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Words [Henry '001' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: 'Papa' welcomed you to the labs, where you meet 001. He is reluctant around you, until he starts to develop a soft spot for you.
Warnings: virgin!Henry and virgin!Reader, 001 is a bit of a bitch at first, 001 talks you through it, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, quickie, creampie, first time.
LINK HERE
Perfection [Henry '001' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Sharing a moment in the lab's hallway. You can't wait to finally escape.
Warnings: kissing, sub!Henry, no smut (yet - but there is spicy stuff), Henry wants to be called a good boy, he behaves for you.
LINK HERE
Laboratory [Henry '001' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: A kind of 7 minutes in Heaven with Henry '001' Creel!
Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, 001's in your mind and not only
LINK HERE
Breathe [Henry '001' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: request, hurt/comfort
Warnings: hurt/comfort
LINK HERE
Plaything [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: You are Henry Creel's only kidnapped victim. / and his favourite.
Warnings: smut | Reader 18+
LINK HERE
Run Away [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: You, the only kidnapped victim of Henry, try to escape.
Warnings: smut | Reader 18+
LINK HERE
Caught [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry 'Mr Whatsit' catches you touching yourself.
Warnings: smut | Reader 18+ | implied masturbation, breast play, choking, unprotected p in v, blowjob, handjob
LINK HERE [PART 1] | LINK HERE [PART 2]
Stay [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry 'Mr Whatsit' makes sure you choose to stay with him.
Warnings: blowjob | handjob | slight manipulation of reader
LINK HERE
Saved [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry 'Mr Whatsit' doesn't understand why you took him out of the cave. | Henry 'Mr Whatsit' wonders why you chose to stay.
Warnings: hurt/comfort | angst | Reader 18+, unprotected p in v, riding Henry, handjob, control play, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, creampie
LINK HERE [PART 1] | LINK HERE [PART 2]
Free [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry 'Mr Whatsit' is no longer influenced by The Mind Flayer, but he has to come to terms with it.
Warnings: angst | comfort
LINK HERE
Cave [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: How do you think Henry would handle freaky!reader?
Warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, cave s*x, dubcon at start (but it is con)
LINK HERE
Accidentally [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: You accidentally call Henry daddy.
Warnings: cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, praising
LINK HERE
Quiet [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry sneaks up on you. mindless smut ngl. [maybe inspired by The Trials: Winter Solstice, ep. 1, if you know you know.]
Warnings: smut | 18+
LINK HERE
Comfort [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry tries to figure out what you're trying to do, and why you act so giddy. You're up to something, and Henry's going to find out, whether he likes it or not.
Warnings: handjob, sub!Henry, praise, teasing Henry, calling Henry a 'good boy'
LINK HERE
Mind [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: You act different and Henry searches your mind for answers.
Warnings: manipulation/gaslighting, arguing, cunnilingus, control play, a bit of choking at some point, praising, dom!Henry, Vecna hand mentioned
LINK HERE
Bedroom [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Just writing practice to keep myself from quitting.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Nerd [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: My take on Nerd!Henry.
Warnings: a bit of smut at the end
LINK HERE [PART 1] | LINK [PART 2]
Starved [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: heavily touch starved reader
Warnings: smut
LINK HERE
Hunt [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry doesn't quite get why you get all hot and bothered about being hunted. He quickly discovers the appeal.
Warnings: primal play, Henry hunts the reader through the cave, dom!Henry, possessive!Henry [reader is into it], unprotected p in v, Vecna hand involved.
LINK HERE
Creak [Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: You play hide-and-seek in the forest with Henry... the problem is, it's not quite a game.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Truth [Henry 'Vecna' Creel x f!Reader | Stranger Things]
About: Henry shows you the truth. [One of the most unhinged things I've written.]
Warnings: smut | tentacle play [vine play considering it's Vecna] | choking | restrainingĀ | dub-con [leaning toward con] | tentacle[vine] bj | fingering
LINK HERE
Theo Deschamps | The Trials
Spell [Theo Deschamps x f!Reader | The Trials]
About: Smut no plot, testing my ability to write immersive dialogue during smut (that hopefully sounds like Theo)
Warnings: dry humping, talking you through it
LINK HERE
Wardrobe [Theo Deschamps x f!Reader | The Trials]
About: 7 minutes in Heaven with Theo Deschamps.
Warnings: smut, dry humping, f!receiving
LINK HERE
Kit Marlowe | Will
Devil's Apprentice [Kit Marlowe x f!Reader | Will]
About: Trying my hand at writing Marlowe.
Warnings: none, flirty drunk Marlowe(?)
LINK HERE
Quill [Kit Marlowe x m!Reader | Will]
About: You are Marlowe's copyist.
Warnings: bj [reader receiving], drunk Marlowe, Marlowe throws a tantrum sort of, flirty Marlowe.
LINK HERE
Play [Kit Marlowe x m!Reader | Will]
About: Theatre date with Kit Marlowe!
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
T'was so, he stroke me with a slender dart... [Kit Marlowe x f/m/gn!Reader | Will]
About:drabble
Warnings: a lil spicey?
LINK HERE
Doubt [Kit Marlowe x f/m/gn!Reader | Will]
About: Kit Marlowe can be a pain, but sometimes he is understanding.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Alexander Babtiste | Witchboard
Tarot [Alexander Babtiste x f!Reader | Witchboard]
About: Alexander wants to see if you truly are a witch or just pretending.
Warnings: none (?) maybe vague smut mentions
LINK HERE
Caleb Sykes | Horizon: An American Saga
Girlie [Caleb Sykes x f!Reader | Horizon: An American Saga]
About: Caleb Sykes had his eyes on you, and how he pays you a visit. | Caleb comes back for you and you run away together, but Junior isn't happy about it. | Caleb chooses you.
Warnings: slightly non-con at first but then it turns con quite quickly, riding his hand. | unprotected p in v, quicky, loss of virginity | a little angst, hurt/comfort, sort of happy ending?
LINK HERE [PART 1] | LINK HERE [PART 2] | LINK HERE [PART 3]
Ride [Caleb Sykes x f!Reader | Horizon: An American Saga]
About: You showed Caleb too much.
Warnings: breeding, smut
LINK HERE
Another [Caleb Sykes x f!Reader | Horizon: An American Saga]
About: Caleb sees you putting your daughter to sleep and decides one child isn't enough. A bit more plot than usual. | Caleb Sykes finds out he is going to be a dad again!
Warnings: married!Caleb x Reader, dad!Caleb, breeding, unprotected p in v (obviously), dirty talking (Caleb isn't an asshole with you, he just knows it turns you on when he speaks like that) | married!Caleb x Reader, dad!Caleb, fluff, a bit of angst
LINK HERE [PART 1] | LINK HERE [PART 2]
Edward de Vere | Anonymous
Muse [Edward de Vere x f!Reader | Anonymous]
About:You are threatened and Edward is the man who can protect you.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Caius Volturi | Twilight
Kiss [Caius Volturi x f!Reader | Twilight]
About: Birthday surprise.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Skiff | Thomas the Tank Engine
Is thisā¦ a ship? [Skiff x f/m/gn!Reader | Thomas the Tank Engine]
About: A railboat's dream.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Jamie Campbell Bower | Rockstar/Actor
Ghost Story [Jamie Campbell Bower x f!Reader | Rockstar/Actor]
About: A drabble about Jamie coming home after a long day but still making time to read to you.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
Together [Jamie Campbell Bower x f!Reader | Rockstar/Actor]
About: Power went out... what now? Little fluff shot.
Warnings: none
LINK HERE
pairing: Nerd!Bucky x Roommate!Reader
wc: +10k
summary: After finding your roommate in a compromising situation, you volunteer to give him a handā¦ and a mouth, kickstarting the most tumultuous semester in your friendship with a sexual benefits deal; wisely, some rules were established. But would those rules be enough to keep you just friends?
a/n: Part of Midterms & Metal Arms A College AU Marathon. Beta read by @buckysdecaflove, @w1nter-fairy, and @kileyking.
warnings/tags: College/University AU, Nerd Bucky Barnes, Roommates to FWB to Lovers, no use of y/n, smut, secret crush, accidental voyeurism, Bucky calls reader Bunny, grinding, masturbation, use of sex toy, oral sex, sexual free use, breast fucking, thighs fucking, praise kink, eventual p in v, breeding kink, crossposted on ao3, english is not my first language.
The commute from the building where your last lecture was held to your off-campus department was 25 minutes on a regular day using your bike. In Buckyās case, he took 15 minutes due to his way of driving his restored car.
You knew that.
Your roommate knew that.
That knowledge made it easier to predict when the other would arrive at the apartment. It helped to avoid awkward encounters, like the time he had found you making out and half naked, with your classmate on the couch. Or when you saw him butt-naked as he got out of the shower because he had forgotten his towel in his room.
The only flaw in this?
Yelena.
Yelena, your classmate and best friend, had started seeing a girl who lived near you. This meant that she could drive you home on her way to meet with her new fling.
The day that changed everything had been one of those days. Your lecture would be cut short, and Yelena had been texting Kate as soon as the professor had announced that the class would wrap up early. Leaving at that hour meant less traffic, and to your luck, every traffic light had been green.
āIs this our lucky day? Should we buy a lottery ticket?ā Yelena exclaimed after the third green light.
Inside your building, your luck continued because Mrs. Park held open the elevator for you the moment you crossed the front door.
You arrived at your door 10 minutes before your class usually ended. You had just opened your mouth to let out your usual āHey, Buckā to announce your arrival when you heard it.
A moan coming from down the hall.
You widened your eyes; your keys slipped from your grip, landing on the rug with a dull noise. You knelt to pick them up, eyes scanning the living room frantically.
You noticed Buckyās books were scattered over the dining table. His reading glasses were there, forgotten by his economics book. A single can of soda was near it.
There was no sign of any other person inside the apartment.
Another moan.
You should have turned around and left, given him the privacy he needed, and come back later. But you didn't. You stood up, and with your keys in hand, you padded silently down the hallway to your room.
The door of his room was slightly open as you passed.
More whimpering, followed by a curse.
You should have ignored it, continued your path, and hid in your room. Instead, you froze, turning to the source of the noise.
Spread over his bed, Bucky was lying down over his covers; his sweatpants and boxers were rolled down to his knees, and his shirt was forgotten on the floor. His fist was gliding up and down his cock, neck exposed as he pushed his head back. His eyes were closed, mouth open, letting every whimper out freely.
Heat pooled in your stomach, your breath turned shallow and rapid as you watched him jerk off.
This was wrong.
You shouldn't be standing there, watching him, and much less getting worked up because of it.
He was your roommate. Your friend. Bucky wasn't even your type for fucks sake ā he wasn't an athlete, with a chiseled body comparable to a Greek statue; he wasn't the most confident man out there either, smugly flirting with every skirt with legs.
Bucky was a textbook nerd. Always with his nose buried in a book, a cute stuttering mess, he triggered your cute aggression, not the I want to climb you like a tree and bounce on your cock type of aggression.
āPlease, please āngh,ā He begged, tearing up.
You didn't know why you did it, but hearing his pleas broke your control. Carefully, you crept into his room until you were standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed.
In bed, his phone went off with an alarm he had set up before he had fallen into his lust. He reached his hand blindly, turning the alarm off, lost in whatever fantasy he had conjured behind his closed eyes.
Youāll be home in 10 minutes.
āFuck, I need to ā ah, please.ā
āDo you need help?ā You said softly, in the same tone you always used with him. Warm. Open. Sweet.
His eyes snapped open, finding you standing near him. Your name left his lips, neediness laced with each letter.
āI'm sorry, I shouldn't ā You're here early, you were supposed toā¦ā He stuttered, covering his dick with his hand and reaching behind him to take a cushion.
āI can help you.ā Your tote bag, filled with books, landed on the rug next to your feet with a thud, and your keys followed. He froze. āYou said you needed something.ā
His throat bobbed.
āBunnyā¦ā
He said your nickname, the one he had started using after he had met you at Yelenaās birthday party in your first semester. You had been wearing a last-minute costume ā white bunny ears with a simple white short dress ā because your original one had gotten ruined early that day. Bucky had been hiding out on the second floor, nursing a can of beer and hoping that his friends wouldn't find him after dragging him to the party already. Since he couldn't register your name over the loud music, he had called you Bunny the entire party. From there, it had stuck.
āTell me, Bucky. What do you need?ā
āIāā He shook his head.
You tutted. āHouse rules, remember? Hmm? Always be honest with each other. Tell me.ā
āI needā¦ I need to cum. So badā¦ā
āThank you for telling me.ā You placed a knee on the mattress between his legs, and slowly, you climbed the bed. āNow, let me help you.ā
āBunny.ā He whimpered when you removed his hand from his crotch.
āLet me. That's what friends do, right? Help each other out. Always.ā You said, tracing your fingers along his leg, getting higher and higher. āCan I?ā
āBunnyā¦ā
āBucky.ā
āPlease.ā
You smiled, and then moved your hand over his length; his cock twitched in respond of your touch, beads of pre cum leaked out of his reddish tip.
āTell me if you want me to do anything different, okay?ā
He nodded, but he was still tense.
āHey, you can close your eyes and imagine Iām someone else; I don't mind. This is just to help you finish.ā
Bucky took a deep breath and threw his head back, closing his eyes. You leaned in, taking his cock in your hands; you began peppering kisses on its tip. Bucky moaned in response.
You dragged your tongue along the vein on its underside, and then you guided it into your mouth.
Bucky cursed, digging his hands into the mattress.
You bobbed your head up and down, slowly taking him inch by inch until you could take most of him into your mouth comfortably.
Bucky was big, with a girth that made your pussy clench in wonder at how it would feel inside you, stretching you until you were a babbling mess.
āShit, Iām close.ā
You hummed with him still in your mouth, agreeing with him since you could feel him throbbing. His hips jerked up in search of the warmth of your mouth; you increased your movements, your hands giving attention to his balls and stroking the rest of his cock.
āBunny, bunny, Iāmā¦ā He groaned, and for the first time, he reached his hand to tap your shoulder.
You removed your mouth with a pop, and kept stroking him as you said: āItās okay, you can finish in my mouth.ā
Before Bucky could reply, you took him into your mouth again and down your throat until your nose touched his pubic bone. Tears gathered in your eyes at the intrusion, but you didn't care; you kept bobbing your head until he spilled inside your mouth with your name on his lips.
You kept sucking him until you swallowed the last drop of his seed, and he was too overwhelmed after who knows how much time he had been working himself up. You took him out of your mouth, feeling him softening in your palm as his breath steadied.
Once you were on your feet, you knelt down to take your stuff up and took his shirt with your hand. When he opened his eyes, he saw you wiping the fabric of his shirt on your mouth, cleaning every remaining fluid from your face. Then you turned around and walked to the door.
āBunny, wait!ā He rushed to put his boxers and sweats back on.
You looked at him over your shoulder, āYes?ā
āYou can't go.ā You raised a brow.
āYou needed to cum, and you did. I helped you out, didn't I?ā
āYes, you did. But, don't you want toā¦ talk about it?ā
Even if his skin was all flushed, his pupils still blown, and his clothes were poorly on him, he looked at you with pure worry.
You smiled fondly at him. āWe are friends, Bucky. Nothing has to change.ā
āYou sure?ā
āPositive, nowā¦ can I go?ā
He exhaled in relief. āYes, you can. Thank you, Bunny.ā
āAny time.ā You grabbed the door to close it. āItās your turn to cook dinner, by the way.ā
āRight! Uh, pasta? My momās recipe?ā
āGod, yes, please. Iāll take a shower in the meantime; see you in a bit.ā You closed the door behind you after hearing his goodbye and then rushed to your room.
Luckily for you, your room had its own bathroom, away from the door that led to the hallway, which meant that while Bucky cooked dinner, he didn't hear you masturbating in your shower under the sound of the running water.
Even if you tried to push the memory into a box and forget it in the back of your mind, you couldn't avoid replaying the scene in his room, nor the way he had moaned your name as he came. And you definitely ignored the way you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning his name as you fucked yourself with your fingers.
Once you were satisfied and clean, you left your room wearing your pajamas. During dinner, things were a little bit awkward, but it slowly got better as you fell into your familiar dynamic. He yapped about his next exam, and you ranted about your lecture that day. The conversation moved to the kitchen, as both cleaned before going back into your rooms.
You and Bucky just clicked together; you had done so since you met. Living together, even if it had been by pure luck ā a month into your friendship, you had ranted that your landlord had raised your rent, and he had confessed he was looking for a place off campus; it had been a no-brainer to accept becoming roommates ā had amped that. As the months and years progressed, you had gotten to a point where you understood each other and knew exactly what the other needed without the need for words.
He knew when you were stressed and needed silence, reassurance, or when you needed space. But he also knew when you were feeling homesick and needed a hug or a cuddle.
Two days after you gave him a blowjob, you learned that he also knew when you were needy and how to make you cum in record time.
You had been lying on the couch, reading a book on your e-reader after you had been stressing out over an exam. Bucky looked at you from his spot on the other end of the couch, where he had been playing a game on his phone.
āEverything okay there?ā He asked, looking at you up and down.
You swallowed, shifting your legs again. āYeah, why did you ask?ā
āBunny, house rules.ā He rolled his eyes and put his phone on the coffee table.
āI'm not lying.ā You scoffed.
āYou are. You had been sitting there for the past five minutes, rubbing your legs together, and sighing like you're out of a romantic soap opera.ā Bucky grinned. āOh, my lovely Bunny, what are you reading? Is it one of those smutty books of yours?ā he wiggled his eyebrows.
āShut up.ā You attempted to kick him with your leg, but he grabbed you by your ankle, stopping you from hitting him.
āYou are.ā His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. āAre you horny, Bunny?ā
You shut up, locking eyes with him as he angled his body towards you.
āDo you need help with that?ā He lowered his voice.
āWith what?ā You croaked, mouth dry.
āTo get off. I can return the favor right now.ā His fingers, that had been wrapped around your ankle, moved up, stroking your leg. āBesides, you know what happens when you orgasm. How the neurotransmitters that are released when you climax help you reduce your stress, sleep better, and help you relax ā we share a wall, Bunny. I can hear you on the other side, still up in the middle of the night.ā He called you out.
He continued moving his hand up your thigh until his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.
You didn't stop him.
āSo, can I? You can imagine it's one of the characters of that bookā¦ You can keep reading it while I taste you.ā
āYouāre joking. Making fun of what I said and did that day.ā You huffed and shifted your eyes away from him.
He shook his head. āIt's just me. We're just friends, right? Helping each other out. I love helping you, you know that.ā
You met his eyes again and then nodded, āOkay, make me cum.ā
āI thought youād never ask.ā He joked and then positioned himself between your legs. āGo back to your book; you can even read it out loud. Guide me if you want to try something out.ā
āShut up.ā You chuckled, and then returned your eyes to the screen.
Bucky grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down your thighs until they were dangling off your ankle. He leaned in and started kissing your now exposed skin until he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath and his nose bumping over your panties.
You kept reading, pressing your lips together to avoid making a sound. He kissed over your panties, and then he removed them. The first drag of his tongue made you open your mouth in a silent cry.
Bucky held you open; his hands were under your hip, in full control of the angle. You had been wet as you read your book, wondering if the main character in your book would be a whimpering mess like Bucky was as the female character rides him; now you were dripping, clenching around nothing, begging in your mind to be fucked on your couch.
No.
No.
It's the hormones talking. I'm just horny.
Having his dick inside you would be too much. If the line in your friendship had blurred, penetration would mean total erasure. But to be honest, it wasn't as if his dick wouldn't be doing something much different than what his tongue was doing right now.
