artsyfartsytheaterkid

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

statistically, i’m screwed

pairing : spencer reid x youngprodigy!reader

vibes : mutual admiration, slight tension, team teasing, spencer’s iq getting slashed to 60 around you

warnings : none, but there is a use of y/n just once

⊹₊⟡⋆

spencer reid was a man of science, logic, facts, patterns.

so nothing, absolutely nothing, would’ve prepared him for the walking contradiction that waltzed into bau’s briefing room. also known as you, in a sleek blazer, ponytail and a stack of case filed you’d clearly read and partially memorized.

“this is our new consultant,” hotch stated, referencing to you “dr y/n l/n.”

dr? spencer’s brain flatlined.

you gave him a small wave, smiled at him. directly at him. he would’ve sworn the temperature in quantico went up by ten degrees.

“i’ve read some of your essays, dr reid.” you said sliding into the seat beside him. just close enough for him to smell the cinnamon-bun flavored perfume you wore. “your work on geographic profiling was.. revolutionary.”

oh gosh. his ears turned pink. “oh- uh thank you! that means a-alot coming from someone such as yourself. i mean i didn’t know it was coming from you but now that i do it- uh- means alot.”

you raised a brow, amused. “you okay there genius?” he definitely blacked out there for a second.

by the end of that briefing spencer had

- spilled his coffee (onto his own notes, of course.)

- dropped his pen twice

- said “uh” more times that was socially acceptable for someone with three PhD’s.

and you? you just leaned back in your chair, perfectly composed.

you had casually corrected morgan’s behavioral assumptions, without even glancing at your notes.

“damn” morgan muttered “seems like we have another baby genius on our hands?” he said, looking at you up and down. you hummed.

“yeah” emily agreed “except this one wears eyeliner and doesn’t hyperventilate in front of hot people” she glanced between the two of us, before picking up her files and leaving.

“i don’t hyperventilate.” spencer said defensively

you looked at him; tilted your head.

he inhaled way too fast and choked on nothing. dammit.

by lunch break, spencer was hiding working in the file room. surrounded by boxes, because that’s what professionals did, hide behind paper to avoid women who were smarter and hotter than statistically fair.

so of course, you found him. “whatcha doin reid?” “not hiding”

nailed it.

you stepped further inside, arms crossed casually leaning against a wall. “you usually act like a squirrel on redbull with your co workers, or is it just me?”

“it’s not- it’s not you.” he sighed “i mean it is, but- not in a bad way. i just, you’re” (don’t say hot don’t say hot don’t say hot) “..intimidating.”

you blinked, probably disbelief. “intimidating?”

spencer nodded, very seriously. “yes. and statistically speaking that’s very rare for me, i don’t usually- um- experience this level of intellectual paralysis.”

you stepped further. he stepped backwards.

you tilted your head again “well you’re kinda cute when you’re intellectually paralyzed.” you reach out and straighten his tie. just slightly, but enough to ‘accidentally’ touch his chest through his dull, thin, sweater.

“see you in the next briefing pretty boy”

he was still staring at the spot where you stood long after you’d left, lips slightly parted.

(a/n : small drabble :p, wrote this at 3am while i was highkey sleep deprived😭 here’s a cute bonus scene i wanted to make come to life but i was too lazy to)

derek : “hey pretty boy, you’ve been short circuiting all day.. you good?”

spencer (mumbling) : “define good”

emily : “oh he’s so smitten”

jj : “ouuhhh yea”

garcia : “the wonders a hot girl with a doctorate does”

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[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

UNTOUCHED ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer’s never done this before, and you’re more than happy to teach him how — slowly, thoroughly, and with plenty of praise. he’s always been an eager learner, but you weren’t expecting him to enjoy it this much.

genre: smut | w/c: 2.3k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI!! virgin!spencer, experienced!reader, heavy praise, reader calls spencer good boy & other pet names, subtle sub!spencer vibes, making out, breast/nipple play, brief masturbation (f), fingering, finger sucking, oral (f receiving), reader talks him through it, spencer cums in his pants, glasses!s2!reid, no use of y/n

a/n: yeah so this is probably the filthiest thing I have ever written (but still somehow so soft??). nobody look at me idk what came over me. it just happened, ok? lmao enjoy BYE. tbh not my most eloquently written fic but I haddd to get this out of my system

Your relationship with Spencer, although wonderful, is still very new. There’s been a few slow, tentative makeouts on this very couch, but nothing more. It always stops before things escalate too far — he pulls back, or gets called into work, or a TV commercial ruins the moment, or some other force of the universe steps in to keep all the orgasms you know you could be having behind lock and key.

Tonight, you have plans to change that once & for all.

You’re not sure who leaned in first. It might’ve been you — let’s be honest, it usually is — but by the time you’re in Spencer’s lap, one knee on either side of his thighs and your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, it doesn’t really matter. His lips part against yours, pink and already a little swollen. His glasses are fogged at the edges, and his hands hover uselessly at your waist like he can’t decide what to do next.

So you make the decision for him.

You rock forward, slow and deliberate — just enough to drag your body against his — and his breath catches on a quiet sound he probably doesn’t even realize he making.

The cushions dip under your knees, and everything smells like him: old paper, bergamot soap, something faintly spicy underneath. He tastes like a heavenly mix of breath mints and the honey tea you made for him earlier.

Spencer always kisses like he’s studying you — memorizing pressure points, cataloging every hitch of breath, every soft sound. The drag of your bottom lip. The little touches that make your spine arch.

But there’s tension in him, too.

You feel it in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness in his hands, the twitch of his thighs when you shift your weight. Something’s holding him back.

You slow the kiss, draw away just enough to trace the line of his cheekbone with your nose, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.

“Spence,” you murmur, breath warm against his skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He stills.

“I—” His voice falters, eyes wide behind his crooked glasses. “I haven’t really, um… done this before.”

You blink.

“You haven’t…” you echo, tilting your head.

His ears flush deep red as he shakes his head.

“I mean— some stuff, yeah,” he says quickly. “Kissing. A little touching. But… not much more than that.”

There’s something raw in his expression, like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

Instead, you kiss him. Soft and steady, nothing showy — just the kind of kiss that says I want you anyway.

When you pull back, his eyes are still closed.

“Spencer,” you whisper.

He opens them slowly.

“You being a virgin isn’t gonna scare me off.”

You thread your fingers into his hair, pushing it back gently from his forehead. His curls are soft, and he shivers when your thumb grazes his ear.

“I kind of like the idea of it, actually,” you murmur.

“You do?”

You smile. “I think I’d like being the first person to show you how good you can feel.”

He goes quiet again, clearly overthinking.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” you ask softly, brushing your nose against his.

He swallows. “No, no. I just… I don’t want to do something wrong. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Baby,” you whisper against his mouth. “You’re not going to mess anything up.”

You kiss him once more — slow, deep — and feel the hitch in his breath when your tongue brushes his.

“I’ll teach you,” you murmur with a smirk.

You shift to straddle him more fully, your skirt hiking higher around your hips as you settle across his lap. You can feel him under you, hard and twitching through his pants, and he gasps when your hips press down.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

He nods too fast.

You raise an eyebrow. “Use your words, Spencer.”

“Yes,” he breathes. “I-I’m okay.”

You smile and roll your hips again, dragging the lace between your legs over the firm outline of his cock. You kiss along his jaw, down the column of his throat, mouthing at a spot above his collarbone until he shivers.

“You like that, don’t you?” you murmur against his skin.

“Yes,” he chokes, hips jerking upward. “Fuck—yes.”

You laugh softly as your hands slip under the hem of your top, peeling it off slowly and tossing it aside.

Spencer stares like a baby deer caught in headlights.

Your black lace bra is sheer, nipples already peaked beneath the fabric. You reach behind you, unclasp it with one practiced motion, and let the straps fall from your shoulders.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

“Touch me,” you murmur.

His hands are shaking when they rise — gentle at first, tentative. He cups your breasts like he’s sure he might be dreaming. His thumbs brush over your nipples and you let out a soft moan, pressing forward into the touch.

“Harder, baby,” you whisper. “Don’t hold back.”

He obeys. His touch deepens, massaging one breast as he catches the nipple of the other between his thumb and forefinger, upping the pressure as he rolls and twists. His confidence grows.

And then his mouth replaces his hands.

His tongue is hesitant at first, then deliberate, then filthy. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and his teeth scrape, just barely, as you grind down against him in response.

“That mouth,” you gasp, threading your fingers into his hair. “God, Spencer. You’re doing so well already, sweet boy.”

He groans into your skin, and you feel every twitch of his hips beneath you, the desperation in every movement.

“So good for me,” you murmur, letting your thumb trace the flush on his cheek. “Such a fast learner.”

He whines — helpless and sweet — and you cradle his jaw, bringing his face back up to meet yours to kiss him again, messy and open-mouthed, before guiding his hand between your thighs. Your skirt slips higher, lace panties exposed, already damp.

You press his fingers down against the wet spot.

“Feel what you do to me,” you whisper. “I’ve been wet since the first time you kissed me tonight.”

You move his hand against the lace, helping him slide two fingers along your covered folds. He gasps when he feels how wet you are — not just damp, not just eager — soaked.

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

“Not God,” you murmur cheekily, smirking as you kiss the corner of his mouth. “Just me.”

You draw his fingers upward to circle your clit once — slow, precise — and then pull his hand away.

Spencer watches, dazed, as you slide off his lap and lay down against the couch cushions, hiking your skirt up higher and moving your panties to the side. His breath shudders out in a long, low exhale, his eyes fixed on your bare core.

Then you touch yourself for him — slow, deliberate strokes, dragging through your slick and back up again to circle your clit. Your eyes never leave his.

“This is how I want you to touch me,” you murmur. “Not too fast. Just enough pressure. Like this, okay?”

He nods, transfixed.

You slide two fingers inside yourself, moaning softly, then draw them out again. You hold them up to him with a smirk.

“Want a taste?” you ask, voice thick.

He nods greedily.

“Say please, baby.”

“Please,” he whimpers.

You press your fingers to his mouth, and he sucks them in without hesitation. His tongue curls, eyes fluttering shut as he moans, licking you clean like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“Good boy,” you breathe, pulse skipping. “Taste how much I want you.”

He sucks harder. You see the way his hips shift — searching for something to rut into and failing. He’s panting now, tension coiled so tight you can feel it.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, slide your hand down, and curl your fingers around his wrist again.

“You try now,” you murmur.

You guide his hand back between your thighs and help him find your clit. His fingers are a little shaky, but you hold him there and let him feel the way your body responds beneath his touch.

“That’s it,” you whisper. “Just like I showed you. You can go slow.”

He moves carefully, eyes flicking between your face and your core, trying to memorize every twitch and sound.

You sigh, low and breathless. “Good job, baby. Feels s’good.”

Your praise lands like a spark — his shoulders straighten, his strokes grow bolder, more confident. He draws tight little circles over your clit, then dips down, gathering more slick before coming back up again, mirroring your earlier actions.

“Jesus,” he breathes, staring at you. “You’re so wet.”

“For you, Spence,” you pant, arching into his touch. “I’m like this because of you.”

He groans, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to keep his hips still, to stay focused on you instead of chasing the heat building in his own body.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “You’re gonna make me come like this if you keep going.”

“I want to,” he says eagerly. “I want to make you feel good. Please let me make you come. Please.”

God, does he sound desperate for it. You lean up just enough to kiss him messily before gently easing his hand away.

“And you will,” you murmur, shifting your legs open wider. “But not like this. Want you to do it with your mouth.”

His breath hitches. His pupils dilate. And within a few seconds, he’s nodding with excitement.

You smirk and hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties, peeling them down slowly and letting them fall to the floor.

He’s between your thighs in a heartbeat — laid out on his stomach, elbows braced on the couch, arms wrapped around your thighs, chin tilted up and eyes locked on your cunt.

You run your fingers through his hair and smile down at him softly as you guide him closer. His warm, shaky breath ghosts over your skin.

“Start slow,” you whisper. “Use your tongue and lips together. Don’t overthink it. Just feel.”

He nods, then leans in.

The first lick is cautious — a single drag of his tongue from bottom to top — and he pauses at the end, waiting. When you shiver, he breathes out like he’s been given permission.

“Good,” you murmur. “So good, baby. Keep going.”

He does.

The second lick is more confident. By the third, he’s circling your clit with shaky precision — steadier each time.

“That’s it,” you breathe. “Such a fast learner, aren’t you, Spence?”

He groans — low and hungry — the sound vibrating through your deepest parts as he nods against your core.

And then he devours you.

There’s nothing careful about it now. His tongue moves in messy circles, his lips parting, mouth opening wider. He sucks at your clit and moans like a man possessed.

Your thighs clamp around his shoulders and his rhythm falters — gets sloppier, wetter, better. He’s all-in now, relentless, eating you out like he’s starving, like this is what he was made for. Like he’s been waiting his whole life to make you fall apart. He’s taking cues from your reactions — repeating his movements when you moan, experimenting with his tongue as your hand tightens in his hair, reading every twitch of your hips as if it’s an answer key.

“Oh, fuck—Spencer, YES. Good boy. My good boy.”

The words land heavy, and he whimpers loudly in response. His hands grip your thighs hard, and that’s when you feel it — the tension in his body, the way he’s moving. Subtle at first, then more desperate. You glance down and catch the flex of his hips as they grind into the couch cushion beneath him.

“Don’t stop,” you pant. “Don’t you fucking stop, Spence. You’re doing so good for me. ‘M so close.”

He groans — guttural — as his lips close around your clit once more, and your orgasm rips through you like heat lightning. It hits all at once, spine arching, thighs locking tight around his head as you cry out his name, shuddering through it.

He doesn’t let up. His tongue keeps moving, soft but focused, even as you writhe under him. The aftershocks roll through you, deep and dizzying.

Somewhere in the haze you hear it — a quiet, choked sound. A sharp inhale. A low groan.

You don’t register what it means until you feel him go still. His arms lock. His mouth freezes.

When he finally lifts his head, his face is flushed and slick, lips swollen, and his eyes…

His eyes are wide. Embarrassed. Almost guilty.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, voice wrecked. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t— I just—”

You blink, confused for a moment before it hits you:

Spencer Reid, your perfect, sweet boyfriend, just came in his pants, completely untouched.

Came. In. His. Pants.

Untouched.

Your heart stutters.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Spence.”

He flinches. “I’m so sorry—”

“Hey.” You sit up a bit, still breathless, and reach down to cradle his face between your palms. His skin is hot — not just blushing, but burning.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, voice low but sure. “Please look at me.”

He does, barely.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

He blinks. “What?”

You smile. “That mouth of yours just gave me an orgasm that made me see stars. And then you came in your pants just from eating me out? That’s so hot, Spence.”

He swallows, stunned. His gaze softens. The worry’s still there, but it’s quieter now. His eyes shine.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, straightening his glasses and smoothing his hair. “You’re more than okay.”

You guide him up, help him collapse against your chest, your fingers still threading through his hair as his breath slows. He’s quiet, pliant, curled into you like a lazy puppy.

Eventually he shifts, wincing a little at the sticky mess in his pants.

You giggle.

“C’mon,” you murmur, kissing his temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You tug him gently off the couch and take his hand, leading him toward the bathroom. He hesitates, glancing down at the wet stain on his slacks, embarrassment rising again, but you squeeze his fingers and smile.

“Don’t look so ashamed,” you whisper. “You made a mess because you were too turned on by me to stop. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby.”

You lean in, lips brushing his neck.

"It's incredibly sexy.”

He groans softly — part laugh, part surrender.

“We’re not done, you know,” you add as you push open the bathroom door. “That was just your first lesson.”

He swallows hard. “N-not done?”

You shake your head as you step closer, fingers unfastening his belt with ease, and press a wet kiss just below his ear.

Your lips curve.

“You’ve still got so much to learn.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

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[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

I can’t remember if I’ve seen this in a fic or not but Steve getting cum all over his happy trail and reader kicking it off…

18+ sobs. my oral fixation + steve’s monster cock

he’s already flushed when you drop to your knees. the kind of pink that starts at his chest and climbs up his neck, glowing hot over his cheeks when you look up at him like that—mouth parted, eyes already glassy, hands tugging at his belt like you need it.

and you do. need it. need him.

need the weight of him on your tongue and the stretch of your jaw, the stinging heat of spit rolling down your chin. you want it messy, want your throat sore and his cum sticky in your mouth and clinging to your lips.

“jesus,” steve mutters, voice tight as you nose at the bulge in his jeans. “you’re really—fuck, baby. already?”

you hum, mouthing at the shape of him through denim. then you’re working his zipper open and yanking his briefs down and his cock is right there, thick and flushed, already drooling a little from the tip. heavy and veined, the kind of cock that aches to suck.

your eyes roll a little, tongue darting out to catch the bead of pre. it coats your taste buds and god, it’s not even enough. not close.

“aw baby, you’ve got that look,” he says, teasing, but it’s hoarse, strained. “that cock hungry look. like you’re gonna cry if i don’t let you choke on it.”

you moan. just a little. and then you do.

you open your mouth wide and sink down, the head pushing past your lips, spreading them almost painfully as you inch forward—inch by slow, slick inch—until the tip is nudging the back of your throat.

and then you push further.

your throat clenches automatically, tight and hot and trembling around him. the sound that comes out of him is somewhere between a gasp and a groan, deep from his chest, and he tangles a hand in your hair like he can’t help it.

you gag.

once. twice.

your shoulders twitch, and tears prick the corners of your eyes, spill hot down your cheeks as your throat convulses around him. your jaw aches. your lips stretch wide. spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and drips off your chin.

he shudders, staring down at you, mouth slack. “fuck. you’re gonna make me—baby, please. slow down.”

but you don’t.

you want it all. you want to feel him twitch against your tongue, hear his breath catch when your throat squeezes him. want to hollow your cheeks and suck him down until your lungs burn and you forget what breathing even is.

you choke again and this time he groans—loud, hips giving a helpless little jerk as you nose against the soft patch of hair at the base of his cock.

your hands slide down, one wrapping around the base to keep him steady, the other cupping his balls. you roll them in your palm, gentle but deliberate, and he moans, full body shiver running through him.

“jesus—fuck—don’t—”

you pop off with a wet gasp, breathless, lips shiny and swollen. then you’re mouthing down the shaft, licking every inch, suckling at the base while your hand works him, slow and sloppy. and then your mouth is on his balls—soft kisses at first, then wet, open mouthed sucks that make his knees buckle.

“you’re insane,” he whispers. “that pretty mouth was made just for me, huh?”

you hum, filthy and flushed, then lick all the way back up to the tip. and when you take him again, you do it faster—deeper. your throat tightens and flexes around him, tears streaming now, spit dripping off your chin in ropes.

his grip in your hair tightens. he’s groaning, stammering, “gonna cum, fuck, pretty, don’t stop—”

you moan around him. encouraging.

and he snaps.

he spills down your throat with a long, broken cry, cock pulsing hot and heavy on your tongue. he comes a lot, thick and endless, some of it coating the back of your throat, some slipping out around your lips, running messily down to the curve of his balls and pooling in the dip of his happy trail.

your lashes flutter. your whole face is wet.

he’s panting above you, flushed and trembling, still twitching in your mouth when you pull back. and you can’t stop yourself—you start licking him clean. slow swipes over the sticky mess, kitten licks to the base, gentle sucks to his balls again, mouthing along his inner thigh just to hear him whimper.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, dazed. “swear to god. i’m gonna die with your mouth on me.”

you smile, nuzzle into the mess at his hipbone, kiss the trail of come up his belly. your jaw aches and your throat burns and your whole face is sticky and raw, but you feel high.

you’d do it again in a second. probably will.

because you love sucking his cock.

and steve, cock twitching in your grip, eyes dazed and glazed and helpless above you, loves giving you everything he’s got.

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

mutualism, symbiosis & commensalism - bucky barnes

nerdy,roommate!bucky barnes x reader

summary. your roommate no longer has a sense of boundary. he follows you everywhere, shares everything with you, but maintains a strictly platonic friendship. sort of. until one night, when his mind takes him to a strictly forbidden place and he can no longer deny it. 18.5k words.

cw. college!bucky is such a fucking nerd and won't shut up about fish or whatever the hell. perv!bucky if you squint with a magnifying glass. eventual smut! male!receiving. dry humping, sleepy grinding? unprotected p in v. nipple play. fish talk (yes i have to give a fucking warning for this) DURING SEX, among other things. unfortunately bucky is a psycho who wears jeans to sleep in this.. (req prompt at the end so it doesn't spoil anything :) !) minors dni

a/n: HAPPY 500 guys!!! thank u :3 alsooooo i accidentally made him autistic.... lowkey. erin says he's spencer reid coded! you'll see. i went SO OVERBOARD with this but anything for u guys! proofread by erin!

taglist: @54nboo @demiebarnes @kararchives | masterlist

the kitchen smells like burnt popcorn and cheap ramen, but mostly like him – that mix of old spice deodorant, laundry detergent, and something uniquely bucky that clings to the faded band tee you're currently drowning in. his shirt. again. laundry day was yesterday, but you grabbed it anyway this morning, pulling it on over your sleep shorts before shuffling out to scavenge for coffee.

he's already at the counter, back to you, humming something off-key while scrambling eggs. his own worn sweatpants hang low on his hips, and his sleep-mussed hair against the weak morning light filtering through the dirty window.

"mornin'," you mumble, reaching past him for the coffee pot. your arm brushes his bare back.

he jumps, a little, turning his head. his eyes flicker down – just for a split second, landing squarely on the v-neck of his tee where it gapes slightly as you lean – before snapping back to your face. a faint pink tinges his ears. "mornin', sleepyhead. coffee's almost ready. eggs?"

"please." you pour your coffee, leaning against the counter beside him. you can feel his gaze again, warm and heavy, drifting down towards the way the soft cotton drapes over your chest.

it's not creepy, not demanding. it's just... there. like he can't help it. like you're the sun and he's a particularly helpless sunflower. you take a slow sip, hiding a tiny smile in your mug. "smells good. not like last time."

he grins, poking at the eggs. "hey, i maintain that charcoal is a valid flavour profile." his hand, holding the spatula, moves near your waist as he reaches for the pepper grinder behind you.

instinctively, his other hand comes to rest lightly on the small of your back. his palm is warm through the thin cotton. he doesn't move it away, just keeps it there, grounding, as he leans past you. "pepper?"

"always." you don't move either. the touch is familiar, constant. his thumb makes a tiny, absent circle against your spine. "did you finish that poli-sci reading? looked brutal."

he groans, shifting slightly, his hand slipping away as he turns back to the stove. you miss the warmth instantly. "nah. got sidetracked watching that documentary about deep-sea anglerfish. terrifying and fascinating. mostly terrifying." he plates the eggs and slides yours over. "you steal my good spatula again?"

you bat your eyelashes innocently. "who, me? never. maybe it's hanging out with my collection of your hoodies."

he laughs, a warm, rumbly sound that fills the tiny space. "collection? it's like a damn infestation. open my drawer, bam, one of my henleys is missing. look in the laundry basket, yep, there's my flannel snuggled up with your stuff." he points his fork at you, but his eyes are soft, crinkled at the corners. "you're worse than a sock gremlin."

"they're comfy!" you protest, shoving a forkful of eggs in your mouth. "and they smell like you. which is... nice." you shrug, trying to sound casual, but your cheeks feel warm. nice? understatement.

bucky's gaze drops to your mouth for a second as you chew, then darts away again, focusing intently on his own plate. the pink on his ears deepens. "yeah? well... s'okay, i guess. long as you don't stretch 'em out." he takes a huge bite, avoiding eye contact. "so... anglerfish. the males basically fuse to the females and become, like, permanent sperm providers. wild, right?"

you nearly choke on your coffee. "bucky!"

"what?" he looks genuinely confused, blinking those big blue eyes. "it's biology and fascinating stuff!" he gestures emphatically with his fork, oblivious to the slightly horrified, slightly amused look on your face. "think about it. permanent attachment! no more dating apps."

you stare at him. "you are... uniquely disturbing sometimes, barnes."

he just grins, wide and unrepentant. "keeps you on your toes." his eyes drift down again, lingering this time on the curve of your shoulder where the oversized collar of his shirt has slipped down. he seems momentarily mesmerized by the strip of skin revealed. "uh... you got... uh... egg. right there." he points vaguely near your collarbone with his fork.

you look down. there's no egg. you look back up, raising an eyebrow.

he flushes crimson. "or... maybe not. morning light. tricky." he shovels more eggs into his mouth, suddenly very interested in his plate.

later, you're crammed together on the tiny, lumpy couch, textbooks and notebooks spread everywhere. you're trying to decipher organic chemistry diagrams that look like abstract art, legs tucked under you, the worn fabric of his sweatpants (also stolen) soft against your skin.

bucky's beside you, ostensibly reading history, but you can feel the heat of his gaze more than see it. it's not on the book.

you stretch your arms above your head with a yawn. the hem of the stolen shirt rides up, exposing your skin above the waistband of the sweatpants.

bucky makes a noise in his throat. making you glance over at him. he's staring fixedly at your exposed stomach with the his book forgotten in his lap. he looks completely focused, utterly unaware of how blatant he's being.

you slowly lower your arms, letting the shirt fall back down. "see something interesting, pervert?" you ask, teasing.

he jerks like he's been electrocuted, snapping his gaze up to yours. panic flares in his eyes. "what? no! i was just... uh... contemplating the structural integrity of this couch! yeah.. because um, feels like it might collapse any second." he pats the cushion vigorously, avoiding your eyes, his cheeks flaming. "definitely not staring at your... stomach. nope. wasn't happening. would never."

you laugh, nudging him with your foot. "relax, bucky. it's just skin. happens to the best of us." you lean back, pulling your knees up, deliberately making the tee stretch tighter across your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. "now, explain this carbonyl group nonsense to me again? you said it was like a greedy little atom?"

he swallows hard, his eyes flickering down to the stretched fabric for a nanosecond before he forces them back to your chemistry book. his voice is slightly higher than usual. "right. greedy. yeah. so... carbon double-bonded to oxygen... very needy..." he launches into a shaky explanation, his finger tracing the diagram, but you can tell his focus is shot. his knee is bouncing nervously, brushing against yours.

when he pauses for breath, you stretch again, this time letting your head fall back against the couch cushions, exposing the line of your throat. you sigh dramatically. "god, i'm exhausted. maybe i should just nap right here." you close your eyes.

you feel him shift beside you. the intense weight of his gaze is back, sweeping over your face, your closed eyelids, your lips, then drifting lower, lingering on the pulse point in your neck, the way the collar of his shirt hangs open. you can practically hear his thoughts stuttering. you keep your eyes closed, a small, secret smile playing on your lips. his breathing hitches, just slightly.

"you... uh... you can borrow my pillow," he offers hoarsely after a moment, his voice rough. "the one on my bed. it's... better. good for naps."

you crack an eye open. he's looking at you now, a mixture of earnest concern and something darker simmering just beneath the surface. completely oblivious to the effect he's having on you. his hand twitches on the couch cushion, like he wants to reach out and touch your hair, your cheek, but he doesn't.

"nah," you hum, snuggling deeper into the worn fabric of his shirt. "this couch is fine. and your shirt's pretty comfy too. like wearing a hug. you don't mind, do you? me stealing all your stuff?"

he stares at you, his eyes wide, soft, and utterly, adorably bewildered. the pink is back, painting his neck now. "mind?" he echoes, his voice barely a whisper. he shakes his head slowly, a dazed, tender look spreading across his face as his gaze drops once more, inevitably, to where his name might be printed across your chest, hidden under layers of soft, stolen cotton. "no. no, i... i kinda really don't mind at all."

the weirdness blooms slowly, like mold in the damp corner of the shower stall you both pretend not to see.

it progresses in the bathroom.

you're under the spray one morning, water sluicing through your hair as you work shampoo into a thick lather. the dorm bathroom is thick with steam, smelling sharply of your body wash and the damp tile grout. the curtain is a flimsy shield.

then, the door clicks open. no knock. just the familiar shuffle of bare feet.

