was ailing them. Except this was a little more murder-y. But having been a bartender in New York, it was not so much more murder-y as one might think.

But all the same, he was beginning to feel cooped up. And so he went to seek audience with the Mentorè, about perhaps being allowed on a group mission of some form.

There were two novices already in Ezio's office, a boy and a girl. They were likely discussing the details of an upcoming contract. Having already opened the door, Desmond knocked on the doorframe. Ezio waved him in.

"What can I do for you, Desmond?" Ezio propped his elbows up on the desk and clasped his hands, resting his chin on top of them.

"Oh, it can wait. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." Desmond glanced over at the novices, who in fairness, seemed unperturbed.

"So can this. Please, continue." Ezio leaned back in the chair, and the two young assassins stepped to the side.

Desmond cleared his throat. "With your permission, Mentorè," On this word he did a slight bow. Ezio rolled his eyes. "I would wish to be sent on a mission. As part of a group, of course," He hastened to add. "It's just. . . I don't do well feeling confined. And I'm about ready to go stir-crazy in here."

One of the novices smirked. "Is that different from the regular crazy somehow?" He asked. Desmond gave a dry, mocking laugh in response, but then turned back to Ezio and. . . Oh shit.

Desmond always knew that Ezio Auditore da Firenze was a dangerous man. He knew of all his great conquests, and had seen the fear in the eyes of his enemies. And yet somehow, to see the master assassin here and brimming with fury, it felt like the first time he really understood how terrifying such a man could be.

The other novice slapped the first upside the head, and then grabbed him by the wrist. "Thank you for the advice, Mentorè. We will send word as soon as we complete our task," She said, dragging him out the door, which closed firmly behind them.

Ezio took a deep breath, and settled back into his seat.

Desmond shuffled his feet. "Hey, so umm, you wouldn't have actually murdered that kid, right?"

"Fortunately, we will not have to find out." Ezio shot what he assumed was a comforting smile up at Desmond (it wasn't) and then rifled through some papers on his desk. "I actually have a mission that should suit you just fine. It should be straightforward, a matter of some scouting and interrogating a handful of people. There will be two others with you, and you will cover a fair bit of ground. Benè?" Ezio handed over a map with a few directions and way points marked on it.

Desmond nodded. "Yeah, benè. Thank you, Ezio."

"You're welcome. You leave in an hour. And Desmond," He continued, once Desmond had turned to leave. "I know you are highly skilled, but do still be careful."

"I will." Desmond walked back over to Ezio, then kissed him on the cheek and winked. "I promise."

Ezio kicked his boots up on the desk. "Oh, you are such a flirt."

"Well, I come by it honestly." And with that, Desmond left to make preparations.

-----

Desmond was sitting atop a window dormer, watching the surrounding area as another assassin prepared to 'talk to' a gang member in the alleyway below. A third assassin was perched on another neighboring rooftop, similarly spying for any potential complications. This was the method they had all decided on, and it had been working quite well. One person would go to meet the target, and the other two would remain above: out of sight so as to not cause any alarm, but close enough to drop into the fray should anything go awry. This was the last one on their list, and then they could all go back and herald their mission as a success.

He scanned the skyline. Besides the other assassin (whose name he had learned was Achille), there was no one visible up here. He peered down into the street. Piera (visible in blue) had just cornered in on the gang member (visible in gold). One or two of their targets had been willing to part with their information before it came to blows, but such instances were few and far between. Piera gave a quick display of her hidden blade, just to make her intentions and alliances clear.

As was typical, the conversation started with an exchange of thinly-veiled threats. "Next will come the unveiled threats, and then the diet violence," Desmond mused to himself.

The target started shouting. Desmond thought he heard another voice. He scanned the rooftops again, and this time saw a pair of guards off in the distance behind him. He looked back at Achille, who did not seem to react. "This again," Desmond muttered under his breath. He shifted to the right, and the guards were gone from his line of sight. "Please let that fix it." He turned back to watching the alley.

"You belong down in the street with the rest of the filth!" The voice was still distant, but it was definitely louder this time.

Desmond sighed. He turned to look behind himself, and saw the two guards from before making their way over, and a third guard climbing up behind them. "Just ignore them, and they'll go away," He said to himself. He turned back to the alleyway.

"Get down off this roof, or I will throw you off myself!"

Desmond scoffed. "I'd like to see you try. I think I'm finished throwing myself off of rooftops because of figments of my twisted imagination."

He heard another shout. This one wasn't from the target, or the illusory guard, but from Achille. "Desmond, look out!"

Desmond spun around, but not quickly enough, because a boot impacted him squarely in the chest, and he fell from the roof.