Oh God, where had he learned to do that?
āFuck, Bucky.ā You groaned. Loudly. Throwing your head back.
Bucky removed his head from between your thighs to stare at you when he heard your e-reader hit the ground.
āIs something wrong? Want me to stop or change something?ā
You looked at him as if he had grown another head out of his neck, and with your hands, you pushed back between your legs.
āShut up. Keep doing that. Don't stop.ā You panted, treading your fingers in his hair as your hips jerked against his mouth. He lapped his tongue over your sensitive clit, alternating with sucking it and shaking his head to add more depth to his attacks. āOh fuck, mmm, yes, yes, Bucky, that's so good.ā
He shifted, sinking his knees on the couch. Then he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders; after that, he pulled your hips up, half-strengthening his back. He pressed your thighs together against his face, suffocating himself.
The new angle made you gasp; you braced yourself on the arm of the couch. You were now openly mewling. Your loud moans were barely overpowered by the obscene sound of his mouth on you.
You came not too long after that, panting and with your legs trembling over his shoulders. Before he let you down, he grazed his teeth with a playful bite and then kissed the spot.
Your breath was still ragged when you accepted his bottle of water that he had offered. You took a sip of water and then looked back at him.
āWhy the fuck did Dot break up with you if you could do that?ā You asked, stunned.
He had the decency of looking shy, scratching the back of his neck.
āShe broke up with me because I wasn't very social, you know me; she wanted me out with her every single week to a party, and that drains me too much. I can only handle too much socialization.ā He explained with a shrug.
āWhat an idiot, believe me, Iād have compromised my social life if my amazing boyfriend could make me cum as hard as you just made me do. And with only your tongue!ā You exclaimed as you put back your underwear and shorts. You would have to run back to your room to take a shower and change in a minute because the stickiness between your legs would drive you crazy.
He took a thrown pillow and hit the side of your leg. āShut up, Bunny!ā
You snorted. āIām serious. I already knew she had lost a great guy; this just adds more stupidity on her side.ā
āThank you, I suppose.ā He blushed.
āJust take the compliment, Buck. It's house rules.ā You returned the hit with the thrown pillow and ran to your room, squealing and dodging another hit from him.
The agreement was made that same week, officially getting added to the house rules. You would help him take the edge off, and he would help you, too. Easy. Efficient. Complete trust and free use in the apartment unless stated otherwise.
There was one catch, though: no penetration, no kissing. You were friends at the end of the day, and you didn't want to mess that up.
So you let him do everything else, except put his cock inside you.
He would fuck your tits after hitting a wall while doing an essay, eyes closed as he fought the urge to come on the spot at the sight of your glistening skin and your eyes looking up at him as you pushed your tits together. He had made the mistake of looking down the other day, and after batting your eyelashes to him in an oh-so-innocent way, you had put your tongue out just as he pushed in and took an experimental kitten lick over his tip. He had come in that moment, painting your face and tits with his seed. Laughing, you had continued stroking him until he was overstimulated.
One particular time that you had been stressing because your teammates were useless, you were ranting about it with him sitting next to you after you had finished eating dinner while watching a series.
āDo you wanna forget about it?ā Bucky asked after you had finished ranting, and he had already tried to cheer you up, given you his advice, and even offered to help you with your project.
āPlease.ā You sighed.
āHow do you need me?ā He asked.
āJust stay still.ā You said, climbing into his lap.
āI can do that.ā
āAnd stay quiet.ā You added, narrowing your eyes.
āOh, I thought you liked it when I talk dirty. I felt you clench on my fingers when I talked like that and when I praised you.ā
You slapped his chest. āSince when are you this smug? What did you do to my best friend?ā
āSince you complimented my oral skills.ā His grin widened.
You rolled your eyes.
āWhat? You had been trying since we met to boost my confidence; it's finally working.āHe said, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. āTake the win, Bunny.ā
āFine, you can talk. Can I hump you now?ā
āIām all yours.ā
You chuckled and braced your hands at each side of his head, grabbing the back of the couch.
You rolled your hips, feeling him getting hard under you.
āFuck, Bunny, why do I feel this is helping me more than it's doing for you?ā
āBelieve me, it is helping.ā You whimpered with eyes closed, leaning towards him. āSo much.ā Your voice cracked.
āYouāre doing so well.ā He praised.
āThanks for the help, Bucky.ā You huffed a laugh.
āI can help you even more, if you want.ā
You straightened your back and stared down at him. āHow?ā
Bucky guided his hands and grabbed the hem of his your oversized shirt, taking it off and leaving you half naked, since your bra had been removed earlier that day.
āI can put my oral skills to use.ā He cupped your breast and guided your nipple to his mouth, just brushing his lips against it. āIāve been wanting to give them the attention they deserve since I noticed howā¦ sensitive they are.ā
With the tip of his tongue, he circled your nipple, keeping eye contact with you. You stared down at him, biting your lip to hide your smile, shaking your head slightly at his smug behavior.
You liked it.
Confidence suited him well.
He blew air over your wet skin. āKeep going, Bunny.ā
You whined when he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking at it while playing with his tongue over it. You leaned into him and continued dry-humping him.
āTurn around.ā He ordered after a few minutes.
āHuh?ā
āYou still have that frown on your face; you're still thinking about it. Let me help you.ā
You sighed and then turned onto his lap, his hard cock snuggled under your ass.
āWhat now?ā
He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you to him. āLean back, Bunny.ā You did so, until your back hit his chest, and your head could rest over his shoulder. āNow relax.ā He kissed your naked shoulder.
He returned his attention to your breast, alternating to not leave any too long neglected. With his other hand, he traced lazy figures on your navel and, slowly, oh so painfully slowly, he guided his hand under your clothes.
Your hips jolted at the feeling of his fingers grazing your clit.
āOpen your legs, let me touch you.ā He mumbled in the shell of your ear, and you complied, spreading your legs over his, his knees under you, locking you in place. āThatās it, good Bunny.ā
You whimpered, responding to each movement of his fingers with a roll of your hips, grinding on his cock. His ragged breath on your neck gave him away as to how worked up he was, so you decided to give him a hand. Literally.
You shifted forward to give enough space for your hand to sneak between your bodies, and began stroking him under his pants.
āFuck, Bunny, this is about you.ā
āI want you to feel good too.ā You muttered.
He pushed two fingers inside you, matching each stroke you gave his cock with the pumping of his fingers. In. Out. In. Out. Each time you rubbed his tip, he curled his fingers, pressing them on your sweet spot.
āOh, that feels good.ā Your head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut as you got lost in the sensation.
āYeah, bunny? That's good, you're doing so well.ā He cooed.
Your free hand gripped the couch, as fireworks went off inside you; the lewd sound of his fingers inside you increased when you gushed around his fingers.
āThatās it, Bunny, let go.ā
As you squirmed over his lap, your hold on his cock tightened; his hips jolted forward, fucking himself on your fist, and seconds later, he came.
Your breath was still uneven when you let out a soft chuckle, resting your head on his shoulder.
āYou okay?ā He asked, puzzled by your sudden laugh.
āWhy was I even stressed about?ā
He mirrored your chuckle. āI dunno.ā
You turned, your nose slightly brushing his face. He did his best not to kiss you right there. To his surprise, you kissed his cheek.
āThank you, Bucky.ā
āThe pleasure is mine, literally.ā
You giggled and peeled yourself off him. You reached for the tissue box that you had placed on the coffee table since all this started, and cleaned your hands, as well as your inner thighs. When you were done, you passed the box to Bucky to clean himself.
āShower and a movie in a few minutes?ā You suggested, standing up and stretching, still topless.
āOf course.ā He said, keeping his eyes down.
You narrowed your eyes at him, āDon't make it weird; you're acting as if you didn't have your mouth attached to my chest like 5 minutes ago.ā
āIf I look up, Iād want to do it again.ā
You thought he was joking, so you slapped his arm playfully. āOf course, Buck, whatever you say.ā Your shoulders were still shaking with laughter as you walked to your room, leaving him in the living room to contemplate if all of this had been a mistake.
It became a regular thing then.
You got better at it, reading each other and finding stolen moments to get each other off. Trouble, of course, appeared sooner rather than later ā because obviously, none of you had told any of your friends.
Steve was the first to almost catch you, and it had been your fault. That day, on your way home, you had texted Bucky, asking him if he was home after a stressful day. You made the mistake of not reading his text, and when you got to your apartment, you had walked down the hallway straight to his room.
āIām home,ā you said, removing your jacket and throwing it to the floor. You began undoing the buttons of your shirt as you pushed his door open. āYou won't believe the day I had. Iām gonna need you toā Steve! Hi!ā You widened your eyes and quickly covered your already exposed bra when you found Steve sitting at Buckyās desk.
Steve blushed and said your name, gesturing a hello. You thanked God that you hadn't entered his room without pants, as you two had begun to wander inside the apartment in your underwear with nothing more than an oversized shirt in your case or sweatpants and a shirt in his.
āBucky didn't tell me you would be here.ā You said under a fake smile.
Bucky got back into the room, finding you standing by the door.
āI guess you didn't get my text,ā Bucky mumbled in equal shock to you.
āI did not.ā You turned on your heels, giving your back to Steve. āIāll be in my room.ā
Bucky mouthed sorry to you, and you quickly scrambled out of the room. When you took out your phone, his text mocked at you, reading that Steve had come to the apartment by surprise since he needed some tutoring, and that he would be more than happy to help you out as soon as he walked out.
Another time, not as embarrassing as that one, had occurred on campus. You and Yelena were eating some ice cream that the student committee had been giving out when Bucky found you.
āHi, Bunny.ā He greeted you, standing right in front of you.
āHi! Want some?ā You offered your cone as you had done multiple times in the past. He nodded, but instead of taking the cone from your hands, he leaned in, covering your hand with his as he licked a strip of melted ice cream and then sucked some more, all while staring right at you.
āMmm, my favorite.ā The tip of his tongue peeked out of his lips, collecting any residue of the cold dessert, as he kept eye contact.
Fuck me.
You might as well have combusted in the spot; you were horny as fuck since you hadn't had any action since your period started, contrary to him, who had been on the receiving end of your blowjobs.
āIāll be staying after class at the library. Text me what you want me to get to dinner, okay?ā
You hummed, still staring at his mouth. He dared to smile.
āGood.ā He finally turned to see Yelena, who had watched the whole exchange like a hawk. āYelena.ā He nodded at her. āCatch you later, Bunny, thank you for sharing.ā
And then he was gone.
āThe fuck was that?ā Yelena exclaimed.
āI don't know what you're talking about.ā You busied yourself back into finishing your ice cream, ignoring the way her eyes were burning the side of your head.
āAre you guys fucking in your apartment? Is that why we haven't done a sleepover recently?ā Yelena accused, making you choke on your ice cream.
āWhat the fuck, Lena?ā You coughed. āWe haven't done any sleepovers because you have been sleeping at Kateās since you started hooking up.ā
āHey, we sometimes stay at mine. And don't change the subject; you didn't answer.ā
āWeāre not. Weāre roommates, and he's my best friend.ā
āIām your best friend too, but you don't look at me like that, do you?ā She wiggled her eyebrows. āIf that wasn't sexual tension, I don't know what it was.ā
āMaybe you're projecting."
She slapped your arm. "Shut up. But you might be right; thankfully, my period is over, so..." she grinned, already thinking of her date night with Kate.
"Lucky girl."
"Going back to you and Bucky. Why the hell does he even keep calling you Bunny?" She scoffed. "It sounds soā¦ sexual, you know?"
"I already told you, he has been calling me that since your birthday. He couldn't hear my name over the music, so he called me by my costume."
"I know that, but that was during the first semester, ages ago, before you two lived together. He knows your name by now."
"It's just a cute nickname. I like it." You shrugged, but you couldn't lie; the nickname had begun to sound more intimate the last couple of weeks, especially since each time he said it with a much more sultry voice than he did before, it took you back to not-so-innocent moments.
"Dot and every guy you had dated hated it, which reminds me ā Do you want to go out on a double date with Kate and me? She has this friend that I'm sure is your type. Who knows, Bob might give you a hand and break your dry spell."
You scrunched your nose at her suggestion. Something about someone else touching you in a sexual context made you sick. "I'm fine, Lena. I'm good with my own hands and toys, thank you very much."
"Ugh, you're no fun." She groaned. "The offer is there. Bob is a great guy, but Bucky isn't a bad choice either, if you two decide to finally start dating."
You gave her a shoulder check and resumed your walk towards your next lecture.
If only she knew.
You two were just having fun, helping each other out. You reminded yourself frequently.
You made each other get the edge offā¦ in the kitchen, in the dining room, in the living room, in the hallway, in his room, in the laundry room, in the hallway, in his car. While, after, and before studying or going to work.
His gaming sessions weren't an exception.
Usually, even before you started this, while he was playing video games in his room, you would find your way there and read on his bed or play one of your cozy games on your portable console. Sometimes you would grab popcorn and other snacks, sit next to him, and watch him play.
It stopped being innocent one time you were reading another smutty book that got you so worked up that you ended up touching yourself on his bed. Bucky had looked over his shoulder after you let out a whimper before covering your mouth. He muted himself and asked you to approach. Once you were next to him, he patted his thigh and asked you to sit facing his setup.
āGrind, Bunny. Make yourself feel good.ā He muttered before he lowered his mic again and unmuted, going back to his game. You rolled your hips over his thigh, leaving a wet spot on his skin. You leaned on his desk and buried your head in your arms to muffle your cries.
Since both of his hands were occupied, he gave you his attention by kissing your shoulder from time to time. Whenever he was killed in-game and had to spectate his teammates, he took you by the hips and aided you in your movements ā sometimes he would die on purpose early on the match so he could play with your clit with one hand and cover your mouth with the other.
When you were close to your climax, he muted his mic, and with his warm mouth in your ear, he praised you as you came, ignoring the trash talk from Sam and Steve about how shitty he was playing that day. In return for the favor, you had sunk to your knees under his desk and suck him off while the other match started, making him lose again and bark an excuse to his friends to disconnect, and then took you to his bed to make you sit on his face while you kept his cock deep in your throat.
The first night Bucky slept with you in your bed after this agreement started hadn't been planned. You had slept together before; naturally, after so much time knowing each other, you had taken naps on the living room couch, or in his bed if you fell asleep there, but your room had been the exception ā until that night.
"Hey, are you still awake?" Bucky asked from the other side of your door.
"Come in." You replied with a yawn.
"Did I wake you up?" He peeked his head out, opening the door slightly.
"You didn't. What's up?"
He was standing by the door, visibly nervous.
"Bucky?"
"Can I lie down with you?" He sounded tired. You knew he hadn't been sleeping well, too stressed about his projects. He always pressured himself; you had called him out many times, but he had been raised this way, and old habits died hard.
"Of course you can."
He climbed into your bed and lay down under the covers behind you since you were on your side. His arms quickly wrapped around you, one tucked under your head and the other around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.
You stayed silent in that position, caressing his arm around you, feeling his warm breath on the back of your neck.
āThey will still love you if you don't get straight Aās, you know?ā His hold around you tightened.
āI'm not so sure about that.ā He replied, his voice sounded soā¦ small.
āWell, I do. Because I don't care if you get an A or a C. You're still you, and I love you for that.ā You said. āYouāre kind, gentle, and yeah, you're a little awkward, and sometimes you forget how to socialize properlyāā
You smiled triumphantly when he chuckled.
āShut up.ā
āYou are funny, smart, and the best human being that I know of ā not because you are perfect, but because you get up every morning and justā¦ try.ā
āBunnyā¦ā
āAnd if your parents don't see that, fuck them, seriously. You don't need to go back there during the break. You can stay here, or go with me to my hometown, or even better, we can both take that trip you always tell me about.ā
You couldn't see him, but you felt him melting around you, embracing you close as his breath eased.
āI'm so lucky to have you as a friend.ā He mumbles
āOf course you are. I'm amazing.ā You chuckled.
āYes, you are.ā He kissed your shoulder over your pajama shirt. "I hope you know all those wonderful things also apply to you. In fact, let's add it to the house rules.ā
āWhat do you suggest?ā
āNo more stressing over school; we are allowed to fail. How about that?ā
You hummed, āI like that. Took us long enough, but it's a good rule now that it's our final year.ā
āLetās try to sleep, Bunny.ā He said, closing his eyes.
āI'm trying, but a big nerd came into my room in the middle of the night and won't stop talking.ā
āShut up.ā He kicked your leg.
You returned the kick. āYou shut up.ā
āShh.ā
Stillness lasted almost an hour; you both were already drifting in your sleep when you shifted your hips slightly, brushing against his front. You stayed like that until you fell asleep.
In his sleep, Bucky jerked his hips forward in a sloppy rhythm, which woke you up eventually. Your eyes adjusted to the dark of the room, unable to move since he had you trapped against him.
āMmm, Bunny.ā You heard him whine; his hips were thrusting against your ass, his cock hardening with each movement.
You blinked away sleep and turned over your shoulder; to your surprise, he was asleep, mouth slightly open and chest rising in a steady rhythm.
He moaned your name, and you wouldn't lie, having him basically humping you from behind and moaning in your ear was making your panties wet.
His hand, that had been resting heavily over the curve of your waist, moved down, resting lower, dangerously close to your pussy.
āBucky, wake up.ā You managed to say, biting back a whimper from your part. āBucky.ā
āMmm?ā He hummed, keeping his eyes closed.
āYouāreā¦ā You squeezed his arm, but he didn't let you finish. As soon as he regained consciousness, his throbbing cock called his attention; the need to cum ran hot all over his body.
He tensed when he realized what he had been doing.
āOh shit, Iām sorry, Bunny.ā His voice was thick with sleep. He moved his hips away from you, but yours followed. āBunny?ā
āWait. Do you need help with that?ā You whispered, wiggling your ass against him.
He choked a moan.
āBunnyā¦ā
āI can help.ā
āWe said no penetration.ā He sounded pained.
You bit your lip and then shifted, angling yourself so his cock was nuzzled right below your ass cheeks.
āYou don't need to put it in. Justā¦ use my thighs.ā You offered.
He was speechless.
āDid you read that in one of those books?ā He teased.
āShut up. Do you want to try it or not?ā You wiggled your ass again, making him jolt forward.
āFuck, wait, don't we need lube or something?ā
You looked over your shoulder. āBottom drawer, behind you.ā He looked at you. You rolled your eyes. āI use it with my sex toys, dumbass.ā
He would definitely ask about it later, maybe even ask you to give him a demonstration.
Bucky peeled himself from you to reach the drawer. When he opened it, he saw some silky bags of different sizes, a bottle, and a small towel. His curiosity won over, and he took one of the smaller bags, as well as the bottle of lube and the towel.
You turned on your back when you heard the shuffling behind you; he had turned on the lamp on your bedside table.
āI told you to grab the lube.ā You scolded him.
āWhich one is this?ā He held the silky bag high so you could see it.
Your eyes trailed from the bag to his eyes. āMy vibrating bullet.ā
You saw the devilish grin that appeared on his face. He could picture you perfectly, on your back in your bed late at night after he had fallen asleep next door, holding the vibrator under your panties, your mouth hanging open in a silent cry, brows knitted in the expression he had come to learn like the back of his hand.
His cock twitched.
āCan you use it while I fuck your thighs?ā He asked, even if the warm soft light only lit one side of his face, you noticed his heavy-lidded dark eyes; the bright blue was only a slim ring around his blown pupils.
You sighed through your nose, but nodded. The idea sounded really, really good. You lifted your hand and gestured for him to give you the bag.