"shit, sorry!" bucky's voice, thick with sleep or panic, cuts through the steam. he doesn't leave. instead, the distinct, unmistakable sound of a zipper fumbling open, followed by the splash of liquid.

he's peeing. in the toilet. while you're actively showering three feet away, separated only by a thin, damp curtain patterned with dubious sea creatures (his choice, obviously).

you crack one eye open, peering through the shampoo suds dripping down your face. you can see his silhouette. he's standing at the toilet, back to you. like this is a perfectly normal wednesday morning activity. sharing airspace while one pees and the other showers.

"hey," you call back over the rush of water, squeezing the suds from your hair. you don't pull the curtain tighter. you don't freeze. it's... bucky. "sleep okay?"

"m'here," he grunts, the sound of his stream steady. "s'okay. just... bladder emergency. didn't wanna wait. you don't mind, right?" he sounds genuinely curious, utterly oblivious. like asking if you mind him borrowing a pen.

you blink soap out of your eyes, a slow smile spreading despite the absurdity. "uh. no? i guess? as long as you aim."

"always aim," he states proudly, the splashing sound stopping.  he grunts, the distinct sound of him relieving himself filling the steamy room. "weird dream. think i was being chased by a giant, sentient toaster." he shakes himself, flushes. "that and you hogged all the blankets again."

"liar," you laugh, tipping your head back under the spray to rinse. you turn slightly, giving your back to the water, knowing the movement shifts the curtain just enough. "you're the human furnace. i need fortifications against the heat." you feel the shift in the steam as he moves closer to the sink.

"excuses," he mutters. the faucet squeaks on, followed by the vigorous splash of him washing his hands. you can picture him, leaning over the sink, hair falling into his eyes. "you smell good," he adds, almost absently, over the running water. "like... vanilla. and warm."

you pause, rinsing your arms. his voice is closer. you glance sideways. the edge of the curtain isn't pulled completely taut. through the gap and the steam, you catch a sliver of him reflected in the foggy mirror above the sink. he's not looking at the mirror. he's angled slightly towards the shower, eyes fixed on the vague shape of you moving behind the plastic. transfixed again. utterly unaware.

"it's just body wash, barnes," you say, keeping your voice light. you deliberately reach for the conditioner, stretching, letting the water cascade down your side. the movement pulls the curtain open another inch. his reflection in the mirror doesn't move. "cheapest one at the drugstore."

"s'nice," he murmurs. the water shuts off. he grabs his toothbrush. "deep-sea anglerfish females secrete enzymes that dissolve the male's body once he fuses to her. except for his gonads. which just... hang out. providing sperm on tap. efficient, i guess. very brutal."

you snort, squeezing conditioner onto your palm. "christ, bucky. is that your idea of shower conversation?"

"what?" he sounds genuinely perplexed, toothbrush poking out of his mouth, foam starting to gather. he turns slightly, and his eyes land directly on the gap in the curtain. not on your face, which is obscured by steam and wet hair, but lower. on the curve of your hip, maybe, or the water sluicing down your thigh.

he stares for a solid three seconds, toothbrush frozen mid-scrub, before blinking rapidly and turning back to the sink, spitting furiously. "s'just science. find it very fascinating." he mumbles, pink creeping up the back of his neck, visible even in the steamy reflection. "brutal, but fascinating."

"so you've said." you reply.

there's a pause. you can practically feel him staring at the vague silhouette of you projected onto the damp curtain. his gaze feels like a physical weight, tracing the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, blurred by water and fabric.

"deep-sea vents," he announces suddenly. "hydrothermal vents. spew out superheated, mineral-rich water. supports entire ecosystems in total darkness. crazy, right?"

you squeeze conditioner into your palm. "crazy," you agree, starting to massage it into your lengths.

he doesn't move. "just... thinking about tube worms. they have no mouth or gut. bacteria inside them make food from the chemicals. symbiosis. wild." his voice is closer now. he's definitely leaning towards the curtain. "you ever think about that? relying entirely on something else inside you?"

you snort, rinsing the conditioner. "can't say i have, bucky. kinda busy relying on this water not turning ice cold."

"right, right." he finally takes a step back. the floorboards creak. "s'pose i should... let you finish. unless you need... soap passed or something?" he sounds hopeful.

"i'm good, perv," you chuckle, pulling the curtain back just a crack to grab your towel hanging outside. steam billows out, and you catch a glimpse of him – shirtless, sleep-tousled hair, sweatpants , eyes wide and fixed on the strip of skin revealed by the parting curtain before snapping guiltily away.

"out."

"yep! going!" he practically trips over the bathmat scrambling out, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

later that day, you're rummaging through your drawer, looking for a specific bra. bucky wanders in, already in his boxers and a shirt, toothbrush again in hand. he heads straight for the sink attached to the tiny vanity in your room.

"mnph gng t'brsh," he mumbles around the brush, leaning over the sink to spit. he runs the water, scrubbing vigorously.

you watch him in the mirror's reflection, arms crossed. "i see that. you know, most people knock before entering a room where someone might be changing."

you're standing near the closet, clad only in your underwear and another one of his stolen tees – this time a faded gray one with a peeling band logo. you've got a couple of bras draped over your arm, trying to decide.

he rinses his mouth, splashing water on his face. when he straightens, water droplets cling to his jaw, his eyelashes. he turns, leaning back against the sink counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

his gaze, clear and blue now, sweeps over you – the tank top, the bare arms, the line of your neck. it lingers for a beat too long on the dip of your collarbone before meeting your eyes. he seems utterly unconcerned.

"why? you were covered." he gestures vaguely with his wet toothbrush. "besides, needed to brush. minty fresh breath is vital. prevents cavities. also, statistically improves social interactions." he grins, foam still faintly visible near his ear. "see? science."

"science," you deadpan, grabbing one of his hoodies – the soft, grey one – from the pile on his desk chair. you pull it on over the tank top, drowning yourself in familiar fabric and his scent. "you're a nerd and absolutely impossible."

"am not," he protests, pushing off the sink. he walks towards you, stopping close. too close for just conversation. his eyes are fixed on the hoodie's zipper pull resting near your sternum.

"just... efficient. and scientifically minded." his hand lifts, almost unconsciously, like he's going to adjust the zipper or touch the fabric. he stops himself, fingers curling mid-air. "that's... my hoodie."

"observant today, aren't we?" you zip it up halfway, the heavy fabric swallowing you. "caught me red-handed."

he doesn't move back. his gaze drifts down the oversized front of the hoodie, lingering where it tents over your chest, then further down to where it engulfs your hips and thighs. his throat works as he swallows.

"s'okay," he murmurs, his voice lower now. "looks... warmer on you anyway." his eyes snap back up to yours, a flicker of that familiar, helpless bewilderment in them. "you cold?"

"a little," you admit, though the room is stuffy. the proximity, his focused attention, is generating its own heat.

he nods slowly, still not moving. "right." he seems to be wrestling with something internally. his hand twitches again. "you... uh... want my sweatpants too? the thick fleece ones? they're... extra warm." his gaze dips down your legs, clad only in thin sleep shorts below the hoodie's hem, then flicks back up, cheeks flushing. "purely for thermal regulation. obviously."

you bite your lip to stop the laugh bubbling up. "obviously. but i think i'm good. wouldn't want to completely deplete your wardrobe reserves. might have to go to class naked."

the image clearly hits him like a physical blow. his eyes widen, pupils dilating, and he makes that tiny strangled noise in his throat again, the one from the couch.

he takes a jerky step back, bumping into the edge of his desk. "right! yeah! good point! terrible idea! very... drafty." he rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

"so! uh... anglerfish documentary? part two? the males basically dissolve into the female's flesh, becoming a permanent gonad. efficient for procreation, right?" he babbles, desperate for a safe, horrifyingly biological topic.

"hey," you reply, holding up a black lace one. "this one or the plain beige?"

he glances over, toothbrush moving methodically. his eyes sweep over you – the hoodie hitting mid-thigh, your bare legs, the bras in your hand. his gaze lingers, not on the lingerie, but on the strip of skin between the hem of the oversized hoodie and the waistband of your underwear.

it's a familiar, warm weight. he doesn't look away, doesn't seem to realize he's staring at you while you're half-dressed asking about bras. his brushing slows.

"uh," he says, foam dribbling slightly. he quickly swipes it with the back of his hand. "the... black one?" it sounds like a question. his eyes drift back down to that exposed sliver of skin above your hipbone. "looks... sturdy?"

you raise an eyebrow. "sturdy? it's lace, bucky."

"right. lace. strong lace?" he finally tears his gaze away, focusing intently on rinsing his toothbrush, his ears glowing.

"s'just... structural support is important! it's physics, you know. you wouldn't want... uh... catastrophic failure mid-lecture." he spits, avoids looking at you as you pull on the black bra under the hoodie, the movement making the cotton stretch.

you catch him sneaking another glance at the way the fabric tightens across your back as you fasten it. he quickly grabs a towel and starts drying his face with unnecessary vigor. "so! did you see that article about the octopus that can edit its own rna?"

"nope," you say, pulling on soft sleep shorts. "but i'm sure it's horrifyingly fascinating."

"exactly!" he beams, dropping the towel, finally looking at you properly now that you're 'covered'. his relief is palpable, but his eyes still do that quick, automatic sweep – down to your bare legs and back up. "it can basically change its own genetic code on the fly.. adaptation! it's.. it's incredible."

it escalates to sleeping arrangements.

your bed is marginally less lumpy than his, so sometimes, after late-night study sessions that dissolve into whispered conversations and shared bags of chips, he just... stays. flops down beside you on the narrow twin mattress, claiming a sliver of space.

one such night, you're both on your sides, facing each other, knees bumping under the shared comforter. you're wearing his softest henley and a pair of your own shorts. he's in a thin white tee and boxers. the desk lamp casts long shadows.

"so the professor actually said that?" you whisper, stifling a yawn.

"swear on my ma's grave," bucky murmurs back, his eyes heavy-lidded but fixed on your face.

well, mostly your face. in the low light, his gaze keeps dipping. to your mouth as you talk. to the way the collar of his henley hangs loose, revealing the hollow of your throat. to the slight curve of your breast pressed against the mattress, outlined softly by the worn cotton. he seems mesmerized by the rise and fall of your breathing there. his own breathing has slowed, deepened.

"that's wild," you murmur, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. your knee bumps his thigh. your hand rests near your face on the pillow.

his gaze snaps to your hand, then slowly tracks down your arm, disappearing under the comforter.

he frowns slightly, a line appearing between his brows. "where'd your hand go?" he whispers, his voice rough with sleep and something else.

you wiggle your fingers under the covers near your hip. "right here, weirdo."

"oh." he blinks. his own hand, resting on the mattress between you, inches forward slightly. not touching, just... closer. his eyes drift back to the shadowed curve of your body under the henley.

"s'just... spatial awareness. important. in case of... nocturnal predators. or falling out of bed." he yawns widely, his jaw cracking, but his eyes stay open, fixed on that spot. "like... wombats. they sleep in weird positions. very adaptable."

"wombats?" you ask, amused. "really?"

"cube-shaped poop," he mumbles, as if this explains everything. his eyelids are fluttering shut, but his hand has crept another inch. his pinky finger brushes the side of your hip, just above the waistband of your shorts, where the henley has ridden up slightly. he doesn't pull away.

his breathing evens out, but his finger stays there, a warm, barely-there pressure. "very... fascinating..."

you wake up first. weak morning light filters through the blinds. bucky is sprawled on his back now, one arm flung over his head, the other... curled possessively around your waist. his hand is tucked firmly under the hem of the stolen henley, his palm resting flat and warm against the bare skin of your lower back. his face is relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted, dark lashes fanned on his cheeks. completely peaceful. completely oblivious to the intimate territory his hand has claimed.

you don't move. you just watch him, a slow smile spreading across your face. his thumb twitches softly against your spine in his sleep.

when he finally stirs, blinking sleepily, his eyes focus slowly on your face, then drift down. he registers the feel of warm skin under his palm.

panic flashes across his face immediately, followed by a deep, flustered crimson that starts at his neck and floods his entire face. he yanks his hand back like he's been burned, scrambling upright, the comforter tangling around his legs.

"jesus! sorry! i— i didn't— must've rolled over or— i was asleep! deep rem cycle! probably dreaming about... uh... tectonic plates shifting or something.. yeah, continental drift. very... hands-on science!" he's babbling, avoiding your eyes, practically falling off the narrow bed in his haste to put distance between you. "gotta pee! urgent geological bullshit.. stuff.. bathroom!"

he stumbles out of the room, leaving the door wide open. you hear the click of the bathroom lock, followed by the faucet turning on.

later, you find him meticulously reorganizing the spice rack in the kitchen. you walk to him up silently, wearing another one of his shirts. you lean against the counter, close enough that your arm brushes his.

he stiffens slightly but doesn't pull away. his eyes dart sideways, down to the flannel where it hangs open over your tank top, then quickly back to the paprika. "uh. hey."

"morning, pervert," you say softly, a smile playing on your lips.

he flinches, the paprika bottle slipping from his fingers. you catch it deftly before it hits the counter. his eyes are wide, mortified. "i'm not— i didn't mean—"

"bucky," you interrupt, placing the paprika back in his hand. your fingers linger over his for a second. "it's okay." you lean a little closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "wombats are fascinating."

he stares at you, confusion mixed with panic in his eyes.

then, slowly, a hesitant smile spreads across his face. his eyes drop down again, drawn like a magnet to the open collar of the shirt you're wearing, to slight reaveal of your collarbone and cleavage.

he doesn't snap it back up this time. it stays there, heavy and completely, innocently captivated.

"yeah," he breathes, his voice rough. his free hand reaches out, not touching, just hovering near the worn flannel fabric covering your hip. like he needs to confirm its presence. like he needs to anchor himself to this thing of his that you've claimed.

"they really are." his thumb brushes the fabric, just once. "you... uh... want my last clean hoodie? think it's under my bed. smells... okay, i guess."

then the knock comes just after lunch.

a sharp rap-rap-rap that can only be steve. before you open, you scramble to shove a mountain of bucky's dirty laundry (mostly his, but suspiciously intermingled with your softer, smaller things) into the overflowing hamper when you pad to the door, barefoot, drowning in bucky's faded navy flannel.

it hangs past your hips, the sleeves rolled haphazardly to your elbows. underneath, you've got on sweatpants and, crucially, a pair of bucky's thick, grey wool socks bunched around your ankles, swallowing your feet whole.

you pull the door open. steve stands there, in a white shirt and jeans, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. sam wilson is right behind him, already smirking, eyes instantly taking inventory.

"hey," steve says, polite as ever, though his gaze flicks down to the flannel sleeves covering your hands, then to the comically oversized socks. "bucky in?"

"bathroom," you say, stepping back to let them in. the tiny dorm feels even smaller with two more broad-shouldered bodies. "emergency anglerfish research, probably. or just... plumbing."

sam snorts, following steve in. his eyes sweep the space: the mismatched mugs on the counter, the textbooks piled together on the tiny table, the single, slightly battered armchair draped with another of bucky's hoodies.

his gaze lingers on your feet, "nice socks." he remarks, chuckling.

you wiggle your toes inside the woolly caverns. "they're warm. bucky runs cold." you shuffle towards the kitchen area. "coffee? it's kinda stale, but..."

"we're good, thanks," steve says, setting his bag down carefully. he glances towards the closed bathroom door, then back at you, a subtle question in his eyes. "so, uh... you guys been holding down the fort okay?"

"fort's still standing," you shrug, leaning against the counter. the flannel gapes open slightly at the neck as you move. you don't bother fixing it. "mostly. bucky tried to microwave ramen in the bowl yesterday. minor meltdown. literally."

sam chuckles, pulling out the desk chair and spinning it around to sit backwards. "sounds about right." he rests his chin on his arms folded over the chair back. "so. you two... you seem pretty settled in here. sharing space okay?"

it's innocuous enough. but the way steve shifts his weight, the slight tilt of sam's head... there's an unspoken probe beneath the surface.

"s'fine," you say, reaching for a mug anyway, needing something to do with your hands. "it's small. but we manage. laundry day's a battlefield, though."

"i bet," sam says, his eyes flicking pointedly from the flannel to the hoodie on the chair. "especially when the wardrobe lines get... blurry."

the bathroom door opens, cutting off any reply. bucky emerges, hair damp from splashing water on his face, wearing clean pants and a dark green henley. he stops short when he sees steve and sam. "oh. hey. didn't know you were coming."

"texted you," steve says mildly. "twice."

bucky pats his pockets, frowning. "phone's... uh... charging. somewhere." his eyes find you instantly, drawn like a magnet.

his eyes do their unconscious (and usual) sweep: down the flannel, pausing briefly at the cleavage exposed by your tank top visible beneath, then down your legs to the grey socks swallowing your feet whole.

he doesn't comment but shuffles further into the room, gravitating towards your spot by the counter. he leans against it beside you. "so. what's up?"

"just checking in," steve says. "brought those notes you asked for, buck. and sam wanted to borrow that history text."

"cool, cool," bucky nods, his gaze drifting sideways to you again. you're sipping the stale coffee, making a face. his hand twitches, like he wants to take the mug from you. because he usually does.

"careful, that's basically tar now. should've made a fresh pot before..." he trails off, realizing steve and sam are watching this exchange with unnerving stillness.

sam clears his throat. "so, barnes. she was just telling us how well you guys are cohabitating." he leans forward on the chair. "seems pretty... domestic. sharing clothes, sharing space..."

he gestures vaguely around the cramped room, his eyes landing meaningfully on the shared textbooks, the single hoodie on the chair, your socks. "you two... figure things out yet? lock it down?

bucky blinks. "figure what out? the laundry schedule? hell no, it's chaos. she keeps stealing all my—" he stops abruptly, eyes widening slightly as he glances down at your feet again. "—socks. and stuff. but it's fine. s'just stuff."

"yeah," you chime in, setting the mug down. "it's just practical. his hoodies are warmer than mine. socks are thicker." you shrug, trying for nonchalant. "we're roommates. sharing happens."

steve raises an eyebrow, the picture of polite skepticism. "roommates. right." he looks pointedly at bucky's hand, which has drifted to rest casually on the countertop behind you, his fingers almost brushing the small of your back where the flannel has ridden up slightly over your sweatpants. "looks... comfortable."

bucky yanks his hand back as if electrocuted, shoving both hands into his pockets. "it's a small counter! limited real estate.. we gotta maximize surface area utilization." he sounds flustered. "like... uh... meerkat burrows! very efficient use of space and communal living."

sam snickers. "meerkats, bucky? really? next you'll be telling us you stand guard duty while she showers."

bucky's flush deepens spectacularly, spreading down his neck. "what? no! i don't— i mean, sometimes the bathroom door sticks, and i need to pee, but it's not like—did you tell him about that? we don't—it's not like that!" he sputters, gesturing wildly between you and him. "we're just friends. you know, roommates! who share socks sometimes, and hoodies, and., and... couch space. very platonically!"

"extremely platonically," you confirm, nodding vigorously. you reach up absently to push a stray hair off your face, the movement making the flannel sleeve slide down your forearm.

bucky's gaze tracks the movement, lingering on your exposed wrist for a second too long before snapping back to sam and steve's expectant faces. "totally normal roommate stuff. he explains terrifying fish biology to me. i steal his comfiest clothes. equilibrium."

steve just hums, exchanging a long, loaded look with sam. the kind of look that says 'sure, jan' without uttering a word. sam's smirk widens into a full-blown grin.

"right," sam drawls, pushing himself up from the chair. "platonically sharing socks. got it. very... symbiotic." he walks over to the pile of books on the table, picking up the history text. "like those tube worms bucky's always on about, right? relying on each other? merging resources?"

"exactly!" bucky seizes the lifeline, his relief palpable. "symbiosis and mutualism! the tube worm provides a home, the bacteria provide food. it's efficient and very.. very fascinating might i add." he's practically vibrating with the need to explain, stepping slightly in front of you as if to shield you from sam's knowing gaze, though it puts him even closer to your side. "no unnecessary... entanglement! just practical biological cooperation."

"practical," steve echoes, his voice dry as dust. he picks up his canvas bag. "well. we won't keep you from your... cooperative sock-sharing endeavors." he nods at you. "always... interesting."

"likewise, steve," you say, offering a small smile.

sam claps bucky on the shoulder as he heads for the door. "keep up the good work, barnes. you know, defending the sock reserves and maintaining strict platonic boundaries." he looks at you, blatantly, over bucky's shoulder. "see ya. try not to stretch out all his hoodies."

"no promises," you call back.

the door clicks shut. a sudden silence takes over the room as you both stand there. bucky lets out a breath he didn't seem aware he was holding, then runs a hand through his wethair.

"jesus," he mumbles under his breath. "what was that about?"

"no idea," you say, turning to face him fully. you adjust the collar of his shirt, your fingers brushing the soft fabric. "weird."

"super weird," bucky agrees, his eyes dropping to follow your fingers' movement. his eyes are on the spot where your fingers touched the collar. then it drifts down again, inevitably, to the oversized socks. a small, almost unconscious smile touches his lips. "those are my warmest socks."

"told you," you say softly, taking a step closer. the flannel sleeve brushes his arm. "practical."

he doesn't move away. his gaze lifts, meeting yours. the bewildered softness is back in his eyes, mixed with a familiar, warm intensity as he looks at you, wrapped in his clothes.

"yeah," he breathes. "practical." his hand comes out of his pocket, hovering near your elbow, not quite touching the flannel sleeve.

"so... you wanna watch that documentary about naked mole rats? they live in complex underground colonies with a single breeding queen. very... structured and hierarchical."

you smile, leaning into the warmth radiating from him. "sounds horrifyingly fascinating, buck. put it on." you nudge him gently towards the couch. "and maybe grab me that last hoodie? this flannel's not the warmest."

the shared bed routine had become as natural as breathing. the unspoken agreement after late nights studying or watching documentaries about terrifying deep-sea creatures. bucky would flop onto your marginally-less-lumpy mattress, claiming the edge, and you'd burrow in, stealing warmth and space until the narrow twin felt like home.

tonight, though, is different.

as you finish rinsing the last mug, bucky clears his throat. he's been unusually quiet since steve and sam left, reorganizing whatever he could in the kitchen again.

"so," he starts. you already found it suspicious enough that he was more quiet than usual, not rambling about whatever anglerfish or naked mole rat fact. but now he's not meeting your eyes, focusing intently on aligning the cumin with the paprika. "thinkin' i might... crash in my own bed tonight."

you pause, the damp cloth in your hand dripping onto the counter. "oh?" you keep your voice light, neutral. "anglerfish migration patterns keeping you up? or is it the threat of me stealing the entire comforter again?"

he flinches slightly. "nah, nah. just... uh..." he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, the motion tight. "got some... thinking. to do. about that poli-sci paper. complex geopolitical... stuff. requires solitude. deep focus. brainpower." he gestures vaguely towards his head. "you know how it is. can't have distractions."

distractions.

the word hangs there.

you, wrapped in his flannel, wearing his socks, smelling like his detergent and your vanilla body wash, are apparently now classified under 'distractions'.

the suspicion coils warm and low in your stomach. steve and sam's knowing looks, their probing questions about 'figuring things out'... had their visit rattled him that much?

"right," you say, turning to hang the cloth neatly. "geopolitical stuff. very serious matters. i wouldn't want to impede international relations with my snoring." you offer a small smile, trying to ease the sudden, awkward tension. "suit yourself, barnes."

he nods, still avoiding your gaze. "yeah. thanks. 'night." he shuffles towards his room, shoulders hunched slightly, looking like he's heading to a detention hall, not his own bed.

you watch him go, the worn flannel soft against your skin. the silence of the tiny dorm feels heavier, emptier.

he reaches his door, hand hovering over the knob. something tightens in your chest. not anger, not exactly. a quiet insistence. a refusal to let him retreat completely into whatever flimsy excuse he'd built.

"bucky," you call out, your voice soft but clear in the stillness.

he freezes, hand still on the doorknob. slowly, he turns. his eyes are wide in the dim light filtering from the kitchen, a flicker of surprise and... something else... apprehension? hope? you can't quite read it. he watches as you walk towards him, bare feet silent on the linoleum, the oversized flannel whispering around your legs, his thick socks swallowing your feet.

you stop right in front of him, close enough to feel his warmth. he tenses, looking down at you with full anticipation.

his gaze darts over your eyes, and lips. his hand drops from the doorknob. he looks frozen. and braced. but for what? an argument? a kiss? a hug? a question about his sudden need for solitude?

instead, you tilt your head, a small smile on your lips.

you rise onto your tiptoes. his eyes widen further, his lips parting slightly on a silent inhale. he doesn't lean in, doesn't pull away. he just... stops. exists. suspended.

your lips brush the warm skin of his cheek it's light, brief. the scratch of his stubble against your lips is a tiny shock, grounding the moment. you feel the faintest tremor run through him.

"goodnight, bucky," you murmur, face to face with him. the scent of him – laundry soap, sleep, him – fills your senses.

then, you drop back onto your heels. you don't look at his face again, not immediately. you turn smoothly, the flannel swirling, and walk the few steps back to your own door. you feel the weight of his stare on your back.

only when your hand is on your own doorknob do you pause. you glance back over your shoulder. he hasn't moved an inch.

he's still rooted to the spot, one hand half-raised as if to touch the spot on his cheek where your lips had been. his expression is utterly blank, wiped clean by shock.

his eyes, though... his eyes are wide, dark pools reflecting the dim light, fixed unblinkingly on you. the pink flush has crept back on his cheekbones, clashing with the paleness of surprise.

you give him one last look. a soft smile touches your lips – with no hints of teasing. just... there. acknowledging the silence, the flimsy excuse he came up with, the lingering warmth on his cheek.

then you turn the knob, slip into your room, and shut the door behind you. the soft click echoes in the silence of the hallway.

bucky stays frozen in place. there was a phantom pressure on his cheek where you kissed him. he can still feel the soft touch of your lips. slowly, he raises his hand, his fingertips brushing the spot. it tingles.

goodnight, bucky.

the words replay in his head, soft and final. completely at odds with the jolt the kiss had sent through his system. his heart hammers against his ribs, solo drowning out any thought of poli-sci or geopolitical strategy.

distractions.

'looks... comfortable.'