He desperately reached out, trying to grab hold of something to hang from. His right hand caught the wooden paneling of the window he was sitting above, but the wooden beam was brittle and snapped off, splintering under his fingernails. He yelled, and was unable to grab hold anywhere else.

Desmond's ankle rolled as he hit the ground, and he fell prone. The guard peered from the rooftop above, and apparently for the first time put together the implications of there being three hooded figures together. "Assassinos! Get them!" Well, so much for subtlety.

Piera ran over to help Desmond to his feet, and the gang member bolted. Desmond shook his head, and pulled himself up. "Don't worry about me, I can handle a few guards. Don't let the target get away!" He turned to face the building he had fallen from. The guards were already descending. He shifted his weight, and winced. Running's not an option. He readied his blade.

Desmond lunged at the first guard to get his boots on the ground. He hadn't yet pulled his sword, so Desmond easily grabbed hold of him, sliding the hidden blade between his ribs. Unfortunately, the next two landed with their swords already drawn, and Desmond could hear more footsteps fast approaching. "Shit, how many of you are there?"

He heard a shriek from above, and looked up just in time to dodge a guard falling from the rooftop, an arrow lodged in his chest. He landed with a dull, wet thud. Desmond spared a glance up towards Achille, who was already nocking another arrow. "Oh, this should be a peace of cake, then."

Desmond crossed blades with the two guards closest to him, parrying and deflecting their attacks. One of them leaped forward with an arcing swing of their sword. Desmond dodged under and to the side of the swing, then came around behind the off-balance guard, slitting his throat.

Another shriek, another thud. Desmond easily dispatched his next opponent, sweeping him off his feet and then skewering him where he fell. But the next guards approached together, and Desmond had to shift his focus to defense again.

Shriek, thud. One of the guards tried to bring his sword down on Desmond's head, who used both blades to intersect it. In the sword's reflection, Desmond saw another guard coming from behind him. "I've got you now, assassino!" Desmond shoved his current attacker off and spun around, swinging his blade in a wide arc. But as soon as his blade hit the guard's chest, he disappeared into mid-air.

Desmond growled. "Are yOU KIDDING ME!?!?!"

Shriek, thud.

A low chuckle from one of the guardsmen. "Jumping at shadows, boy? Ready for someone to put you out of your misery?" Desmond turned on his heel and lunged for the unlucky dastard's face, plunging both of the hidden blades deep into his eyesockets.

What few guards remained turned tail and ran.

Shriek, thud. Desmond turned once again to Achille, who was now clambering down the building, bow in hand. "They were already running, y'know."

Achille landed on the street, and shrugged. "They picked the fight. The least they could do is have the decency to see it through."

Desmond chuckled, then rubbed his shoulder. "Well, whether Piera caught the target or not, by now, she'll be heading back to base. We should be, too." He looked down at his swelling ankle. "No crazy parkour shit though."

-----

Ezio was pacing back and forth across the wooden floor, combing his hand through his hair. Piera had gotten back with her report on the mission two hours ago. He had already sent ten otherwise idle assassins out searching for Desmond, and he was deliberating about sending more.

"He has returned!" Came a voice from the door.

Ezio raced to the door. His stomach lurched when he saw Desmond, covered in blood and limping, except. . . He was also smiling? There he was, covered head-to-toe in blood, and grinning ear-to-ear!

"Desmond? Are you. . ." He looked Desmond up and down. Bloody. Beaming. "Did you hit your head?"

"Ezio!" Desmond threw his arms up wide, flinging blood on the assassins unfortunate enough to be standing near him. "No, I'm just fine! Well, I wrecked my ankle, but not nearly so much as I wrecked all of the guards!"

Ezio laughed. "So, you determined that what you needed was catharsis, and that any guard would suffice?"

"Well no, actually," Desmond responded a bit sheepishly. "I let them get the drop on me, believing they weren't real."

Ezio very abruptly stopped laughing. "You WHAT -"

"Can we discuss it later? I know it's a problem, but I'm currently riding a high, and I would like to enjoy it."

Ezio started to object, but instead wrapped an arm over Desmond's shoulders. "Later then." He lifted his arm, and stared in horror at the gloopy mess now dripping from it. "Dio mio, someone needs to give you a bath."

Desmond smirked. "Are you volunteering?"

-----

I don't ever think of myself as a creative person, so I am ABSOLUTELY blaming @sulfies that I have done this again, lol. I hope you enjoyed though! Much less bleed effect whump this time around, and much less re-reading to check that it makes sense, lol. Hyperfixation + insomnia = I wrote another story, but now it's a quarter to six in the morning and I may low-key hate myself tomorrow (today?). Thanks for reading!