Bucky let out a happy noise and then proceeded to free his hard cock. He put some lube on his palm and then smeared it along his length. He positioned himself back into position and then slid his cock between your thighs.
You were looking down, watching as his wet tip peeked between your plush skin. You lowered your hand and teased his tip when it peeked out.
āFuck, Bunny.ā He groaned behind you, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he rolled his hips. āUse it, make yourself good, please.ā
You complied, taking out the vibrator from the bag after he handed you the lube.
The moment the added stimulation registered in your body, your hips jolted back, meeting his thrust and making both of you moan in unison.
Bucky gripped your hips, keeping you steady as he fucked himself between your legs. With the angle you held your hips, the bottom side of the vibrator brushed his tip when he rutted in.
āFuck, Bunny, you're taking me so well.ā
You whimpered his name, turning your head slightly and kissing his arm that was still tucked under your head.
āKeep going, don't stop.ā You encouraged him, tightening your hold around his cock by crossing your legs.
He cursed, digging his fingers into your hips.
āOh God, Iām not gonna last.ā
āIt's okay, cum Bucky, cum for me.ā
He came with a groan, his hips jerked in sloppy thrusts until every drop dripped between your thighs. With his hand, he turned your face, and keeping eye contact, you came undone, with hot pleasure ripping you apart and pulling you back together for his eyes only.
Mouth hanging open.
Lips trembling.
Brows knitted.
Bucky really wished he could've kissed you in that moment. Muffle your cries with his lips, drink up your moans, and your taste.
But he didn't.
He just stared at you in awe, and if he hadn't just come, he was sure he would've reached ecstasy the moment your eyes locked in his.
He held you in his arms until you came back into your body, and after a few minutes, he got up with the towel in his hand. He emerged from your bathroom after cleaning himself, with your towel now warm in his hand.
Bucky climbed the bed, and mumbling praises, he cleaned the residue of his spent and lube from between your thighs, then he removed your soaked panties, and cleaned the evidence of your arousal.
He discarded the towel, and after roaming in the drawer you pointed out, he took a new pair of panties and, to your surprise, he put them on you, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh when he was done.
Back in your bed, he took his place behind you and cuddled you, holding you in his arms as sleep took over.
Those nights repeated, especially once the semester got to that point where both of you lived and breathed projects and heavy assignments.
Sometimes he would find his way into your room, giving you an orgasm or two before falling asleep. Morning with him also meant waking up with his mouth on you, kissing down your body, or tongue deep in your pussy.
āI like to taste you first thing in the morning. Works better than caffeine.ā He had said the first time you had woken up with him under the covers.
You returned the favor, of course, waking him up, stroking him, or with his cock deep in your throat.
The mornings in your room together led to a shower together ā only when your shower routine allowed it ā and then to the kitchen, where both worked on breakfast. It was easy, the domesticity of all; it made your heart gallop and stop at the same time.
You knew things had changed; god, they probably changed before this whole agreement, somewhere between doing groceries and movie nights with your roommate.
Of course, you weren't the only one who had noticed that change.
āOkay, spit it out, tell me what's going on?ā Yelena asked, rolling the grocery cart.
Buckyās birthday was the following day, and you had been working on his surprise party, which meant an express grocery visit to buy all the last-minute items.
āI don't know what you are talking about.ā You muttered, taking several bags of chips and dumping them on top of the napkins.
āOh, but you know. You had been glowing this past week, and I know you; I know when you're hiding something.ā
āLena, just drop it; nothing is going on.ā
She hummed.
You thought she had, in fact, dropped it. She didn't.
āYou know,ā she said once everything was loaded in her car, and she got ready to drive out of the parking lot. āJason asked about you.ā
āJason?ā
āTall guy, huge biceps, dreamy eyes. You hooked up with him during first year.ā She detailed, keeping her eyes on the road.
Oh.
Jason.
The one Bucky had found you tongue deep in his throat.
That Jason.
āI remember.ā
āWell, he is a friend of Kate. I met him at a reunion with her group of friends.ā
āSounds like you're finally going steady.ā
āStop deflecting.ā She said, giving you side-eye. āHe recognized me, asked about you, and I invited him to Buckyās party, so you can reconnect.ā
You widened your eyes. This was the last thing you needed.
āYelena Belova.ā You scolded.
āWow, full government name.ā
āWhy the fuck did you invite him? He doesn't even know Bucky!ā
āKate also doesn't know him, and she's going.ā
āThat's different! She's your girlfriend.ā You slapped her arm. āUninvite him! I don't care! He's not coming.ā
āJesus, woman, Iām just trying to help you out! Exams had been stressful; maybe you need to fuck the stress out, you know.ā
āWell, don't. I'm totally fine, I do not need more help.ā The words spilled out of your mouth, blinded by the successful rage bait that your friend just did.
Yelena grinned.
āSo you are getting help with that. I knew it. You looked extra chirpy these last months.ā You widened your eyes in horror. āSo who's the lucky guy?ā
She glanced at you for a second, a quick read of your face, and then her jaw dropped.
āOh, my God! Are you and Bucky finally together? Is this why I haven't been at your apartment? You don't want me to disrupt your love nest!ā
You buried your face in your hands. āShut up.ā
She squealed.
āThatās not a no!ā
āLena, we are not togetherā¦ we are just having fun.ā
āYou don't sound like you're having fun.ā Her brows knitted with concern. āBabes, whatās the problem?ā
āWe are fuckbuddies. But Iām not sure if he wants more.ā
āHave you asked him?ā
āNo. Well ā I suggested some rules at the beginning; he agreed.ā
āGod, babes, for someone so smart, sometimes you do be an idiot.ā
āExcuse me?ā
āHavenāt you stopped to think that maybe he agreed and you put those rules, because both of you thought that was the only way the other would agree to be that close to actually being something real?ā
You shook your head.
āBabes, that guy has been head over heels for you since that night you met. And you had been too!ā You opened your mouth. āDonāt even try to deny it.ā
You rolled your eyes and huffed a breath out of your nose. āI actually was about to agree with you.ā
āThat's a first. Continue.ā
āIām such an idiot, but how do I even start undoing it?ā
Yelena parked her car right outside your building.
āMaybe start undoing all those rules of yours.ā She shrugged.
And you took it literally.
Maybe it was a mistake, and you should have stopped to think about it more clearly, but you were desperate.
Yelena left after she helped you take all the groceries upstairs and hide everything out of Buckyās sight ā which, in retrospect, wasn't necessary since Bucky knew you always threw a party for him. The only surprise was the theme.
And this year, the last birthday being a college student, the theme was costumes.
Just like the day you met.
Bucky arrived at the apartment a few hours later, coming back from hanging out with Steve, who, as every birthday week of his, was tasked with keeping him busy and out of the apartment if needed.
āBunny! Iām home!ā Bucky exclaimed, peeling off his jacket.
āIn my room!ā You shouted without peeking out.
You heard him padding around the apartment, and just as you predicted, he opened your door seconds later.
āBunnyā¦ā Bucky mumbled, flabbergasted.
You were standing just outside of your bathroom, resting with one hand extended towards the wall. You were wearing a white lacy set of lingerie, paired with an open silky translucent robe that framed your body. On top of your head, like a crown of a queen, were the same bunny ears that you had been wearing the night you met.
āHappy early birthday, Buck.ā You said with a smirk.
āAngelā¦ā He said, mouth dry.
āWasn't I your Bunny?ā You pouted.
āYou look like an angel.ā You chuckled, walking barefoot towards him. āI have died, and Iām in heaven.ā
āEasy, you're not dead yet.ā You stopped in front of him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His hands shot to hold your naked waist to keep you steady; he didn't remove them even when your heels touched the floor. āThis ain't your birthday gift, though; this is a sneak peek at your party tomorrow. You have to pick a costume.ā
His eyes widened. āYouāll be wearing this tomorrow?ā
āThe bunny ears. But this will be under the dress.ā You winked at him.
And he whimpered.
He actually whimpered.
āThat's torture. Do you know how hard it would be to keep my hands away from you, knowing that?ā
Maybe you don't need to. You wanted to say.
āSomeone will have to restrain me so I don't end up giving a show out there.ā He added.
You laughed.
āYeah, maybe you should keep that for the bedroom.ā
āOr at least until we are alone.ā
āSmart.ā
āIs that why you're showing me now?ā He asked, his hands pulling you closer to him, forcing you to look up to meet his eyes. āTo taunt me.ā
You nodded. āThat, and because I wanted to try out something.ā
āWhat?ā He scanned your face, stopping for several seconds at your lips.
You took it as a green light.
You stood again on your tiptoes, resting your hands over his shoulder and the nape of his neck.
And then you kissed him.
He gasped in your mouth, but then he melted in the kiss, cupping your head to control the angle, deepening the kiss.
Heat spread all over your body, overheating you to the point you felt like you were on fire. Without leaving his lips, you removed your robe and then pulled him from his collar, guiding him to your bed until he was lying over you.
āBunnyā¦ the rules.ā He said, pulling himself away from your lips, a pained look on his face.
āForget them.ā You guided him back to you, and he surrendered.
Your hands traveled around his body, touching whenever they could reach, pulling at his clothes to remove them.
āI want to feel you.ā You whimpered.
āOkay.ā He nodded, kissing your neck. He removed his shirt; his jeans followed shortly after, landing near his shoes and socks.
āBoxers too.ā You mumbled against the crook of his neck.
Kissing and nipping the tender skin and making him groan.
He lay naked over you, your legs parted and hugging his hips, pulling him close until he could feel the growing wetness in your panties. Bucky moaned in your mouth, as you bucked your hips; the friction over his erection made him see stars.
This was new.
You knew it. He knew it.
Even when he fucked your thighs, he was never that close to your pussy. And when you were in a similar position, there were always at least two layers of clothes between you.
His hips rutted against you, and then you guided your hand between your bodies, pulling your panties to the side.
He gave you a puzzled look.
āAre you sure?ā He asked.
āMore than anything. I want to feel you.ā
He whimpered, and after a nod, he resumed his grinding. You mewled as his heavy cock glided between your folds, kissing your clit with each dive.
āMore, I need more.ā You moaned. āPlease, Bucky, give it to me.ā
Bucky sat on his heels, looking down at your squirming figure, but you followed him up, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss. He got distracted, lost in your lips, to the point that when you pulled apart to lie back down, your panties and bra were gone, your glistening pussy exposed, weeping to have him inside.
The groan that left him was borderline animalistic. Knelt before you, he grabbed his cock with his fist and began rocking his hips, the tip of his cock hitting your clit with more pressure and precision. You spread yourself open for him, with your hands hooked behind your knees and holding your legs up.
āBucky, please.ā You groaned.
āWhat do you need, Bunny?ā
āYou, please, inside.ā
He whined, āBunny, noā¦ā
āWhy not?ā You cried out.
āThe rules.ā He said simply.
āFuck the rules.ā You groaned. āI want you, all of you. Please, Bucky.ā You begged.
He stilled his hips, needing to focus and think with his brain and not his other head. Because he wanted to feel you, too, bury himself in your heat.
āWhat if you regret it?ā He searched your eyes, his concern only confirming what you already knew.
āI won't.ā You worked to steady your breath. āBecause Iāve been wanting these since I met you. Especially once I realized how much I love you.ā
He shifted, too lost in his mind to realize he had done it, making his cock nuzzle between your folds and kiss your clit. You swallowed your moan.
āYou love me?ā His blue eyes, obscured by his desire, were bright with unshed tears.
You nodded frantically, and a chuckle escaped you, letting go of the strain of your legs but keeping yourself open. āSo much it made me scared to lose you and stop myself from saying it out loud.ā You confessed.
āBunny āā He looked at you with a bright smile. āYou don't have any idea of how much I love you.ā
āI think I might have.ā You smiled. āAnd Iām pretty sure that anyone who has met both of us knows how much we love each other.ā
āDo you think that me gifting you flowers, any chance that I had, was too on the nose?ā He scrunched his nose, leaning in and placing a hand next to your head.
You laughed, throwing your head back, making the bunny ears ā that until that moment were forgotten ā shift, and dig into your skull. Bucky noticed the discomfort in your face and reached out to place the bunny ears back in place.
āYeah, probably. But me throwing myself in your arms right after might have contributed.ā You said, lost in the tender way he looked at you.
āSo we are both idiots, keeping each other away from what makes us happy.ā
āPretty much.ā
āWhat now?ā He looked at you.
āWell, right now we can continue what we were doing.ā You bucked your hips, feeling the delicious drag of his cock against you. āAfter that, we can talk more about it, but let me tell you, Iām tired of the rules, tired of being a dirty secret, tired of loving you in the shadows.ā
āI agree.ā
āDo you want to beāā You clamped your hand over his mouth.
āDon't you dare ask me to be your girlfriend when we are about to have sex.ā You threatened, and then you removed your hand.
āLater then.ā He smiled. āWhere were we?ā He knitted his brows, feigning ignorance.
āI don't know, where do you think we were?ā You teased.
āI think, Bunny.ā He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with each word he said. āI was about to fuck you.ā His smug smile was bright when he pulled back enough to see your reaction. āAm I right?ā
āMhm.ā
āTell me if you need me to stop or change anything.ā He instructed, lining himself with your entrance.
āWait.ā You gasped when you felt his tip tease your opening. He stopped, pulling back away from you. āSlow, pleaseā¦ You are big.ā
He nodded, and then he pushed inside. Your mouth gaped, feeling your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth inside you.
āMore.ā You whined after a few shallow thrusts with only his tip inside you.
He sank deeper, your slick adding to the intrusion. Your hand shot to grip his forearm next to your head.
āYouāre taking me so well, Bunny.ā He praised. āMy pretty Bunny, so wet and tight for me. Breathe, baby, you can do it.ā
You mewled, feeling him reach deeper until he was buried to the hilt.
āThat's it, so good, such a good bunny.ā His voice cracked, pleasure ripping down his spine after a few thrusts.
Your legs returned to the initial position. Spread open, legs up. You felt him reach deeper, each drag adding pressure to your sweet spot.
āOh fuck, right there.ā You whined.
His pace fastened, tightening the coil in your belly with each drill of his hips. He rocked your entire body, making your breasts jiggle with each movement that made your ass hit his thighs, to the point that if he hadn't been holding you in place, he would've already pushed you out of bed.
You were creaming around him, mixing with his precum, forming a ring of slick at the bottom of his cock. The wet clap of skin against skin was loud, mixing with your moans and cries.
āOh, Bunny, you feel so good. You're gripping me so tight, you don't want to let go, don't you? You want me to stay right there, nuzzled inside you.ā
āYes, ah, yes!ā You cried out, wrapping your legs around him with a leglock, heels pressing his butt.
āBunny, baby, I need to pull out,ā Bucky said, groaning.
āCum inside me, please, breed me.ā
āOh, Bunny.ā He whimpered, his self-control snapping like a twig. āIs this why you said no penetration before ā mmm, because you knew how much you'll want my cum inside you.ā
You nodded.
āPlease, I need it.ā
His pace grew more erratic; he leaned in, arms braced so he could piston harder. Your arms wrapped around him, nails digging in his skin.
He knew very well that you were on the pill since long before you met him; still, the fantasy of getting you pregnant, marking you as his for the world to see, was making him dizzy in pleasure.
You were babbling now, too cockdrunk to even speak without slurring words that weren't yes, please, Bucky, fill me.
āSuch a needy, Bunny.ā He taunted you. āCome for me, baby, let me feel you.ā
He felt you coming around him first, then he saw your pretty face contorted with pleasure.
Mouth hanging open.
Lips trembling.
Brows knitted.
Your legs trembled as you came, gushing around his cock. Your back arched.
And finally, he achieved what he had only been dreaming of. He kissed you, swallowing your moans.
Your climax triggered his, milking him as he spilled his seed inside you, filling you to the brim. His hips jerked; shallow thrusts made to pump his cum inside you and make it stay there.
āThatās it, Bunny. Take every drop.ā He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
āThank you, thank you, thank you.ā You slurred, still on the peak of your climax that had prolonged with the joy of being bred.
You came down slowly, falling back into his arms as he cooed praises. He stayed buried inside you, just shifting enough to make you moan, and making sure not a single drop was wasted.
āThat wasā¦ā
āIntense.ā Bucky completed.
āVery much. When can we repeat?ā You joked, making him laugh over you.
āMy bunny and her jokes, I swear.ā He kissed your lips. āI love you, baby.ā
āI love you more.ā You giggled when he kept peppering kisses all over your face and neck.
He pulled back slightly so he could see your whole face. āAre you okay?ā he asked, straightening the bunny ears again.
āNever have been better, but I think my legs are cramped now.ā
āShit, Bunny!ā
Bucky quickly straightened his back, bringing you up with him until you were sitting in his lap; the shift made some cum drip around his cock and down to the sheets.
āBetter?ā He kissed your shoulder, and as you got comfortable with your arms around him, he placed one hand on the curve of your ass, and the other caressed down your spine with lazy strokes.
You nodded, feeling sleepy and satisfied.
āHappy early birthday, Bucky.ā You mumbled, reciprocating the caresses on his broad back.
āThank you, Bunny. Best birthday present.ā You nuzzled into his neck. āWe are gonna have to explain a lot tomorrow.ā
You considered lying, but you knew it would eventually come out.
āYelena already knows.ā You confessed. āShe rage-baited me today until I spilled it out. I didn't tell her all the details ā but she inferred we were sleeping together. She also helped me see how stupid I was not to tell you how I feel.ā
He hummed.
āWhy do you look so calm about it?ā You narrowed your eyes at him, meeting his eyes and watching him blush. āBarnes?ā
āSam and Steve also know, superficially, nothing in detail. They've been nudging me to confess how much I love you for the past year, but I didn't want to risk our friendship.ā
āOh God, I can't believe our brain cells canceled each other.ā You whined, mortified.
āIf it helps, you're way smarter than I am; you at least made us progress ā I was about to take my feelings to my grave.ā
You slapped his arm. āDumbass.ā
He laughed.
āReady to move?ā You nodded against his shoulder. āWhat do you think about a bubble bath, soaking there until we look like raisins, and then we watch that movie you told me last time? I bought that ice cream you love.ā
āFuck me, you know me so well.ā
āOf course I do, Iām your best friend.ā He kissed your temple. āAnd your future boyfriend.ā
āYes, you are.ā You smiled at him, and before he helped you stand up, you kissed him.
You were getting addicted to his kisses, you realized, which in part was great because you had so much time to make up for that you would be surprised if you ever were more than a few minutes without feeling his lips on you.
Time for new house rules.
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tags: spencer x bau!reader, no use of y/n, someone switched the fluff machine back on, 5 plus 1 fic, hand-holding, coworkers to crushes, reader has an idea, spencer's mostly just being polite about it, UNTIL
warnings: germ talk, spencer mentions hypothetical medical conditions
word count: 6.7K
summary: five times you take spencer's hand and one time he takes yours.
note: suggested by @emmadellaposta-blog in this comment:
May I propose to you a fic where Spencer tells reader he wants to get over some of his Germaphobia so she just randomly throughout the day starts holding his hand and when he asks what sheās doing she replies āexposure therapyā but it just leads to them realizing they have feelings for each other
title is from a glistening pleasure song. the song has ZERO connection to the fic i just love those words in that order.
~*~*~
ONE
"What the hell is that guy's problem?"
You don't recognize the voice at first, but you do recognize the face of the cop who's still not done rolling his eyes when you and Spencer turn the corner of the hallway at the local precinct. He's the one who spent more time glaring at Spencer than he did actually working when you were all at the crime scene earlier, as if Spencer not shaking his hand was some kind of personal insult and Reid hadn't evaded everyone's handshakes.