'platonically sharing socks.'

and of course, his own frantic babbling: 'symbiosis! mutualism! no unnecessary entanglement!'

the words crash over him now, stripped of their defensive humor.

platonic.

the concept feels laughable, absurd, standing here with the ghost of your kiss burning on his skin and the image of you wrapped in his clothes seared onto his retinas. the way you'd looked back at him...

that quiet smile...

his gaze drifts down to his own chest, covered by the green henley. he can almost see the imprint of where your head rested against him countless nights, smell the vanilla clinging to his flannel currently wrapped around you.

his flannel. his socks. his space you inhabited so completely.

he leans back heavily against his own door, the wood cool against his back. he doesn't turn the knob. he just stands there in the darkened hallway, staring at the closed door of your room, fingertips still pressed to the warm spot on his cheek.

solitude. deep focus. brainpower.

all obliterated by a single, soft kiss and the echoing, devastatingly simple words: goodnight, bucky.

the only complex geopolitical reality he can comprehend right now is the territory mapped by the feel of your lips and the terrifying and absolutely exhilarating sense that the carefully constructed walls of 'just roommates' had just developed a very large, very warm, very you-shaped crack.

he slides down the door until he's sitting on the floor, back against the wood. the cold seeps through his pants, but he barely feels it.

the echo of that kiss, the soft weight of your lips, the scent of vanilla clinging to the air where you'd stood... it's a loop he can't escape.

platonically.

the word tastes like ash now. he presses the heel of his hand harder against his cheekbone, trying to ground himself.

what was that? a thank you? a pity gesture because he'd clearly freaked out? a... goodnight kiss?

but just on the cheek.

friends did that, right?

steve gave peggy cheek kisses sometimes. but steve looked at peggy like she'd hung the damn moon, and peggy looked back like she knew exactly how to knock it down if he got out of line.

he thinks of the way you'd looked at him before shutting the door. not like peggy looked at steve. softer. warmer. knowing. like you saw right through his flimsy 'geopolitical' excuse and his frantic symbiosis analogies. like you knew exactly the chaos that single touch had unleashed inside his skull.

he groans, dropping his forehead onto his knees. the wool of his socks – his socks, currently on your feet, warming your skin – itches slightly against his forehead. the scent of his own laundry detergent is faint, overlaid with the phantom vanilla. it's maddening. he's surrounded by evidence of you, of this tangled, comfortable intimacy you've built, and one stupid visit from steve and sam has him scrambling like a startled crab.

why had he retreated?

the thought of climbing into your bed tonight, after their knowing smirks, after sam's pointed comments about sock symbiosis... it had felt suddenly, terrifyingly exposed. like admitting something he wasn't ready to name, or admit, even to himself. especially to himself. sharing your space, your warmth, your quiet breaths in the dark... it had become essential. vital. and realizing how vital it was, how much he craved it, how easily steve and sam had seen it...

it had scared him right back into his own lonely, colder bed.

except now he's sitting on the floor outside it, feeling like an idiot.

he hears a soft rustle from behind your door. the creak of your mattress springs. the muffled sound of you sighing. settling in. alone. because of him. because he'd panicked.

"idiot," he mutters against himself, the word muffled by his hands. a colossal, world-class idiot. he'd traded the warm press of you beside him, the scent of vanilla and sleep, the unconscious way your hand sometimes found his in the dark... for this. cold floor, a throbbing spot on his cheek, and a brain buzzing with the memory of your smile and the devastating simplicity of your 'goodnight'.

the silence stretches. the spot on his cheek still tingles. it feels like a brand. a claim. a question he has absolutely no idea how to answer.

painfully, he pushes himself up off the floor. he doesn't look at your door again. he just turns the knob to his own room, slips inside into darkness, and shuts the door with a soft, definitive click. he doesn't bother turning on the light. he just walks to his narrow, untouched bed and sits heavily on the edge.

he stares at the darkness of the wall. his fingers manage to find their way back to his cheek. the ghost of your kiss lingers.

symbiosis.

mutualism.

practical cooperation.

it felt like none of those things. it felt like the ground shifting. it felt like the start of something terrifyingly, wonderfully entangled.

and bucky barnes, expert on anglerfish, wombats and naked mole rats, had absolutely no field guide for this.

bucky's laptop screen lights up his face in the shroud of darkness. his poli-sci textbook lies open beside it, pages dense with terms like "diplomatic immunity" and "sovereignty disputes."

a notebook is splayed open, filled with his messy scrawl attempting to diagram the complex web of alliances in some obscure 19th-century conflict. he'd meant to dive deep. he'd promised himself solitude for geopolitical brainpower.

instead, his finger traces the edge of the laptop's touchpad, not scrolling, just... hovering. his eyes aren't on the screen displaying a dry academic journal article about resource allocation in contested maritime zones. they're unfocused, staring through the pixels. the phantom press of your lips against his cheek pulses like a live wire beneath his skin. every few seconds, his free hand drifts up, fingertips brushing the spot, as if confirming the memory is real.

"goodnight, bucky."

your voice echoes in his mind in the silence, drowning out the imagined drone of a professor lecturing about treaty violations.

"right," he mutters aloud, forcing his gaze back to the screen. he blinks rapidly. "so. uh. article vii, subsection c establishes the the framework for..." his voice trails off. he leans closer, squinting. "...mutual recognition of... fishing quotas?" he frowns, tapping the touchpad, scrolling down. "no, that's not... wait, where was i?" he rubs his eyes, gritty with fatigue. the words swim on the screen.

'fishing quotas' dissolves into an image of your bare feet swallowed by his thick grey socks, shuffling across the floor towards him.

'mutual recognition' twists into the feeling of your arm brushing his bare back in the kitchen that morning, the way his hand had instinctively settled on the small of your back, possessively.

the word 'framework' just makes him think of the way his flannel hung loose on your shoulders, the collar slipping...

"jesus christ," he groans, shoving the laptop away slightly. it whines in protest. he picks up a pen, determined.

"okay. notes. key points." he jabs the pen onto the notebook paper. "one: humpback anglerfish. melanocetus johnsonii." he writes it carefully. "characterized by extreme sexual dimorphism. male... parasitic attachment." he underlines it twice. "fusion of tissues. permanent... connection." his pen stops.

permanent connection.

like the way your laundry seemed permanently intermingled with his in the hamper. like the way his hoodies seemed permanently migrated to your side of the closet. like the way he felt permanently aware of your presence, even now, through two closed doors.

he shakes his head violently, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts. "focus, barnes. focus. the male provides sperm, the female provides... nutrients." he writes 'nutrients'.

it feels insufficient. hollow. what had he provided? warmth? hoodies? terrifying fish facts? what had you provided? vanilla scent. stolen socks. that devastatingly soft kiss. a home, in the middle of your chaotic dorm. he wasn't dissolving into your flesh, but something felt... fused. entangled. sam's smug voice: 'symbiosis. mutualism.'

"it's not mutualism!" he hisses at the empty room, the sound too loud in the silence. "it's... it's..." he searches his mental index. "commensalism! yeah! one benefits, the other is unaffected." he writes it down triumphantly. "you benefit from my hoodies and socks. i'm... unaffected." the lie tastes bitter. he stares at the word 'unaffected'.

he could still feel the exact weight of your head resting against his chest when you slept. the way his hand had fit perfectly under the hem of his own clothes on your back this morning. your lips on his skin. utterly, completely affected.

he slumps forward, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the desk. the edge of his textbook digs into his arm.

"naked mole rats," he mumbles into the woodgrain. "heterocephalus glaber. eusocial mammals. single breeding queen. non-breeding workers. soldiers." he lifts his head slightly. "workers dig tunnels. maintain colony. support the queen."

he thinks of making coffee while you slept. scrambling eggs. explaining carbonyl groups. was he a worker? were you the queen? the thought is absurd, yet weirdly compelling.

"no unnecessary... entanglement," he whispers, echoing his own desperate defense to sam and steve. but the colony thrived because of the entanglement. the structure depended on it.

his eyes feel like they're full of sand. he forces them open, glancing at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen. 2:38 am. he blinks. once. twice.

had it really been hours? the article was still on the same paragraph. his anglerfish notes consisted of 'melanocetus johnsonii' and 'commensalism (lie)'. the naked mole rat section just said 'workers? queen?' in red. the notebook page was covered in doodles – vague, swirling shapes that suspiciously resembled the curve of a shoulder under stretched cotton, and one tiny, carefully drawn wool sock.

a wave of exhaustion crashes over him, heavy and inescapable. the frantic buzz of thoughts – geopolitical frameworks, parasitic males, stolen hoodies, your smile, goodnight, goodnight, goodnight – suddenly dulls, muffled by sheer fatigue.

the phantom kiss on his cheek is still there, but it's a warm ember now, not a live wire.

"fuck it," he breathes, the words barely audible. not angry, just... surrendered. utterly defeated by the combined forces of poli-sci, deep-sea biology, and the overwhelming, confusing reality of you.

he shoves the textbook closed with a thump. snaps the notebook shut. slams the laptop lid down, plunging the room into near darkness, besides the faint streetlight glow filtering through the blinds.

he stumbles to his feet, joints stiff from sitting hunched for hours. he doesn't bother changing out of his pants and henley. he doesn't even peels off his socks and pads to the bed, the sheets cold and unfamiliar.

he hadn't slept here properly in weeks. it smells faintly of dust and old laundry, lacking the warm blend of vanilla, sleep, and you.

he flops down. he pulls the thin comforter up, shivering slightly despite the room's ambient warmth.

he tosses. turns onto his side, facing the wall. too hard. turns onto his back, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. too exposed. curls onto his other side, facing the door.

the door that leads to the hallway.

to your door.

he squeezes his eyes shut.

solitude. deep focus. brainpower.

what a colossal joke.

all he'd focused on was the absence of the soft sound of your breathing beside him. the space felt too big, too cold. he misses the unconscious way you'd shift in your sleep, your foot finding his calf. misses the weight of your hand sometimes brushing his in the dark.

"commensalism," he mumbles into the pillow, the word thick with sleep and futility. "total bullshit." he presses his face deeper into the pillow, trying to conjure the scent of vanilla, but finding only stale cotton.

"workers dig tunnels..." he trails off, his breathing starting to deepen, the frantic energy of the night finally leaching away, replaced by bone-deep tiredness. "support the queen... you're the queen... steals hoodies... best socks..."

his body finally wins the war against his whirling mind. the tension bleeds from his shoulders. his clenched jaw relaxes. the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest under the thin comforter slows, deepens.

the image of your smile as you shut your door, the lingering warmth on his cheek, the confusing knot of feelings steve and sam had yanked tight–they don't disappear. they just blur at the edges, softening as sleep pulls him under.

his last conscious thought isn't about treaties or anglerfish. it's a fragmented, sleepy whisper, barely audible:

"...shoulda stayed... your bed's less lumpy... an' warmer... smells like... vanilla... an'... mine..."

the cold sheets finally pull him under, but the dream isn't restful. it’s thick, warm, real. he’s in his own bed, but it feels different. softer. warmer. the scent isn’t dust – it’s vanilla, sleep, and…

you.

then, the mattress dips behind him. a soft sigh ghosts against the back of his neck, sending shivers cascading down his spine. warm arms slide around his waist under the thin comforter, pulling him back flush against a soft, familiar body.

"mmph... cold," you murmur, sleepy and sweet against his skin. your breath fans over the sensitive spot below his ear. your knees tuck up behind his, your body molding perfectly against his back. the unmistakable press of your ass, firm and perfect, snug against the growing hardness trapped in the front of his sleep pants.

bucky freezes. the weight of you, the heat radiating from your skin, the scent of your hair tickling his nose. a low groan rumbles in his chest, half-sleep and half-overwhelming sensation. it feels so incredibly real.

his body responds instantly, blood rushing south. his cock hardens, aching, against the curve of your backside. he pushes back instinctively, seeking more of that pressure.

"bucky..." you whisper, your voice husky with sleep... or something else? one of your hands slides down from his waist, fingers splaying low on his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants.

your hips shift, grinding back against him slowly, deliberately. the friction is exquisite torture. "s'okay... s'just me..."

he can't speak, but can only gasp, arching his back, pressing himself harder against you. his hand finds yours on his stomach, lacing your fingers together, holding you there. his other arm snakes back, finding your hip, pulling you impossibly closer. the thin cotton of his sleep pants and the soft fabric of yours are the only barriers.

you can feel his cock pressed between the cleft of your ass, feel the way his abs spasm beneath your fingers. you hum softly again and shift, creating a slow grind of your hips that drags his erection against your warmth. he groans a sound of pure need, fingers tightening on your hip and squeezing with the last bit of control.

"like that?" you pepper soft, open-mouthed kisses just below his ear, between the curve of his neck and shoulder. "feel how much you want me?" you take your hand further down, and burrow beneath the waistband of pants, teasing the trail of hair that leads down.

he bucks against you, and a choked sound escapes him before he can stop it. "shhhh.." you soothe. "let me feel you…"

he's on his back now, blinking up at the familiar ceiling, but the air is thick. the weak light filtering through the blinds catches the curve of your smile as you straddle his thighs.

you're wearing one of his tees – the faded gray one he’d been looking for yesterday – but it's rucked up, revealing your smooth skin, and the lace of your panties.

"look at you," you murmur, your voice is soft and comforting to his ears. your hands slide up his bare chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath his skin and muscle.

you trace the lines of his pecs, of his abdomen. a smile plays on your lips as your eyes travels down his body, lingering where the thin sheet tents dramatically over his erection.

"all worked up over little ol' me?" you lean down, your hair falling like a curtain of sunshine and vanilla around. your lips brush his ear. "want me to help with that, sweetheart?"

he can only manage a whimper, his hips lifting off the mattress, seeking friction and seeking you. the sight of you above him, in his shirt, looking down at him with that mix of tenderness and seduction… it’s devastating.

his hands come up, trembling slightly, to rest on your hips, fingers digging into the waistband of your panties. "please..." he rasps, the word raw.

"please what?" you tease, rocking your hips ever so slightly against the hard ridge of his cock straining against the sheet. he cries out, head thrashing back against the pillow. "tell me what you need, bucky."

he can't form words beyond gasps and groans. his eyes are wide, desperate, fixed on you.

you smile, understanding. "okay," you whisper, leaning down to kiss him. his mouth opens under yours instantly. you taste the coffee from earlier. he moans into your mouth, his hands sliding up under the back of your shirt, exploring the warm skin, pulling you closer.

when you finally pull back for air, his lips chase yours.

"shhh," you mumble against him, placing a soft kiss on his jaw. "let me..." you trail kisses down his throat, over his neck, down to his chest. you continue lower, down the tense plane of his stomach, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his sleep pants and boxers. you pull them down just enough, freeing his aching cock, thick and straining upwards, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip.

you nuzzle the crease of his hip, inhaling the scent of him. "god, you smell good," you breathe. "all mine..."

then, without further warning, you take him into your mouth with soft, insistent pressure. your lips close around the swollen head, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge underneath. you sink down, taking him deep, until your nose brushes the coarse hair at his base.

he cries out, a strangled, animal sound, his hands flying to your hair, not pushing, just holding on for dear life as his hips jerk off of the bed.

"oh god!" he arches, spine bowing. "fuck, yes... sweetheart. so good. your mouth feels so fucking good..." his words dissolve into incoherent moans, mixed with gasps. the sensations are overwhelming: the slide of your tongue along his length, the suction as you pull back, the soft hum vibrating through his cock, the sight of your head bobbing between his thighs, framed by the stretched collar of his own damn t-shirt. it’s perfect. devastating. primal.

you look up at him, dark with desire reflecting the faint light. a drop of your own spit glistens at the corner of your swollen lips.

"you taste good, bucky," you murmur, your voice thick and husky, before sinking down again, taking him deep. your hand works the base of his shaft in perfect rhythm with your mouth, twisting slightly on the upstroke. "so good for me..."

the pleasure builds. it coils tight and hot in his gut. he’s panting, moaning your name, fingers tightening in your hair, lost in the sensation, the utter surrender to your mouth. the tension is unbearable.

"gonna... oh fuck... i'm gonna..." he chokes out, his body tightening like a bowstring. "please... don't stop..."

and you really don't. you take him deeper, humming softly, the vibration sends waves of pleasure through him. your hand moving faster, your mouth sucking harder. you feel him swell harder in your mouth.

"come for me, bucky," you murmur around him, the words vibrating against his sensitive flesh. "let go... give it to me..."

suddenly, very suddenly, he wakes up with a gasp that feels like drowning. his eyes fly open, staring wildly into the pitch-black of his own room.

not yours. his. cold. empty.

reality crashes down.

he's alone. tangled in his own thin sheets, drenched in sweat.

his cock is painfully hard, throbbing against the damp fabric of his boxers. all he can think of is your mouth, the heat, the vibration of your hum.

it was so vivid he was convinced it was real. he can still feel the weight of you on his thighs, hear your whispers, taste the sensation of your lips. he can smell vanilla in the stale air.

"no..." he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, pressing hard, trying to erase the images of your head bobbing up and down on his cock.

but they're seared onto his retinas, imprinted on his skin. his hips buck involuntarily, grinding against the mattress, seeking the you that was just there.

a frustrated moan escapes him, his hand instinctively moving towards his aching cock before he snatches it back, clenching it into a fist. "fuck... fuck..."

he rolls onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, trying to suffocate the ache, the humiliating evidence of the dream tenting the sheets beneath him.

but the pillow smells like dust, not vanilla, not you.

it's wrong. all wrong. the feel of your hair slipping through his fingers is replaced by rough cotton. the echo of your voice saying "all mine" rings hollow in the crushing silence.

he flips onto his back again, staring at the ceiling.

the dream replays in vivid, excruciating detail: the feel of your ass against him, the sight of you in his shirt, between his legs, the wet heat of your mouth, the sound of you calling him 'sweetheart'... the desperate plea ripped from his throat: "come for me, bucky."

his friends' voices echo, taunting him in the back of his head: 'platonically sharing socks.', 'looks... comfortable.'

then his own useless, stupid, idiotic babbling: 'no unnecessary entanglement!'

entanglement? fucking entanglement? he's drowning in it. unlike the anglerfishes.

tangled in sheets sticky with sweat and pre-come. tangled in the feeling of you. tangled in a desire so deep and raw it scares the hell out of him.

the kiss on the cheek hadn't been a dismissal; it felt like a key turning in a lock he hadn't even known was there. and this dream... this wasn't platonic. this wasn't symbiosis. this was pure, unadulterated want. a need that clawed at his insides, a hunger only you could satisfy.

he grinds his teeth, fists clenching the sheets.

he tries to force his mind back to poli-sci, to anglerfish, to naked mole rat hierarchies. anything. but his traitorous brain conjures the slide of your tongue, the press of your hips, the command "give it to me".

his cock throbs in agonizing agreement, untouched and purely fucking desperate.

minutes crawl by. they crawl.

the sweat cools on his skin, leaving him clammy. yet the frantic arousal doesn't subside; it simmers, amplified by the silence, the loneliness in his own bed by his own doing.

he kicks off the tangled comforter, the cool air doing nothing to douse the fire in him. he can still feel the grip of your hand working his cock, the tight suction of your mouth.

"can't..." he mutters to the darkness, burying his head into his own hand, clouding him further into the darkness. "just... stop... thinking... stop..."

but he can't.

the dream is too vivid, the ache too real, the closed door down the hall too loud in its silence. the rationalizations crumble. the geopolitical strategies evaporate. the intricate biology of anglerfish dissolves into the simple, overwhelming biology of need–need for you.

the dream wasn't just a fantasy; it felt like a revelation, a glimpse of a truth he'd been desperately denying.

he sits bolt upright. the movement is sudden, decisive. he doesn't think. doesn't weigh pros and cons or ponder the terrifying implications. the coiled spring inside him, wound tight by the dream, by the kiss, by weeks of shared breaths and stolen clothes, by the agonizing absence of you in this cold bed, finally snaps. the denial is obliterated, burned away by the intensity of that stupid dream that felt more real than the empty room around him.

the word 'platonically' shatters like glass.

the cold floor stuns his bare feet, but he hardly notices it. bucky's already moving, propelled by something deeper than thought. he goes across the room, leaving his heart pounding.

the hall is dark, and lonely. his own door creaks as he pulls it open. he goes out, barefoot, in his boxers, and the thin shirt stuck to his sweaty back, gaze landing immediately on your door.

he doesn't think twice. he really doesn't think at all.

the dream is still too close, the selfish ache deep in his gut is overwhelming.

he walks the distance, the sound of his heart slamming still ringing in his ears, stopping right at your door. his whole body is trembling with cold, with adrenaline, with the raw, terrifying need of you. the image of your sleepy smile as you shut the door, the softness of your lips on his cheek, and pressure of the dream… it all fucking crashes together.

the knob turns easily under his hand. unlocked. because it's always unlocked for him. the click is deafening in the hushed hallway. he pushes the door open just enough to slip inside, the familiar scent of vanilla and sleep and you hitting him like a blow, instantly amplifying the phantom sensations that he still felt in his wake.

your room is darker than his, the blinds drawn tighter. it takes his sleep-dazed, and adrenaline-fogged eyes a moment to adjust. then he sees you.

curled on your side facing the wall, the thin sheet tangled around your legs. you’re wearing nothing but his old white cotton t-shirt–the one with the stretched neckline and the faded bleach spot near the hem. it’s ridden up high on your hips in your sleep, revealing the smooth curve of your ass, barely covered by a scrap of panties. one leg is bent, the other stretched out, the shirt bunched even higher on that side, exposing a long line of your high.

bucky freezes just inside the door.

the sight is devastating. achingly intimate. the stolen shirt, your skin exposed, the vulnerable sprawl of your limbs…

it’s a punch to the gut, worse than the dream, because this is real. the turmoil from the dream, the kiss, steve and sam’s knowing smirks, it all crashes over him again, like a chaotic fucking whirlpool.

entanglement, really? because he’s drowning further.

the image of your figure behind the shower curtain, the steam, him washing his hands while staring, transfixed… the feel of your thigh pressed against his on the lumpy couch, you stretching, the shirt riding up… you reaching for coffee in his shirt, the collar gaping, his eyes helplessly drawn. the sheer, constant, unconscious intimacy of you wrapped in his things, smelling like him, inhabiting his space like you belonged there. stupid anglerfish.

"fuck," he breathes, barely audible. his cock, already half-hard from the lingering dream and the shock of seeing you, throbs insistently against the confines of his boxers.

the sight of the fabric against your skin, the way the white cotton stretched tight over the curve of your hip… sends a fresh wave of heat pooling low in his stomach.

he wants to touch. he wants to run his hand up that exposed thigh, slip his fingers under your panties, feel your skin. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your neck where the shirt collar has slipped, breathing you in.

the conflict is physical, a war in his muscles. part of him screams to turn around, flee back to his cold, lonely bed. preserve the fragile fiction of ‘just roommates’. the other part, the part still vibrating from the dream, the part that craved your warmth even in sleep, the part that ached… it pulls him forward.

he moves silently, like a ghost drawn to a flame. he doesn’t think. he just needs. needs the warmth, the scent, the feel of you nearness, even if it’s torture. he stops beside the bed, looking down at your sleeping form. the turmoil rages: guilt, desire, confusion, a deep, bone-deep yearning that terrifies him.

"just… warm," he mumbles to himself, the justification flimsy even in his own ears. "cold. my bed… too cold." he swallows hard. "just… for a minute. just… to warm up."

slowly, carefully, he lifts the edge of the comforter. the mattress dips softly as he slides in behind you, his body instinctively curling to match the curve of yours.

he’s careful not to touch you at first, lying rigid and barely breathing. the warmth radiating from your back is immediate.

then, inevitably, he shifts. his chest presses lightly against your back. his knees tuck up behind yours. and his hip settle flush against the perfect fucking curve of your ass.

electricity shoots through him. the thin layers of his boxers and your panties, the worn cotton of his shirt you wore, felt like nothing.

the firm, warm pressure against his fully erect cock is immediate, intense. a low groan escapes him before he can choke it back, muffled against the back of your t-shirt. he freezes, terrified you’ll wake.

you don’t. you sigh softly in your sleep, a contented little sound, and shift back into him. your ass presses more firmly against his clothed cock. your body molds even closer to his. one of your hands drifts back, fingers brushing his hip before settling loosely against his thigh.

bucky stops breathing. the friction, even through the layers, is fucking agony.

the feel of you, soft and warm and trusting against him…

it’s everything the dream promised and more. because it’s real. he can feel the rise and fall of your breath against his chest. smell the faint sweetness of your skin. see the delicate shell of your ear inches from his lips.

steve and sam were right, the thought slams into him, clear and undeniable amidst the haze of arousal and panic. they saw it. they saw what he wouldn’t let himself see. the shared clothes weren’t just practical. the shared bed wasn’t just about comfort. the way he watched you, the way he craved your nearness, the way his hand always found your back, his gaze always lingered… it wasn’t platonic. it wasn’t symbiosis. it wasn’t commensalism.

the memory of you on tiptoe, pressing your lips to his cheek, the soft "goodnight, bucky," floods him. the look in your eyes before you shut the door.

"oh, fuck," he whispers, the sound filled with realization. he buries his face in your hair, inhaling. the movement presses his cock even harder against your ass, and he can’t suppress another ragged gasp. "oh, fuck…"

it wasn’t just liking his clothes on you. it wasn’t just finding you fascinating. it wasn’t just enjoying your company.

he liked you. really, truly, devastatingly liked you. wanted you. craved you. in ways that went far beyond stolen hoodies and shared fish documentaries.

the kiss hadn’t started it; it had just ripped away the blinders. this feeling – this overwhelming, terrifying, exhilarating warmth flooding his chest, tightening his throat, making his heart pound against your back–

this was it. this was the missing piece steve and sam had seen, the entanglement he’d so desperately denied.

and here he was, hard as steel against your ass, wrapped around you in your bed, drowning in the scent of you. the turmoil peaked, a mix of elation and sheer terror.

what now? what did he do with this? wake you? pull away? stay perfectly still and hope the universe implodes?

the warmth is a drug. it lulls the frantic edge of his panic into a heavy, drowsy thrum.

the realization – i like you, fuck i like you – is still there, but the physical comfort, the rightness of holding you, overpowers his fear.

his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you infinitesimally closer. his hips, moving on some deep, instinctual level he can’t control, gives a grinding roll against the perfect curve of your backside.

"jus’…" he mumbles into your hair, the words slurring against your scalp. "jus’ for a bit. s’cold… alone."

another slow grind. his cock throbs, demanding more. "feels better here… with you." he nuzzles the nape of your neck.bhis hand splays possessively over your stomach under the bunched-up hem of his shirt. his thumb finds the soft skin just below your navel. "so much better…"

you stir. a soft sigh escapes you. shifting, your legs tangling more with his, your hips pushing back slightly, unconsciously seeking the pressure, and warmth he’s offering. "mmm…"

bucky freezes for a split second. then, emboldened by your movement, he grinds again. deeper this time. a low groan rumbles in his chest, pressed against your back. "yeah… like that…"

you stir more. your hand, resting loosely on his thigh, flexes. your fingers curl slightly against his skin. your head tilts back a fraction more on his shoulder, exposing more of your throat. and then, so soft it’s barely a breath, muffled by sleep and the pillow, a sound escapes your lips.

"bucky…"

a name spoken in the deepest intimacy of sleep. so soft he might have imagined it, except every nerve in his body is screamingly attuned to you. his ears, pressed close to your head, perk up. his entire body stills, except for the frantic hammering of his heart against your spine.

did you…?

the memories flood back viewed through the lens of his newfound, terrifying clarity: your blurred shape behind the shower curtain, steam swirling, him washing his hands, staring, transfixed, babbling about anglerfish while his eyes traced the silhouette of your hip. you didn’t pull the curtain tighter. you’d smiled.

you stretching on the couch, the stolen tee riding up, exposing your stomach. his desperate lie about couch integrity. you’d laughed. called him a pervert, but with affection.

you reaching for the coffee pot in his shirt, leaning, the v-neck gaping. his eyes snapping down, then away, ears burning. you’d hidden a smile in your mug.

the kiss. the soft press of your lips on his cheek. the knowing look before you shut your door. the way you wore his clothes like armor, like comfort, like… home.

and now. his name on your lips, whispered in sleep, while he held you, ground against you, in your bed.

you shift again. this time, he's convinced you know what you're doing. a languid roll of your hips back against his hardness, and a soft, needy moan escapes you, deeper this time. it's unmistakable.