His fellow uniform, whose back is to you, shrugs, completely oblivious to the first guy's panicked expression when he sees you approaching. "It's the BAU. You probably have to be just a little crazy to do that job. Maybe he's just crazier than the rest of them."
"It's not strictly speaking a requirement, but it definitely helps," you say brightly, stopping several feet away from them. "We talk to so many assholes everywhere we go, a little bit of craziness helps us power through."
Next to you, you can tell that Spencer has gone rigid; you're not sure if he stopped walking because you did or if he actually froze.
There's really no way to pretend it isn't obvious that the two street cops are talking about him. Especially with the way they glance awkwardly at him and scurry off down the hallway without even acknowledging your comment. Probably lucky that this didn't turn into a full-blown discussion, Hotch wouldn't be impressed if he heard you talked to the locals like that. He'd do his whole Disappointed Dad routine of not shouting but looking very disappointed as he told you he expected better.
You turn to look at Spencer, pulling a face that makes it clear exactly what you think of those guys, but Spencer shakes his head at you.
"I'm not crazy," he says. "Actually my Mysophobia is quite mild. I just don't trust other people to keep their hands clean, and neither should anyone else."
You don't say anything about the disinfectant wipes in his desk drawer back at Quantico, or the way his shoes are lined up neatly in his hallway at home. (The temptation to nudge one of his chucks out of alignment had been almost too great to resist, but you had honestly been worried he'd retaliate by doing something to your car and it'd smell of rotten eggs for six months. He'd do the calculations and decide that revenge was worth having to take a taxi to work until the metro was running again. Or he'd get a ride from Emily.)
"Fuck them," you say dismissively.
"I'd rather not." He pulls a face and it takes you a second to realize he's joking. When you snort with laughter, he smiles at you, looking just a little smug.
"No, that'd probably be even more unhygienic," you agree. He opens his mouth to speak and you hold up a hand to stop him. "Nope. You will not give me any stats on that, you will not ruin sex for me forever."
Spencer closes his mouth like a fish.
"Thank you," you say, nodding.
"Perhaps it'd be easier, though," he says, making no moves to start walking again.
"Never having sex again?" Is he about to give you some honest feedback on your dating life?
"No." He shakes his head, too caught up in his own train of thought to really notice what you asked. "If I just shook people's hands."
"I mean, maybe," you agree, because it probably would make some things simpler. Just, none of those things are important. "But don't make yourself do something you don't want to do because that guy's a douche canoe."
"I'm not," he insists, looking down at his hands.
"Give me your hand sanitizer," you say, reaching out, palm up.
"What?" He frowns at you but immediately digs into his pocket for the small bottle. He squeezes a blob of the cool gel into your cupped palm and you rub your hands together, carefully spreading it on both of them before the alcohol evaporates and it dries out. Spencer is still watching you as he pockets the hand sanitizer.
When you're done, you hold up both hands to him, showing off just how clean they are and he raises his eyebrows in what you assume is approval. So you reach out and take his hand, not to shake but to hold.
"What are you doing?" His hand is stiff but he doesn't pull away.
"Exposure therapy," you say, squeezing.
The muscles in his hand relax slightly, but you can feel his palm getting sweaty. His hand is warmer than you thought it'd be, his skin softer. Somehow you expected calluses and dry skin, but his hands are as soft as the rest of him.
He wraps his fingers around your hand, submitting himself to the project.
"Spencer?" you ask a few seconds later.
"Hmm?"
"Are you counting?"
He looks like he's going to deny it but then he smiles, slightly shamefaced. "Yes."
"One minute, okay?" you tell him.
"Okay," he agrees, nodding, looking both ways as if he's worried someone will see the two of you standing in the middle of a police station hallway at 1 in the morning holding hands.
Some fears are more rational than others, you think to yourself as Spencer mouths, "59, 60," and then quickly lets go of your hand and shoves his own in his pocket.
TWO
You're in Garcia's office, sitting behind her as she types away, making things appear and disappear on her many monitors. Next to you Spencer is leaning against the desk you're perched on, his hands at his sides.
You indicate his pocket with your index finger and he pulls a "what?" face. When you mime rubbing something into your hands he looks at Garcia and then at you before he slowly pulls the hand sanitizer from his pocket and squirts some of it into your hand.
Garcia doesn't notice at all, still typing away, and you reach for Spencer's hand. He lets you take it, but you can see his eyes going slightly wide with panic.
"There are still more than a thousand hits," she says, taking a break from typing and starting to turn around in her chair.
"Can you limit it to just women who were divorced in the last six months?" he asks quickly, moving your joined hands behind your back where hopefully Garcia won't be able to see them.
"I never knew that was your thing, Doctor Reid," she jokes, turning back to her screens. "But I can indeed."
"It's not my thing," Spencer argues, "but it looks like it might be the UnSub's."
"No, I think Penelope's onto something there," you joke. Next to you Spencer is tense, but you're pretty sure it's more to do with the fact that you've got a firm grip on his hand than the joking. So you keep talking as a way to distract him. You're doing him a solid, basically. "How long after the ink is dry on the divorce papers do you make your move, Spencer? Do you hang around outside Family Court, scouting for future girlfriends?"
Penelope lets a giggle slip out, clearly appreciating the absurdness of the joke. Spencer Reid scouting for girlfriends anywhere. You're honestly hilarious.
Spencer on the other hand doesn't even dignify your joke with an answer. You think he might let go of your hand, but no. It hasn't been 60 seconds yet and you're pretty sure he's counting.
"Catching them on the rebound," you go on, smirking. You're going to keep it up until he reacts. "Clever to get them at their most vulnerable."
"Are you projecting?" he asks, head tilted innocently as he looks at you. "It sounds like you've thought about this a lot."
You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back and then lets go.
If nothing else, this project is going to give you a very good idea of just how long 60 seconds is.
THREE
The case was exhausting, both physically and mentally, and practically everyone is asleep in their seats, with the exception of Hotch who is reviewing paperwork in the seat behind you while JJ snores quietly across from him, her own file abandoned on the table between them.
Next to you Spencer is sleeping with a pillow against the window, forced to make do after Morgan beat him to the bench where he's sleeping soundly under a blanket.
You shift, trying to get comfortable, accidentally hitting Spencer with your elbow.
"Sorry," you whisper when he opens one eye to look at you.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asks, opening his other eye.
You shrug, because you don't really want to admit that he was right and you were wrong, you shouldn't have packed your jacket in your hold bag, and you shouldn't have turned down a blanket when Rossi offered you one, and now you're too cold to sleep while Rossi is curled up across the aisle from Hotch, warm and comfortable under the blanket you refused.
Spencer doesn't say anything, just shakes his head at you with a faint smile, and then rearranges his blanket until it's covering you both. You lean closer to him so he can wrap it all the way over you.
"Thanks," you mumble, leaning your head against his shoulder, relaxing in the delicious warmth of the pre-heated blanket.
"Mhmm," he says, pushing his pillow back in place and tilting his head against it once more. When he settles, his hand brushes yours, knuckles moving against your fingers, and you chase him, pushing your hand into his. You might as well make the most of this time and do another therapy session.
Not acknowledging what you're doing in any other way at all, he turns his wrist so he can wrap his hand around yours properly, both of your hands falling into your lap. When you squeeze, he squeezes back, and then you feel his shoulder relax as he settles.
You wait with your eyes closed for the minute to pass, but when the 60 seconds are up he doesn't let go, so you don't either. Maybe he's ready to go for two minutes. You're nodding off when you finally feel his hand move, but instead of pulling it back, he's intertwining his fingers with yours.
His breathing is slow and even, you're pretty sure he's sleeping. Somehow it feels wrong to still be holding his hand when he's not aware of it, like you'reā¦ overstepping some boundary, tricking him. You try to pull away your hand, loosening your grip on him so you can push his hand back in his own lap, but he tightens his grip. It's not exactly firm, but definitely determined.
You smile, closing your eyes and burrowing closer to him until you're comfortable.
You're woken up a few hours later by him gently nudging you with his shoulder and then saying dryly, "You drooled on me."
His fingers are still braided through yours under the blanket and you use your other hand to wipe your chin and then the knit of his cardigan. "Sorry."
When you look at him his face is so close you can't really interpret his expression, but you don't think he looks disgusted.
Also, he hasn't let go of your hand.
"We're landing," you say, looking out the window at the Quantico air strip coming into view.
"That's why I woke you up," he replies.
"Oh." You honestly thought it was to complain about the drooling.
His thumb brushes a soothing circle on the back of your hand, and then he carefully releases you, pulling his hand away just in time to be able to give the blanket to JJ so she can stow it away.
You smile at him, impressed, and he smiles back.
FOUR
The bar is crowded but Emily and JJ managed to secure a table big enough for the whole team. There's a constant shuffling of seats, people drifting to the dance floor and back again, going to buy rounds of drinks, using the restrooms; and somehow you end up nursing your second piƱa colada pressed into Spencer's side while he's discussing interrogation techniques with Hotch and you're trying to understand what Penelope is telling you about the changes she made to her computer setup in excruciating detail.
Spencer shifts, moving even closer to you when Morgan pushes onto the rounded bench on Hotch's other side, and his hand ends up trapped between your thighs somehow. You move closer to Garcia, giving him space to pull his hand free, trying to pretend you don't notice the way his hand strokes your leg when he removes it.
Because he's not stroking your leg, he's justā¦ moving his hand.
You clear your throat and nod, because Penelope looks like that's the reaction she's expecting, and she grins. "You weren't listening, were you?"
Spencer's hand is resting on his thigh now, but you're sitting so close to him that his pinky finger is still brushing your leg every time one of you moves. You're maybe moving a lot, not particularly comfortable on the bench seat.
You grimace in apology, your own hand settling on your thigh, so close to his that you could probably just stretch out your pinky and touch his.
"Well if you don't want to talk about my computer you can just tell me all about the date you went on last week," Penelope says and you realize this was her plan all along. Sneaky bitch, oh how you love her.
Next to you Spencer shifts again, his whole body going rigid when his pinky touches yours. You can feel him turn to look at you and when your eyes meet, he's frowning. You can guess what's bothering him, of course. Your hands touching under the table and you haven't been anywhere near hand sanitizer for well over an hour. What you have been doing is touching all sorts of unclean things, like the bar and the bench and money, the ultimate culprit in the exchange of germs, or so you've been told once.
Well, good. Time for him to lose the training wheels, you decide, and take his hand in yours, smiling with what you hope looks like encouragement.
His frown deepens, like he's thinking through a complicated game of chess, or maybe trying to talk himself off a ledge, and then he curls his fingers around yours, turning back to Hotch, his focus clearly going back to the conversation he and Morgan are having.
"Oh, it was great," you tell Penelope, feeling a little spark of excitement at how well Spencer's doing with his whole desensitization. You're kind of a genius for coming up with this, you tell yourself, pleased little butterflies fluttering around your stomach while Spencer's thumb rubs against your hand. "Yeah, he told me after dinner that he forgot his credit card so I had to pay, then suggested we both go back to his place because then we could share the taxi I'd also be paying for."
Penelope snorts. "And did you?"
You scoff. "No! I gave him three bucks and told him to take the metro, then I took a taxi home. By myself."
She laughs, delighted and you launch into the whole sorry tale about this absolute turd of a man you had to spend nearly two hours sitting across from at a restaurant because you hadn't organized a fake emergency call.
Next to you, Spencer's back goes less rigid as he clearly gets used to holding another person's unsanitized hand in this uncontrolled environment.
You squeeze his fingers, trying to convey how impressed you are by his progress.
He squeezes back, moving in his seat so his arm isn't bent at an odd angle under the table, making sure you're sitting so close that your joined hands aren't noticeable to anyone else. Your hands are resting on your thigh, his long fingers brushing against your tights. Or, well, not so much 'brushing' as, sort of, kind of stroking your leg, maybe? Not deliberately, of course, you know that, it's just what happens when you're both forever being jostled around as other people move around you.
Penelope gets up to go to the bar and really, there's plenty of space on your other side now, you could move away from Spencer's side, but then you'd have to let go of his hand, so you stay where you are, reluctant to let go before he does. He's doing so well, you want to see just how long he's able to do this for.
The room isn't cold, but somehow you still have goosebumps.
"Sorry about your date," he says suddenly, head tilted towards you, voice so low that no-one else can hear him.
You turn to look at him. "Don't be. My friend Katie set me up, she has terrible taste in men. The only surprising thing about that date is that she didn't want him for herself."
"Still. It sounded like you had a pretty bad time."
You shrug, one arm moving against his. "It's fine. Not the end of the world. There will be other dates, and maybe they'll be less terrible."
Spencer frowns, then nods. "Yeah, definitely."
"Why do you look so unconvinced? You think I'm doomed to a life of terrible dates?"
"No." He's shaking his head, but that frown isn't going anywhere. "That's not it."
"Then what?"
Under the table, Spencer's grip on your hand tightens and he looks uncomfortable. You wonder if he managed to forget he was holding your hand and now he realized it and wants to let go.
"It's fine," you tell him, because it is. He's been holding your hand for almost half an hour, your shoulder is actually getting a little stiff by this point. "You did really well."
"What?"
You squeeze his hand, since you can't exactly blurt out 'you're doing a very good job holding my hand' in front of all your teammates. Who knows what they'd read into that?
Spencer blinks. "Oh. Right. Thanks."
When you let go of his hand, it takes a few seconds for his fingers to loosen their grip, but when he does, you catch him surreptitiously rubbing his hand against his knee, not quite like he's trying to wipe you off, but still. Kind of like that.
When he gets up to leave half an hour later, he looks kind of uncomfortable when he says goodnight to you, raising his arms, and for a mad second you think he's going to hug you, but then he adjusts his satchel and you realize it was just falling off his shoulder.
FIVE
One of your favorite things about Spencer is, although his head can get kind of deep in the work clouds, once the case is over, if there's time before the jet takes you back home, you can pretty much always tempt him to go book shopping with you.
Sometimes you don't even really have to tempt him, because he has that eidetic memory, and he remembers you once telling him how you spent an entire day in your favorite bookshop in the world when you were in high school and now here you are in Portland and JJ has dismissed you both since you weren't on the team that did any actual apprehending of anyone, so there's less paperwork for you to do.
Spencer glances at his watch and then at JJ and then he tilts his head towards the exit while looking at you. And half an hour later, you're in heaven.
Book heaven.
You get distracted in the used books section, browsing biographies, and lose track of Spencer. When you resurface in Poetry it's been almost an hour and you realize you should probably find him. If you make everyone wait for you at the jet, they're not going to look the other way when you sneak off ever again.
You go through the aisles, looking for him, fairly certain he's in the used books section as well. There's enough to look at here, he wouldn't have made it to the new books, soulless historyless paperbacks.
You're not sure how you know that he's close, you just do. He's in the next aisle, definitely, and you're trying to decide if you should sneak up on him or that'd be a mistake considering what you both spent the last four days doing.
But then you hear it: "We have the paperback version as well, if you prefer."
You don't actually have to look to know this woman is flirting with Spencer. Her voice is so loaded with it, it's amazing the fire alarms aren't going off.
"Oh, that's fine. I prefer hardbacks." Spencer is polite but friendly in a way that's definitely not a rejection and you give in to temptation and remove a few books from the shelf so you can peer into their aisle.
18th century philosophy. Because of course.
And of course that woman is pretty with her nose piercing and purple-tinted hair and t-shirt that's just a little tighter than it's probably supposed to be, but in the most flattering way. A t-shirt that says, very loudly, "I can get you all the books you want, anytime, just come to bed with me."
Not literally, that would have been super weird to put on a work uniform, but it's definitely what the shop logo stretched out across her chest is implying.
"Well, if you need anything, just let me know. I'm Frankie, by the way." You wonder if the fire alarms are silent but fire trucks are actually on their way.
"Oh. Thanks," Spencer says and you can see his cheeks going all splotchy and red like he's too warm.
You stand up on tiptoes, which changes your view, and you realize why he looks like he's boiling.
She's touching his hand.
How unprofessional!
For just a second you think you've turned into your grandmother, who also cares way too much how people in the service industry behave even if their behavior has zero impact on her, and you think you might ask to speak to the manager, but then Spencer shakes his head no to something this absolute trollop just said, and which you didn't hear because your ears were ringing with righteous indignation, and she releases him.
And you realize something. You try not to, but you can't help it.
Because you're relieved. You don't care that this woman talks to customers like she wants to lick honey off of them, just so long as those customers aren't Spencer.
And you'd feel bad that clearly your exposure therapy hasn't really worked yet, because he couldn't have looked less comfortable and you know he gets shy sometimes, and it seemed clear that he liked her, and maybe if you had done a better job preparing him for this he would have been okay with her touching him.
Maybe you should also feel bad about the fact that there's a little part of you that's delighted that he'll let you hold his hand and not that woman.
No, you should definitely feel bad about that. Except you don't want any woman holding his hand other than you.
Once the aspiring honey-licker is gone, you walk into Spencer's aisle, trying to look like you didn't know he was there. If he notices, he doesn't say anything, just holds up the book he definitely already read most of and tells you he's going to buy it.
"You wouldn't prefer the paperback?" you ask innocently. He doesn't know you know, after all.
He looks at you, then at the gap in the bookshelf you forgot to refill, then back at you. "No." He says it like it's simple and your whole world didn't just spin on its axis.
Oh.
Your stomach does a little flip as you try not to read anything into that completely innocuous answer. Then he starts walking towards the cash registers, moving the book to the hand that's further from you, the one closest to you hanging loosely at his side.
You take it, carefully wrapping your hand around his, and he does the same, his fingers curling themselves around you.
You pass the woman he didn't want touching him earlier, and you think he might let go of you, but instead he just smiles politely at her, his grip on you not changing at all.
She smiles back, and then she smiles at you, looking all friendly and maybe a little bit apologetic and not at all like she wants to claw your eyes out.
You hope you smile back, but you honestly aren't sure what your face is doing at all.
You just know you're holding Spencer's hand and you don't want to let go.
Terrifying.
ONE
This was your idea. Spencer has reminded himself of that fact 27 times on his way from his apartment to the cinema.
He had asked Emily to go to the Eisenstein festival with him, she had made up some transparent excuse like he wasn't a professional lie detector, and you had said, "I'll go with you, Spencer. It sounds like fun."
And his lie detector just short circuited right then and there.
There's no part of him that thinks you're going to enjoy sitting through any one of the three movies that are playing back to back today, but he didn't question it. He did rewind mentally to make sure you had heard enough of the conversation to understand what he had been suggesting, and yes. You were there the whole time, actually sitting next to Emily when he had first brought it up.
But if you only said it sounded like fun because you felt sorry for him that no-one wanted to go with him to his black and white, Soviet era movie marathon, then he was going to just pretend he didn't notice.
And then he'd sit next to you in that cinema for at least 278 minutes, depending on the versions they were screening which the poster had been frustratingly vague about. Plus commercials. All in all, he'd estimate at least five hours. Sitting next to you. In a dark cinema.
Spencer doesn't believe in prayers or wishing on shooting stars, but he would have done both yesterday if he thought it might have done anything to lower the risk of a case coming up and cancelling your plans together. But he didn't need to, because here he is.
You're already there when he arrives, standing under the awning outside looking at your phone, and for just a second he's worried there's a text from JJ and you're being called into work, but his own phone hasn't said anything at all, and when you look up and spot him you smile, not apologetically or with anything like regret (real or pretend), but like you're genuinely happy to see him.
"Perfect timing," you say when he stops in front of you.
Spencer is seven minutes early. He smiles.
"Katie has been texting me non-stop." You hold up your phone as if to show him, and it actually beeps and lights up as if you planned it.
"Your friend with terrible taste in men?" There could be other Katies, obviously, but he's pretty sure this is the only one you've mentioned knowing.
"Uhhuh. She found another gem. She started dating a guy who'sāand I could not be more certain of thisāinvolved in some Ponzi scheme. He's got a friend who's single and she's convinced we'd hit it off." You open the text and read it, rolling your eyes, and then you shove your phone at him.
'Come on just give him a chance. What do you have to lose?' Spencer hands the phone back to you. "Does she mean, other than your money?"
You snort. "Who cares about money, Spencer? What about my dignity?"
He smiles, blowing an amused huff of air out through his nose. "I suppose there's that as well," he agrees. How much dignity does he have left considering the fact that he's about to spend his Sunday with you watching movies he knows you won't enjoy, when he could have explained to you that you wouldn't enjoy them and why, but he chose not to, because he didn't want you to back out?
Considering the fact that you spending time with him out of pity doesn't stop him looking forward to it? Considering the fact that he spent the entire morning wondering if you're going to take his hand in the cinema and actually getting excited at the prospect of sitting in a dark cinema screen holding his colleague's hand because she thinks she's curing him ofā¦ caring about hygiene?
Spencer isn't sure how dignity is measured, but he is pretty sure he doesn't have a whole lot of it left to measure.
"We're getting popcorn, right?" you ask, walking ahead of him into the cinema.
Spencer had planned on getting a coffee, maybe some pretzels. It's barely 11AM. "Of course."
At the concession stand you start picking up bags of candy at what he assumes is random, but then you show him two bags of pretzels, holding them up in turn. There's a third option, but he's never eaten that one in the office and you haven't touched it. He shrugs because he's fine with either and you throw both on the counter. "And a large popcorn with butter and a diet coke and a coffee with more sugar than you think should be legal. Actually, once you hit that point, just add a little more."
The teenager behind the counter looks at you, wide-eyed and a little scared.
"Three sugars," Spencer corrects you and you smirk.
He shakes his head at you, nudging you away from the counter before you can do any more damage. Doing some quick calculations based on what you've picked up, he throws some money on the counter before you can get your purse open.
"I was going to pay," you say, eyebrows furrowed. "You got the tickets."
Spencer, who can see the remainder of his dignity escaping out the door as he goes through the rites of an actual date, just shrugs. "You're doing me a favor, coming with me. The least I can do is feed you."
You look up at him. "Oh. I figured we'd go out for food after?"
He looks at the mountain of snacks you picked up, the tub of popcorn in your arm, bigger than your head. There's no way he can look you in the eye right now, not when you basically said you want to go out for dinner. With him. "And what's this? Appetizers?"
"No." You hug the popcorn closer like he threatened to take them away from you. "But aren't these movies seven years long? I feel like Russian movies are going to be long."
"They're not that long." He holds the door open and you walk into the screen ahead of him. The room is about half full, with people mostly centered in the middle rows. The front and back rows are both empty.
You stop, turning to look at him. "Where do you want to sit?"
Normally he'd prefer the front row, for his eyesight, but he nods his head towards the back row instead. You look just a little surprised, but walk in ahead of him, settling in one of the seats in the middle of the row.
He deposits your appetizers on the little table attached to his seat and sits down next to you. And then he waits.
You spend the first half hour eating popcorn, offering the tub to him at regular intervals, and then you open the bag of twizzlers, slowly chewing your way through one of them as you squirm in your seat.
"Are you scared you'll fall asleep if you sit still for too long?" he leans in and whispers.
You jump, startled. "No. I'm just hoping I can find the right angle and then this will make sense to me."
"It won't," he whispers. "Sit still."
Then he very casually and not at all deliberately puts his lower arm on the armrest between your seats, his hand within easy reach. It has worked well in the past, after all, there is previous evidence that his method is sound. If he makes his hand available, maybe allows his fingers to touch yours, more often than not you will take his hand.
It's a pretty devious thing to do, he's aware of that, and he's not really sure when your supposed exposure therapy stopped being something he allowed you to do because you seemed so determined to help him, and instead changed into something he didn't really mind before finally becoming something he actually wants you to do.
He wants to hold your hand, he wants to touch you, and he does not want your friend Katie to set you up on any more dates. Because you're right: statistically, eventually one of them will be a nice guy, and you'll like him.
But he won't - and this is the real problem here - be Spencer.
The first movie ends and you still haven't made any moves to touch his hand. You haven't actually moved much at all, and for a while he thought you had fallen asleep, but no. You were staring at the screen, your nose scrunched up adorably as you tried to follow the narrative.
Maybe Spencer should have double-checked that there would be subtitlesā¦
When the lights come on for the 15 minute break between screenings, you get out of your seat. "I've just gottaā" you trail off, pointing at the exit to the lobby and the other people making their way out.
"You forgot your purse," he says, grabbing it from your seat and holding it out to you after you've passed him.
You turn and stare at him. "What?"
"If you're going to sneak off." He's mostly joking. Mostly. He's also a little bit worried you do want to leave.
But then you smile, shaking your head at him like he's being silly, and he feels like maybe he was.
"We can do something else," he offers all the same. Maybe you don't want to get away from him, but you could still want to get away from Eisenstein.
You take a step back towards him, almost but not quite knocking your knee against his. "Spencer, we're not leaving. There are two movies left, I'm coming back."
"You just want me to feed you," he says. Mainly to remind himself that's something you said you expected to happen.
Dinner and a movie. Would it be possible for you to do anything more date-like? In a completely platonic way, of course. Two more movies left for you to platonically take his hand.
"Exactly," you say, and this time you do actually nudge him with your leg. Luckily you aren't looking at him, so you don't see the way he has to suck a pleased smile all the way into his mouth.
This time, he lets you walk away, and when you return nine minutes later, you're holding another coffee for him. "You take it black, right?" you joke, handing it to him.
He takes a sip and you ordered it just the way he likes it, which he knew you would. "Thanks."
When he puts the coffee back in the cup holder between your seats, he brushes against your arm, sitting on the edge of the armrest. Strictly speaking the thing isn't wide enough for two, it's very much a territory to negotiate over, but you're taking up less than half of it.
Spencer spends about ten minutes wringing his hands in his lap, trying to decipher the situation. You shift, twice, but your hand doesn't move. It's still there, half on, half off the armrest.
Like it's undecided, or like it's trying to run away and you aren't letting it, or like it wants to be there and you don't want it to.
How is he supposed to know what to do?
The answer is probably that he isn't supposed to do anything. This isn't a date, it only looks like one from a distance, and just because he can't focus on the movie because all he can think about is holding your hand, that doesn't mean you want him to. You haven't technically told him that his exposure therapy is over, but you haven't held his hand since Portland, two weeks ago.
Like maybe doing it in public was some kind of graduation ceremony and didn't make him want to stay in that bookshop forever, never mind catching the jet back to Quantico.
He shifts, sighing deeply, only realizing how loud it was when you turn to look at him. "Sorry."
"You okay?" you whisper, leaning a little closer to him.
He's not, not at all. He's spiraling just a little bit. "Yeah, of course."
You look at him carefully, like maybe you don't believe him, and he turns back to face the screen so he doesn't have to look you in the eye. Then he takes a deep breath and places his arm on the armrest, taking up most of the remaining space on it.
His pinky finger is maybe an eighth of an inch away from yours and he digs it into the velvet of the armrest to stop it from twitching and accidentally touching you, although he's not quite sure why.
Maybe because it feels too much like begging to be touched, suddenly, after not being touched at all for so long?
But then, while the score crescendos dramatically, he suddenly feels it: Your pinky finger feathering along his and then away. At first he thinks he imagined it, but then it happens again, and again. And this time, it actually settles against his.
When Spencer turns to look at you, you're staring intently at the screen, looking for all the world like you're completely engrossed in the movie.
He moves his pinky so it's covering yours.
You don't move. At all.
He moves his pinky a little more, until it's settling on your ring finger.
You still aren't moving.
He feels his heart rate increase, the way it might do ahead of a myocardial infarction, or possibly a panic attack. But there's no pain in his left arm, no cold sweats, no shortness of breath.
He swallows, then he places his hand over yours, covering it completely.
Your thumb twitches but you don't pull away, so Spencer decides he might as well go for broke and wrap his fingers around your hand.
That's it, he's done it. He's holding your hand.
And then you move, your hand shifting. He's about to release you, worried he overstepped, but all you do is turn your hand and intertwine your fingers with his, pulling his hand off the armrest and into your lap.
Spencer double-checks the signals his body is sending him, just to make completely sure this isn't a heart attack.
He turns to look at you, and he's pretty sure you're smiling, your eyes still on the screen. "Okay?" he asks.
You turn your head and now he's sure you're smiling. "Of course."
When the second movie ends, you don't get up. Your hand is still intertwined with his, resting in your lap, and Spencer hopes you'll never move.
"This, um, this exposure therapy has really worked well," you say and there's something in your voice that makes him look at you.
"I guess," he says, because he's not convinced it has, really. He's pretty sure he won't be shaking anyone's hand unless it's yours.
You lift up your joined hands to show him. "I mean, we've been holding hands for like an hour."
He blinks.
"It's nice." Your voice is soft and you aren't looking at him, so he lets himself smile at your words.
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timeloop au but it's written from the pov of the character not stuck in the loop. one day you wake up and someone you know is acting different. things are happening and somehow they seem to be in the middle of it. they seem to know everything. it doesnt feel right. they won't answer any questions, saying it should work 'this time'. you don't know what 'this time' means. you try to go along but you're always ten steps behind. they tell you things, don't drink that, go left, let's stay home today. the day feels like a dream, like they planned it out for you.
maybe it's your friend, who seems to break under the weight on their shoulders, staring at you with hollow eyes, full of fear. maybe it's your enemy, showing a strange amount of care for someone they vowed to destroy only a single day ago. and they know things about you, things you're sure you never told them, things that were your secret. how do they know? something bad is happening, or is going to happen, you can feel it.
but nothing happens. the day, the mission, the event, it passed. you worry the threat is still there, but the other person is relieved beyond compare, ecstatic. you don't know about what. nothing happened. they won't tell you, but things are different now. things aren't like they were before, and you have no idea what happened.
ā½ - Welcome! Here you will find all my writing and series in one place - ā¾
āāāāāāāāā WOUNDS
Henry Creel/001 x reader | slow burn - dark - nsfw - Hawkins Lab
Summary: An opportunity to participate in a paid medical study at Hawkins Department of Energy seems to promise you an escape from your misery.
That is, until you wake up to shattered memories and inexplicable abilities.
Grappling with your new reality as subject 019, you find yourself drawn to a strange, angelic orderly.
When the boughs of control are broken, the dark bonds of madness and obsession pull you together.
Chapter List | Read on Ao3
Part One - Lab Rat
Part Two - Emergence
Part Three - Shattered
Part Four - Labyrinth
Part Five - Covenant
Part Six - Furnace
Part Seven - Chokehold
Part Eight - Nightingale
Part Nine - Serpent
Part Ten - Haunted
Part Eleven - Ascension
Part Twelve -
āāāāāā The Trials Expanded
Theo Deschamps x Jane Warfield!Reader | magic - rivals to lovers - nsfw
Summary: A deep dive and expansion into the world of The Trials. Featuring a complete part and perspective for Jane Warfield (reader insert).
Series and Chapter List
(* = additional/OC chapter not included in the audiobook)
The Trials | Read on Ao3
Part One - The Recruitment
Part Two - Drinks and Decisions
Part Three - Bodies in the Library
Part Four - Falling in The Forest
Part Five - I'll Take Care of You
Part Six - Conflict and Comfort
Part Seven - Lost Legacies, Found Hearts
Part Eight - The Morning After *
Part Nine - Epilogue *
Part Ten - The Office and The Library *
Part Eleven - Welcome Home *
Part Twelve - Uncaged *
Part Thirteen - Mind and Matter *
The Trials: Winter Solstice | Read on Ao3
Part One - Places of Power
Part Two - Mine, and Mine Alone
Part Three - Tethered
Part Four - Cradle
Part Five - Risk and Reward *
Part Six - Fragile Fears *
Part Seven - Frostbitten *
Part Eight - Over Your Head *
The Trials: Eclipse of Spring * | Read on Ao3
Part One - Paradise Lost
Part Two - Decaying Dreams
Part Three - Ides of March
Part Four - Aftermath
Part Five -
Note: Theoās dialogue from base/existing audio chapters written by Tyler McCall.
āļø warnings: nsfw, smut, porn, masturbation, fleshlight, sex toys mentioned, p in v sex, innocence kink, sex recording, coercion, blowjobs, dirty talk, degrading, praising fingering, virginity loss, stalking, size difference kink, very cringe usernames.
āļø word count: 9.7k
āļø a/n: first post for bwa's buckyverse collab! so happy to have created this lil group of bucky writers to come together and make a series of bucky fics for you guys. credit to @barnesonly for reader's and bucky's username. if you find them cringe, blame her. /j he's a busy man! masterlist. click the stars for the next part
synopsis:
Youāve never had sex before, still untouched and completely inexperienced. But when you stumble across Buckyās porn channelāyou quickly become his number one fan. Youāre always in his comments, always in his chats, and never expecting it to go anywhere beyond the screen.
Luckily for Bucky, your social media is linked to your account, making it easy for him to find you.
ā¶ļø ā¢įį||į|į|||| | series masterlist āŗ
part two | main masterlist | next fic ā
You were completely mesmerized by the video playing on the screen. The image of a large and strong muscular figure rutted his hips up into the silicone, slick with his precum and lubeāthe poor toy looking like it was on the verge of tearing apart in his large hands.Ā
After stumbling across the account Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917, you were immediately hooked.Ā
He never showed his face, but you didnāt need to know what he looked like to be entranced. His grunts and moans were engraved in your mind like a song you knew by heart. You were enthralled by the sight of his broad, sweat-slicked back, every movement etched into your memory. The sheer length and size of him held you captive, hypnotized. You had memorized the rhythm of his patterns right before he came, you knew it like the back of your hand.Ā
His moans would rise slightly higher in pitch. His breathing would get heavier. Heād curse and grunt out, āfuck, fuck.ā or āshit, fuck.āĀ
And then it happens.Ā
With one final thrust, he filled his toys to the brim with his cum, always thick and a creamy pearlescent white.Ā
You had one hand tucked in your panties, rubbing at your clit as you came just in time with him. You tossed your head back against the pillow, panting and sweating from the aftermath of your self-lovemaking.Ā
You withdrew your hand, catching your breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded. Moving lazily, you wiped your fingers clean before reaching for your phone. Just as always, you began typing out a commentāfirst in line the moment his new video drops.Ā
Pleasure_Ring: Great video as always! It made me feel really really good! I canāt wait to see the next!!Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Thanks, baby. Iām glad you enjoyed it. That one was for you.
A minute passed by and another notification popped up on the bottom right of your screen, but this time, it was a direct message.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I just read your comment. Youāre always so supportive. I wish you were here. Iād be fucking you instead of this flimsy toy.Ā
Your face flushed after reading his message. He was always so quick to respond, and although he was pretty responsive to other commenters too, you couldnāt help but feel like his replies to you were always a bit more personal than the rest.Ā
Pleasure_Ring: I really wish I was there too! But I admit, Iām a little scared just thinking about it haha.Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typingā¦Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Scared? How come?Ā
Pleasure_Ring: Iām a virgin. Iāve never had sex before.Ā
Most people would find it pathetic to be flirting through a porn site. Even more would say itās worse to be tangled in a para-social attachment to one of the biggest stars online.
And sure, maybe they're right. You were hooked on the mysterious man with the ridiculous username. But this was your ritual, your private indulgence, the part of yourself you never let anyone else see. Besides, you knew it would never be more than flirtatious comments flashing across a screen.Ā
Men like him always had plenty of women waiting in their inbox.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: A virgin, huh? Thatās cute. Whatās a sweet little thing like you doing watching videos like mine?
Pleasure_Ring: Because yours are the only ones that actually satisfy me. Any woman would be lucky to spend even one night with you.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Oh, sweetheartā¦ I donāt think you could handle a night with me.
Your heart thumps faster in your chest at his response. As much as you wished you could stay up and keep chatting, reality always kicked in. You had responsibilities, so conversations with him were usually cut off after midnight.Ā
Pleasure_Ring: I donāt think I could eitherā¦ but Iād still like to try for you.
Pleasure_Ring: Itās getting late, and Iāve got a shift in a few hours. Have a great night, Bucky. And thank you for another wonderful video. <3
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: So soon, doll? I was just starting to enjoy our little chat.
You stared at the screen, tempted to type something back to keep the conversation going. Glancing at the clock, you let out a reluctant sigh.Ā
You logged off before you could second-guess yourself, because you knew that if you responded, youād be up for hours.Ā
And when Bucky refreshed the page, impatiently waiting for a response, your username was already gray and your status was offline.Ā
Bucky laid back in his chair, finishing the last line of the description before hitting upload. He has never been great with captionsāor usernames, for that matterā¦ but lately, his descriptions werenāt just filler text to satisfy his fans. They were subtle messages, written only for you.
Need my pleasure ring to come help me out instead. Getting tired of using my hands and toys. Enjoy.
Once everything looked right, he clicked post. Same ritual, same time. Every three days.
The moment his upload went live, he sat up straight in his chair. The glow of the monitor lit his dark room, his eyes glued to the screen. Eleven minutesāthatās how long the video ran. By his calculations, you should already be online and commenting in twelve.Ā
Two minutes in, he refreshed. Another two more minutes, he refreshed again. Over and over, because he knew. He knew youād be the first one there in his comment section without fail.Ā
You always were.
At this point, itās been well past eleven minutes with zero notifications. In Buckyās eyes, this was more than enough time for you to receive the notification, watch the video, and send a comment or a message like you usually do.Ā
So why the hell werenāt you doing it?Ā
He dedicated this video to you, goddammit. Actuallyāhe dedicated all of his videos to you. But this one especially was planned, recorded, performed with you in mind. And yet, your account still showed offline.
He pumped himself for the first half of the videoāhis face nuzzled into the softness of his pillow. His groans and grunts were muffled as he fisted himself, his leaking tip grazing against the smooth fabric of his bed sheet, leaving a wet stain every time he grounded and bucked his hips.Ā
Then about halfway through, he reached for the clear silicone toy. He positioned the camera against the headboard, sitting up straight as he started fucking himself with the toyāthe clear silicone squelching and spreading wider as he rutted into it like an animal.Ā
āFuck, yes baby,ā he groaned in the video. āSāfucking good, taking all this cock in your tight little virgin pussy.ā He said.Ā
And God was that line especially meant for you.Ā
It was a damn good videoāhe was so fucking proud of himself. Which only made it harder for Bucky to understand why your account still showed offline.
With an annoyed sigh, he propped his elbow on the desk, chin resting in his palm, and refreshed one more time for good measure. When nothing changed, he clicked on your profile and began to lurk.
For all the attention you gave him, your account was practically a ghost. No videos. No profile picture. No caption. No name. You were only following one accountāhis. And you had one follower, tooā¦ also him.
Bucky never followed anyone else.Ā
He scrolled down a bit, and his eyes widened at what he saw on the screen.Ā
Your account was linked to your social media profilesāyour Instagram and TikTok.
In order to create an account, you had to attach a phone number or email address. During sign-up, there was also the option to link your social mediaātied to that same phone number or emailāa small popup buried among the usual flood of terms, agreements, and permission requests that appeared in sequence.