"bucky…" you breathe again, laced with sleep and something else… something warm and wanting.

you’re waking up. very, very slowly. but you’re not pulling away. you’re pressing back.

bucky’s breath catches when he realizes. the realization ignites into a wildfire.

he just reacts. his arms lock around you, pulling you impossibly closer. his hips surge forward, grinding hard against the soft swell of your ass, seeking the friction, the pressure, the you. "fuck… sweetheart…"

you gasp, a soft intake of breath. your body tenses slightly against his – not in rejection, but in startled awareness. the sleepy movements cease.

you’re fully awake now. he can feel the change in your breathing, the slight stiffening of your spine. but you don’t pull away.

you don’t push him off. you stay perfectly still, molded against him. the moment is filled with unspoken questions.

the silence stretches. you can feel his heart pounding now, echoing your own rhythm. his face is still buried in your hair, his lips pressed against the soft skin behind your ear.

"bucky?" your voice is a whisper, rough with sleep and something else… confusion? shock? or… anticipation? "what…?"

he doesn’t answer with words. his hips give another small, involuntary thrust against you.

the thin cotton of your panties, the worn fabric of his boxers, feel like the flimsiest barriers in the universe.

"cold," he rasps, the lie pathetic even to your ears. "was cold… alone. came… came to warm up." he grinds again, helplessly, driven by the ache and the feel of you pressed back against him. "you… you said my name…"

you turn your head slowly, carefully, on the pillow. your eyes meet his. sleep still clings to the edges, but awareness burns bright in the center. confusion wars with something warmer. his arm is still locked around your waist, his hand splayed possessively low on your stomach, the knuckles of his thumb brushing the sensitive underside swell of your breast where his shirt has ridden up.

"bucky?" you repeat. the sudden intensity of waking up wrapped in him. his hardness.. also undeniable. "i thought… thought it was a dream." your brow furrows slightly. "it felt like… like before."

he freezes, the grinding motion halted mid-push. "like… before?" his voice is rough with sleep and arousal and sudden sharp curiosity. he searches your face, inches from his own. "what d’you mean?"

you blink, the sleepiness making the words tumble out unfiltered. "yeah.. hmm.. last week. maybe the week before? woke up like this, you know? you holding me. felt so warm an' real. but then i woke up properly and you were gone. back in your room." you shift slightly, your hips moving unconsciously, seeking the pressure that had vanished in those dreams.

"thought i was just… imagining things…" you trail off, your eyes widening as the implications of what you’ve just admitted crash over your fully awake mind. the sleepiness evaporates, replaced by a dawning horror. "oh god. i didn’t mean—"

"you’ve dreamt about me?" bucky cuts you off, his voice dropping an octave lower. the words aren’t a question, they’re a statement loaded with disbelief. his grip on your waist tightens. "like this? holding you?"

your eyes are huge, locked on his. you can’t look away. crimson paints your skin. you give the tiniest, frantic nod. "y-yes. but… i didn’t… i mean, it was just… sleep stuff…"

he doesn’t let you finish. the admission shatters the last remnants of his hesitation. his hips, which had stilled, surge forward again. not a tentative grind this time. he presses himself hard against the covered curve of your ass.

"like this?" he grinds the words out, his gaze burns into yours, refusing to let you look away. "you dreamt me holding you… like this?"

a whimper escapes your lips. your body instinctively arches back into the pressure. "bucky…" it’s half-protest, half-plea.

"tell me," he insists. his hand, the one splayed low on your stomach, slides down. not far. just enough. his fingers curl around the soft curve of your hip, his thumb digging into the dip just above your hipbone. he pulls. firmly. guiding your hips back flush against his own, forcing you to feel the length of him grinding against you. "you dreamt me… grinding on you… just like this?" he punctuates the question with another roll of his hips, the movement dragging a moan from both of you this time.

"yes!" the word is forced out of you. your eyes are wide, filled with panic. "yes, okay? i did! i dreamt… i dreamt you holding me an' touching me," your breath hitches as his hand on your hip flexes, pulling you tighter against the insistent thrust of his cock. "i dreamt.. that.. your hands…"

his other arm, still wrapped around your waist, tightens. his knuckles press more firmly against the soft underside of your breast. "where?" he breathes, grinding again. "where did you dream my hands?"

you gasp, your head falling back slightly against his shoulder, exposing the line of your throat. your hips move now, not just accepting his rhythm but meeting it halfway. "everywhere," you whisper. "on my hips an' my stomach… higher."

the sexual tension, potent since he crawled into your bed. bucky's control frays. the image of you dreaming about his touch, combined with the feel of you grinding back against him the scent of your arousal mingling with the vanilla… it’s too much.

his hand on your hip slides lower, fingers slipping just under the elastic waistband of your panties, brushing the smooth skin of your lower belly. his thumb traces the edge of the lace where it meets your hip. "here?" he grinds outs. "did you dream my hands… here?" his knuckles press deliberately against the soft swell beneath your breast again. "or… here?"

your frantic nod is all the confirmation he needs.

the dam breaks.

the hand splayed low on your stomach slides down, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. his touch is hesitant, grazing the delicate skin just above the mound of your cunt.

you gasp, loud in the quiet room, your hips jerking back against his cock in a reflexive surge of need.

"here?" bucky rasps, wrecked. his fingertips trace the edge of the panties where it meets your heat. "you dreamt my hands… here?" his own hips grind forward insistently, pinning you against him. "tell me."

"yes," you whimper. your head presses back hard against his shoulder, your eyes squeezed shut. "god, bucky, yes… everywhere…"

the last vestiges of hesitation burn away in the furnace of shared desire.

his fingers curl, sliding lower, finding the slick heat already gathering at your core through the thin barrier. he groans, the sensation making you shudder. "fuck… you’re so wet…"

he presses the pad of his middle finger firmly against the soaked fabric, right over the swollen nub hidden beneath.

you cry out, your back arching, pushing your cunt harder against his hand, your ass grinding back onto his cock. "bucky! please…"

the "please" undoes him. his hand cups you fully through the panties, the heel of his palm grinding against you while his fingers press and circle the bundle of nerves.

his other arm tightens like a vice around your waist, holding you flush against him as his hips piston against your ass in a demanding rhythm.

the thin layers separating you feel like torture. you both need skin. you need him.

"like… like the anglerfish," he mumbles against your neck, his lips brushing your skin, tangled with desire and the frantic need to make sense of this overwhelming fusion.

"the male. he fuses an' tissues dissolve an' he becomes part of her. permanently." he grinds hard, his cock throbbing against your ass. "sharing everything. blood, nutrients, life." his hand moves harder against your cunt, feeling you shudder. "we’re fused. like that. shared clothes, shared bed, shared dreams…" he punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips, a press of his fingers.

"your scent’s on everything. my clothes are yours. you sleep in my arms. dream.. dream 'bout my hands…" he nips lightly at your earlobe. "permanent fuckin' connection, s’what it is. symbiosis. mutualism. fuckin’ fusion…"

you writhe against him, your breath coming in short gasps. "bucky, oh god, yes…" your hand reaches back, tangling in his hair, pulling his face harder against your neck. "like that. just like that. fused…" you grind back onto him frantically. "steve, and.. an' sam… they knew. they saw it."

"they saw. saw what i was too fuckin’ scared to see." his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down roughly over the curve of your ass, just enough. his palm meets your slick and bare heat. he groans, a sound of pure animal need. "oh fuck, sweetheart…" his fingers slide through your wetness, finding your clit bare, swollen, and desperate for his touch.

he circles it. "see? no unnecessary entanglement?" he scoffs, grinding his cock hard against the exposed swell of your ass. "bullshit. we’re entangled. tangled up in each other. clothes, beds, breaths. this…" he slips a finger lower, sliding easily into your tight and wet cunt.

you cry out, your body bowing to his touch, and your cunt clenching around his finger. "bucky! yes!"

he pumps his finger slowly, curling it, finding that spot inside you that makes you writhe against.

"naked mole rats," he pants, his own breath ragged, hips still moving against your ass. it catches you off guard but the sensations, his fingers, hand..

"whole colony relies on the queen. workers, soldiers, all connected… all for her." he adds a second finger, stretching you, feeling your walls flutter. "you’re my queen, you know? stealing my hoodies, ruling my damn bed, stealing my dreams…"

he presses his lips to your shoulder blade. "an' i’m your worker, your soldier.. makin’ coffee, scramblin’ eggs, fuckin’ guarding the shower door while you’re steamin’ it up…" he thrusts his fingers deeper. "jus' protectin’ what’s mine. protectin' what’s fused to me."

your moans turn into a series of whimpers, biting your lip to stay silent. you’re trembling against him, your cunt gripping his fingers like a vice, your ass pushing back hard, seeking more friction from his cock. "i'm yours. fused, tangled.. oh god, bucky- i’m… i’m gonna fucking…"

"let go, sweetheart," he rasps, rough with possession and awe. he presses harder on your clit, pumps his fingers faster. "come for me. come for your soldier. your fused, fuckin’ anglerfish."

he nuzzles your neck, inhaling your scent – vanilla, sleep, arousal, him. "we’re not jus' roommates," he breathes, the realization settling deep in his bones, warm and terrifyingly right. "we’re fuckin' fused. permanently."

a strangled moan rips from your throat as your body shatters. you shiver against him, your cunt pulsing around his fingers, your back arching against him, your ass grinding hard against his trapped, aching cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

bucky holds you tight through it, groaning as he feels you clench and flutter against his fingers, "that’s it, my queen. take it, take fuckin' everything…"

the words are a vow. the final, irrevocable and inevitable acknowledgment of what steve and sam had seen all along. the platonic lie dissolved, leaving only the tangled, beautifully fused reality of you and him.

a long, trembling sigh escapes you as the last waves of your climax finally subsides. you're panting, limp against him for a moment. but the heat, the frantic energy buzzing between them, doesn't fade. it intensifies, shifts. your hand, which had been tangled in his hair, slides down his chest, over the damp fabric of his henley, lower... lower...

bucky groans. his cock throbbing painfully against your hip where you'd turned slightly.

he's still murmuring, the words tumbling out desperately streaming against your temple. "and the male anglerfish loses his eyes, internal organs, everything but the gonads, dissolved by her enzymes, just becomes a permanent sperm source, attached, fused, utterly dependent."

your fingers find the straining outline of him through his boxers. you palm him, firmly, feeling the hardness of his cock. bucky chokes, his hips jerking into your touch. "fuck."

"keep talking," you murmur, still breathless, but full of new determination.

you lift your head slowly. your faces are inches apart in the dimness. your eyes lock onto his. shifting, and turning fully onto your side now, facing him. your foreheads touch. your breath mingles with his. your hand never stops moving, rubbing him through the fabric.

"can't eat, can't see, just exists to provide, fused, symbiosis, extreme mutualism." his hips buck against your hand, seeking more friction. "oh god, sweetheart, please." he whimpers, eyes fluttering shut for a second, overwhelmed by the sensation and your proximity.

"more," you breathe. your other hand comes up, tracing the line of his jaw, rough with day-old stubble. your thumb brushes his lower lip.

"tell me more, bucky. about the fusion." your eyes drop to his mouth, then back to his eyes. the hand on his cock slips lower, fingers tracing the outline of his shaft through the fabric, dipping low enough to cup his balls.

he gasps, his head falling back against the pillow, exposing his throat. "the—the.. tissues integrate, capillaries connect, his blood flows into hers, nutrients, oxygen, and everything's shared." he's babbling, his voice cracking. "there's no separation. it's.. a.. complete biological union." his hips piston shallowly, helplessly, against your teasing hand. "sweetheart—i can't—"

your lips brush his, just the lightest graze. it's not quite a kiss. bucky whimpers again, louder this time. his eyes snap open, fixed on your mouth so close to his.

"keep talking," you whisper against his lips, your hand moves from his jaw, sliding down his chest, under the hem of his sweat-damp shirt. cool fingers find the hot skin of his stomach, tracing the tense muscles, dipping towards the waistband of his boxers. "tell me about the connection, bucky."

"is deep an'," he rasps, his voice shredded. his whole body is trembling. "irreversible permanent attachment, sustained by her, for—for life." he can feel your fingers hooking into the elastic. "oh fuck, please."

your hand slips inside his boxers. cool air hits his skin for a split second before your soft fingers wrap around his bare, aching cock.

bucky cries out, a sound of pure relief and overwhelming sensation. his back arches off the mattress, hips surging up into your grip.

you squeeze gently, your thumb sliding over the slick head, spreading the precum there. "shhh," you soothe, your breath warm against his lips. "keep talking, soldier. tell me." you start to move your hand, a slow slide up his length, then down, your thumb circling the sensitive head on each upstroke.

he's panting, words tumbling out in broken fragments, his eyes locked on yours, drowning in you. "circulatory systems are linked and shared heartbeat. they are.. one organism functionally." his hips move in time with your strokes, fucking your fist. "her needs dictate his existence, pleasure, sustenance—all from her."

you pull back, spit in your hand and tightens around his cock again. the slick sounds fill the quiet room. "is that what you are, bucky?" you taunt, still jerking his cock. "fused? existing for my pleasure? sustained by me?" you lean in closer.

"yes," he gasps, thrusting harder into your grip. "fused and.. yours! please, please."

"then kiss me," you breathe.

he surges forward, crashing his lips against yours. it's not gentle. it's desperate, claiming.

a fusion.

his mouth opens against yours, tongue seeking, tasting. you meet him with equal fervor, your hand never stopping its rhythm on his cock, the slick slide amplified by the meeting of your mouths.

he groans into the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, holding your head captive as he devours you.

the dam breaks completely. the animal facts dissolve into incoherent moans, your name gasped against your lips, pleas and curses tangled together. "fuck, yes, sweetheart, don't stop—so good—fused an' yours—oh god."

his hips stutter, losing their rhythm, fucking wildly into your fist.

suddenly, pleasure detonates through him. he tears his mouth from yours, back arching off the bed as he comes. thick, warm cum spills over your fingers and onto his stomach.

he shakes, crying out for you again and again as the waves crash over him. his body pulls towards your grip. lost, fused, yours.

you hold him through it. your hand slowing down its movements on his cock, gentle and milking the last bits of tremors from him. your lips softly press damp kisses to his jaw, his temple, murmuring his name in praise. "my bucky, mine."

he collapses back onto the mattress, drenched in sweat and his own release.

he turns his head, lips finding yours again in a slow, deep, exhausted kiss, tasting salt and himself and you.

no more words about anglerfish. no more denials. just the shared breath, the tangled limbs, the entanglement you'd finally stopped fighting. fused. permanently.

his lips are soft against yours. the desperate hunger replaced by a deep exhaustion. all the anglerfish metaphors have dissolved into this quiet reality.

"bucky," you hum against his mouth, pulling back to see his eyes. they're closed. "look at me."

he forces his eyes open. his pupils are blown wide, swimming with a vulnerability. he lifts a hand and brushes his knuckles along your jawline, his touch so tender.

"fused," he whispers. "yours." his thumb traces your lower lip. "didn't lie about that part."

a soft smile touches your lips. "i know." you shift slightly, settling your head back onto his shoulder. your hand slides from his stomach to rest on his chest. "talked a lot about fish," you tease gently. "not much about... this."

he lets out a weak laugh, vibrating through his chest. "easier talking 'bout parasitic males than.. than.. feelings." his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer. "is scarier."

you trace idle patterns on the fabric covering his chest. "scary? what's scary?"

he's quiet for a moment. the only sounds are his breathing. when he speaks again, he says, "how much i like seeing you in my clothes."

you lift your head again, searching his face. "my stealing annoys you?"

"no!" the word bursts out, vehement. he flushes again, looking adorably flustered. "god, no. the opposite." he swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where the oversized flannel you still wear gapes open at the neck.

"it drives me crazy. see you walkin' around in my hoodie. my sleeves covering your hands. smellin' like my detergent, but also like you..." his metal hand flexes against your back. "makes me, i dunno, sit up and take notice." he risks a glance at your face, his eyes dark and intense. "makes me feel... possessive. in a good way."

warmth blooms deep inside you. "possessive, huh?" you tease, but your voice is soft. "like your socks?"

he groans, burying his face momentarily in your hair. "don't even get me started on the socks. seeing your little feet swallowed up in 'em. makes me wanna..." he trails off, shaking his head, a helpless smile touching his lips. "makes me feel needed. like i'm keepin' you warm. protectin' you. even if it's just from cold floors." he lifts his head, his eyes serious now. "it's stupid, i know. but it matters. you wearin' my stuff... it matters. it matters to me."

"it's not stupid," you whisper, touched by his raw honesty. you slide your hand up his chest, over his shoulder, to cup his cheek. "i like it too. feels safe. smells like you." you lean in, brushing your nose against his. "and i notice things too, bucky barnes."

his brow furrows slightly. "notice what?"

a knowing smile curves your lips. "how you stare." you let your gaze drift pointedly down, then back up to meet his eyes. "especially when i'm wearing just a tank top. or when your flannel slips." you deliberately let the collar slide a little further off one shoulder.

his gaze instantly drops, snagged by the exposed curve of your shoulder, the hint of the swell of your breast beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

a fresh wave of pink floods his neck and ears. he looks utterly caught.

"i—" he stammers, trying and failing to drag his eyes back to your face. "it's... distracting. in the best possible way. impossible not to look. you're... god, you're beautiful. everywhere." his thumb brushes the exposed skin of your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine. "seein' you in my clothes. half outta my clothes... it scrambles my brain worse than any deep-sea pressure."

you laugh softly. "scrambles it enough to lecture me on fish sex?"

he groans again, but this time it's laced with amusement and affection. he finally manages to meet your eyes, his gaze holding yours with intensity, the embarrassment fading into something deeper, warmer.

"maybe," he admits, genuine smile finally breaking through. "but only 'cause—'cause i was tryin' so damn hard not to just grab you and kiss you. tell you how much i wanted you. how much more than just the clothes... or the shared bed. i wanted this." his hand tightens on your hip. "wanted you. all of you."

it's a different energy now. not frantic need, but a deep, resonant connection. his admission hangs there.

"i wanted you too," you whisper "more than i wanted to admit. 'specially when you'd get all flustered looking at me." you trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "all that talk of symbiosis, mutualism... it wasn't just about the fish, was it?"

he shakes his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "no. it was... hope." he swallows. "hope that what we had... wasn't just roommates sharin' space. hope it was somethin' that fed us both. somethin' that kept us both alive." his thumb strokes your hip bone through the flannel. "somethin' permanent. fused."

"like the anglerfish?" you tease gently, but your eyes are serious.

"better than the anglerfish," he murmurs, leaning in, his lips brushing yours. "because we both get to keep our eyes. and our internal organs. mostly." he kisses you then, slow and deep and sweet, pouring all the unspoken feelings into the touch—the possessiveness, the need, the overwhelming affection, the sheer relief of finally being honest.

"and we both get this," he breathes against your lips when you finally part. "this is a choice. this... entanglement. together."

you melt into him, kissing him. your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

the flannel, his socks, the shared bed, the terrifying documentaries... they weren't just practicalities. they were threads weaving you together, a tapestry far more complex and beautiful than any biological analogy. and as his arms wrap around you, skin to skin, where the flannel has finally slipped completely off your shoulder.

the honesty in his eyes ignites a spark deep within you. the slow sweetness shifts.

his hand slides from your hip, up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair. it’s not rough, but it’s firm, possessive in a way. he cups the back of your neck, his thumb pressing gently just below your ear.

"closer," he rasps. "need you closer."

he pulls, guiding you towards him as he leans back slightly against the pillows.

you move instinctively, shifting your weight, one knee sliding over his hip, then the other, until you’re straddling his lap.

the thin fabric of your panties and his pants is suddenly too much, a frustrating barrier. his eyes lock onto yours as you settle over him. the line of his arousal presses against you, hard even through the layers.

"bucky..." you breathe, the word more a sigh than a name.

"yeah," he answers, his gaze dropping to your lips. "this. exactly this." his hand finds your waist, fingers splaying possessively, while his other hand remains at your nape, holding you steady. "forget the fish," he murmurs, leaning up to capture your mouth again.

this kiss is different. deeper. the slow exploration replaced by a shared urgency. his tongue strokes yours, a claiming touch that draws a soft moan from your throat.

your hands slide down his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his henley. he groans against your lips as your fingers brush his skin.

"off," he pants, breaking the kiss only long enough to yank the henley up over his head, tossing it blindly aside.

his chest is broad, beautiful in the dim light. your fingers trace the lines of muscle, the ridges of old wounds, before moving to the hem of your tank top. you pull it off in one swift motion, making your nipples tighten instantly.

his gaze rakes over you. "fuck," he breathes, his metal thumb brushing over the swell of your breast. "even better than i always imagined."

you lean down, kissing him fiercely, your hands busy with his waistband. he lifts his hips, helping you push them down, kicking them off.

the feel of him, hard and hot against your core, even through your panties, makes you shudder.

you break the kiss, scrambling back just enough to hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, pushing them down your legs.

he watches, rapt, as you shed the last barrier.

then you’re back, settling over him, skin against skin this time. the shock of contact—his hard length pressed against your wet heat—draws a gasp from both of you. he grips your hips, his fingers digging in, holding you still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours.

"god," he whispers. "feel that? feel how... connected?" his hips lift slightly, grinding against you, the friction exquisite. "like... like the fusion," he pants, his eyes searching yours, wide with awe and desperate need. "but mutual. reciprocal. both givin', both takin'..." he thrusts up again, harder this time, making you cry out. "not one dissolving. but both... feeding the fire."

you nod, unable to speak, rocking your hips against him, seeking more of that perfect pressure. his hand slides down your back, over your ass, urging you on.

"yes," you manage to let it out, despite it all. "like that, bucky. more."

he grips your hips tighter, guiding your movements as you begin to rise and fall against him, not taking him inside yet, just grinding, building the friction.

"the anglerfish fused for survival," he groans, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut for a second before opening to watch you, to watch where your bodies meet.

"this... this is more. this is our life." his hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "this is choosin' to be tangled. to be consumed..."

you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, increasing the pace, the slick slide of him against your clit sends pure pleasure up your spine. "bucky... please... need you..."

he understands. his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they find your entrance, slick and ready.

he guides himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against you. his eyes lock onto yours, questioning.

"now," you gasp, pushing down. "inside me."

a groan rips from his chest as you sink down onto him, taking him deep in one smooth stroke.

the stretch, the fullness, the sheer rightness of it steals your breath.

you stop, fully seated, trembling, adjusting to the feel of him buried inside you. his hands grip your hips, his knuckles white, holding you steady as he fights for control.

"christ," he chokes out. "you feel s'perfect. wrapped around me. so fuckin' tight..." his hips lift minutely, a shallow thrust that makes you gasp. "like—like the perfect symbiosis. mutual benefit. you... takin' me in..." another thrust, deeper this time. "...me filling you..." his eyes blaze with an almost primal possessiveness. "both thriving."

you begin to move, rising slowly, then sinking back down, setting a rhythm that makes him curse, his head thrown back against the pillow.

"yes," he hisses, his hands moving to your breasts, kneading, thumbs circling your nipples. "just like that. ride me, sweetheart. take what you need. give me what i need."

you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, increasing the pace, the slick slide of him against your clit sends pure pleasure up your spine. "bucky... please... need you..."

he understands. his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they find your entrance, slick and ready. he guides himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against you. his eyes lock onto yours, questioning.

"now," you gasp, pushing down. "inside me."

a groan rips from his chest as you sink down onto him, taking him deep all at once. the stretch, the fullness, the sheer rightness of it.

you stop, fully seated, adjusting to the feel of him buried inside you. his hands grip your hips, holding you as he fights for control.

"christ," he chokes out. "you feel s'perfect. wrapped around me. so fuckin' tight..." his hips lift minutely, a shallow thrust that makes you gasp. "like-like the perfect symbiosis. mutual benefit. you... takin' me in..." another thrust, deeper this time. "..me filling you... and—an' both thriving."

you begin to move, rising slowly, then sinking back down, taking him deep again. "oh god," you whimper.

"that's it," he rasps, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "fuck, look at you. riding me. takin' me so deep." you set a rhythm, rising and falling, each descent making him curse, his head thrown back against the pillow.

"yes," he hisses. his hands move to your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peak hard against his palms. "just like that. ride me, sweetheart. take what you need. give me what i need. fuck ... you feel incredible."

you lean forward again, taking his mouth in a messy, hungry kiss as you ride him harder. the angle allows him to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

the sounds of your breathing, the wet slide of skin on skin, the creak of the bedsprings, and your combined gasps and moans are the only thing you can hear. his hands roam your back, your ass, gripping your hips, and pulling you down harder onto him with every thrust upwards, meeting your movements.

"so fuckin' good," he groans. "so tight. so perfect. wrapped around my cock like you were made for it." he bucks up, driving deeper into you. "perfect fuckin' pussy. takin' every inch. milkin' me."

you gasp, the coil tightening unbearably. "bucky... harder..."

he obliges, his thrusts becoming more forceful, roughr. "look at me," he demands. you lift your head, meeting gaze. his hands leave your hips, sliding up your torso, fingers tangling in your hair, framing your face. he holds your head steady, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. the raw need, the possessiveness, the awe present.

"so fuckin' beautiful," he breathes, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. "mine. all mine. look at you. ridin' my cock. takin' it so deep." his gaze drops for a second, down to where your bodies are joined.

"god, you've got the prettiest fuckin' cunt, my girl. so pink. so wet. stretched around me." he looks back up, locking eyes again. "prettiest sight i've ever seen." he pulls your head down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moan as he pistons up into you, hitting that spot relentlessly. "my girl. my perfect girl."

the kiss is desperate, tongues tangling, fueled by the rhythm of your bodies. you feel him get harder and twitching inside you, his thrusts becoming more less controlled.

he breaks the kiss, panting harshly against your lips. "gonna fuckin' cum," he warns, his voice strained, ragged. "fused.. but—but gonna— fuckin' ... can't hold it ..."

"me too," you gasp, the coil snapping tight, ready to burst. the pressure builds, white-hot and undeniable. "c—cum with me. cum together... please, bucky—"

he sits up suddenly slightly, wrapping his arms around you tightly, crushing you against his sweaty chest as he thrusts up into you with deep, almost brutal strokes.

the shift in angle, the force, the feel of his chest against yours, his arms locking you in place—it sends you hurtling over the edge. a cry tears from your throat as the orgasm crashes through you, wave after wave of convulsing pleasure and your inner walls clenching and fluttering around him in pulses.

"fuck—yes, holy shi—" he moans, his own release triggered instantly by your heat and the tight, rhythmic clenching.

he buries his face in the curve of your neck, kissing slightly as his whole body shudders in pleasure while he empties himself deep inside you.

"yours—yours. god, fused an' yours..." he thrusts shallowly through the aftershocks, his cock pulsing within you, filling you with his warmth.

you collapse against him, feeling the beat of his heart against your chest, the hot spill of his cum within you.

he holds you close, his breathing slowing down from gasps to deep and satisfied sighs that ruffle your hair. his lips press kisses against your shoulder, your neck, your temple, his hand smoothing down your back in circular strokes.

"not just surviving," he murmurs with exhaustion, and utter contentment. his flesh hand cups the back of your head, holding you gently against him.