So either you let it slip past you, your finger tapping carelessly just to get it out of the way.
Orā¦ you wanted him to find you.
The cursor hovered over the link. Bucky sucked in a breath, clicking on your Instagram. When the screen finally loaded, his eyes immediately widened and his heart skipped a beat. Your profile was public. Your name was right at the top, and there you were in your profile pictureāsmiling, front and center.
Aside from his secret porn account, Bucky didnāt do social media. He couldnāt be bothered figuring out how it works, but he knew enough to recognize that Instagram was all about pictures and videos. And that was exactly what he needed.
Finally, he could see you.
His number one fan. His pleasure ring.Ā
He scrolled down, coming across a mix of photos. Selfies, your eyes bright and innocent with a sheepish smile. Food. Didnāt care. Landmarks. Didn't care. Pictures of family and friendsāhe only looked for you.Ā
There were beach shots, carefree and playful, your body posted in a skimpy bikini glowing in the sunlight.Ā
His breath caught in his throat. His pants grew tighter. He shifted in his seat, trying to adjust the growing pressure between his legs. He leaned closer as he looked through every picture, careful not to accidentally leave a like in his wake.Ā
āDamn, baby,ā he muttered, staring at your pictures, unable to tear his eyes away.Ā
He scrolled down, saving every single image that displayed your face and your bodyāeach one feeling like a treasure.
All the pictures of you were seemingly innocent. Even in your bikini shots, you werenāt trying to show off. You didnāt jut your hips out or pose provocatively. Your pictures werenāt screaming for attention.Ā
It was cute.Ā
But it just made him want more. Need more. He wouldāve loved to see you bend over just a little bit. Maybe even press your arms together to accentuate your cleavage.
God. He wouldāve loved to see that.Ā
His dick throbbed in his pants as he scrolled further down your Instagram. More selfies of you just meant more photos in his special folder. With one hand rubbing himself steadily and the other on the mouse, he hovered over your TikTok link next.Ā
Once your page loaded, he felt his heart drop in his stomach.Ā
There were only two videos, both of them being with your friends. It was some stupid trend you were doingāBucky never understood the whole appeal of trendsābut you were dancing to them, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest as he watched, captivated.Ā
Your dancing wasā¦ pretty bad to say the least. Actually, it was awful.Ā
But Bucky couldnāt tear his eyes away because he got a full view of your body. Every movement of your body, even the clumsy dance steps, had him entranced. The rhythm was completely off, but it didnāt matter. It was the way you moved, the curve of your body in each frame.Ā
His cock was completely hard, poking and straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. He was palming himself for so long, his warm hand rubbing up and down against his throbbing clothed shaftāhe didnāt even realize the precum leaking through his pants until his fingers grazed against it.Ā
āShit,ā he grunted.Ā
There was something about watching youāhis once mysterious, loyal viewer and commenterāright here, in his monitor. Dancing. Your body on display, completely unaware, yet captivating in every move.
He grabbed the hem of his sweatpants and brought it down to his thighs, freeing his cock from the suffocating fabric. His hand encircled around his shaft, his grip tightening just slightly as he began pumping himself. He dragged his thumb over the wetness of his tip, smearing it over the head.Ā
Bucky let out a low groan, his breathing growing heavy as he fucked his hand to the sight of you. With the other hand, he kept switching through your photos, moving faster as his cock throbbed helplessly in his grip.Ā
He grunted and groaned, staring at his monitor with half-lidded eyes as he stroked himself. He stopped at another picture of you, a top down selfie with a low cut blouse. Your eyesāwide and innocent, batting up at the camera, the curve of your breast straining against the shirt.Ā
A low moan rumbled from his chest at the sight. His hands moved faster and eagerly against his cock, precum leaking down from the tip to his shaft as he pumped and worked his throbbing dick.Ā
āFuck, baby. I want to cum all over that pretty face,ā he breathed. āGonna paint your face and tits with my seedāshit.āĀ
Everything was overwhelming his senses right now. Your pure and clueless eyes, the way your lipsāsoft and plumpācurved up into a smile.Ā
Everything about you screamed āinnocent.āĀ
And the best part of it all, was that you were a fucking virgin. A helpless, clueless, little virgin. Perfectly ripe for the picking.
His cock throbbed hot and heavy in his hand, each pulse bringing him closer. He could hardly believe itāyour social media, left wide open, public and linked straight to your account. Like an invitation.Ā
Like you wanted him to see.
His fist worked faster, the slick sounds of his own hand echoing in the dark room. He was right there, teetering at the edge, when another one of your videos caught his eye. A casual clip, nothing specialājust you laughing with your friends, the camera panning across a storefront in the background.
His heart lurched in his chest. He knew that place.
He blinked hard, his other hand flying to the mouse as he replayed the clip, pausing on the sign. His pulse roared in his ears. That store was only a few streets away. Which meantā¦
You were here. In his town.
āFuckāāĀ
The word ripped out of him as his body jerked. His cock erupted in his fist, hot streams spilling over his knuckles and thigh as he shook, riding the wave of release harder than he had in years. Harder than he had in any of his videos. The excitement, the discovery, the sudden nearness of youāit all came crashing into him, tearing his orgasm from the very pit of his stomach.
He slumped back against his chair, chest heaving, eyes still glued to the frozen frame of your smiling face.Ā
You werenāt just his number one fan anymore. Fuck, you were real. You were so close, and now, he knew exactly where to find you.Ā
He was still catching his breath when he switched tabs, his cock softening in his hand as he scrolled deeper through your pictures. Every shot held him captive. Was this how you felt when you watched his videosāentranced, unable to look away?
A few minutes had gone by when he heard a ping! sound from his other tab. He switched over, and there you were. Your account, blank as ever, no profile picture, no name, but now a message glowing at the bottom of the screen.
Pleasure_Ring: Loved your new video! It was amazing as always. I canāt believe your toy isnāt broken yet!
He felt his heart stutter in his chest. A needy grin curled at the corner of his lips. You were late to his video, but thatās okay. He had your videos and pictures to keep him at bay for now. His fingers darted across the keyboard, replying almost too quickly.Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Glad you liked it, doll. Took you longer than usual to show up tonight.
His fingers hovered over the keys, debating if he wanted to send this next message or not.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Had me wondering if you forgot about me.Ā
You took longer than usual to respond, and even though he was coming down from his post-release haze, his heart was still pounding anxiously in his chest.
Pleasure_Ring is typingā¦Ā
Pleasure_Ring: I know! Iām sorry. I got distracted cooking dinner.Ā
Pleasure_Ring: But I could never forget about you, Bucky.Ā
His grip on the mouse tightened, and he felt his cock twitching again. God, he loved when you saidātypedāhis name. But the longer he stared at your words, the more restless he felt. He needed more.Ā
He needed you.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Dinner, huh? You had me worried there for a second. Youāre usually the first one here. Couldnāt stand the thought of you forgetting me.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You knowā¦ I donāt even know your name. What should I call you, sweetheart?
He already knew it, of course.Ā
He could say it out loud, taste it on his tongue right now if he wanted. But he wanted you to give it to him. To hand it over willingly.Ā
He saw you typing, then stopping. Typing again, then stopping. The little dots taunted him, making his jaw clench. He hated this. He hated playing the waiting gameāespecially now that he knew you were just a few minutes away, living in the same town as him.
Pleasure_Ring: Do I really need to tell you my name? I kinda like being your little secret. <3
Pleasure_Ring: Besidesā¦ I think you like calling me doll, donāt you?
Buckyās brow twitched in mild frustration, his cock throbbing in his lap again as his eyes traced your text over and over. You were a teasing little minxātaunting him, torturing him. He knew you were obsessed with him just as much as he was with you, so why the hell were you playing so damn hard to get?
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Come on, baby. Donāt be like that.Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You touch yourself to my videos every night, and yet you canāt even share your name? Donāt make me beg for it.Ā
He dragged in a sharp breath as he waited for your reply, his hand lazily stroking his half-hard cock while he leaned back in his chair, tension swimming through every vein.
Pleasure_Ring: Youāre so silly, Bucky.Ā
Pleasure_Ring: Why ruin the mystery? I kind of like it this wayā¦ just you and me, no names needed. <3Ā
His cock was rock-hard again, straining for a second round. He wrapped his fist around it as he split his screen in twoāone tab open to a photo of you smiling sweetly, the other to your chat box on the site. His strokes were slow, shudders slipping past his lips as he teased the sensitive flesh. Every pulse in his palm matched the flick of his gaze between your face and your words.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: You wonāt give me your name, but I bet youād spread your legs wide and let me fuck you like the needy little slut you really are.
He was playing a dangerous game with that message. It was too direct, maybe even a little mean. He might even risk scaring you away.Ā
But with your picture staring back at him, soft and innocent, how the hell was he supposed to hold back?Ā
Pleasure_Ring is typingā¦Ā
Pleasure_Ring: I would do anything youād want me to if you were here.Ā
His heart stopped. His cock throbbed violently as the words sank in, repeating it in his mind like a prayer. A sweet little virgin like you, so naive, so unknowing, willing to let a man like him do anything to you?
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Oh, sweetheart. You shouldnāt have said that.Ā
He couldnāt hold back anymore. He stroked himself faster, pressure coiling hot at the base as he pumped his length with desperate need. Groans tore from his chest, hips jerking up into his fist as pleasure overtook him.
In his mind, it wasnāt just his handāit was you. You on his bed, camera capturing every angle as you wrapped those innocent lips around his cock. You moaning, trembling, surrendering that precious virginity to a filthy porn star like him.
Pleasure_Ring: Maybe. But I really would do anything youād ask me to.
And fuck, you lived in the same town as him. You actually lived in the same town as him.Ā
It would be so easy to find you. To claim you. To stuff your tight, untouched little holes full of him until you were stretched and dripping, used just like one of his toys.
The thought alone was enough to make him come a second time. With his head tilted back, a low growl-like moan escaped his throat. His hips stuttered wildly as his release tore through him in sharp waves of pleasure, hot seed spilling over his fist until his hand was a sticky, soiled mess.
He slumped back in his chair, breath ragged as he wiped himself clean with hurried, clumsy hands. His fingertips grazed the keyboard, already halfway through typing his next message.Ā
He couldnāt let the moment die, he didnāt want to lose you just yet.Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typingā¦Ā
But then your text bubble popped up first.
Pleasure_Ring: Itās late, so Iāll be going to sleep now. Iām sorry our conversation got cut short. But thank you again for your video! Iām already looking forward to the next one! <3 Nighty night, Bucky!
And just like that, your status flickered gray. Offline. Gone.
His hand froze over the keys.
What?Ā
Thatās it?Ā
You showed up online extremely late, give him a few teasing words that leave him aching, and justā¦ log off?Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Come on, baby. You canāt leave like that. Arenāt you having fun?Ā
He knew you were offline, yet he sent the message anywayāclinging to the hope that maybe your status would flicker green and youād answer him right away, being his number one fan and all.Ā
A minute passed. Then another. And another.
He sat there, staring at the empty chat box, his foot tapping impatiently against the wooden floor. When it finally sank in that you werenāt coming back, he closed the porn tab with a long and disappointing sigh. Dozens of comments waited for him on his latest video, begging for his attentionābut he didnāt care. He couldnāt be bothered.
All he wanted was you.Ā
Your picture still glowed on his other monitor, your smile taunting him. He pulled his pants back on, leaning forward as his mind spun. You were so closeāhe could feel it. And with your account still open, still public, still inviting, he knew he wouldnāt stop.
He would find you.
And once he did, you would be his.
It had been three days since you last commented on his videos. Three days without your little messages, without your sweet words that fueled him through the long and lonely nights.Ā
Bucky was restless.Ā
He kept checking your account, refreshing the page, waiting for that familiar username that was dedicated to him to pop up in his notifications list again. But instead, you were busy elsewhere.Ā
Your Instagram was suddenly so active. Story after story, pictures of food, photos of crowded streets, little story clips of you laughing with friends. They were all innocent things, but to him, they were breadcrumbs.Ā
He looked closely at the background in your stories, taking screenshots and zooming in on shop signs and store logos. Most of these were ones he recognized. He compared timestamps, piecing together your routine slowly.
Each update you shared felt like you were inviting him in, pulling him closer without even realizing.Ā
And noāhe wouldnāt call himself a stalker. Sure, he scrolled through all your socials, jerked off to your pictures, learned your full name, the area you lived in, who you spent time with.Ā
But that wasnāt stalking.
That was devotion.Ā
He was your number one fan. Just like you were his.
Your cart wobbled against the tiled floor as you turned into the produce aisle. Today was your weekly grocery restock. The store was busy, noisy, and packed with people trying to weave in and out of each otherās way. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and snapped a quick picture of the cotton candy grapes piled high in their cartons.Ā
They were your favorite, and this was the only grocery store near your area that carried them.Ā
Try these! They taste just like cotton candy!Ā
You added the caption and posted it to your story, sliding your phone back into your bag before moving on. A few minutes later, as you rounded the corner towards checkout, someone brushed past your shoulder.
You glanced up, and a man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered.Ā
āSorry,ā he mumbled, his voice low, achingly familiar. āDidnāt see you there.āĀ
You smiled politely, brushing it off. āNo worries.āĀ
You went back to your cart, but for some reason, your gaze lingered on him for just a second longer. There was somethingā¦ familiar about the way he carried himself, about the way his words came out and how he looked.
You shook the thought off and pushed the cart forward, but you didnāt get very far when he stepped behind you, resting a gentle yet heavy hand on your shoulder.Ā
You glanced over and paused. The same man was staring at you, his eyes locked on yours with a look like that feels unsettling. You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.Ā
āUhā¦ can I help you?ā
His jaw tightened, his grip on your shoulder pressing just a little harder.
ā...Pleasure ring?āĀ
Those words rang back in your ears like a loud bell. Your eyes went wide and you felt like your heart dropped in your stomach. Your gaze darted quickly around the aisle, checking to make sure no one else was close enough to hear.Ā
āIāIām sorry? What did you just say?ā
He narrowed his eyes slightly. āArenāt you happy to see me?āĀ
The longer you stare at this man, the realization hits you all at once. The thickness of his neck. The breadth of his shoulders. The sheer size of him, impossible to mistake. Youāve seen this frame beforeānight after night, on a glowing screen.
You leaned in slightly, whisper-yelling, āYouāre Lord of The Rings nineteen-seventeen? Youāre Bucky?āĀ
The ridiculous username felt even more absurd now that it left your lips.
He didnāt even look around or even seemed to care about his alter ego being mentioned outloud. All he cared about right now was having you, right in front of him.Ā
ā...You havenāt been watching my videos,ā Bucky said instead. His thumb brushed once across your shoulder, subtle but possessive. āAre you okay?ā
The words should have sounded caring, but instead they struck you like an accusation. Your pulse quickened, panic rising up your throat.Ā
He was watching you that closely?Ā
He noticed?Ā
How did he even find you here?Ā
āIāuhāyeah, Iāve just beenā¦ busy,ā you muttered.Ā
You knew you should step back and pull away from his touch. This man was stalking you. Yet, your body betrayed you. The deep rasp of his voice sent a warm sensation trickling down your spine, curling in the pit of your stomach.Ā
Creeped out or not, your body remembered him. It remembered his moans, his growls, the way he spoke dirty to the camera like he was speaking only to you.Ā
āIāve missed you in my comments,ā he continued, his hand moving from your shoulder to the ends of your hair, twirling it with his fingers. āIāve missed our cute little chatsā¦ havenāt you?āĀ
You sucked in a breath.Ā
The loud chatter of customers and grocery carts dimmed into the background noise. You should pull away, God you should pull awayābut your body swayed just slightly towards him instead.Ā
āY-yeah,ā your voice was soft and shaky. āIā¦ I do too.āĀ
The moment the words left your mouth, your stomach curled with dread. Yet, your body didnāt match your fear. Your chest was rising and falling faster, your thighs pressing together instinctively. You hated the way a tiny spark of excitement flickered inside you when he stepped closer.Ā
Buckyās mouth curled into a faint smirk, like he knows your own body is betraying you. He gave your strand of hair a gentle, teasing tug before letting it fall.Ā
āThatās my good girl,ā he murmured, his eyes tracing every curve on your face, studying you, taking you in.Ā
You pressed your lips together, you stared back at him, captivated. He never showed his face in his videosāonly his body, hands, and voice. You had always wondered what the man behind the camera looked like, and now here he was, inches away. He was unbelievably handsome. His gaze was intense. His voice was magnetic. You couldnāt look away, even if you tried.
āAre you nervous?āĀ
You blinked at him. āWhat?āĀ
A small chuckle escaped his lips, his hand lifted up to your cheek, cupping it softly and making your skin tingle.Ā
āYou teased me in your texts,ā he reminded you, his voice deep. āTold me youād let me do anything to you if I was with you.ā His thumb brushed your cheek softly, almost soothing.Ā
āHow true does that still ring?āĀ
Your eyes darted nervously around the aisle. A few people passed by with carts, sparing you both brief, casual glances. To them, it probably looked like nothing more than a man grocery shopping with his girlfriend, caressing her cheek tenderly.
But you knew better.
āIā¦ā your lip trembled nervously. āI-Itās still trueā¦āĀ
His mouth curved into a slow, smug smile, as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on youāhow easily your knees wanted to give beneath you.Ā
āThatās my girl,ā he murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. āMy number one fan.ā
You felt your stomach tighten. Every inch of your skin felt hot under his gaze. This was dangerousāyou knew it. You were untouched, inexperienced, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice reached your ears, only made the ache between your legs grow heavier.
āHow ābout we go back to your place,ā he leaned in slightly, voice getting lower and dangerous, āand you do your grocery shopping later?āĀ
Your heart felt like it could burst out of your chest. You glanced down at your cart, the cotton candy grapes youād been so excited to buy, and then back up at him. The way he held you, the way his eyes burned into yours, the very offer youāve been secretly dreaming of despite your nervesā¦
It made the idea of staying here feel like hell.Ā
āOkay,ā you breathed out. āYeah, letāsā¦ letās go back to my place.āĀ
A small, approved hum escaped his lips. He pulled his hand away from your cheek and trailed his hand down to your bare arm, down to your handsāinterlocking his fingers with yours.Ā
āLead the way, princess.āĀ
This was wrong. So dangerously, undeniably wrong. But you had spent countless nights dreaming about this man, the pornstar with the ridiculous username, and now he was right here, holding your hand.
He led you out of the store with a smile on his face, already looking proud to have you by his side even though you guys just met.Ā
āI canāt wait to see your place, princess,ā he murmured smoothly, stopping just outside the sliding doors. His gaze dropped down to you, quiet and expectant, waiting for you to take the lead.
āThere are so many things I want to do to you.ā
By the time you reached your front door, your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might break free from your chest.Ā
Your hands trembled so badly you could barely fit the key into the lock. Bucky stood behind you, his presence comforting yet demanding as he waited for you to open the door.Ā
The door finally opened, and you felt an insane wave of embarrassment as soon as he stepped inside. Your apartment wasnāt exactly ready for company. You had shoes littered near the door, laundry draped over the arm of the couch, your desk drowning in clutter.
He looked around and let out a low and amused hum.Ā
This was a terrible idea, inviting a stranger into your home. Youāve never done this before. But heās not technically that much of a stranger if you two have been talking online for months nowā¦ right?Ā
āShow me your bedroom, sweetheart,ā he said, his tone gentle but leaving no room for disobedience.
When he sensed your hesitation, his chin tilted subtly toward the hallway, like he already knew exactly where your bedroom was. That smug smile never left his lips.