"thriving. definitely thriving." he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. a soft, sated smile touches his kiss-swollen lips. he brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "best mutualism ever."

fused wasn't just a metaphor anymore. it was a promise, and it was home.

req prompt. Can i request for a perv dormate/roomate bucky in college where he’s always staring at the reader’s boobs, he also has a crush on the reader and they got really close to each other that now she’s stealing his shirts and him not minding about it until one night he got a dirty dream about them then he woke up and look at her sleeping wearing his shirt with no bra and with just lace panties underneath. Maybe he climbed on my bed because he cannot resist it anymore and dry humped her until she woke up and they fucked…

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

could you do a spencer reid fic where reader hadn't gotten her wisdom teeth until later than other people get it and he goes with her to get them out and she's way more bubbly than usual and like the usual wisdom teeth delirium please?

thanks for your request :)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader who has no wisdom at all anymore [1.4k words]

CW: mentions blood/surgery, anesthesia and sedation, post-op aftercare, fluff

Spencer stands at the sound of your voice; the plastic covered cushions of the dental office’s waiting room chairs creaking and groaning as it re-expands with air now that it's without Spencer’s weight. 

It’s truly just the sound of your voice that Spencer hears, though, seeing as he cannot make out a single word you’re saying nor can he gauge who you might be talking to; the benzodiazepines coupled with the gauze no doubt layered in your mouth leaving you sounding as though you were speaking through the keyhole of a door.

His feet move on their own volition when you round the corner, a dental assistant assisting you with one arm around your back and the other holding your elbow. He aches to replace her hands with his own. 

“Spencer!” You gasp, nearly choking on the bloodied gauze in your mouth as you stare at him wide eyed, expression painted with surprise and disbelief that he deigned to pick you up. He doesn’t bother trying to explain the fact that he dropped you off, or that he’s been here the whole time waiting for you. 

“Hi, beautiful.” He greets you rather brashly, overflowing with fondness for you in your vulnerable state. His cheek dimples when you fluster. “We’re all good?” 

He’s asking if you’re good to go, of course, seeing as the surgeon already briefed Spencer on how the surgery went, and likely in far more detail than she would’ve explained to the average person picking up their loved one from a odontectomy after Spencer began asking more detailed questions. He was also asking the dental assistant – Katie, her scrub top suggests – seeing as your brain was likely still more than slightly warm and gooey from the sedation.

You answer for her, though.

“It’s terrible.” He makes out in your adorably garbled oration. A terrible, horrible part of Spencer wants to squish your cheeks; stuffed with cotton and more than a little swollen, you look like the most adorable chipmunk he’s ever seen. He knows it’s natural – cuteness aggression – though he wishes the English language had a more appropriate name for it. There’s a word for it in Tagalog; gigil, a strong urge to physically express affection albeit slightly aggressively or forcefully. He longs to force his affection on you.

He settles for a verbal response to your statement. “What’s terrible?”

“They took all my wisdom out, Spence. Now I’ll never be able to keep up with you.” You explain solemnly, eyes wide and glassy as you subconsciously list forward, causing Katie to plant her feet more solidly and strengthen her hold on you.

Spencer reaches out to relieve her of the duty. Or, that’s what he pretends it’s about; it’s rather selfish, really, Spencer just wants his hands on you.

“You keep up with me fine,” he assures you, pushing a few stray hairs away from your temple to press a kiss to it, “you’ll keep up with me even better once the sedation flushes out of your system. Considering your height, age, weight, and health, you could be back to normal by bed time, or it could take twenty-four hours to completely work itself out of your system. Benzodiazepines work by interfering with your neurotransmitters and attaching to GABA receptors which decrease your brain activity. Your brain is feeling slow right now, but it’ll catch up to you.” 

You blink at him; once, twice, and then you turn to look at Katie – now watching the two of you with a hint of fascination – with an expression that seems to read “see!?”

“He just knows stuff like that!” You explain to her about two decibels too loud to be in a quiet dental office’s waiting room. 

“The surgeon went over post-op care with you?” Katie asks Spencer then as she fights against a smile at your expense. 

“She did,” he confirms with a somewhat self conscious smile, “thank you.”

Katie nods and begins taking a few steps backwards. “If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to call.” 

“Thank you!” You call back with a very dramatic wave of your arm that nearly sees you toppling over from the effort. “She’s so nice. She was so nice, wasn’t she Spence?” 

“She was.” He agrees as he begins the slow, arduous task of ushering you to a seat so he could put your shoes on. This was, apparently, a new protocol; patients are rid of their shoes to prevent them from seeing themselves out of the front door before their caregivers were ready for them. 

He’s glad you’re as agreeable as you are, seeing you sit dutifully and only needing to be reminded twice to stop kicking your feet excitedly as he ties your laces. 

“Oh! I know!” You almost shriek as you sit stock still; your back pressed so straight that Spencer's surprised he didn’t hear the thoracic portion of your spine crack. “You can just share some of your wisdom with me!”

Spencer really can’t help but smile up at you from his place on his knees, giving your foot an affectionate squeeze before he ultimately lets it go. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite this animated before and he’s desperate to soak it all in, even if it means remaining on the floor of the dental office for a few more minutes. 

“Why are you so worried about your wisdom?” He asks you fondly, seeing you push your bottom lip out in a very theatrical pout. Spencer doesn’t even wince at the dried blood there. 

“Oh, Spencer.” You sigh like he couldn’t possibly understand your plight. “You have no idea how hard it is to be with someone so smart.” 

“Hard?” Spencer queries, his brows forming an indent between his eyes as he cocks his head at you. He’s equal parts sad for you and distressed at the thought that he might be hard to be with. 

You hum in the affirmative, unnecessarily nodding your head so emphatically that you nearly lose your balance while seated. “Lovely,” you amend, “but hard. You just- I must be so boring!”

“You’re not boring!” He argues; now he’s the one speaking slightly too loudly in a quiet dental office waiting room. “You’re not boring at all, lovely.”

“But you know everything!”

“That doesn’t make me wise.” He presses, rising from his crouched position in favour of sitting on the bench beside you; you turn your body towards him, knees clacking against his own. 

“It doesn’t?”

“God no.” Spencer laughs, trailing his thumb from your temple, lifting the pressure as he draws a line down your jaw before he returns his full touch to your neck. “No. I’m smart, I guess, for knowing things. But I’m not wise at all. In fact, in that regard I’m probably quite lacking.”

You gasp; a sharp, loud, breathy thing that actually has Spencer’s other hand rising to steady you, ready to shove one of his hands down your throat should you inhale a wad of cotton. “Really?”

Spencer’s really laughing now, and while he thinks he ought to feel somewhat guilty for laughing at his currently enfeebled girlfriend, you don’t seem to be perturbed by his reaction at all. “Really. Honest; you’ll have to ask Derek if he thinks I’m wise.”

“Can I ask him now?” You ask immediately, apparently eager to have confirmation that your boyfriend is not, in fact, wise at all. 

“How about” Spencer starts as he stands, holding his hands out to you to help you do the same and steadying you when you sway once at your full height “we get you into the car first, and then you can call him from there.”

Spencer’s once again glad you’re as agreeable as you are, allowing him to guide you out of the building and towards your car while you tell him all about how you had been so certain that you would never need your wisdom teeth removed since most people had them removed much younger, and you felt like you did a good job hoarding all your wisdom in those two troublesome teeth just for someone to yank them from you.

He’s also glad that you forget to call Derek once he has you buckled up in the passenger seat.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

biiiig mean stretch!

spencer reid x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, THIS IS FILTHY. NAAAAASTY, you’ve been warned. mean harsh dom! spencer and bratty sub! reader, nasty make outs, spanking, hair pulling, cursing, degradation and praise (not quite towards you), use of good girl (again, not towards you), dirty talking, oral sex (s! receiving), face fucking, edging, gagging, facial, multiple orgasms and rounds implied, teasing, begging, hickeys, choking, spencer being a little bit of a pervert, piv sex, using cum as lube, unprotected sex (guys don’t do this), scratching, pussy talking, breeding kink, creampie, squirting, slapping, spitting, spencer has crazy stamina…

from this request.

@cherriesinthespring & @brattyspence 💋

you were actually exhausted. whole body aching, the last thing you needed was to talk to him, but as always, there he was. your asshole of a flatmate. with his stupid glasses on as his amber eyes strolled through the pages of his book miles per hour.

“well, look who it is. past midnight. seems like cinderella by how fucked up you look.”

you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his tone, kicking off your heels. “fuck off reid, i’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

your relationship had been strained from the start… you two were like oil and water. always had been, since the two of you were five and had the sufficient conscience to choose if you liked each other or not. and believe me, if you had had another choice… you wouldn’t have even taken up the offer to live with him. but your mother, diana’s best friend, as soon as she had learnt that you had been given a promotion and needed to move to quantico? had told the blonde, who excitedly told her that spencer was looking for a flatmate. that sealed your destiny. and now there you were. sharing space with the person you loathed most in the entire world.

“hell, okay, you’re not fucked up at all, ‘cause getting some dick wouldn’t have left you like that.”

you groaned, your head throbbing, full body tense. “well at least i get to fuck, not like you, you only get off to letters on paper.”

and he dared to chuckle, fucking chuckle. he closed his book and put it aside, tall frame leaving its seat at the sofa to slowly stroll over you.

“well isn’t your vocabulary a delight?” he crooked his head. “now why don’t you tell me what’s gotten you all bothered, princess. ‘cause i’m sure my incredible presence cannot be it.” he said sarcastically, but he seemed intrigued to know what had happened. “hard day at work? did starbucks ran out of caramel drizzle? or is your rose toy dead?”

“you little…” your hands were reaching for his throat, but he was faster, his tongue clicking as his strong long fingers surrounded your wrists, stopping you centimeters away from his warm skin.

“really, doll? trying to choke an fbi agent? such a bad girl…” you gasped as he pinned you against the wall. “you could get in a lot of trouble for that. maybe i should use my cuffs on you. or maybe not, i’m sure you’d end up enjoying it.” he muttered that last part against your ear, your cheeks reddish in both anger and embarrassment.

“fuck you.” you spat, and he chuckled, dark and teasingly against the skin if your neck. you were not done. he wanted to play dirty? two could do that. “and what do you say about extortion of people by your power, huh? an fbi agent trying to make me kneel under him for his status? i could easily get you fired. you should be ashamed, reid… but… it seems like you are more like… excited, huh?” and with a roll of your hips against him you confirm what you had suspected: he was hard. rock hard at that.

he smirked at you, ignoring your jab as he leaned over you. “are you threatening me?” he muttered against your lips, his tongue wetting his bottom one.

your eyes followed the movement, and your throat dried up. you squinted at him. “are you?”

“you know… all this brattiness of yours is really getting on my nerves.”

“really? by how hard you are… i would believe you’re enjoying it.” you muttered back. your breaths were mingling. there was heat pooling down on your lower stomach. and the tension exuding from your bodies could be cut with a knife.

“you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” he growled, eyes dangerous.

“but wouldn’t you like it wide open…, reid?”

you could feel the moment he said “fuck it”, his brown eyes now completely pitch black. “yeah? then open the fuck up.”

and next thing you knew? his tongue was deep into your mouth, which had willingly fallen open for him. the two of you groaned, and the tight hold he had on your wrists turned bruising. it was as if he hated the idea that he desired you so much. maybe he did. maybe you did. but right now the only thing you could focus on was on his hard cock pushing against your belly, and how soaked your panties felt stuck against your throbbing clit. when had you gotten so wet?

a moan left you as his plush lips surrounded your tongue and sucked, a hum leaving his chest when he then moved to your neck, sucking some more on the skin there.

“i think i ought to teach you a lesson, don’t you?” you whined as he bit down on your pulse point. “answer me.” a choked gasp left your lips when one of his hands, the one that wasn’t holding now both your wrists up, came down harsh against the side of your thigh on a smack.

“yes.”

“that’s what i thought.” he purred, and your eyes almost rolled back at the sound of his deep voice. “on your knees.” he ordered as he let go of you, and busied his now free hands on unbuttoning his slacks. you got lost for a minute there as you caught sight of the wet patch decorating his boxers, but he was quick to get you back on page. your eyes widened when his hand took harshly your face. “do i need to repeat myself?” he hissed and you shook your head. “then. get. on. your. fucking. knees.” you complied, knees on the hardwood floor, puppy eyes staring right onto his. “that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it? let’s hope you suck cock better than you follow orders.”

your pussy fluttered. fuck. why was this turning you on so much?

“show me that tongue.” you stuck it out to him. pink. salivating. ready. he hummed and pushed down his boxers and pants down his thighs. your eyes widened at the sight of his thick cock. “let’s keep that dirty mouth of yours busy, yeah?” and before you could even react, you were gagging around him. it hurt. your lips were fully stretched around him, and your jaw was about to give up by the uncomfortable stuffiness. but god… it felt so good… he tasted so good… reid groaned, fingers winding into your hair and tugging as his hips snapped and his cock hit down your throat. “fuck. so that mouth is actually good for something, huh?”

your eyes couldn’t help but water, your nails scratching at his thighs as he didn’t even give you a chance to adjust before starting to fuck your face. you couldn’t help but moan, eyes rolling as the air in your lungs thinned. he was literally fucking you dumb. and you couldn’t love it more.

“such a fucking slut. look at you. you act harsh but as soon as a dick is shoved into your throat you start to act like a good girl, hm?“ you whined, thighs squeezing against the other, throat swallowing around him and making him grunt. “jesus, you’re tight. wonder how your pussy will be. probably will have to stretch it open first, break it in since you haven’t brought anyone home to fuck since you moved in, huh?” he chuckled. “the walls are thin, you know? you think i don’t hear you pumping your fingers into your little cunt every night? poor thing. you’re so desperate for cock you would take anyone’s, huh? even mine. but, actually… i’m starting to believe it’s the one you’ve been wanting the most, isn’t it?” you whimpered. “hm? what’d you think about while fucking your pussy, doll? did you think about me listening to you? that the reason why you’d moan louder? for me to hear? wanted me to come into your room and show you what a good orgasm is supposed to feel like?” you nodded, too lost to actually try and hide how the idea of him listening to you masturbating just a few doors away made you squirt all over your sheets. he chuckled. low. mockingly. “of course you did.” he pushed down your throat even harder. “all that time acting as though you hated me and you just liked me, huh?” you gasped and coughed as he pulled out of your mouth, smacking his wet leaking cock against your flushed cheek.

“i hate you.” you swore and his eyes glinted.

“yeah? well, for someone who hates me, you really love sucking my cock.” he chuckled when, while gliding his tip along your bottom lip, your mouth subconsciously opened. “you want it?”

you kept silent. what could you say? you couldn’t say no. that would be a lie. but you also couldn’t say yes, that’d would make it too easy for him. but before you could catch yourself you were…

“please.”

begging.

his smile was that of the cheshire cat. “atta girl.” you moaned when he fed it back to you, pumping it down your throat over and over again. you relished on the musky scent, on the tuffs of hair of his base kissing your nose, on his tip making you gag over and over again until you became so messy and sloppy that trails of spit dribbled down past your lips and chin onto your thighs. “thaaaat’s it. so messy. can’t help but want to…” and then you’re gasping as hot spurts of cum hit your face, making you even more messier. spencer moans as he strokes every last drop out of his breeding tightening balls. “fuck. look at you. so pretty like this…” your mouth stays open for the dripping of it, the salty release hitting your tongue and making you hum.

when you open your eyes, your cunt throbs. he looks gone. wild in pleasure. and starving.

“get up.” your legs shake and you almost trip by how fast you complied. “i’m not done with you yet.”

not even 10 seconds go by before you’re being thrown onto his bed —his bedroom being the nearest one of the two—, and another 10 is what it takes him to get you bare before his eyes. his eyes appreciatively took the sight of your heaving chest and rosy nipples in, the smoothness of your tummy, the plush of your thighs…

he pumps his still rock hard cock. how does he manage to have that much stamina? it hadn’t even gone down —not in the slightest— after making a mess of your face with his cum.

“it’s not gonna-” you try and say, but his words cut you off quickly enough.

“mouth shut. eyes on me. legs open. i’ll make it fit. even if i have to break apart your pussy for it.” you swallow, and god, if you hadn’t you’d have died of embarrassment by the whimper that tried to leave your throat.

you open your legs for him. pussy lips spread, soaking wet just for him, hole twitching in need of being fucked and clit puffy and sensitive pleading to be touched.

“knew she’d be pretty…” he groans, licking at his lips, hand tightening around his dick. his fingers come to your sticky cheek and gathers ropes of his cum, and before you could inquire him about it, he’s stuffing them into your needy little cunt. “jesus, she’s tight. can’t wait to break her open…” your eyes roll as he sinks them to the knuckle and curls up up up until he hits that spongy spot that makes you sing the prettiest moans late at night when you know he can hear you.

“spencer…!” you whimper, your legs falling further apart, hips twitching for more.

“that’s it. open up for me.” he smirked, pushing a third finger inside that has you choking on a scream, walks tightening down hard around his digits he grunts. “trynna milk me so soon, baby? i haven’t even put it in.”

he fucks you open with harsh strokes, but he’s diligent, he makes sure you’re slicked up and ready, loose enough for his puffy head.

but when he aligns it up with your entrance, his jaw ticks. “it’s gonna be a tight fit. now, say ‘biiiiig stretch’ for me, mh?”

“biiiig—ngh!!!!” you can’t even comply, not when he’s basically splitting you in half. your nails dig on his back as he pants and tries to fit in past the first ring of muscles.

“jesus.fuck.” with a ‘pop!’ his tip presses in, and you two moan in unison. your lungs feel like you’re on fire, and your eyes sting. but fuck if it doesn’t feel good being so full. “good girl…” he praises. and at first you think it’s directed towards you. but no. his thumb sweetly circles your clit and you cry. “taking me so good… you’re doing so good for me… now, open a little bit more for me, hm?”

he’s talking. to your pussy.

but it’s not “little” how much it has to open to accommodate him. every fucking inch is devastating. and by the time his balls hit your ass, his tip —if it could be possible— would have breached your cervix and fucked itself into your womb.

he falls onto you the moment you clench, and groans against your neck. “if only i had known you’d feel this good… i would have fucked you much sooner.” he then looks at your dizzy eyes and faded face. you’re half brain dead on his cock. he can’t help but chuckle. “so this was the fastest way to make you behave and shut up, huh? good to know.” he slaps at your cheek, and you blink, breathing ragged and heavy, his hips grinding deep against your cervix, making you whimper. “don’t you dare tap out on me. i haven’t had my way with you yet.”

and then he’s fucking you. reeeeeally fucking you.

your back arches, your nails draw blood down his back, and your cunt gushes in lewd wet sounds that resonate around his room by how hard and deep he plunges into you.

“fuck. so good… best pussy i’ve ever had. made for me, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he murmurs, and you are so lost… he’s mean. his hands are rough as they grip your hips in a way you know will bruise, and his cock is so harshly fucking you open that you believe he’ll leave the imprint of himself permanently molded to your walls.

you can feel every vein, every ridge.

“spencer, spencer, spencer…!” you cry and he chuckles in between grunts.

“so now it’s ‘spencer’, huh? what happened to ‘reid’? you’re so happy to get dicked down that you’re calling me by my name now?” one of his hands surrounds your neck, and when it tightens… your pussy does as well. “fuck! and here i thought you couldn’t get tighter…”your legs cage him, making your back arch and his dick reach deeper in places no one ever had. “needy little girl… feels good, huh?” you moan, mouth open and he takes the chance to spit on it. and when you quickly and obediently swallow what he gives you? he speeds up. “fucking slut. you love this, don’t you? love the fact that i’m breaking you apart. fuck. you even let me go in raw, bet you’ll even let me breed you if i wanted, huh?” your cunt flutters and his head hangs for a second as a strangled moan leaves him. just for a moment there, he almost lost control and busted. “you want it, honey? want my cum deep into this pretty little womb of yours?” you moan and he lets go of your neck to slap your cheek again, softly, but harsh enough to make your clit twitch. “answer me.”

“yes, yes, plea-“

“not you.” he grunts, going harsher, deeper, faster. “i’m not talking to you. i’m talking to her.” your breath leaves your lungs once two of his fingers meet your puffy clit, rolling it, pinching it. your pussy squelches. and he hums. “yeah? you want it that much?” another squeeeelch!, you’re dripping down to his sheets. “then take it, pretty. it’s all yours.” and you scream, ‘cause the way in which you’re coming when his thick warm ropes of cum fill you is insane. it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your ears ring, your vision darkens at the corners, your brain seems to melt, and your pussy squirts in little unstopping spurts that soak his cock, balls, sheets… your juices are everywhere, and fuck if it doesn’t make spencer come even harder…

by the time his balls are drained and his hips halt, his cock up to the base inside you to keep you plugged in with his cum, you’re basically passed out, eyes crossed as you try to focus back onto the present. you can’t even remember your name. fuck, you can’t even remember how to breath.

and your legs shake like crazy when in a flip he’s got you on all fours —well not all, since one of his hands has your face smudged against one of his pillows—. “again.” he says, breathless as he pushes in his still hard cock into your abused and stuffed cunt. “show me how you squirt again. i wanna see it again.”

you were not getting out of this alive.

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

ngl, I AM SO HYPED FOR THIS JUST FROM THE BASE PLOT SUMMARY I FREAKIN LOVE ANASTASIA

stay, i pray you

the stranger things x anastasia (1997) crossover no one asked for

welcome to the Stay, I Pray You masterlist <3

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've dreamt of a family for as long as you can possibly remember. Living an unfulfilled life ever since you woke up in a strange New York City hospital 10 years ago. The only hint of your prior life took the shape of a raggedy t-shirt, littered with holes and faint white writing. "Hawkins".

In a desperate attempt to reunite with your past, you bump into Steve Harrington, a known con-man, and his tight-knit group of misfits, Robin Buckley and Dustin Henderson. Together, the four of you begin an adventure unlike anything you've faced before, with a trail of secrets and horrors lying in your wake.

Warnings + Content: 18+ MDNI! strong language, mentions of previous injury (canon to ST), mentions of injuries, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of mental health and mental health diagnoses, stigma surrounding mental health, references to the upside down and vecna.

ACT I - things my heart used to know.

Chapter I - Coming July 2025 Chapter II - Coming Soon Chapter III - Coming Soon Chapter IV - Coming Soon Chapter V - Coming Soon Chapter VI - Coming Soon

ACT II - i'd find you again...

Coming September 2025

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so excited to write this fic and introduce you to Steve and Princess' relationship. I love the movie Anastasia so much, and I adore Steve so to get to write about the two in such a way is just everything to me. This is based on both the movie and the 2017 musical - I've loosely followed the plot and just tweaked it so it fits more into the Stranger Things universe. Things may seem confusing at first, but it will all make sense before Act II is published.

Please read the content and warnings before you start reading this fic, I've tried to keep it as light-hearted as possible, but there are several aspects of the story that I want to explore in more detail (which, if you're aware of the plot of Anastasia, you might be able to guess before reading the chapters). Keeping yourself safe is more important than reading a fanfic written by a random person - please remember that! <3

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

steve needing it so bad but knows the two of you won’t have time or there isn’t a hidden enough spot to get away with it so he opts— more so begs to dry hump in the backseat of his car he’s so desperate his eyes fighting to stay open as he grips your hips looking up at you with glittering brown eyes soft pants and little grunts and whines of needing more he just needs you so bad he’ll take whatever he can get

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

nsfw. mdni. more of a thought than a blurb but oh well. blowjob. male orgasm. mentions of bodily fluid.

he would be so whiny, an absolute baby, all tired from working all day stacking shelves and ringing up customers. he's so tired that he doesn't even notice his belt and pants being undone because the second his head hits the bed, sleep starts to consume him.

it's not until his underwear is being pulled down and he feels the cool air on his cock that he looks down to see you lick the underside of him. he throbs against your tongue, a breathy sigh falling from his lips as you watch him grow before your eyes. his lil precum spills from the tip and you lap it right up, watching as he squirms, thighs tensing from your touch.

"fuck, baby, i don't think i have it in me tonight," he gasps, truly exhausted from work and struggling to focus because it just feels so fucking good when you touch him.

"it's okay, stevie, just relax. i'll do all the work." you rub a hand up his torso, his shirt pulling with it and revealing his happy trail. and the smile he gives is more than enough insentive for doing as such.

"yeah?" he wants to make sure, but rather than answering, you take him in your mouth. he throws his head back, hands coining through his hair as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your face.

the room is quickly filled with nothing but the sweet sounds of steve's moans and your lips smacking around his cock as you take him fully, the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat with ease. he tries to hold out, tries to last as long as possible, but you have him absolutely losing control, and he's quick to come undone. his cum filling your mouth and you lick up every last bit, making sure not to waste a single drop.

★ back to masterlist ⋮ join my taglist ⋮ blog rules

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

18+ steve who is obsessed with mouthing at your pussy.

steve who doesn’t just eat you out, though he loves that too, loves making you cum on his tongue until you’re shaking—but it’s different when he’s just kissing you there. soft, slick, lazy kisses like he’s making out with your puffy wet sex. he lies on his stomach for it, arms locked around your thighs, grinding slow and helpless into the mattress while he mouths at your soaked, swollen pussy like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. “still with me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice thick and teasing, lips brushing your pudgy clit as he talks. “still got that pretty little brain, or did i kiss it outta you?” and you can’t answer. you’re too far gone, trembling and teary and babbling nonsense, but he just groans like it’s the hottest thing in the world, presses another kiss to your clit that makes you jerk, hips jumping, thighs twitching. he moans at the way you react, starts rocking harder into the bed while his tongue slips out for one slow drag. “fuck, look at you,” he breathes, smiling against your cunt. “so sensitive. i could do this all night.” and he means it. he’s not trying to make you cum again—not right away. he just wants to stay there, face buried between your legs, kissing you through every broken sound you make while he humps the sheets just as needy as you.

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

making out with steve harrington would be all heavy breathy, messy hair, wandering hands and soft muttering between kisses, he's one of those boys that in theory thinks he could kiss for hours on end but it never takes him long to lose his mind and get frustrated, he's such a talker too, asking what you like and what you don't, asking you questions that he knows you can't answer when his lips are on your neck, under your jaw or on the inside of your wrist <3

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

|| perv!eddie this, perv!eddie that. someone hand over some perv!Steve harrington right now!!

this is entirely self indulgent. I am no writer butttt i'm gonna share cause I have Steve Harrington disease lately... not sure how to label or tag this. it's purely word vomit. not quite a drabble, but also not quite hc. idk!!