āGo on.āĀ
You swallowed hard and turned toward the hallway, each step feeling heavy and anxious. You were nervous, extremely nervous. But the excitement of having a man in your home, this man youād been secretly attracted to for months, sent a shiver of arousal down your spine.
You led him down the hallway, his footsteps heavy behind you. Pausing at your door, you glanced back over your shoulder. His smile widened, eyes glinting.
āYou gettinā shy, doll?āĀ
Your cheeks burned, and with a shaky exhale you pushed the door open.
Embarrassment hit instantly. The bed was undone, white sheets tangled in a mess, with clothes scattered lazily across the mattress. He stood in the doorway, his silence madly deafening while you stood there nervously with your hands clasped behind your back, waiting for him to say something.
Finally, he stepped forward, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
āI like your room, princess,ā he said smoothly. He stepped up to the edge of your bed, his fingers dragging lightly across the wrinkles in your blanket.
āIs there where you watch my videos?ā he asked. āDo you touch yourself right here, in this bed?āĀ
āIāIā¦ do sometimes,ā you confessed. You pointed your finger toward the desktop in the corner of the room. āSometimes I watchā¦ on my laptop.āĀ
His head turned to follow your finger, a smile tugging at his lips. He strode toward the desk, fingers grazing over the surface.
āYeah? This is where you chat with me?ā his fingertips trailed slowly across the top, pausing over the chair. āYou sit here, spread those pretty legs on this chair, and put your fingers in that tiny little pussy of yours?ā
You fiddled with your fingers, too flustered to meet his gaze. āY-yesā¦ā
He came back to you, steps steady and eyes locked on your face. When he reached you, he took one of your hands, gently prying it from the other, holding it in his much larger one. His palm stroked against yours, tender in contrast to his words. Then he lifted your hand slowly, pressingĀ a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes half-lidded and dark.
āHow did you find me?ā you asked softly.Ā
He exhaled, rubbing soft circles against your skin. āYou stopped commenting on my videos. You stopped chatting with me. And I know it was only a few daysā¦ā his voice went softer, āā¦but doll, I missed you.ā
Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, your face hot and warm. The ache between your thighs pulsed with every word he spoke.
āI missed you so damn much. Couldnāt stop thinking about youā¦ā he continued, pressing another kiss to your hand, then brushing your knuckles along the slight stubble of his jaw. āI couldnāt help it. I started looking through your account.ā
You sucked in a breath, looking up at him as he continued.
āYour account was blank. No name. No picture. Nothing.ā His voice dropped lower. āBut your social media was linked, all public and left wide open.ā His smile deepened, almost smug as he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours.Ā
āYou wanted me to see them, didnāt you?ā
His voice was so raspy and so hungry, it made your whole body shiver. You couldnāt trust your voice, especially not when you were so afraid it would crack and betray how timid, how inexperienced you really were.Ā
āI-Iā¦ didnāt knowāā
āOh, but you did,ā he cut you off, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other cupping your cheek. āYou wanted me to find you. I bet you hoped Iād click, hoped Iād follow the trailā¦āĀ
He spoke so confidently and so sure of himselfābut the truth was something else entirely. You didnāt realize that your social media was tied to your account and you didnāt bother to check. You had only made that account to interact with Buckyās videos only.Ā
You should have been afraid. The way he tracked you down, the way he admitted to stalking your socialsāit should have terrified you.
But it didnāt.
It only made your body burn with excitement, your core clenching with a hunger that only he can satisfy.Ā
āYou teasing little slut,ā he murmured, his voice growing rough. āBut youāre not a slut, are you? Youāre a virgināisnāt that right?āĀ
You nodded. āI-I amā¦āĀ
āAnd youād still do anything for me? Anything at all?ā
You paused for a moment. You knew exactly what he meant. He hadnāt followed you home for small talk.Ā
Your body screamed yes, aching for him, but your mind shook with hesitation. You've seen his videos. You knew how rough he could be. How brutal his thrusts looked, how the silicone toys bent and threatened to snap beneath his strength. The way his grip tightened until his muscles flexed and strainedāit was terrifying, yet intoxicating.Ā
Could you really take him? You werenāt sure.Ā
But God, you wanted to try.
So you nodded.
An approved and low growl escaped his lips. He leaned closer, pausing right before your lips.Ā
āThere are so many fucking things I want to do to you, princess,ā he rasped. āFirst, Iām going to kiss youāthen Iāll teach you how to really please a man. And after thatā¦ā his mouth curved into a wicked smile, āIāll show you how a man properly pleases his woman. You understand?ā
āO-okay.āĀ
His lips pressed against yours.Ā
It started off soft, patient, exploratoryāuntil his hunger took over. The kiss deepened, his mouth grew reckless, his tongue desperate. His hands roamed greedily, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. He broke away only to tug at your clothes, then immediately slammed his lips back against yours like he couldnāt resist you.Ā
āFuck, sweetheart,ā he groaned into your mouth. āYou taste exactly like I imaginedāmaybe even better. Shit.āĀ
Bucky was getting harder by the second, but truthfully, heād been aching since the moment he laid eyes on you in the store. But now, with you trembling in his arms, he finally had you.Ā
He caught your hand in his, guiding it down until your palm pressed against the thick bulge straining against his jeans, you shuddered at the contact. Your fingers started moving without you thinking, rubbing against him in small, and timid strokes.
He let out a low chuckle. āLook at you, baby. You want it so bad, donāt you?āĀ
Your breath hitched, and you could only nod, meek and shy.Ā
He moved your hand along his clothed length, forcing you to feel every ridge of him. His lip caught between his teeth as he let out a hiss of pleasure. He was so hard for youāso desperateāthat he started to feel himself leaking just from the friction of your trembling palm.
āFuck, baby,ā he grunted, ripping your hand away from his crotch.Ā
You blinked up at him, startled and confused.
He reached in the back of his jean pocket, pulling out a small camcorder. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes were dark.Ā
āBaby,ā he rasped, voice needy. āI want to record this. I want to see you undress for meā¦ capture every second of it.ā His fingers trembled as he flipped the device open, eyes half-lidded, fixated on you like a starving man.
āBuckyā¦ā
āWhat do you say, baby?ā he pressed, taking a slow step forward.
You bit your bottom lip, nerves tying your stomach in knots. You werenāt ready for thisānot at all. But the thought of being behind Buckyās lens, of being admired and captured the same way you had admired him through his videos, made your skin warm with anticipation.Ā
He grabbed your hand gently. āI wonāt upload it,ā he promised. āThis oneās just for meāto keep, to look back on. Think you can give me that, doll?ā
His words were soft yet strained with a lust and desire that he was desperately trying to hold back. The ache between your legs pulsed harder with every word, and deep down, you already knew you couldnāt say no.
āā¦Okay,ā you whispered. āI want to be put on display for you, Bucky. I want to be yours.ā
A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips. āThatās my girl.ā
He nodded toward the bed. āStay there, at the edge. Watch me.ā
You stood frozen, captivated, as he began to strip down. Shirt, jeans, everythingāgone in moments, until his bare and large body stretched against your sheets and rested against the headboard. With one hand, he steadied the camcorder, and with the other, he reached for himself slowly.
āTake your clothes off,ā he ordered, the red recording light blinking as the camera pointed straight at you. āI want every second of this. Give me a show, baby.ā
Heat climbed your chest and neck as you began lifting your shirt, pulling it over your head. You glanced at himāand your knees nearly buckled. He was already stroking himself, precum glistening at the flushed tip, his chest heaving with each desperate pump.
āGood girl.āĀ
You pushed your pants down, stepping out of them until you stood in nothing but your bra and panties. Your hands fidgeted nervously at your sidesānot knowing what to do with them next.
āD-do youā¦ want me to keep going?ā
A dark chuckle slipped from his lips, almost mocking. āOh, baby. Youāre fucking adorable, you know that?ā his hand pumped slow and hard, his cock twitching under his touch. āYes. Keep going. Take it all off, nice and slow for meā¦ā
Your fingers trembled as they hooked around the strap of your bra, sliding it off your shoulders before unclasping it. The straps fell loose, and you let it slip from your hands. The cool air rushed against your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly.Ā
āPanties, baby,ā he murmured, voice rough. āGet rid of āem.ā
Slowly, you eased them down your legs, stepping out of them until you stood completely bare before him. Your arms instinctively folded in front of you, trying to hide yourself.
Buckyās mouth curved into a smug grin. āDonāt you dare hide from me. Youāre too pretty to cover up.ā
Your arms dropped hesitantly at your sides, and his grin only widened.
āGood girl,ā he rasped. He shifted against the headboard, spreading his legs wider, the thick length of his cock pulsing as his fist pumped it. āNow crawl to me, princess.ā
āC-crawl..?āĀ
His eyes darkened, his hand tightening around himself. āThatās right. On your hands and knees. Crawl over here like the sweet little virgin you are.ā
Your breath caught, and for a second you thought you wouldnāt be able to move at all. But his hungry stare made your body obey before your mind could catch up. You climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, and lowered yourself onto your hands and knees.Ā
Slowly, you crawled toward him, the soft sheets brushing against your bare skin, your heart beating fast in your chest.Ā
Bucky let out a low and approving growl, the camcorder following your every move.Ā
āThatās it, babyā¦ fuckāā he groaned. āYou look so perfect like this. Like you were made to kneel for me.āĀ
You swallowed hard as you approached him, staring at his cockāthick and hard, flushed at the tip. Your lips parted as you let out a soft gaspāthe sheer size of him made your throat go dry.Ā
āHave you ever had a dick in your mouth, baby?ā he asked.Ā
You can only shake your head no.Ā
He let go of himself, his free hand sliding into your hair, guiding you closer to his lap. āOpen that pretty mouth for me, doll,ā he coaxed. āI want to be the first man you taste.āĀ
How could something that big possibly fit in your mouth? His grip kept you steady, urging you forward.Ā
āThere you go,ā he smirked, watching your nervous little breaths. āGod, youāre trembling. Donāt worry, sweetheart, Iāll teach you exactly how to do it. All you gotta do is listen to me.ā
āStick out that tongueāyeah, just like that. Such a good girl.ā His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth before pressing down on your lower lip, opening you wider. āMm, look at you. Never done this before, huh?ā
You shook your head, embarrassed, but he only chuckled.
āOf course not. My innocent little fan, saving herself for me,ā he guided you closer until the blunt tip of his cock brushed your tongue, smearing precum across it. The taste was strange, salty and thick, and you whimpered softly at the unfamiliar sensation.
His laugh was low and condescending, but not cruel. āThatās it, baby. Donāt pout so cutely like thatā¦ only makes it harder for me to hold back.ā
He stroked your hair, petting you like you were some pet while his hips gave a subtle roll forward, testing you.Ā
āJust wrap those lips around me nice and slow. I want to see that sweet virgin mouth stuffed full of cock for the first time.ā
Your lips closed timidly around him, sealing over the tip as your tongue flicked against it, tasting more of that salty, musky flavor. Your jaw ached instantly, but the way he groaned, deep and guttural, made you shiver with pride.
āThere you go,ā he praised, fingers tightening in your hair. āGod, look at you. My perfect little virgin, already learning how to please me.ā
You tried to sink further, taking more of him in, but the sheer thickness made your throat tighten. You gagged softly, tears threatening to well in your eyes, and pulled back with a desperate little gasp.
āOh, sweetheart,ā he murmured, thumb brushing your damp cheek. āThat was good, baby. So fucking good. Just relax your jaw, take it slow. Youāve got such a tiny mouthāI didnāt expect you to take all of me your first try.ā
His hand guided you down again, inch by inch, your lips stretching around him as drool began to slick your chin. He hissed through his teeth, head falling back against the headboard.
āThatās itā¦ fuck, thatās it. God, you donāt even know how sweet you look right now, doll. Choking on my cock like you were made for it.ā
You felt his cock pulse on your tongue, thick veins throbbing against the roof of your mouth.Ā
āFuckābabyāā he growled, his breathing ragged as his cock twitched violently. āGonnaāshitāgonna cum down your throatāā
Suddenly, his hand yanked you back, pulling your mouth off him with a wet pop. You gasped, spit stringing between your lips and his swollen tip, confused and dazed.
āW-whatā¦?ā
āNot yet,ā he panted, his hand flying to his cock and holding it still, trying to calm himself down.Ā
His chest heaved, his eyes glazed and hungry as he stared at your flushed, ruined face. āNot wasting my first load on your mouth, princess. Iāve been waiting too long for you.ā
āBuckyā¦āĀ
He leaned forward, thumb smearing your spit across your swollen lips. āNoā¦ Iām gonna be the first man to cum inside this virgin cunt.ā
He adjusted the camera in his hands, sitting up straighter. āLay down,ā he ordered, nodding toward the mattress. āFace down, ass up.ā
His words were so filthy and vulgarāit made your face burnābut still, you obeyed. Lowering yourself onto shaky arms, you crawled forward and eased your chest against the mattress. Your cheek pressed into the sheets as you raised your ass for him, baring yourself under his gaze.
The arch felt awkward, your back straining from holding the position. But the low, hungry sound that escaped from his chest sent a shiver of pride racing through you. You pushed yourself even higher, desperate to please him.
āLook at you. My shy little virgin, already posing like a whore for me,ā the sound of the camcorderās little beep made your body tenseāhe was recording this, capturing you in such a vulnerable position.
The mattress dipped as he shuffled closer, his large palm running over the curve of your ass. You gasped, burying your face into the sheets in embarrassment.
āYouāre trembling,ā he noted, squeezing the soft flesh in his hand. āYou nervous, baby?ā
You nodded weakly, voice muffled against the pillow. āY-Yeahā¦ā
āMmm, but youāre already being so sweet for me,ā he rasped, his thumb gently pressing against your wet, slit folds. āYour pretty little cunt is weeping just for me, sweetheart.āĀ
You let out a soft gasp, the camcorder beeped again as he adjusted it to get a better view. His grin widened with hunger.Ā
āDonāt worry, doll. Iāll take care of you. Gonna stretch this virgin pussy nice and slowā¦ and make you put on the sweetest show for my camera.ā
He teased your pussy, thumb rubbing over your entrance and his finger rubbing against your clit. You were already so wetāembarrassingly so.
āGod, babyā¦ youāre dripping,ā he groaned, the camcorder beeping softly as he angled it lower. āAll this for me?ā
You whimpered into the sheets, trembling as he shifted his hand and pressed a finger, testing your tightness before slowly sinking inside.Ā
You gasped louder, your whole body jolting forward against the mattress even though it was just his finger. āB-Bucky!āĀ
āShhh, itās okay, sweetheart,ā he murmured, leaning close. āJust my finger. Gotta test this tight little pussy before I give you more.ā
He moved slowly, letting you adjust to his finger as you writhed against the sheets, your walls already fluttering helplessly around him. He slowly eased another finger inside, drawing out a desperate moan from you.Ā
āSo tight,ā he groaned so low, almost like he was talking to himself. āSo fucking tightābaby. Canāt wait to put my cock inside youā¦āĀ
When he finally slipped his finger free, you sagged against the bed in reliefābut then you felt him shifting behind you. The camcorder beeped again, and the feel of his heavy, thick cock pressed against your entranceāhot and throbbing.
You suddenly remembered how his toys would stretch helplessly around his thicknessāliterally on the verge of tearing. Your eyes widened. You werenāt sure if you could take him fully.Ā
āB-Buckyā¦ā your stomach started twisting with nerves. āYouāre too bigā¦ I donāt think I canāāĀ
āYou can, baby,ā he interrupted softly, steadying himself with a hand at your hip. He leaned close, his lips brushing your ear. āIāll go slow. Iāll take care of you.ā
He pushed forward before you could say anything. The thick tip pushed past your virgin walls. You cried out at the burn, your hands gripping the sheets.
āI know, I know,ā he soothed, though his voice shook with restraint. āIām sorry, doll. Iām so big, I knowābut youāre doing so fucking good for me.āĀ
The stretch hurt, but it also made a strange heat bloom low in your belly.
He kissed the back of your shoulder, keeping himself still while you trembled beneath him. āBreathe for me, princess. Let me in nice and slowā¦ I promiseāitās gonna feel so good.ā
Your fingers clawed at the sheets as you let out a high, broken moan.
āShhh, thatās it, baby,ā Bucky rasped, his voice thick with both lust and control. āMy sweet little virginā¦ finally getting split open by a real cock.ā
You shook your head against the mattress, gasping. āB-Buckyāitās too big, I canātāI canāt take itāā
He hushed you softly, his hand sliding from your hip to rub comforting circles against your trembling waist.Ā
āYes you can, doll. Youāre made for thisāyouāve been watching my videos every night. Studying me. Practicing with your pretty little fingers and wishing it was me, isnāt that right?ā His cock inched deeper, slow but relentless, his breath hitching at the unbearable tightness of you.
āThatās my girl,ā he encouraged, pressing kisses along your bare shoulder. āDoing so good for me. Ruininā this sweet little virgin pussy nice and slowā¦āĀ
A sharp moan escaped you as he sank another inch inside, your body trembling around him.
āGodā¦ youāre squeezing me so fucking tight,ā he groaned, teeth grazing your shoulder as he adjusted the camera with one hand, angling it to capture the stretch of his cock sliding in and out of you. The red light blinked, recording every second of your first time.
āSuch a sweet little thing,ā he moaned, condescending but tender. āCrying on my cock like you donāt love itābut listen to yourself, baby. Youāre moaning like a slut already!ā
Another desperate cry left your lips, and he groaned low in his throat. You adjusted your hips slightly, moving your back a bit to try and get comfortable. The slight movement made his hard cock pulse and throb inside you uncontrollablyāthe sensation unbearable.Ā
āOh, fuckāā he cursed, his breath catching. āFuck. If you keep moving like that, dollā¦ shit, Iām not gonna last.ā
You shuffled your hips back, desperate for more, for him, even though the stretch burned.
āB-Buckyā¦ā you gasped, your voice breaking into a moan. āYouāre so bigā¦ too bigā¦ f-feels so goodā¦ā
That praise alone made him groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as his cock twitched inside your tight heat. His hand squeezed your waist, trying to stay in control, trying to savor it, but every little shuffle of your hips threatened to undo him completely.
āFuck, doll,ā he grunted. āYou keep saying thatācalling me big while you wiggle on my cock so cutelyā¦ Iām gonna lose it.ā
You moaned again, arching your back to push into him, the words tumbling out between gasps. āWant you, Buckyā¦ wanna take you allā¦ please, youāre so big, fill me up, pleaseā¦ā
That was it.
A sharp growl ripped from his chest as he tossed the camcorder aside, the device landing forgotten on the sheets somewhere. Both his hands clamped down hard on your hips, holding you in place.
āAlright, sweetheart,ā he gritted out, voice laced with hunger. āYou asked for it.ā
With one rough, needy thrust, he drove himself all the way inside, stuffing you full until his hips were flush against your ass. The sudden fullness made you cry out, your walls clamping down on him so tight it pulled another curse from his lips.
āJesus Christāthis tight little virgin pussyās gonna kill me,ā he gasped, his fingers digging into your hips possessively. āYou feel that, doll? Thatās meāevery fucking inch of meāburied inside you.ā
Your cry broke into a helpless moan as he bottomed out, the stretch almost unbearable, but your body clung to him desperately. The way your cunt spasmed around his cock made Bucky curse low and vicious.
āFuckālook at you,ā he growled against your ear, pulling back only to slam in again, harder. āTaking me so deep, squeezing the life outta me. My sweet little virgin, getting ruined on my cock.ā
āBuckyāahāsātoo muchāā you whimpered, though your hips still rocked back to meet him.