There's just not enough Perv!Steve out there.

read part two here

i want perv!steve whose had no luck with getting dates since summer ended and everyone but him went back to school.

perv!steve who’s going through his longest dry spell ever and god he’s so desperate for someone, anyone. small glimpses of stomachs and thighs on the occasional hot day as we head into autumn, and he’s done for. routinely rushing back to the break room to talk himself down from spilling over in his levis. trying his best to convince robin that he’s fine he just had bad food for lunch.

jeez, how many times can he eat the same unlucky burger? she knows him better than that and she thinks it’s disgusting.

perv!steve who can’t help but gawk at you as you walk through the video store aisles, bending over just slightly to pull a movie off the third shelf. the neckline of your shirt falling open just enough to show off part of your chest. your skin looks so soft. if only he could reach out and—..

perv!steve who chokes and stutters while ringing you out cause you took a piece of candy from the little bowl next to the register that they leave out for kids who come in and — god

he can’t believe you just licked your fingers in front of him.

he’s so fucking grateful for the counter that separates you cause otherwise you’d see how hard he is getting right now.

perv!steve who has to rush to the back room to take care of the ache between his legs the minute you leave. white knuckling the sink of the employee bathroom because you fumbled and dropped your change on the way out of the store and he got to see you crouch down. your shorts hiking up your thighs showing off nothing but yet somehow showing everything.

perv!steve who has to go to the bathroom immediately when he enters your house for movie night. he did not expect you to open the door in your skimpy little pjs.

christ, why are you wearing that? something so.. so small and see through in front of company.

he didn’t know what the deal was but fuck he was in awe of you. the image of your barely clad body painted on the inside of his eyelids as his hands smoothed over the growing bulge in his pants.

perv!steve who has to give himself a quick pep talk before he leaves the bathroom to meet you on the couch.

he's a good boy, he knows he is. its just a movie..who doesn't love a good movie night? just friends watching Back to the Future. there's nothing sexy about Marty Mcfly. there's nothing sexy about the thin fabric that draped itself over you and how he would give nothing more than to rip it right off to reveal the rest of you.

holding his breath as he walks over to plop down next to you, trying not to stare too hard but — fuck.. did he just see the outline of your nipple through your top?

it’s fine.. it’s. fine. don’t look again. just watch the movie, harrington.

perv!steve who cares soooo very much about your modesty, especially after you fall asleep. all he can do is stare. eyes scanning over you, up and down. over. and over. as if he’s searching for something. aha! he found it. your pitiful excuse for pajamas had hiked up around your soft perfect thighs, when you nestled into the corner of the couch. fucking hell, if he wasn’t such a gentleman he’d take advantage of this sight and reach into his jeans to relieve the aching, dripping, throbbing mess that’s built up.

perv!steve who found himself biting down on his knuckles watching you shift and turn in your slumber. your top wrinkling and bunching up even more. your nipples erect and protruding the paper thin fabric as the ceiling fan in your living room hit your uncovered body. he watches as your body reacts to the cold air. nipples prominent, goosebumps covering every inch of you. how could you be so careless?

it's like you wanted him to see. if only he could help you out, he'd be so kind to you. kiss the cold chills off your body, every. single. inch. starting at your ankles, up your legs, over your stomach, every curve, every crevice. he'd make you feel so fucking good..

no, he can't. this sight is enough, fuck, it might be more than enough to carry him over until he leaves.

perv!steve who just needs to touch you. he needs it. your body was so soft. not only did it look so heavenly, it was there, it was right there, and it would feel so fucking good in his hands but he can’t. he is much nicer than that. he's a good boy... but he has a solution.

perv!steve who takes the quilt hung over the back of the couch to cover your body. the stir beside you makes you shift a bit, your beautiful eyes fluttering open for just a moment—

"Steve?” you mutter quietly, the sight of him leaning over you has you confused.

he freezes, the quilt bunched up in his grasp. he shushes you with a simple "..was just covering you up."

he plays it cool, but holy shit, he could cream his pants right now. who knew the sound of his name in your mouth would make him shudder the way it did. pre beading off his swollen tip under the thick denim.

perv!steve who drapes you in the hand sewn quilt, it's as close as his hands have gotten to your body before. apart from that high five you gave him that one time .

he did his best to be good, he really did but he had to feel you just once. his finger tips finding the curve of your shoulder, gently dragging over the exposed skin. your skin was so soft, felt like velvet under his touch. he dragged his fingers down to grab the quilt that covered the parts he needed to look away from. bringing it back up and over your shoulder. you were still inbetween awake and asleep when he spoke again.

“ ’m gonna head out. see you tomorrow.." he speaks just above a whisper.

his jeans managing to get even tighter as you nod. moaning an "mhmmm.. g'night stevie" softly in response.

he’s gotta get out of here.

perv!steve who basically books it out of the house and into the car. not even bothering to fumble with the key in the ignition. he needs to take care of the throbbing mess that's going on. his fingers tripping over his zipper as he rushes to get himself free. he has to jerk off. now. he needs to use that very hand that he just finally touched you with to pull his cock out. he’s sitting in your driveway, spit falling off his tongue and into his hand. smearing the wetness all over his tender red tip. the groan he lets out is guttural.

he feels so fucking guilty but you’re not gonna know, right? Steve wastes no time, each tug of his cock is desperate and rough. it’s not gentle like you would do it but it’ll curb the craving for now. all he can think about is the sound of your voice when you said his name. the way your nipples protruded in your clothing. the way your voice was so smooth when it rang through his ears.

you’d sound so fucking pretty with his cock inside you. the noises he can't wait to hear fall from those pretty lips of yours. the way you'll fit so perfectly on his cock..

y-yeah

it'll stretch you right open. he'll make sure of it—

fucking.. fuck. oh my god.

he came quickly. hot sticky ropes landing in the thick strip of hair on his lower stomach. his chest heaving as he stares at your front door, almost as if he's waiting for you to come out and catch him like this. fucked out, limp, covered in mess.. all because of you. there's some guilt in him, but the high he felt from the time spent with you is much more prevalent. he can't wait for the next movie night. might even suggest a sleepover.

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

ur perv!steve gives me liiife i need sm more

18+ perv!steve is so special to me

“ugh, my back’s killing me,” you groan, twisting awkwardly on steve’s couch as you try and reach the sore spot just above your hips. “i think i tweaked something at the gym. or maybe i slept on it wrong. it’s like—ow, god—it’s so tight right there.”

you’re on your knees, facing the back cushions, arching in a stretch that pulls your shirt up over the swell of your ass. your tiny cotton shorts ride up with it, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. steve shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking. but his eyes are glued to the bare strip of skin above your waistband, the soft little dip of your spine, the way your thighs shift when you squirm.

“oh—“ he chokes out, just gawking at you. “that.. that sucks.”

“i’ll live,” you sigh, flopping forward dramatically. “unless you wanna be my knight in shining armor and fix it for me.”

steve blinks. “fix—like, your back?”

you glance over your shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “yeah. you said you give good massages, remember? or was that just you flirting?”

he chokes. “uh—no. i mean, yeah. i can do that. massage. your back.”

you smile sleepily and sink into the couch cushions. “god bless. you’re saving my life.”

he walks over slowly, blood already buzzing with something dangerous. you’re stretched out on your stomach now, completely relaxed, shirt hitched up over your hips, those tight little shorts barely covering anything. you don’t seem to notice. or maybe you do—and just trust him not to be weird about it.

joke’s on you.

steve kneels beside the couch and places his hands tentatively on your lower back. your skin is soft. warm. he can feel the edge of your waistband under his thumbs.

“okay?” he murmurs.

“mmhmm.” your voice is muffled in the cushions. “feels good already.”

he starts slow. smooth, firm strokes up your spine, gentle pressure as he works his way into the tightness near your ribs. you hum like it’s the best thing you’ve felt all day, and his chest swells with something hot and ugly.

he drags his palms lower. presses into the base of your spine, then circles his thumbs just above your ass. your breath catches, but you don’t pull away.

“that spot?” he asks, feigning nonchalance.

“right there,” you mumble. “keep going…”

your hips shift slightly into the couch, just a twitch, and steve’s hands stall for half a second.

shit.

his eyes flick down. the fabric of your shorts stretches tight over your ass, and he can see the faintest shadow of your panties through the material. lace. pink. his stomach flips.

he clears his throat, tries to focus. presses his thumbs in a little harder. you gasp—soft, bitten off—and exhale slow, like the tension’s draining out of you.

and then you wiggle. just a little. a lazy, sleepy roll of your hips, like you’re getting comfortable again.

steve’s cock twitches in his jeans.

he bites the inside of his cheek. don’t. don’t get hard. don’t fucking do this. she’s your friend. she trusts you. she asked for your help, and you’re going to sit here with a boner like a creep?

you sigh again, all soft and breathy and sweet, and that’s it.

he feels himself start to stiffen, thick and heavy behind his zipper, his skin prickling with heat. every innocent little sound you make goes straight to his balls. the skin tightening with need.

he grits his teeth and presses his palm flat over the small of your back, trying to ground himself. but your skin’s too warm. too soft. you make another tiny whine and grind your hips again, and he can’t stop it.

he’s hard.

fuck.

you groan, louder this time—drawn out and low, hips tipping into the cushions.

“mmph, god, right there,” you mumble, voice all thick and hazy. “feels so fucking good stevie…”

steve’s breath catches. you’ve never cursed in front of him like that. not about him. and your voice—it’s wrecked. wrecked from just a massage?

his cock throbs against the seam of his zipper.

you shift again, a full body stretch that pushes your ass back into his hands, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. your thighs part a little, loose and relaxed. the motion pulls your shorts higher—fabric bunched, lace peeking out, nearly riding up between your cheeks.

you’re panting now. softly, rhythmically. you don’t even realize. don’t hear the wet, shaky breath he lets out over your spine.

“stevie,” you whisper, and it’s so raw, so unconsciously needy that he nearly groans.

his hand flexes on your back, trembling slightly.

he knows you’re not doing it on purpose. knows you’re just so deep into it, so blissed out from his hands and the pressure and the warmth that you don’t even hear yourself moaning into his couch, gasping his name like that.

but it doesn’t matter.

his cock is hard. so fucking hard. already leaking. already aching.

and you’re still laying there, arching into him, thighs loose, breath catching every time his fingers dig a little deeper. completely unaware of what you’re doing to him.

completely unaware of what he’s about to do.

his palm drags slow over the curve of your back, watching how you melt under it. every time he presses down, your breath hitches. every time his thumbs sweep near the waistband of your shorts, your hips roll forward, like your body’s chasing friction without you even realizing.

you gasp again—louder this time, raw and sudden—and your thighs squeeze together. he watches it all. feels it under his hands.

god, his cock aches.

he moves his left hand to steady himself on the cushion by your ribs, hovering over you now, chest heaving. the other slips under his waistband—slow, deliberate. fingers wrap around the thick, slick length of himself, and he exhales through his teeth the second he makes contact.

fuck, he’s so hard it hurts. the ruddy tip of him already wet, smearing precum against his palm as he strokes.

you’re still moaning. little muffled whines into the couch, hips shifting in slow, needy motions. not even aware you’re doing it. not aware he’s got his cock out right behind you, jerking himself off like some depraved fuck while you squirm and sigh and whisper his name.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, eyes locked on the dip of your waist. “you don’t even know, do you? so fuckin’ sweet. so perfect. you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

your fingers curl into the cushion, and you let out this soft, choked whimper. he watches your thighs tense, watches you grind into the couch, hips moving with lazy, desperate rhythm.

he jerks himself faster. breath shallow, wrist slick. his cock’s flushed dark, twitching in his grip, every nerve ending lit up.

your breath hitches. your back arches. one of your legs drags up the couch, knee bent, like your body’s getting closer to something—like you’re gonna cum just from this. just from his hands. from the weight of his body and the heat of his voice and the slow, steady drag of the cushion between your thighs.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” he breathes. “keep going. don’t stop.”

you don’t hear him. or if you do, you think he’s still just massaging you.

his hand pumps faster. you’re panting now, sweet little moans punched out of you with every slow rut of your hips. he can hear how wet you are, even through the fabric. the soaked drag of your panties against the couch. the soft slap of your thighs when they rock together.

“god, you sound so good,” he groans under his breath. “don’t even fuckin’ know how good you sound. how pretty you look like this. how long i’ve wanted—”

your breath catches. your body goes tense, thighs shaking—and then soft. boneless. your hips give one last lazy grind before settling, your mouth parted against your arm.

you’re quiet. and still.

you just came. you just fucking came.

he loses it.

he fucks into the sticky tight opening of his fist once, twice more before he’s spilling over his hand with a strangled, quiet groan, chest pressed to your back as he jerks himself through it. hot and messy and filthy, cum striping his fingers, dripping onto his waistband. he squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on a gasp, hips twitching as the last of it leaks out.

you don’t move. don’t look. you just breathe—slow, steady, completely dazed.

he stays there, hunched over you, hand still wet, cock still pulsing.

and you?

you don’t even know.

“you’re so good, stevie.” you hum, eyes closed as if you’re about to doze off. “made me feel so good.”

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter nineteen

⭐︎ When you’re lying between my legs, it doesn’t matter

Warnings: 18+, mdni! jealousy, possessive!Steve, mentions of Aaron, smut, a very very starved Steve, for you filthy fuckers

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Jealousy and possessiveness overcomes Steve when he realizes that there is more to your night with Aaron, and he can't help but want to prove himself to you and show you who you belong to.

Word count: 12k+

Author's note: My apologies for the unusual long wait for this chapter! I promise it is worth it though! I honestly only wrote the angsty parts in this chapter, all the smut and what came after is written by @hellfire--cult LETS ALL SAY THANK YOU TO ROE CASUE SHE CAME THROUGH

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

Chocolate brown eyes follow your every movement, softness lingering in them. A sweet but guilty smile rested on his face. The small scar on his upper lip spreads every time his mouth curls upwards. Leaning against the doorway of the RV, he twists the rings on his fingers as he watches your concentrated face and the way you are so focused on rearranging the supply shelf in the tiny kitchen.

The happiness glimmers in your eyes and lingers on your entire face. You are humming again, probably your favorite song, it sounds like ‘Take My Breath Away’. Your energy is intoxicating, lifting him up again as well. 

But something stirs in his chest, something unpleasant—the guilt of how he treated you, of how he made you feel eating at him now. You aren’t angry at him; he knows you aren’t. But he is furious at himself for hurting you, for making you feel like he didn’t want you around anymore, like you aren’t one of his closest, best friends, like you aren’t the closest thing that will come to a sister. 

Eddie clears his throat, announcing his presence behind you – you haven’t noticed him until now, but when you turn and look over your shoulder, a smile appears on your face, “hey!”

Eddie uncrosses his arms and steps further inside the RV, smiling at you. 

“Hi, what are you doing?” 

You hold up a can of corn, “checking the expiration dates. So far it all looks good, we gotta eat some of this corn though, it expires before the tuna and the beans.”

Eddie nods and takes a look outside. Steve is cleaning your weapons while Nancy is scrubbing away at her dirty boots, sitting across from him. 

He turns back around and walks closer to you, eying all the cans you have collected. He kneels down beside you, reaching for the corn. His eyes scan the writing on the can, but his mind doesn’t really follow what he is reading. He clears his throat, almost feeling a bit awkward when he looks at you. 

“What do you think about it?”

“About what?” You ask without missing a beat, raising your brow at him. 

“About corn, do you like it?” 

An amused look crosses your face, and you smile at him, shrugging. “It’s good, I guess, don’t have much of a choice.” You laugh. 

Eddie nods and looks back down with furrowed eyebrows. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. 

Your smile fades a little when you notice his expression. His lips quirk up, but he doesn’t look amused in the slightest. 

Worry rushes through you as you eye him. You place the can you are holding down and move closer to him, “hey…” you whisper, placing your hand on his shoulder, “are you okay, Eddie?”

When Eddie looks back at you, the guilt inside of him grows even bigger, becoming more intense than before. Here you are, worrying about him even after he treated you so badly. Your eyes are soft yet saddened as you take in his expression, scanning him like you fear that he might be in pain – and if he were, then you would, without a doubt, jump up and try to find a solution to try and make him feel better. And that makes him feel worse. 

Eddie takes in a sharp breath before he shakes his head. He puts the can down and runs his hand down his face as he turns around and sits down, leaning his back against the counter. He takes a moment, and you give him the time to find the right words. 

You settle down beside him, waiting for him to be ready. 

When he finally looks at you again, you notice the look in his eyes – the guilt and the regret. Genuine remorse. 

“I am so sorry, Sunshine.” 

When you furrow your eyebrows and you purse your lips, staring at him like you are confused. The guilt only spreads. He wonders how many times people – ‘friends’ have failed you in your life for you to feel confused now when it should be so clear what he apologized for. 

“I said some things I didn’t mean, and I treated you so badly you believed I didn’t want you around anymore. Nancy had every reason to be there for you, to defend you. I failed you. You are… You are the closest thing I have to a sister, and I made you feel like I changed my mind about you.” 

His voice is filled with sadness, and his eyes are too. You know his words are genuine. Your eyes soften, and your heart swells in your chest. This means a lot to you, more than he could know. A sliver of happiness flashes in your eyes at the word ‘sister’. 

But there is also guilt inside of you as well – the one you almost forgot, caused by the happiness Steve had given you these past few days. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” You whisper, sighing as you look down. “But I know I shouldn’t have gone with Aaron.” You admit, showing him your own guilt. 

Eddie shakes his head and reaches out to squeeze your knee. 

“It wasn’t fair that I encouraged it and then took it back when I saw how hurt Steve was. I was trying to look out for both of you and ended up playing with your emotions too, which was wrong, and I got mean. I’m sorry.” 

You look down at his hand, and you place yours on top of his. You look back up at him, giving him a kind smile that shows him that you aren’t angry at him. 

“It’s okay, Eddie. I’m just glad that Steve had you.” 

Eddie can tell that it isn’t all you want to say, but just like you gave him the time that he needed, he gives it to you as well, waiting for you. He can see that it isn’t easy for you, especially when your eyes dart back and forth, and the regret basically takes over your whole face. 

“I really shouldn’t have gone with Aaron… I feel bad, and I felt awful when Steve confessed to me…” You admit in deep regret. 

“You shouldn’t. I think we all feel guilty about how we acted the past few weeks, but it seems like it all worked out for the best now.” Eddie nods his head towards Steve, who finally doesn’t look angry or like a kicked puppy. And Nancy doesn’t look like she wants to kill him anymore. 

A smile spreads on your face when your eyes stay on your boyfriend a little longer. Heat creeps up to your cheeks, and you can’t help but blush the longer you look at him. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, happily. 

Eddie’s eyes light up when he sees your smile. He nudges your shoulder and laughs when you start blushing. 

“You’re cute, Sunshine.” He grins and wraps his arm around you. “You know I’m still keeping you right?” He says with a serious tone in his voice. 

His words take you back to your very first interaction with him, when Steve wanted nothing more than for you to leave Hawkins while Eddie was set on making you stay, and ‘keeping’ you. 

You wonder if he remembers Steve’s reaction. 

“She’s not a fucking puppy!” You mimic Steve’s angry voice from back then. 

Eddie’s laughter shows you that he still remembers, and it makes you smile. 

“No.” Eddie shakes his head with a grin as he looks down at you, tapping your shoulder. “Not a puppy. A goddamn wolf.” 

You giggle in amusement and lean your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are still glued to him. Your heart flutters every time you think of your first kiss, his confession, his touch, his desperation, and how he needs and wants you just as much as you do with him. He matches your neediness, your feelings, and the deep want inside of you. 

“Hey Eddie?” 

Eddie hums, raising his eyebrows at you, but your eyes never stray from Steve. 

“Tell me more about your Sweetheart.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a smile spreads on his lips, and he clears his throat. 

“Oh, gladly!” 

-

“Hey Nance?” 

The girl lifts her head, looking at the brunette with raised eyebrows. Steve is not even looking at her, his eyes are glued on you, looking through the open door of the RV where you are sitting on the ground with Eddie, giggling at something the metalhead had said to you. 

“Yeah?” 

A soft smile lingers on his face when your laughter echoes. He looks away after a long moment and turns to face Nancy. He clears his throat as he locks eyes with her. 

“Thank you.”

A line appears between her eyebrows, and she shakes her head a little, “what for?”

“For being there for her.” Steve tilts his head in your direction. “For being a good friend to her. For having her back when I– you know…” He trails off, not wanting to say it out loud. 

Nancy’s blue eyes soften when she glances at you. 

“Correction; she is my best friend.” Nancy murmurs with a small smile on her face. The word ‘best friend’ feels so foreign rolling off her tongue after not having used it since Barb. 

Steve swallows the growing lump in his throat. He knows how much she struggled after losing her only best friend before you, how closed off she was. He remembers how she was around Robin, kind but… distant – if only he knew the real reason for that back then. 

He can see how you not only sneaked your way into his heart but also into hers and Eddie’s. And he knows that if Robin was around, you’d be so loved by her as well. 

“I’ll always have her back.” Nancy promises as she looks back at Steve, now with a hint of guilt in her eyes. “But… I need to tell you something too.” 

Now it’s his turn to raise his eyebrows and tilt his head to the side – a little habit he picked up from you. 

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment with a huff. If there is one thing that Nancy Wheeler doesn’t like, then it’s too apologize and admit that she was wrong, but that is needed. 

“I’m sorry.” She mutters under her breath and opens her eyes again. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, it wasn’t fair of me to be so… rude.”

Steve’s face relaxes again, and he nods in understanding. He isn’t angry at her, he also wasn’t hurt, not the way you were by Eddie’s cold shoulder at least. He waves his hand at her, shaking his head.

“It’s fine, Nance.” He mumbles, unable to hold back his chuckle when he sees the way the guilt slowly vanishes in her eyes. “Honestly, it’s fine. I kinda deserved that–”

“You didn’t. I thought you led her on, but you didn’t. You were scared of your feelings, and that’s why you pushed her away. I didn’t know that. If I did… I would have been less… of an asshole.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Less? But you would have still been an asshole, right?” Steve asks, smiling at her in amusement. 

“I can’t help that when it comes to men… especially men who hurt my best friend.” She shrugs, giving him an unapologetic smile. 

He cringes a little at her words, not the asshole part, the part in which she reminded him of the hurt he put you through. 

“Yeah…” Steve whispers and looks back at you. “I-I was an asshole.”

Nancy sees the remorse; she can practically feel it radiating off of him. 

“You’re not one anymore, that’s what matters.” She reminds him as she leans back in her chair, dropping her sponge and boots on the ground. “And still… I’m sorry for how I treated you.”

Steve turns back to her, a small smile appearing on his face. 

“Seriously, it’s fine, Nance.” He promises. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. He clears his throat and looks around.

Nancy can tell that he wants to say more, but he needs a moment to find the right words. When she sees the way his cheeks heat up and he grows a little flustered, she grows a little curious. She leans forward again and brings both her hands together. 

“You can make it up to me, though…” He whispers and glances at the RV to make sure you aren’t coming out. 

“How?” Nancy asks, getting a little amused by the embarrassment suddenly taking over his face. 

“I– Sunshine.” Steve whispers softly. “We haven’t… you know?” 

Nancy needs a second to grasp what he is trying to say, but when he waves around with his hand and his eyes narrow and widen a little, her face dawns in realization, and she can’t help but giggle. 

“Oh!” 

Steve rolls his eyes at her teasing expression, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing this conversation. 

“We were close to it, but… I didn’t want it to be here.” He mutters and gestures to the RV. “She deserves something better than this.”

Nancy is pretty sure that anything could be special when you are with the right person, but she knows that Steve is set on making it extraordinary for someone like you. 

“But you could make it special too, you know?” She speaks softly so you won’t hear, as she also gestures to the RV. “You could find some candles and new bedsheets, maybe a few string lights to make it… look cute.”

Steve shakes his head with a sigh. 

“No, I want it to be a real date.” He mumbles as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I want it to be just us, nobody around.”

“Oh, you’re scared that we’re gonna hear something you don’t want us to hear.” Nancy giggles and wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Are you scared we’re gonna like her moans?” 

Steve looks at her a little bewildered. He frowns at her, huffing, “you– you and Munson, I swear to god. He is rubbing off on you, Nance.” 

“Okay, okay.” She clears her throat. “I’ll stop, I’m sorry!” 

Steve rolls his eyes and shakes his head again. He falls quiet for a second. 

“I just– I need her first time to be perfect, she… she hasn’t experienced anything. I can’t just do it out of nowhere in a night we are horny.” He exclaims with a blush on his cheeks. He continued his ramble, not realizing that Nancy had completely zoned out and frozen. 

“It’s never gotten further than a makeout for her– like she… is basically at zero when it comes to sex… And I don't–”

Only when her teasing smile fades and awkwardness takes over her face does he realize. She is frowning and sitting with a straight back all a sudden. 

“Are you listening–”

She nods as she snaps out of her thoughts, “um yeah…! I just think that you are making a big deal out of it.” She stands up and scratches the back of her neck, looking at anything but him. 

He frowns at her words and her behaviour. A weird feeling settles in his chest, knowing at what point of his ramble she froze. There is a knowing look on her face, but a guilty one in her eyes, and it makes him frown. 

She looks like she knows something that he doesn’t, and it suddenly makes him feel… irritated. He straightens his back and squints his eyes at her. 

“Nancy…”

The tone in his voice makes her anxious, and she feels the sudden urge to run off and not look at him anymore, which she chooses to do. She picks up her gun and her dirty boots. 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go wash my boots… by the lake.” She stutters, which only gives away that he is in the shadows about something that she isn’t. She never stutters, she never gets nervous, and she never bolts in the middle of a conversation, least of all during one where he asked for advice. 

Before he can ask another question, she rushes away and makes her way down the little hill, leaving him confused. There is a small part in him that has an idea of what made her react that way, and it makes him feel an anger he only felt back in the community in Wyoming. 

Steve takes a deep breath, eyes still following Nancy. The only time he remembers her acting that way was when she came back from patrolling with Robin – he only recently found out that Robin kissed her that night and Nancy didn’t know how to process that, considering her breakup with Jonathan was very fresh and her feelings for Robin were intense. 

He slowly looks towards the RV where you’re in, and the pit in his stomach grows when he thinks of all the possibilities for Nancy’s weird behaviour and silence about whatever had caused her to feel that way once your sexual experience was mentioned. 

Unlike before, he wastes no time getting up in search of confrontation. He makes his way to the RV with a heavy feeling in his chest, and every playfulness and light feeling vanish in only a few seconds. 

Eddie is just stepping out when he is about to walk inside. The metalhead grins at him, eyes searching for his best friend, who fled to the lake. 

“Where’s Nance–”

“Lake.” Is all that Steve says before he brushes past Eddie and slams the door once he is out.

Eddie blinks a few times, staring at the door in confusion, “okay…?”

Despite the sudden slam of the door, you don’t flinch, you don’t even notice the angry look on Steve’s face. You just turn around and get up after putting the last can of corn away. 

“Hey! I’m gonna make some tuna ‘salad’ tonight, with mostly corn cause it’s about to expire and–”

“Can I ask you something?” Steve cuts you off, not even listening to what you were saying. His mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only. 

You press your lips together and furrow your eyebrows. Realizing your boyfriend’s irritated expression, you frown in worry. 

“Um… yeah?”

Steve takes a step closer to you. His hazel eyes were missing their usual softness. His eyebrows are pulled together, and his lips are curled downwards. Something is on his mind, something that’s not leaving him any rest. You know it won’t take long to find out what it is, not when he looks at you like this. 

“When you said you and Aaron haven’t… what did you mean by that?”

Your lips part in surprise at the question, not having expected this topic at all. It’s something you have wanted to approach yourself, but couldn’t find the right time to yet, not when everything was so good and… happy. 

Nervousness seeps inside of you, and embarrassment flashes over your face. Your heartbeat picks up, and you bring your hands together. 

“Well… that I’m… still you know…” You stutter as your ears start burning. 

Steve licks the insides of his cheeks, and he clenches his jaw. Your reactions give you away, and he can’t help but feel jealousy sink back in. He starts walking closer to you. 

You quickly notice that Steve isn’t in a playful, lovely mood at all, and it strikes fear inside of you. 

“Mhm.” He hums, nodding. “But does that mean you haven’t done… anything?” 

You look up at him wide-eyed, and his heart melts at that sight – yet the irritation is still strong. 

Your heart sinks to your stomach when you see just how angry he looks. The fear was growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. You are not gonna hide the truth from him, but you are afraid to say those words out loud. 

“I– I didn’t think you would… that you would give us a chance and so…. I-I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, but I couldn’t fully commit–” 

“Sunshine.” Steve says sternly as he stops right in front of you, pushing you up against the counter behind you. “What did you two do?” 

The tone in his voice is serious and angry, almost hateful – and in this moment, you aren’t sure if that is directed towards you or Aaron. Your eyes start burning, and your vision blurs. 

His hands grip the counter on each side, caging you in and not giving you the chance to run away. Your heart starts pounding stronger. You aren’t scared of him. You are scared of his reaction. 

Is it over just before it really started? 

You look up at him with teary eyes. He can tell that you are afraid, and he wants to take that fear away so badly, but he needs you to tell him what you’ve done first. 

“I– It doesn’t matter now, does it? I– We weren’t–”

“What did you two do?” Steve asks again, not wanting you to talk around that topic anymore. 

Your bottom lip quivers and your shoulders slump as you give up, accepting that he might not want you anymore after this. Suddenly, it feels like your feelings mean nothing to him anymore, and he is only set on that one thing. 

You hang your head low and look down at the ground, trying to blink away the tears. You take a deep breath as you think back to that night. 

“He… He touched me…” You admit with a shaky voice. “And went down…” You bite your bottom lip roughly, waiting for the blow of Steve’s words. 

Steve takes in sharp breath. The jealousy inside of him now burned stronger than ever, knowing what Aaron did that night. He is livid. He clenches his jaw as he stares down at you. He tries to think rational, he tries to stay calm, he tries, he really does, but his feelings win in the end, and before he can dwell on it, he turns on his heel and rushes out the RV, slamming the door just the way he did when he walked in. 

And you stand there, frozen in place as your heart sinks deeper and deeper, and the tears threaten to fall. You grip the edges of the counter and stare at the ground, not knowing what to do. 

This is it? This… is it? 

You blink a few times, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to feel. Should you go after him and explain the situation? But then again, what is there to explain? Should you go after him to fix it? Is there any way to fix it? Is what you did wrong?? Is it wrong of him to–

Your head snaps up when the door opens again, and your eyes lock with his hazel ones that are burning with jealousy and an intensity that almost makes your knees buckle. He slams the door loudly, and he moves quickly to the front, quickly turning the knob of the dial, rising the music up. Not that loud, but certainly louder than the dim sounds coming from before.

The look on his face, the rising up and down of his chest, the angry look in his eyes – he intimidates you in this moment, and your body seems to like it. Heat pools in your belly, and goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“Steve–”

He takes two steps towards you, taking you by surprise when he cradles your face and smashes his lips against yours, kissing you roughly. 

Your eyes widen as you feel his lips moving urgently against yours. You were confused. You were completely certain that he looked angry, that he didn’t like what you told him. Now, he was kissing you like a man starved, like his life depended on it. You could feel his fingertips digging into the sides of your head, deep into your scalp.

Your hands were gripping his sides, the warm sweater clinging to him, and you were feeling the RV become warmer and warmer. You were slowly melting into the kiss, his tongue slipping out of his mouth to lick your bottom one, requesting access, or more like demanding it. 

You let him in without question, without doubts, without hesitation, even if you were confused at the whiplash of emotions. The music dimmed and dimmed in your ears as they started to ring, also hearing the rushing of blood going to your brain. Your brain that was becoming mush with each second that his tongue danced with yours. Your knees were almost giving up on you, and your core was warming up more and more. The anticipation built inside of you, your heart quickening at an alarming rate, as your stomach turned with butterflies.

You felt the counter dig into the small of your back as he slammed you into it. His hips rubbed against yours, and his kiss never softened. He was still rough, demanding, and you loved it. You never had someone be this possessive over you. You wondered if it had anything to do with what you just told him. If it did, was it wrong for you to feel happy? Someone was jealous over you. Someone got jealous of what you did with someone else.

You never experienced that. You never experienced this. He was licking your mouth as if he were tasting his favorite dessert. You moaned into his mouth, feeling his bulge harden against your belly, and you heard him groan, almost aggressively. You felt him sucking your breath from your lungs almost, consuming you. 

He pulled away, and a string of saliva connected your lips for a short moment, your tongue almost lolling out in search of him again. He huffed, his glare permanent on his eyes as his chest rose up and down from his heavy breathing. You closed your mouth, gulping, trying to get your head together.

“What– What happened?” You asked, and his jaw clenched, his tongue licking the inside of his cheek for a second before his hands let go of your face. You felt his hands grab at your waist, pulling you away from the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. He was not answering you. The only thing you were hearing was his harsh breaths as you felt him moving you, making you walk backwards.

“Steve– What’s going on–” You were ignored once again, your heart beating into your ears as you frowned up at him. Then, you felt the back of your knees hit the bed and then, in a quick movement, his hands got underneath your armpits, lifting you up just a bit from the floor, but enough to throw you onto the bed. You bounced with a gasp, stunned at the sudden manhandling.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand moving behind him, his eyes still glued to you as he slid the blinds that separate the bedroom from the rest of the RV. This reminded you of the other night when you two got a little too carried away with one another. But didn’t he say he didn’t want it to happen in the RV? You didn’t mind if he backed off from that. You already knew it would be special just because it was going to be him.

But his eyes were still burning with anger. Jealousy. 

And he was. Seeing you on the bed like this, now knowing what Aaron had done to you, he couldn’t help but feel a fire inside of him, burning him inside out. The fact that… that man had you like this. On his bed. Probably naked. Touching you for the first time, tasting you for the first time. He got to see you before he did. He got to hear you before he did. He got to have you before he did.

Not entirely, but that little bit was enough to make him want to break something. He couldn’t erase what had happened with Aaron. It was his own fault, and you were in your whole right to live your life. He had rejected you after all… He cannot erase it. 

But he can overwrite it.

He wants to be the one you remember when you think about it. He wants to be the one who causes the butterflies in your stomach when you imagine it. He wants to be the one who makes you flush and burn each time you remember it. He wants to make your experience with him better than the experience you had with Aaron. It would not be forgotten, but he wants that memory to be dismissed. Not remembered, lacking importance. 

His eyes never left you as he ripped the sweater off him, revealing the tight navy blue long-sleeved shirt underneath. Your eyes were wide as you saw him like that, feeling your mouth water. A thin chain hung around his neck, one you hadn’t noticed before, but now it glistened, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

His knee pressed onto the bed, making his way to get on top of you. His knee nudged in between your legs, making you spread them so he could settle between them. You felt your entire face burn, and his hips lay on yours, making you grunt, jerk at the sensation. You could hear your blood rushing to your ears, making them burn. His eyes clashed with yours, and that sweet demeanor he always had with you, was gone. It was the first time you’ve seen this look on his face.

No, it wasn’t. 

It’s the same face he had when he confronted you before confessing. Though this time looked different. Last time, he looked angry, but he confessed he was hurt. Now, he looks angry, but there’s a darker tone to it. Something possessive, animalistic, feral, and it made you tremble underneath him. It was the first time someone gave you this kind of look, this kind of attention, where they are clearly showing they will devour you whole.

“S–Stevie… what’s wrong?” You asked, your voice a little small because of your nerves. His hips pressed harder against you, both of his hands caging your head against the mattress. He was staring down at you, locks of his hair falling down on his face. He saw your hair splayed, looking embarrassed, shy, and that made his blood boil even more, because he got to see you like that first. 

“I’m angry.” Was his short response, and you couldn’t help but frown. Worry etched into your heart again, only for your attention to be taken away from it, a moan escaping your lips when he rolled his hips against you one more time. He felt himself twitch in his pants, a harsh breath leaving his lungs. 

“W-Why? With me?” His eyebrow twitched at your question. How could you even think that he was angry with you? No. He was angry at himself. He was angry for being an idiot. For being scared. You weren’t to blame for anything that happened between the two of you. His jaw clenched, his head lowering to place a kiss onto the pulse point in your neck, making you sigh.

“With me.” You shook your head a bit, opening your mouth to try to talk, but you whimpered when he nibbled against your skin. Your belly turned with anticipation, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders. He pressed his body against yours, his arms coming to wrap around your body. His hands were between your back and the mattress, holding you tightly against him as his teeth ran over your skin.

He wanted to bite down. He wanted to mark you permanently. He never felt like this before, not even with Nancy. When she had been with Jonathan, he just let it happen. But now, the thought of you being with another man, even when you had been rejected, was making him feel like he had to break something. He felt like he needed to punch someone. Like he needed to make you moan his name. 

Like he needed you to scream his name.

His lips separated from your neck and instantly crashed into yours. You sighed into the kiss, your hands already disappearing into his hair like they always did. He groaned at the sensation, his lips smacking against yours in desperate motions, harsh, rough. His mind was clouding more and more, hazed by the thought of you and–

He had to stop. He had to focus before he lost complete control, and he forgot to be a gentleman. To be the nice and caring boyfriend you deserve. Because he was your boyfriend, not Aaron. He was. And you were staying with him, you said so. You said you were coming with him to California, not going back to Wyoming. He won, Aaron lost.

But fuck, Aaron still fucking had you first.

His tongue immediately plunged into your mouth, his hands coming up to grasp your head, keeping you still as his hips rolled into yours. You felt your cheeks being squished almost harshly. He was desperately holding onto you, making sure you would let him do whatever he wanted with you, and you were delighted by it. You moaned as your tongue danced with his, or tried your best to do so. 

His fingertips dug into your skin, part of your scalp, behind your ears. Just everywhere. Your hands came down to hold onto his wrists, trying to keep his rhythm, trying to follow him. You were still confused at the turn of events, confused as to why he got so angry. His right hand left your face, and in a quick movement, his left one came to grip your chin, keeping you still once again. You couldn’t help how turned on this made you. You couldn’t deny it. You were already becoming wet by how he was dominating the situation.

But then you felt his right hand moving downwards, brushing over your covered breast, groping it over your thin sweater. Your back arched and you moaned into his tongue. He breathed heavily through the kiss, and his hand kept moving down, reaching the hem of your sweater and shirt.

He pulled away from the kiss, noticing how you were panting underneath him. Your eyes half lidded, already gone. He could turn you into this mess with just a simple kiss and a roll of his hips. He should feel good about himself; the anger should be gone, but it wasn’t. He licked the inside of his mouth, his hand slowly creeping underneath your clothes, your body trembling at the touch of his fingers. 

Your skin grew goosebumps the more he inched up towards your breast. His hand never stopped gripping your chin, keeping your eyes on his face as his hand finally cupped you, over your bra. He groaned at the sensation, his hips giving an involuntary roll. You moaned at the friction of it all. He was hard, pressing against you, and you wanted more, needed more. 

You could see his eyes staring down at you as he kept moving his hand, roughly kneeding your breast, and then you gasped when his fingertips pulled the cup down, freeing your nipple. Your eyes widened, and he growled as he flicked your nipple with his index finger, his lips crashing back down on yours. His hand left your chin, moving slowly down towards your throat. He pressed his hand around it, not putting much pressure, but enough to keep you down and still.

You felt yourself flush from the arousal, the embarrassment, the nervousness, the anticipation, the excitement, the thrill. His lips immediately started moving desperately against yours, as his index finger and thumb pinched your nipple, making you gasp into his mouth, your back arching against him. He tugged at it, desiring to see it, desiring to make you melt underneath his body. 

Your legs spread even more as your belly coiled slightly, and you wanted to ask him now what made him do this. Not that you were complaining, but you were still in the dark about the reason. You jerked again as he rolled your nipple in between his fingers, moaning against his lips.

“Steve– Stevie, what has gotten into you?” And fuck, if he had to answer truthfully to you, he wondered if you would get scared. What if he told you he is fucking livid? That he is desperate to see you moan and cum? That he is insanely fucking jealous and angry that he wants to ruin you for everything and everyone else?

He pulled away from the kiss, just enough to keep his lips brushing against yours. You looked so delectable. Fuck, if you weren’t… If you just weren’t… He would do things to you right now that would not let you walk the next day. But he had to be patient with that one. He had to make that moment perfect… But this one– This one, he can be a little rough with.

“I’m fucking jealous.” Him admitting that sent a shockwave throughout your body. Him saying it for the first time to you made your heart skip a beat. Even if he was being a little harsh, it was just his way of trying to put a claim on you. You gulped and licked your lips, your eyes finding his as his fingers ran over your nipple, making you shiver from the sensation.

“I’m– I’m sorry– I didn’t mean to–” 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, got that, Sunshine?” His voice was imperative, his hold on your throat giving a soft press that made you nod as you sighed. His jaw clenched, and he squinted a bit towards you, “But I’m going to make you forget about him.”

Before you could even process what he had just said, he kneeled up, grabbing the hem of your sweater and shirt, pulling it all the way up, just above your breasts. You gasped, a strong heat covering your face and ears as you realized one of your cups had been pulled down. Your hands moved to cover yourself, only for his hands to grab your wrists, making you look at him. 

He slowed his movements down, just a bit, not wanting to scare you. That was the last thing he wanted you to feel. He wanted you to feel secure around him, to feel safe no matter what happened, and that you could tell him to stop, and he would. But he wanted to ease you into it, relax you. Even as he stared at your breasts and all he wanted was to dive in, his dick twitching in his pants, he took a deep breath to contain himself and closed his eyes.

He leaned down, his lips coming in contact with your stomach, making your breath stutter. His lips brushed against your skin as he moved, kissing another part, then your sides, then moving upwards, and your body writhed underneath his. You sighed deeply the more goosebumps he created on your skin. He looked up at you as he kept kissing his way up, seeing you close your eyes as you let yourself relax under his touch. He licked his lips as he kissed the round of your breast, then the top, and finally he engulfed your nipple with his lips.

Your eyes widened, his hands still grabbing your wrists, pressing them against the mattress as he sucked on your left nipple, sending jolts of electricity towards your belly, making you clench around nothing at all. Steve was trying not to lose himself in your taste, finally having you on his lips in a way that he had been wanting for so long. His brain was short-circuiting at each roll of his tongue, at each tug he gave, and you moaned.

Your eyes then closed as you dove in the sensation, and he noticed, finally seeing you were relaxing into his touch. He took this time to let go of your right hand, guiding it towards your right breast, his fingers gliding over the cup of your bra. He pulled it down slowly, freeing your nipple from its confines. When his index fingers brushed over it, followed by a soft nip of his teeth on your left nipple, your body jerked underneath him at the stimulation.

You had been touched like this, but it felt so different. This feels so good. This feels so right. It feels so much more pleasurable than that one time. You couldn’t help but compare, because it baffled you how much it changed, how you felt when Steve was the one doing it. Instead of thinking about him when someone else did it, you now don’t have to imagine it. You were experiencing it. And you loved it. 

“Steve…” You mewled and Steve moaned into your skin, his cock twitching against his pants, his hips jerking into yours involuntarily. That only prompted you to moan his name again, and he realized he had to keep his composure, or he was going to lose complete control over himself, and that was not the goal. Not today.

He let go of your nipple with a pop, his lips moving down, kissing your chest, then your stomach, causing a tickling sensation that made you tremble. You looked down at him, his eyes looking up at you as he kissed around your belly button. His hand left your breast as he slowly kneeled up, his jaw clenching as he looked down at your pants.

He cracked his neck a bit, thinking to himself to keep it cool. To make this about you and just you. But fuck, his dick was screaming at him to do something. It felt as if all the blood of his body was rushing towards it, making him lightheaded. His eyes looked at yours again, and he noticed the nervousness behind them, despite the arousal and the willingness. 

“Trust me.” He repeated those words he once said to you back when you barely talked to one another. When you had to undress in order to warm each other up in the confines of a car. You felt your heart warm up at the memory of it, and you gave him a slow nod. Happy with your response, he stood up and started taking your boots off.

You were trying really hard not to cover yourself. The nervousness and embarrassment were still present, and much bigger than before, because one obviously wants to be liked by the person they are dating. You want him to like what he sees, but you are still self-conscious because it wasn’t dark in the room. The small night light in the corner, above the bed, was still on. 

But Steve was enjoying every single inch of your body. He could dip down and kiss you all over if he had the time to do so. He had to remember that Eddie and Nancy could not stay out for long, and they had to get moving, but he was having a hard time doing so. After he took your socks off, his hands went to unbutton your pants. He couldn’t help the gulp happening in his throat, how his mouth started to salivate at the thought of seeing you. 

You felt the button being popped off, then heard the zipper slowly move, and you realized just how hard you were breathing, how your stomach was in a turmoil of nerves, and how your heart was trying to break free from your chest. Would he like what he sees? You washed yourself today, but what if it wasn’t enough? With Aaron, you weren’t even thinking about these things, but you couldn’t help but do so with Steve.

And Steve was in a whole battle with himself, because the moment he had a glimpse of your white panties, he was about to moan out your name, just by the mere sight of you in your underwear. He knew you had him wrapped around your finger, but never to this extent. He wished he wasn’t in a time limit, that he had time to do this slowly for you, to take your clothes off one by one, but there wasn’t time.

His fingers dipped into the hem of your pants and your underwear, slowly taking them both off together. Your mouth opened as you gulped a breath in. Your hands came to cover your chest as you realized you had to help him. He tapped your hip once, and you raised them so he would take everything off.

He took a deep breath in, sliding the pants and panties away from you. He tried not to look until you were freed completely. You felt the coldness hitting your legs, and you flushed at how cool your center felt, noting you were wet. Really wet. Your face started burning, as well as your ears, not knowing where to look as he left you bare from your waist down.

He dropped them to the floor, and when he turned to look at you, you had closed your legs slightly. He was having none of that. He knew he had to be gentle with you, but would you notice just how bad he wants you if he were? Would you realize just how much he wants to engrave himself into your mind? Would you realize that all he wants right now is to have you?

“Open your legs, Sunshine.” He asked, trying to be nice, trying to keep himself calm. You gulped, hesitating for a bit due to your embarrassment, even if you wanted it. His hands came to grab onto your knees, his eyes searching for yours. “Sunshine.”

When you turned to look at him, his eyes were intense, determined, yet desperate. You clenched around nothing again just by the sight of him. You took a deep breath in, letting him guide your legs open, spreading yourself for him. You have never felt this exposed. You have never felt like this. It wasn’t shame, it wasn’t that you didn’t want it at all. But the guy you liked was guiding his eyes towards your core, and you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Steve could see the glistening of your wetness even, seeing how you had reacted to him. Seeing how much you wanted him, wanted this. And he could only take a deep breath in, grabbing the back of your right knee and lifting it up a bit, his lips finding purchase on the top of it. His other hand brushed over your other thigh, gently, trying to relax you. You looked so beautiful, even better than what he had imagined or even dreamed of.

Your breath hitched as his kisses started moving downwards, lips on your thighs now, softly pecking you. You melted under them, closing your eyes as shivers ran all over your body, feeling yourself feel your belly tense up because even on just your thigh, it felt so good. He eyed you, his hands now gripping the back of your thighs, spreading your legs even more so he could start lowering his body, the further his kisses went.

The gears inside his brain were trying to stop working as his lips found your inner thigh. He felt you tremble underneath him, making his fingertips dig in your skin, holding you still. He wasn’t going to let go of you, not now. He might be selfish, he might be harsh or rough, but he couldn’t hold himself back. Not anymore. Not after what he found out. 

His teeth nipped on the soft, sensitive flesh and then sucked on it. A gasp ripped out of your mouth, eyes widening at the sensation. His lips kept latched onto your skin, marking you, claiming this private part of yours. Skin no one would ever see but him. Skin that belonged to him now, and even if it sounded possessive, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

After a few seconds, he let go of your inner thigh with a pop! only to quickly move onto the other one, immediately repeating the same actions he did with your right one. One of your hands left your chest to grip the sheet below you, tightly. You needed to hold onto something, your breathing heavy as it anticipated what he was about to do. 

Steve pulled away to see his masterpiece, his breaths coming out rough and needy. A purple mark now evident on each of your inner thighs. Good. But now, came the main course. His self-doubt kicked in for a second. He never had any complaints about how he performed orally, but he couldn’t help but think about not being able to be better than Aaron. He was older, and he looked experienced; Steve’s self-consciousness kicked in.

But then his eyes found your face, eyes half lidded, half gone, your chest moving up and down with your bra pulled down, and you were looking at him with a neediness that he could have been able to detect a mile away. And that was enough for him to lie on his belly, in between your legs.

He should go slow. He should be gentle with you. He shouldn’t let his possessiveness get the best of him. He should kiss the top of your belly, ease you into it. He should be perfect. But then again, this wasn’t your first time with this. This wasn’t the first time you were touched like this.

And he dove in with a growl.

Your eyes widened, your back arched as your nails dug into the fabric below you. His lips circled your clit, his tongue starting to press onto it and move it side to side. A gasp escaped you, the hand on your chest now coming to cover your own mouth. Your belly instantly flipped at the feeling, his hands moving in between your ass and the mattress, gripping you tightly to keep you in place. 

At your taste, Steve moaned, not being able to help himself and rut his hips into the mattress. He felt you twitch and jerk with each flick of his tongue on your clit. His eyes looked up, over the hair that was falling over his face, seeing you had your knuckles over your mouth to keep your noises in. He groaned at that, wanting to hear you, leaving your clit with a pop. His tongue lolled out, licking a stripe of your wetness from in between your folds, a whimper leaving you as your hips bucked into him.

Shit, you were delicious. You were a perfectly aged wine that made him drunk with just one sip. He felt light-headed, driven only by his lust, by how amazing you feel underneath his touch. By how hot you sound, how good you look, how beautiful you are. And now, he had to find out you were delicious too? Even if there were a rehabilitation center to cure him from the growing addiction he was having over you, he wouldn’t go. Fuck that.

He dove his tongue in between, pointedly licking upwards and towards your clit again. Your head felt like it was in the clouds, your body starting to burn a thousand degrees, not even feeling the cold in the RV. You were sure there was still music going on, but all you could hear was Steve’s licks, the soft groans escaping him, and the blood that was rushing towards your head.

“Steve–” You whispered, and he moaned into your clit as he flicked it again, his hips circling against the bed, needing friction at his hard-on. It was involuntary. He should focus on you, but he couldn’t stop his body from reacting. He pulled away, licking his glistening lips as his eyes never left your center.

“You taste so good, Sunshine… So perfect for me, such a good girl.” He purred, and your mouth fell open at the words that just came out of his lips, only for your thought to be interrupted by his lips latching onto your clit again as his tongue licked and licked. A moan escaped you, louder now, not being able to cover your mouth anymore.

It felt amazing. He felt amazing, fantastic even. He slurped, eating you like a man starved. Both of your hands were now gripping the sheets beneath you, back arching off the bed as a specific lick felt a little too good. You gasped, followed by a sigh of delight. Were you too needy to want more? To want to feel more of him?

But you didn’t even need to say anything, because he wanted to taste you further, feel you further, pleasure you further. He unlatched from your clit, only to dip in between your folds with his tongue, and push in. He moaned, thrusting into the mattress at feeling your warmth. 

“St– Steve!” You whispered-yelled at him, your eyes clenching at the feeling, body trembling at feeling him inside of you. He couldn’t help himself anymore; the bulge in his pants was now painful. He needed to free himself, at least a bit. One of his hands left your ass, his hips rising slightly so he could get in between and pop his button open and pull the zipper down. He sighed a bit in relief, now his hard-on not having a thick denim constricting it.

But then his eyes opened to see your hands gripping the sheets, and he was having none of that. That same hand moved to grab onto your right hand, making you open your eyes through your pleasure and look down.

His eyes were fierce, determined, sharp, and he moved your hand towards the top of his head. He was signaling you that you could grip his head, his hair. He would love it if you did so. His hand went back to gripping your ass, pulling you deeper into him, his tongue now swirling inside of you, and your hand closed on his hair, a moan leaving your lips without any shame.

Fuck it. Fuck it. It felt too good to hold back. You couldn’t handle it anymore, much less when Steve was clearly enjoying himself, letting you know by the moans he was letting out. You knew his fingertips were going to mark your flesh from how tightly he was holding onto you, but why the fuck would you even care about that? It even made you happy to know that. It made you happy that he marked you all over. 

His tongue left you, his heavy breath hitting you, making your skin grow goosebumps because of the coldness you felt from it. From how wet you were. His lips kissed your clit gently, one, two times, his right hand leaving your behind, slowly moving it towards your pussy, and you flinched from the surprise at the feeling of his middle finger running over your slit, covering it in your juices.

“Relax, baby…” He cooed at you, gently, and you let a sigh escape you as you shook your head, rubbing his head with the hand that was still gripping it. 

“I am, I was– Just surprised…” He hummed in approval at your response, glad you were being talkative and not shying away from him, or not telling him how you truly felt. His lips circled your clit again, and then his finger started to slowly push in. 

A long gasp broke from your lips, choking a bit in your throat as you felt him go in. Your fingers dug into his scalp, making him growl against your clit, your warmth engulfing his middle finger, sucking him in completely. He didn’t move for a second, flicking your clit to check your reactions. 

You moaned again when you felt the tip of it wiggling a bit, making an electric shock travel all over your spine. 

“Stevie, please–” It was the first time you had begged all night, asked for more, asked for him to keep going. And fuck, was he going to comply. He started thrusting his finger in and out of you. It was slow at first, letting you get used to the feeling of it, giving your clit a few kisses so you could melt even more into his touch.

His hips rutted into the mattress below him at the same tempo that he was thrusting his finger inside of you. He was like an animal right now, not even realizing or thinking through what he was doing. He heard your soft moans, some you were trying to hold in, some were leaving your mouth without restraint.

He felt your nails digging into his scalp, pulling onto his hair at each flick of his tongue on your clit, while his finger curled upwards inside of you. You felt your chest heaving at the feeling, your head rolling onto the pillow, feeling sweat all over your body. Steve knew you were feeling good, but his possessiveness kicked in again, the memory of this not being the first time you were experiencing this coming right back.

He pulled away from your clit, his teeth tugging it as he moved, making you jerk underneath him, whimpering his name. His finger moved faster now, his left hand moving from your ass towards your waist, pulling you into his other hand as if urging you to ride his finger.

“You feeling good, Sunshine?” He also wanted to know you weren’t in any discomfort. That you weren’t in any pain at all. You nodded enthusiastically, making him chuckle, a teasing smirk appearing on his lips as he shook his head. His jaw clenched as he pulled his finger out, making your eyes widen and look down at him. He tapped it slowly against your clit, making you clench around nothing. “I need words, baby.”

“Yes– Yes, it feels good, Stevie, please–” You gulped, not being able to feel embarrassed any longer. He nodded, now his middle and ring fingers gliding in between your folds again, gathering more of your slick. Then he pressed them against your clit, doing short and quick movements, side to side. Your other hand immediately grabbed onto his hair too, your head falling back onto the pillow as multiple shocks made your body spasm underneath him. 

Your mouth was open, letting your moans fill the RV, hopefully drowned by the music inside of it. You and Steve were really not paying attention to that anymore. Not when his fingers started to push in again, now his ring finger joining his middle one. He moaned as he felt you clench a bit around them, fluttering as your name fell off his lips almost in a prayer.

You felt tight, you felt so warm, and he had to clench his eyes as a thrust of his hips sent a jolt of electricity all over his body. Eddie’s words rang in his ears, taunting him, wanting him to cave in. He didn’t need to think of where the condoms were, not right now, not today. He clenched his eyes tightly as he breathed shakily, concentrating once again when he felt your nails scratch his head, pulling on his hair slightly.

He started going slow, his tongue lapping at your clit as his fingers went in and out of you, the squelching starting to be heard, even over the music. His left hand was still gripping your waist, pushing you against his fingers, guiding you. Your body trembled at the feeling of him, at the brush of his fingers and knuckles inside of you. 

Your legs were spread and bent around his head, letting him have the full access he required, that he needed, that he craved. You were being so good for him. So perfect, just like he always knew you’d be. His fingers picked up a pace, curling his fingers upward, feeling your fingers pull on his hair when you felt your insides turning. Your belly was starting to cramp, and you were overwhelmed at how good all of it felt.

His eyes opened to look up at your expressions, at your movements, his mouth leaving your clit so he could concentrate on your sounds. He could now feel you moving underneath him, jerking your hips every now and then. Your head was thrown back on the pillow, your back arching and your chest heaving as moans and whines escaped your lips. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He felt you fluttering around his fingers, a triumphant smile spreading on his lips as he felt you getting wetter and wetter. You rubbed his head, urging him to put his mouth back on you again, but he was not moving. You whimpered, forcing yourself to look down at him with pleading eyes. Big, begging, and he almost, just almost, caved in.

“Stevie–”

“Did you cum?” His question threw you off, breathing heavily, about to answer only for your words to die on your tongue when a particular drag of his fingers sent a jolt to your belly, your head falling against the pillow again.

“Steve–” You sighed and he groaned, his fingers slowing down again, keeping them curled, but moving at a pace that was not satisfying you. You frowned, looking down at him once more, your mind in need for him to keep moving. “Don’t stop–”

“Did he make you cum?” You stuttered, closing your eyes as his thumb brushed against your clit. “I won’t keep going if you don’t–”

“I didn’t! I– faked it– I faked it–!” Happy with your answer, his fingers started moving again, and you sighed in content, your head back on the pillow as you felt yourself start to flutter again. Your climax was so close, you could feel it, and you knew he could too.

“Why?” He growled out, and you were not answering again, making him slow down again, his teeth coming to tug at your clit rather harshly, making your entire body jerk against him. Your hands were still on his head, and he fought against every tug and push of yours. “I am asking you questions, Sunshine.”

“Fuck– Stevie– I’m gonna cum, I–” 

“Focus.” He wanted to hear it. He needed to hear it. It was already a win that Aaron hadn’t gotten an orgasm out of you, but he had a feeling that he was going to love the reason as to why you did what you did even better. You took sharp breaths in as you felt your entire body start to cramp, trying not to rip your boyfriend’s scalp off.

“I couldn’t– I couldn’t stop thinking about you– And I just wanted it to be you– OH god–!” Your right hand left his hair as your back started to arch when he picked up a pace again, desperately so. It went to grip the pillow underneath your head while the other tugged at his hair.

His hips started to rut into the mattress at your answer furiously. He was so drunk on you. He was so hypnotized. You had thought of him the whole time you were with the other man. Steve had definitely won it all. Despite this not being your first experience, he now knew you would consider it your real one. The one that made a difference. 

His lips came to desperately take your clit again, sucking on it as his fingers moved rapidly inside of you, abusing your g-spot over and over again. Your mind was blank; you weren’t measuring your moans anymore, nor the number of times you were sighing Steve’s name out of your lips. 

All you knew was that you started to see stars, your entire body setting on fire as you started to pulse around his digits. You were breathing heavily, your head thrashing around the pillow, trying to survive whatever tidal wave Steve was about to unleash on you. 

“Cum, baby. Cum for me.” 

And you listened. Your insides clenched around him, tightly, and your legs closed around his head as your belly exploded, your climax crashing over you instantly. It was big, it was intense, it was something you’ve never felt before in your life. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, yet it was cool, and your toes cramped as they curled into themselves. 

Your mouth was open as you tried to breathe in, and then, a loud cry escaped you as you trembled fiercely underneath him. He moaned into your clit as he rode your orgasm out, feeling your legs around his head, almost about to crush him, but he didn’t care. Holy shit, he couldn’t care fucking less because you felt so tight. You felt so fucking good, and his cock wasn’t even inside of you. 

You heard him groan loudly, or maybe it was your imagination. You didn’t know what was real and not anymore. Your mind was gone as your orgasm started subsiding. You felt your walls unclench slowly from around him, fluttering every now and then as his tongue licked at your clit with kitten licks. 

Once he felt you completely let go of his fingers, he started to slowly take them out of you, and you whimpered as you felt the loss of them. He then saw your cunt, glistening, almost dripping down towards the sheets. He couldn’t help himself when he lolled his tongue out and licked the stripe of your wetness, tasting you even more than before. He groaned into you as he lapped at you.

You whined, your body jerking at the overstimulation. Your hand gripped his scalp, trying to rip him away from you, legs spreading again to let go of his head. You were panting, catching your breath as you felt yourself a little lightheaded. You were in complete and utter bliss, all out of your boyfriend becoming jealous and possessive. 

He pulled away from your cunt finally, licking his fingers clean. Now, he felt so sweaty. He should have gotten his shirt off at least. He was breathing heavily, wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, knowing he would have to wash it now anyway. He felt you spasming a bit, and he let go of your waist, looking up at you as you lay spent on the bed. Good.

He crawled slowly over you, kissing your hip and then your stomach as he went. He could feel now how hot you were running, and he was so happy that he was the reason for all of these reactions of yours. He sighed as he kissed your jaw and then your cheek, trying to center you back in the present.

“Sunshine? You okay?” He asked, wanting to really know that you were alright. Wanting to know he didn’t overdo it. He is now slowly realizing just how rough he had been with you. A side of him he never got to meet before. When he saw those romance movies where the man got overly jealous always seemed exaggerated to him. He was so wrong. Those feelings existed with the right person, and the right person for him, was you.

“Y–Yeah…” You sighed, giving a slow nod, your eyes finally opening again. You found him looking down at you and he looked so disheveled. He looked so gone. He looked so good. A smirk appeared on his panting lips.

“Felt good?” You nodded quickly at his question, almost making him sigh out of relief. You gulped, licking your lips. You were tired, but you wanted to return the favor to him. You wanted to make Steve feel good too. You wanted to at least try.

“I– Can I return the favor?” His eyes widened at your request. He licked his lips nervously as he felt his heart skipping a beat.

“You don’t need to force yourself to do it. I wanted to do that to make you feel good, not expecting anything in return–”

“I want to give something in return. I want to taste you too… I want to touch you too, Steve…” And he trembled on top of you, his breathing becoming steady again. He gulped, shaking his head slowly.

“There’s… No need for that…” You frowned, a bit of your self-consciousness kicking in again as you looked up at him.

“I– I know I never did that, but you can teach me… I can learn as I go… You just have to show me what you like best, Stevie…” He wanted to shoot something at your words. He wanted to cave a hole into the RV’s ceiling with his fist to get some cold air in because he felt suffocated. How can you say something like that to him? Do you even know what kind of power you had over him?

“Thank you, baby, but I really– don’t have the need for it, right now…” His eyes were hopeful, wanting to save himself from shame, but you only looked at him with confused eyes.

“I… Are you sure–?”

And before you could doubt yourself anymore, he decided to rip the truth out like a Band-Aid.

“Jesus chri– I came in my pants while eating you out, Sunshine.”

You blinked a few times, his words starting to process in your head. He was blushing a furious red, his hair falling over his forehead as he looked everywhere but your face. He came just by touching you. Just touching you. You didn’t even know that was a thing.

“O– Oh!” You couldn’t help the giggle that came out of your lips, feeling the entire situation funny, yet endearing, yet… so sexy. So erotic. His eyes went down to look at your laughing face, feeling embarrassed, but despite that, he smiled, digging his face into your neck to hide himself.

“Don’t laugh, you menace.” You felt him kiss your pulse point, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders as your giggles kept going. 

“It’s hot though.” He let go of your neck, moving to face you again and you were looking at him with an innocent look in your eyes. 

“Definitely a menace.” His heart felt like bursting while staring down at you when another smile broke on your lips. He leaned down to take them into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your body as you kissed back. He was content, he was happy, and he was proud he had made you feel that good. 

You let him cuddle you and kiss you after. Steve left for the bathroom to wash himself and change, while you changed in the bedroom. When you were left by yourself, you couldn’t help but remember every single touch he gave you. Every single sensation you felt, and just remembering that his tongue was on you, was enough to make your entire face burn up and melt away.

When he returned, he was wearing his sweatpants and a white loose shirt on. His hair was wet, and he shook his head like a dog, trying to dry it a bit more. You bit your lip while looking at him as you sat in the bed, inside the covers, waiting for him. He felt his heart skip a beat, and he opened his mouth, only for you to cover your mouth, alarming him.

“Eddie and Nancy! They– They definitely heard me!” You gasped with terror, and he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, uh… I should turn the music down…” He blushed and you frowned, confused, tilting your head like you always did. Then, you finally realized how loud the music was compared to other times. He had dialed the volume up on purpose, with the pure intent of doing what he did to you.

Before you could say anything to him, feeling shame invade him, he closed the blinds and he rushed out towards the front, reaching out to the radio to turn it off. He gulped as he took a deep breath in, walking towards the cupboards to grab one of the water bottles. He opened it and took a big gulp, trying to quench his thirst. He closed the cap, and then he started hearing murmuring outside the RV.

The door opened slowly, Eddie and Nancy walking in. They were talking about possible towns to visit, the map and journal in their hands, and Steve sighed with relief as they didn’t question anything, nor spared him a single look as they went to the front to take their seats. Steve grabbed the water bottle, turning to go to the back again, his hand grabbing the handle of the sliding door.

“Steve.” Nancy’s voice cut his thoughts short, turning his head over his shoulder, and he found two pairs of cheeky eyes looking at him, a smirk on each of their face, making Steve nervous.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to change the sheets.” His mouth opened in shock, the two friends turning to look at the road again, and their talking resumed as if Nancy hadn’t said anything at all.

He gulped, opening the blinds and stepping back in. He looked up at you, and he noticed your horrified face. He winced, frowning almost in pain as the embarrassment kicked in for both of you.

“They definitely heard me.”

“I– Yeah.”

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx @bananasplits-world @myharrington @btskzfav@hawkeyeharrington

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

Still fuming we didn’t get Steve at any point throughout the seasons in this outfit. In my opinion one of his best outfits and it’s for a coca-cola advert 😭😭

[artsyfartsytheaterkid]

i think im finding im in love with you

Spencer Reid x bau!gn!reader

a/n: been rewatching Criminal Minds with my partner so of course my love for Spencer Reid reared its head again, pls enjoy <3

Jane Austen once said, “And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in.”

You sat at the table in the local sheriff’s office, files and papers spread haphazardly in front of you. You were absentmindedly chewing on the red pen in your hand, while your mind was bouncing from topic to topic. 

Spencer sat kitty-corner to you, flipping quickly through a notebook. The rest of the team was spread across the building and county, checking crime scenes and trying to find leads. You and Spencer had been relegated to poring over the paper evidence - teasing little notes the unsub had left behind and information Garcia had pulled about the victims. 

“Did you know,” Reid spoke without looking up from the notebook, “that chewing on pens or pencils is often a sign of deep concentration, anxiety, or even just a need for oral stimulation?”

 “Oral stimulation?” You look over at him, with an eyebrow raised.You glance at the pen before setting it down on the table.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Reid continues, throwing the notebook down on the table and looking up at you. “I had to train myself not to chew on pens when I was younger. Of course, having a pen explode in my mouth in the middle of class did not exactly encourage me to keep the habit.”

“Thanks, Reid.” He gives you a pleased little smile before he pushes the notebook to you. There’s a copy of a letter from the unsub on the first page. 

“Wanna trade?” So you take the notebook, shoving the pile of files to his side of the table. The letter was the usual unhinged nonsense you’d come to expect from unsubs and serial killers. You took a deep breath and started reading, taking mental notes of language usage and people mentioned but…you kept getting distracted. Every O had a dot in the middle, two O’s in a row were connected by a dash, the T’s looked more like crosses with little extra bits on the end. 

“Reid? Do these letters look weird to you or are my eyes going funky?” Reid tilted his head but came around the table to lean over your shoulder. You pointed at the specific words and Reid leaned even closer, his face almost even with yours. 

“I didn’t even notice, too busy thinking about what was said and not how.” Reid mumbled under his breath. He brought a finger up to point at the different letters. “These are alchemical symbols. Gold, arsenic, acids. These symbols aren’t used anymore, they started to fall off about the 16th century.”

“Reid.” You turn your head, impossibly close to his face. “The symbols at the crime scenes. Are they alchemical too?” 

“Anything?” You and Reid jump and he accidently smacks his shoulder into your head as he stands. Hotchner throws his bag in a chair and looks at the two of you expectantly, eyebrow raised. Reid hurries to explain the alchemical symbols to him and he smiles as he gives you the credit for noticing them. You rub your head absentmindedly as you begin to help the two men go through the letters and pictures for every instance of a symbol. And when the profile is narrowed down to chemists with access to arsenic and acids, the unsub caught, you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself for catching something that Spencer Reid missed. 

“Yes, yes, I missed an obvious clue.” Spencer relented, sighing. “Happy?”

“Pleased as punch to know someone one-up the genius.” Morgan grinned, settling into the plane seat.

“Don’t give him a hard time, Morgan. We caught it, caught the guy.  Doesn’t matter who did it.” You point out. 

“You’re telling me you aren’t even a little pleased?” He counters. 

“Well. I didn’t say that, exactly.” You reply and Morgan laughs. Reid gives his own little laugh, shaking his head but still smiling. 

“We didn’t need proof to know you’re intelligent and clever.” Reid says to you. Morgan raises his eyebrows and wiggles them at you. You answer with an eyeroll.

“Thank you, Spencer.” Spencer gives you a grin, before ducking his eyes. 

“Yeah, uh, of course.” He clears his throat. “It’s the truth.” 

“You guys wanna go to dinner when we get back?” JJ asks as she slides into the chair opposite Morgan. “That Italian place a few blocks from me has unlimited sangria refills on Wednesdays.”

“That sounds like a perfect way to end the day.” Morgan agrees. 

“Oh, I dunno, I don’t drink.” Reid says. 

“You eat, though, don’t you?” Morgan asks.

“Somebody said sangria?” Rossi asked as he passed by.

“Dinner with everyone?” JJ offers and Rossi nods. 

“C’mon, Spencer, we can go, stuff our faces with pasta and babysit these guys.” You offer. Spencer bites his lip as he glances up at you before glancing away quickly, though he nods.

“Alright, fine. But if someone throws up, I am not helping clean up.”

-

“Goodnight, my nerds. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow at noon.” Morgan laughs as he heads for his door, mostly steady on his feet. You watch until he gets into his house before you relax and turn to the man in your passenger seat. 

“Where to, sir?” You put on a silly posh accent and Spencer gives a light laugh. 

“Just home is fine. Thank you again for driving.” Spencer says. You check that you have his address right before pulling out onto the road. 

“I told you, it’s fine. No way were we all fitting in your car.” You laugh. “Though, man, your car is so cool, you gotta let me ride along with you sometime.”

“I, uh, of course you can. It’s just a car, though.”

“A cool car.” You stick your tongue out at him quickly, barely glancing away from the road. 

“I didn’t know you were into cars.” Reid mumbled.

“I’m not, really. There’s just something about older cars, they look so cool and, I dunno, more…stylized? I’m not sure I’m making sense.” You rambled.

“No, no, you are. Many cars nowadays, even across different brands and companies, are all similar in appearance. A car that was unique in its own days stands out even more now.” 

“Which makes me wonder why you drive one.” You said. Small raindrops start hitting the windshield as you get closer to Spencer’s apartment. “You don’t really seem like you’d want a lot of people to notice you.”

“I - I don’t. Older cars are more reliable, though. Easier maintenance, less of the new gadgets they keep trying to add to modern cars.” Reid laughs to himself. “My mother told me it was an old man’s car when I showed her a picture.”

“You drive an old man’s car and dress like a grandpa, maybe you were born in the wrong century.” You tease. 

“A grandpa?” Reid sputters, glancing down at his outfit - sweater vest, button down, and khakis. 

“But like, a grandpa that’s a college professor. Teaches…anthropology or something.” You laugh as Reid stumbles over his words trying to argue.

“You - I- Should I be offended?” Reid seems genuinely baffled. 

“No, no, no, Spencer, it’s cute-grandpa, I promise.” You turn your blinker on so you can pull over outside the apartment building. The rain had picked up, pounding against the car. You miss Spencer tugging at his collar and the blush that rises up his neck. 

“I was never really sure how to dress professionally. I can’t stand a suit but I don’t really do t-shirts either. It used to annoy my mother, actually, the way I’m picky about clothes.” Reid replies, rambling. 

“Hey now, Pen,” You lay a hand on his arm. “I’m only teasing. Your clothes are your choice and they suit you. I won’t bring it up again.” 

“Pen?” Spencer asks, though he keeps his eyes down, trained on your hand. 

“I needed a nickname for you!” You raise your hand and wave it at him. “JJ already calls you Spence.”

“You can’t use the same nickname?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks up at you. You shrug and try to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

“I wanted a unique one.” You admit. A huge flash of lightning illuminates both of you, followed quickly by a rumbling, loud thunder crack. You’d jumped and thrown a hand over your heart. “Jesus.”

The rain had become a steady downpour by now, obscuring a lot of your vision even with the wipers on. The wind was starting to pick up and you dreaded having to drive home in this. J

“Would you…I mean, if you want, you can come in til this is over.” Reid offered. “It’s dangerous to drive in weather like this. About 12% of vehicle crashes are due to adverse weather.”

“Well, if I was thinking about driving, I’m certainly not now. You sure?” You ask and Reid nods in agreement. “Alright, let’s go.”

-

“I apologize, I wasn’t expecting company. My apartment’s kind of a mess.” Reid rambles on the elevator ride up to his floor while water drips off of him - he’d insisted you used the small umbrella you kept in your car for moments like this. It was, unfortunately, not large enough to cover both of you. 

“I promise I don’t care what your apartment looks like, Pen. So long as I can borrow a towel to dry my feet.” You reassure him.

“Of course! I can turn the heat up, help dry out your shoes.” 

Reid fumbles with his keys at the door before pushing it open, gesturing you in first. You step in, relaxing at the warmth that washes over you. 

“Could you…” Reid trails off, standing just inside his door. “The bathroom is the first door on the right. Would you bring me a towel so I don’t drip everywhere?” 

“Oh, sure!” You hurriedly take off your shoes and go grab a towel for him. He thanks you, points you towards the couch, and promises to be right back. You go to sit on the couch but get distracted by the large fish tank against the wall. 

A few bright colored fish darted around a well decorated tank. You knew Reid had mentioned having fish once or twice before but never thought more of it. He clearly took good care of them, if the clean tank and automated feeder was anything to go by. You notice one of those little sucker fish in a corner and lean down a bit to look at him.

“That’s Aristotle.” Reid says from behind you, causing you to jump a bit. “The others are Galileo, Newton, Curie, well, there’s a lot of them, I don’t want to bore you.”

“I’d love to hear their names. You named them all after scientists or historical figures?” You ask, turning. Then you freeze, because Spencer is in plain long sleeve v-neck and baggy purple sweatpants. Spencer doesn’t seem to notice as he begins to rattle off the names of his fish, adding what species they are and fun facts. 

The two of you end up sitting on his couch with mugs of warm tea, chatting about whatever came to mind. You’d abandoned your jacket in favor of one of the plush blankets Spencer had lying around and he’d insisted you borrow some fuzzy socks so your feet didn’t freeze. After a lull in the conversations, you speak up.

“You doing okay, Pen? I - I overheard you talking about nightmares with Morgan.” You ask quietly. Spencer sort of freezes, jaw clenched. “I’m, I'm sorry, Spencer, I shouldn't pry.”

“It’s…it’s okay. I’m okay. I just thought, I had finally gotten used to what my brain was using against me and it pulls out something even worse.” He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. You shift a bit closer so you can lean your shoulder against his.

“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t help but, I am.” You say softly. 

“Thank you.” You’re both quiet for a moment before Spencer shifts, leaning over just enough to rest his head against yours. 

-

After that, it’s like you and Spencer are able to work in sync. You move and he steps aside, you’re handing over a paper before he even asks for it. Coffee on his desk when he’s late, a pastry on yours. You call him late one night after a particularly bad nightmare of your own and he stays up with you until the wee hours of the morning (and you both get teased when you walk in the next day, sluggish and with noticeable eye bags). Morgan, Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ start a betting pool (that neither you nor Reid are aware of). 

Even Hotchner and Rossi begin raising their brow at the two of you, though they never say anything directly. They do know, however, that putting you and Reid to work on something together was the quickest way to make progress on a case. 

“Alright, alright, this has gone on long enough.” Prentiss said as she sat down at the table. You were out eating dinner with her, JJ, and Morgan after a day of sorting through files with Reid. 

“What’s that?” You ask.

“Oh, here we go.” Morgan grins, leaning back and rubbing his hands together. You shoot him a confused look before turning back to Prentiss.

“Are you and Reid dating?” Prentiss asks bluntly. You’re just glad you weren’t mid-drink.  

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon,” Morgan says, “You don’t gotta lie to us.” 

“There’s nothing to lie about! We’re not together, we’re not anything!” You insist before turning to JJ. “JJ, please, help me talk sense into these two.”

“Have you seen the way you two behave with each other?” JJ asks and you groan, throwing your head back. 

“Not you too.” You whine. 

“You two have seemed so happy together lately and the way you talk-”

“We’re just friends!” You cut Prentiss off. Before you can say anything your phone dings, the screen reading Pen(:. You snatch it off the table but not before JJ sees. 

“Pen, huh?” She smirks. 

“You guys are terrible. I should request a transfer.” You mumbled into your dinner plate. The three laugh. 

“And move away from your Pen?” Morgan asks, clearly trying to press your buttons.

“Just a reminder that we’re coworkers.” You grumble.

“Fraternization is discouraged, not unallowed.” Prentiss points out. You sigh. 

“You guys aren’t giving up on this huh?” You ask.

A chorus of “nope”s is your answer.

“Fine, yes, I have a crush on him. Are you happy?” You cover your face with your hands as the three burst into chatter.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Prentiss grinned, patting you on the back. 

“You should say something to the kid, he’s probably oblivious.” Morgan said. 

“Oh, no, I should not. I’m perfectly happy being friends.” You argue. You point a finger at each one of them. “And if any of you talk, just know, I have the power of Rossi on my side.”

“He knows?” JJ asked. Your shoulders droop.

“Well, no, but I know he’d side with me over you rascals.” It only earned you another round of laughter.

-

A few more weeks of the same, except now you’re hyper aware of your’s and Reid’s behavior. More coffee, pastries, carpooling, the usual. You snag a pair of tickets for Reid for one of those conventions he likes attending and he insists that it's you that joins him. Reid gets another fish and lets you name it (though he does try to argue that Celery fits neither his naming convention nor the bright orange fish itself). You hang out together outside of work more.

You do, of course, only get teased more as time goes on. No one mentioned your crush outright, but it wasn’t uncommon for Morgan or Prentiss to ask for the ‘power couple’ to be put in charge of a task. While you just rolled your eyes and gave a snippy remark, Reid usually flustered and stumbled through a protest (you took it neither as an insult or as encouragement; Reid was like this with anyone they teased him about). 

It’s late evening, the summer heat having died down enough that leaving the windows open was actually viable and enjoyable. You and Spencer sat on your couch this time, an abandoned game on the coffee table. 

“You can’t expect me to believe that actually happened.” You say, half worried and half amused. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, you know.” Reid huffed. 

“I know, but, really? You actually got shoved inside a locker? I thought that only happened in movies.” You laugh. 

“Multiple times, actually. Usually by the football team. One time, by the girl I had a crush on.” He admitted. 

“No!” You look at him, mouth agape.

“Yep.” He said, popping the ‘p’ before giving you a mix of a grimace and grin. “You…didn’t need to know that though. Should’ve kept the embarrassing stuff to myself.”

“Pen, you don’t have to be embarrassed over how some asshole kids bullied you.” You grumbled, upset on his behalf. “We could probably track them down if  you remember names. Morgan would help me stuff them in a locker, I’m sure of it.”

“Let’s not attempt physical harm to my childhood bullies.” Spencer was laughing though, which was your goal really. 

“Fine.” You sigh dramatically, leaning into the couch. “But I would fight a bully for you.”

“I know.” Spencer said, a soft smile on his face as he looked at you. “And I really appreciate it.” 

“I know you can fend for yourself, Pen, but I’m more than happy to be back up.” You insist. Spencer ducks his head as a big smile crosses his face. You pick up the card game and step into the hallway closet to put it away.

“Do you…would you…I mean, would  you wanna watch the sunset?” Spencer asks when you return. 

“Yeah, sure, we can drag the chairs out?” You offer. He shakes his head. So, the two of you plop into the grass of your tiny backyard. It’s not the greatest view but you can just about see the horizon. The sound of crickets and cars fills the silence as the two of you sit out there. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Reid asks, absentmindedly picking at blades of grass. 

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“How do you…how would you tell someone you were…that you liked them?” Spencer asked and your heart fell through your stomach. 

“Oh. Gosh, I - I dunno. Depends on who it was, I guess.” You reply. You were very carefully ignoring your pounding heart and racing pulse. 

“I just…I’m very good with words, intellectually. But - but, feelings are harder to articulate and that’s not even factoring in the reaction from you that I’d have to take into account. How do you even put into words that someone feels like coming home or - or a safe space? Are others just better at this than me or - or am I not understanding something obvious?” Spencer rambled, sitting up straight so he could gesture with his hands. But you were stuck on a particular word Spencer had used. 

“A reaction…from me?” You ask quietly. Spencer froze, replaying his words over and realizing his slip. He chewed on his lip for a moment before looking at you, slowly nodding. “Spencer…”

“Look, you don’t - you don’t have to feel the same or even say anything else.” Spencer stood, brushing the grass off his pants. You scrambled to your feet as he kept talking. “I just, I haven’t been able to think about anything else and you’re very distracting. I - I just couldn’t figure out what to say or if I should say it. And clearly, I should’ve kept my mouth shut because -”

“Spencer.” You grabbed his hand. He stilled, eyes glued to your hand on his. “Look at me, Pen.”

Spencer took a shuddering breath before he raised his eyes to yours. Clearly flustered, cheeks pink, Spencer was back dropped by a purple-pink sunset. 

“If I was to tell the person I liked that I liked them…I’d tell him he was the nerdiest dork I knew, but he makes me feel safe and heard, and I can’t imagine living without him.” 

He watched you with wide eyes, almost seeming like he was holding his breath. Spencer raised his free hand and pointed at himself, asking “Me?” barely loud enough for you to hear. 

“Yes, you.” You laughed. A dazzling grin grew on his face and Spencer took a step closer. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly. You nodded, not quite able to speak over your rushing heartbeat. He reached up again with his free hand, cupped the back of your head, and pressed his lips to yours. 

The first kiss was short and sweet. Spencer pulled away just enough to get a good look at your face and when your eyes trailed back down to his mouth, he took the hint. Spencer kissed you again, hand on your head a bit firmer. He let go of your hand so that his other hand could rest on your hip and you took that opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to you. He let out a huff of air as you did, a mix of surprise and contentment. 

When you both finally pulled away from one another, both of you had kiss-swollen lips and matching goofy grins. 

“That was a lot better than any scenario I could come up with.” Spencer said. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’d been thinking about this for a while?” You asked.

“Longer than I’d like to admit.” Spencer chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours. “I almost asked Morgan for advice.” 

“About that…” You bit your lip. “Some people kind of…they know I have - had? - a crush on you.” You laugh. 

“You had a crush on me?” Spencer asked. You laughed at his reaction.

“We just made out, Pen, and you’re surprised I had a crush on you before?” You shake your head at him. 

“But I’m…me.” Spencer replied incredulously. 

“Precisely.” You say, leaning up to press a quick smooch to his nose, which only has him blushing harder. 

-

It took three months for the BAU folks to figure out you and Spencer were officially dating. All romantic stuff was saved for at home, except for brief handholding or a quick kiss if no one else was around. It was finally Hotchner, tired of the teasing and betting pool talk, that called the two of you out (and gently reminded you that workplace relationships were not easy and to be careful). Prentiss won the betting pool but took everyone out to drinks with it in celebration.