His laugh was dark, breathless. āToo much, huh? Then whyās this greedy little pussy dripping all over me? Youāre lovinā it, doll. Youāre lovinā how Iām stretchinā you out.āĀ
Your moans grew louder, more desperate, every inch of you unraveling under his relentless pace. He held your hips so hard you knew heād leave bruises, pounding into you like he wanted to brand himself inside your body.
āGood girlāfuck, youāre my good girl,ā his hips moving rougher and sloppier. āFuck. So much better than the videos, huh?āĀ
āOh my god,ā you cursed, your face pushed up against the pillow. āIā¦ canātāgonnaā¦ gonna cumāā your walls fluttered and clenched down on him so tightly as you let your release take over you.Ā
āJesusāfuck, sweetheartāā he snarled, hips snapping erratically as he buried himself to the hilt. āFuck, fuck! Shitā¦ fuck.ā His cock pulsed deep inside you, and with a final shuddering thrust he spilled into you, filling you full with hot, warm and thick seed.Ā
The room was filled with the sound of your ragged moans and his guttural curses, both of you trembling through the aftershocks.
Bucky slumped forward, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing the side of your damp and sweaty neck. āThatās itā¦ thatās my girl. Took me so good.ā
You were still trembling, your body sensitive and aching, when Bucky finally eased himself out of you with a slow, careful pull. You whined softly at the loss, burying your face into the sheets.
āEasy, doll,ā he hushed, his voice husky but gentle. His big hands smoothed over your hips, down your thighs, rubbing away the tension heād left behind. āYou did so good for me. Iām so proud of you.ā
You turned your head slightly, catching his smug little grin as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your damp temple.
āMessy bed, messy girl,ā he teased lowly, though his tone held nothing but warmth. He brushed your hair back from your flushed face and tucked it gently behind your ear. āKnew you were my number one fan for a reason.ā
Despite your exhaustion, a shy laugh escaped you, your chest fluttering at his words.Ā
āYouāreā¦ so full of yourself,ā you mumbled weakly. āH-how did I doā¦?āĀ
āYou did so fucking good, sweetheart. Shit, I remember when I was a virgin too, baby,ā he chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. āI was a whimpering, sensitive mess. But fuck, I had so much fun ruining you.āĀ
Your face flushed hot, nuzzling your nose in his chest out of embarrassment.Ā
He laughed softly, holding you tighter. āGet some rest, princess. Weāll go back for your groceries later.āĀ
You couldnāt help but laugh again, small and breathless, before your eyes fluttered shut, comforted by his large hands on your waist and the warmth of his body wrapped around yours.
Days passed, and Bucky kept his promise. The video never showed up online.Ā
He went back to posting his weekly content, but this time, there was something different. In one of his recent uploads, a faint audio clip played in the background as he stroked himself for the camera.
Your moans.
His grunts.
He never showed the footage on screen, but the audio was enough. Enough for you to recognize yourself, enough to leave you trembling in your chair, your fingers buried between your thighs. The thought of him getting off to your body, your sounds, over and overāit made you fall apart embarrassingly fast.
You slumped back in your chair now, thighs trembling, breath uneven as you dragged your hand away from your thighs. For a moment you just sat there, dazed, staring at the frozen video frame on your laptop.
Then a notification blinked in the corner of the screen.Ā
You clicked it.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Hey, doll.Ā
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917 is typingā¦
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Canāt stop watching that little video we made. But I dropped the camera right before I got to stuff your pussy full of my cum.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: How about we try filming another one?Ā
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teacher's pet mini series masterlist
general series warnings: female reader, inappropiate student-teacher relationship, 9ish year age gap (reader is around 20 in part 1), smut (piv sex, oral m! and f! receiving, masturbation, mild breeding kink), heavily googled bioengineering discussions, jealous!isaac.
full moodboard | @deadzombiegirly's wonderful prof!isaac art
Second Year
pt. 1 - wildly unethical
pt. 1.5 - what happened in summer
pt. 1.75 - what else happened in summer
Final Year
pt. 2 - be brilliant
pt. 2.5 - truant
Pt. 3 - the graduate
Beyond
pt. 3.25 - study
pt. 3.5 - seven years later
Summary: You enjoy your last day with Henry before heading back to work.
Ship: Henry Creel|Peter Ballard|Vecna|One/Reader
Tags: Fluff, Hand-holding, Whipped Henry Creel, ST 5 Fix-it
WC: 3.6K
A/N: Hello it's me again, tension is ramping up!!! Just so you know, there most likely won't be a chapter released this upcoming week. I am going on a weekend trip, and I usually write on the weekends, whereas due to that, I won't have that time. But you never know, miracles can happen. Also thank you for all the love and comments, especially to those who comment every week, it seriously makes my day and I love waiting to see your guys reactions!!!
PART SIX
It's impossible, said pride. It's risky, said experience. It's pointless, said reason. Give it a try, whispered the heart. - Sonu Sood
The sun was barely up this morning, but it still cast long pale stripes across the hardwoods of your bedroom floor. Usually, you would hear Henry shuffling about downstairs, but you had been surprised before, so it really shouldn't have shocked you today that he did something else new.
When you padded downstairs into the kitchen, your eyes rubbed from sleep, he wasn't in his bedroom. Instead, you found him standing in the kitchen next to the sink, leaning all of his weight on his good leg. He had one hand on the counter to steady himself, and the other was awkwardly, but determinedly wiping down the counters with a damp cloth.
He was wearing the same dark gray t-shirt from yesterday, his blonde hair uncombed and sticking up in a few places. He looked focusedāunusually soāas he wiped up the crumbs.
"Henry?" you asked as you walked into the kitchen. "Am I still asleep, or are you doing chores right now?"
He didn't startle as you spoke, but he slowed down his swiping. He didn't look at you, instead doubling down his focus on a stubborn smudge near a vase of fake flowers. "I found myself annoyed at the various maple syrup rings and graphite powder."
"Uh-huh. So this is purely selfish?"
"Entirely," he muttered.
You walked over and took the washcloth from him, your fingers brushing against his in the process. He didn't pull away or stiffen at the contact. He looked at you, without a single hint of irritation in his eyes.
"You've been able to walk around? All by yourself?" you noted as you nudged him toward a chair.
"Yes," he said as he allowed himself to be guided into a seat. He watched as you started the kettle, his eyes quietly following you. "I've decided I no longer want to be recovering. I no longer want to be a permanent fixture on your furniture."
"I'm not sure if that's a decision you get to make, but you can sure try," you teased as you set down two mugs. "You are actually being really pleasant this morning, no complaining, no lecturing me. You are losing your edge, Henry."
You poured the water over a teabag and handed it to him, steam curling around his features. He took a slow sip at first, his eyes drifting over to the window where the morning light hit the trees.
"Perhaps I am," he said softly. "I've been finding it difficult to be grumpy when I no longer feel like my body wants to explode."
He tapped his fingers along the length of the table before speaking again. "Are you making breakfast? I assume you haven't forgotten how to."
"Okay, Bossy," you say, looking in the fridge for some milk. "Cereal okay?"
"Yes, that's fine."
"I have to head back to work tomorrow," you said as you poured the cereal and milk into a bowl for him. "My emergency leave can only go on for so long."
Henry stilled at the thought. He knew deep down that he didn't want you to leave, but it was unavoidable. The air in the kitchen grew heavier with his discontent.
"Do you have to?" he asked rather sheepishly.
"Yes, but I'll be back in the evenings," you said as you leaned against the counter. "The fridge should be stocked, and the phone is right over here in the kitchen. You are moving well enough that I think you can reach it if needed."
He finally looked up at you. There was a spark of something behind his eyesānot anger, but it seemed to creep towards annoyance.
"I see," he said, voice regaining a bit of its formal, clipped edge. " You must get back to your engineering. I suppose you cannot play nurse forever."
"Henry. I am not a nurse. I'm justā¦ A friend who has been helping her very stubborn roommate," you corrected, not letting him fall victim to his shell of bitterness. "And you are doing fine. Better than fine."
He let out a short, dry huff of hair and looked towards his sketchbook on the island. "I suppose I'll manage, I have endured years of silence in the lab; surely, a few hours of your absence will not result in my psychological collapse."
"Is that so? I was getting worried that you would miss me too much."
"Never. I will suffer through this with my dignity intact," he counted, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "Though I suspect I will continue to have to listen to the annoyance of these birds in the morning."
"One of these days, Henry, I will get you to smile. One day," you said, watching him, realizing that as much as he complained about the noise and chaos of your life, the opposite, the emptiness, scared him as well.
"I will be back before dinner," you promised. "I saw you staring at the piano the other night," you gestured to the corner of your living room. "If you get bored, you can play. I'm not sure how in tune it is."
He looked over and then back at you. "Maybe," he murmured.
You set your mug down with a clunk and got out an empty notepad from your drawer. "If you are gonna be home alone, I need to set some ground rules. I do not need you getting injured in the short time I am gone."
He arched one of his eyebrows, "Rules? How delightful. It is as if I am eight years old again."
"Very funny. Rule number one: No Mountain Climbing." You pointed your finger at him. "I am very serious, Henry. Do not try to get things you can't reach. I know you like the fancy tea I have up in that cabinet."
He let out a grumble.
"Rule number two: The phone." You gestured to the mounted rotary phone in the kitchen, its coiled cord dangling. "If the phone rings, take your time getting to it. Do notāI repeat, do notāsprint for it. If it's so important, they will call back. And if you need to call me, the number for my office is sitting on a post-it note next to it."
He looks at the phone as if it were an alien artifact. "I have no intention of sprinting anywhere."
"Rule number three: Ice is going to be your friend," you gestured down to his foot. "I know that you are healing, but if it starts throbbing, I want you to prop it up and get some ice from the freezer."
"If you insist," he muttered, clearly annoyed by your sentiment.
"Good," you said, tearing off the list of rules and sticking it to the fridge with a small fruit-shaped magnet. "Now, since today is my last day off, I'm thinking we can go sit outside, it's too nice out on the porch not to."
"Shall I go fetch my cardigan?"
"Hurry up, let's go."
The screen door gave its signature creek at your opening, Henry following behind slowly. The dewy air was crisp, and it carried the scent of freshly cut grass and mulch.
"Careful getting through the door," you cautioned as you held it wide open.
He quickly maneuvered himself over the wooden lip with a focused grunt. "I am perfectly capable of getting outside myself, thank you. Though I suspect you haven't painted your porch since before even I was in the lab."
"Hey! It has character," you shot back, pulling a wicker armchair close to him so he didn't have to move too far.
He eased himself into the chair and propped his foot up on the nearby ottoman. He pulled his cardigan on, and his eyes narrowed to adjust to the brightness of the real world.
"Your backyard is very green," he remarked as his gaze took in its expanse.
"Yes, because we are outside, Henry. It tends to do that in the spring." You sat on the porch railing and let your legs sway back and forth. "Better than inside, right?"
He didn't answer immediately; instead, he watched some blue jays land in the birdbath, his head tilting at the birds' erratic movements. The tension that he seemed to always carry lessened at the breeze of the calm morning.
"It's nice out. I suppose I can manage sitting out here, granted the birds do not get too noisy."
"Don't count on it. They seem to be very opinionated this time of year."
You both sat in silence for a long time, just taking in the nature. It was a quiet, but a well-needed rest.
"You know," you started, leaning against a porch post. "If you keep that look on your face, I'm going to start thinking that you actually like sitting out here. You almost lookāglowing. I think it would be quite damaging to your reputation."
He shifted in the wicker chair, slowly and deliberately. "I do not glow. You are making it sound like I am some sort of radioactive material."
"Well, whatever you want to call it, you look healthy," you said, voice softening. "The way you were standing in the kitchen this morning told me that you are getting your strength back. You aren't the same guy I found practically dead on the road. "
He looked down at his good hand and flexed it, then finally looked back into the yard. "This version of myself is far more demanding. He requires tea and clean sheets."
"And he helps with the dishes," you couldn't help but grin as you reminded him. "Don't forget that."
"I am not your maid. Do not expect it to happen again," he huffed, but there was no real bite to his words.
"I wouldn't dream of it. I would probably find everything meticulously arranged or something equally as exhausting."
He let out a short and dry chuckleāthe sound much fuller than it had been a week ago. "I suppose I should be thankful that you didn't try to 'heal me' with something truly dreadful, like these awful neon headbands I see the neighbors wearing."
"Don't say that, Henry. You might give me ideas. If I come home and you're bored, I might have to find you some spandex."
"If you bring spandex into this house," he said, his blue eyes flashing with his sharp wit. " I will be forced to reconsider your 'no mountain climbing rule' just to find places to hide."
"See? That's the spirit." You stood up, brushing some dirt off your jeans. "You are doing great, Henry. Really."
He didn't look up, but he didn't look away when you placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "I feelā¦ much better. I don't know about great," he muttered as he settled deeper into the chair. He looked more like he belonged on that porch than any of the untouched furniture.
You both stayed out there chatting and in silence for hours, until the sun hung low and painted the sky into messy streaks of oranges and violets. Out on the street, there was the distant sound of a lawn mower and a dog barking a few houses down.
You remained on the porch, resting your chin on your knees, as you sat on the top step.
"The colors are tooā¦ loud," Henry muttered, breaking the deep silence.
"Too loud?" you questioned, glancing back at him. "I don't know if that's what I would use to describe it, but the sun is setting. It's supposed to be the most beautiful time of the day."
"It's just.. a lot," he said, pointing up to the changing colors of the night sky. "It's been a long time since I last saw one. I was probably a boy. The lab did not exactly have windows to keep track of the sky's patterns."
"Well, I suppose nature isn't known for being subtle," you spoke softly. "But I think it's probably better than looking at the never-changing ceiling?"
Henry leaned forward, the orange catching the lines on his face. "Yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It is better. It's justā¦ it makes the world feel very big. I'm not used to that anymore."
"It will be here when I get home tomorrow," you said as the last of the sun dipped below the trees and plunged the evening into darkness. "The sky, the outdoors, none of this is going anywhere."
He shifted his gaze from the horizon to you.
"You are right. It will be here," he said, but this time it wasn't a snappy comeback; it felt genuine. "And while you are at work, I promise not to trip over the phone cord."
"Good. Because I was serious about the neon headband thing. If I catch you climbing on the counters, I'm going to bring one home and make you wear it."
He let out a real laugh this time. "I will stay on the floor," he promised as he steadied himself on the chair arms to push himself up. "For the sake of my dignity, if nothing else."
You stood up and walked over to help him, and as you both headed inside to the warmth of the kitchen, the house felt like it was truly full.
"I'm not quite ready to call it a night yet, what do you think?" you said, nodding towards the TV set. "We could see if there is a movie on or at least see what the weather is supposed to be like for my day back tomorrow."
"I will watch with you," he said, turning towards the TV.
"Perfect!" You helped him settle into the sofa, which involved engineering in itself to maneuver his legs up. Once he was successfully propped up, you grabbed the remote and the screen hummed to life, first setting a blanket across the back edge.
The evening was starting to settle in, the floorboards creaking as the house settled. Instead of going to sit in the adjacent armchair, you plopped down right next to him on the sofa.
"Make some room, leg-man," you muttered, scooting over until your shoulders brushed each other.
Before he was able to protest, you grabbed the blanket and draped it over both of you, tucking it under his legs and over your lap. The weight of it trapped the two of you together.
"Is this supposed to be a part of my healing protocol?" he asked, voice rough.
"Hush, Henry. The movie is starting," you countered, leaning back.
The tension in his shoulders bled away. He didn't move away, but instead sank further into the couch, his attention fully focused on the screen. For someone who had been so touch-starved, he didn't seem to mind it.
You smile to yourself, it's a small victory. On the screen, there was a beautiful party with dancing and gowns, where the lead was making some grand romantic speech, but you weren't really listening.
All you could feel was the weight of him against you.
Underneath the heavy wool of the blanket, the heat radiating from him was as if you were in a furnace together. He was tall, and taking up more space than you were used to sharing, and the proximity was doing something funny to your heart rate. But sitting here, together, he felt much more like a man than you were willing to admit.
Get it together, you told yourself during a commercial break. He's just a roommate, one who is very tired and very grumpy. This is justā¦ friendly.
Then Henry shifted; it wasn't much, but his head tilted, and his breath ruffled the stray hairs on your temple.
"You smell a lot like your lavender shampoo. It isā¦ distracting me," he murmured, the weight of his voice settling deep in your chest.
"Are you complaining?" you asked, your voice coming out a little more breathy than you had intended. "I thought you said that you had liked it?"
He turned his head towards you, but because you were so close, he didn't have to move far. His face was just inches from yours.
"Yes, I did. I am not complaining," he said softly.
You found yourself looking at the line of his jaw and the way his lips were slightly parted. You are not staring at his lips right now, you told yourself, though it was undeniable. The only thing that mattered now was the space between you; the TV was just background noise.
You wondered if he could hear your heart thumping. You wondered if he knew that your hand was just inches away from his under the blanket.
Here I am. Making things complicated.
As you drifted through your thoughts, Henry did something unexpected. His good hand, which had been resting on his lap, moved towards you. He didn't lace your fingers togetherānot all of the anyways. But he let his pinky hook tentatively over yours. It felt like you had just been struck by lightning.
He didn't look away from you. "You leave in the morning," he stated, voice deep.
"It's only a few hours, I promise," you whispered.
"And those hours will be the longest I have ever felt," he said. He didn't pull his finger away. If anything, it was now gripping yours tighter.
The tension was so thick that it was choking the room. You suddenly felt the urge to reach out and touch his cheek, to see if he was as warm as he felt through the sweater. But before you had the opportunity to collect your thoughts and decide if this was the bestā or worst idea you've ever had, a car backfired on the street outside, breaking your trance.
Despite that, he didn't move his hand, keeping you both tethered together.
"I think I should let you finish the show in peace. Since you have a big day at work tomorrow."
"Nothing too important, Henry," you laughed. "For the tenth time, I'll be back before you know it."
"I'll be counting down the seconds," he said, though it didn't sound like he was joking.
The movie on the screen developed into a chase. But despite the enthralling picture, you still couldn't pay a lick of attention.
Stop overthinking this. He is just tired, and you are reading into things that aren't there.
But the way he was looking at the television suggested that he wasn't paying attention either,
"You are very quiet," he observed, but he wasn't trying to jab at you.
"I'm just thinking about what I am going to have to do when I get back to work," you lied.
"Liar," he muttered. He didn't say it in a mean tone, but you had no clue how he saw through your facade. He turned his head back towards you and leaned it onto the cushion. "You think this is a mistake."
You let out a small, shaky breath. "Is that what you think you are? A mistake?"
"I am disruptingā¦ this. Everything you have here," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before snapping back up to your eyes. "And even now, I am taking up your evening."
"I'm not exactly complaining, Henry," you said, voice barely above a whisper. You decided to be brave for onceāto take a risk, and you slid your hand over his until they fully met each other.
His sharp intake of breath startled you. For a second, you anticipated he might pull away, but instead, he relaxed and curled his fingers around yours. It was the grip of a drowning man, who finally found his raft to hold on to.
Oh, you thought. Maybe this isn't justā¦ friendship.
"Tomorrow," he started, voice dropping to that deep register that always seemed to settle within you. "When you are at your desk, obsessing over lines and rectangles on your drawingsā¦ will you forget this?"
"No," you said, and you meant it. "I don't think I could forget this if I tried."
He looked like he wanted to sayāor do āsomething else, something heavy that had been bottled up for three decades. He traced his thumb in circles over your hand.
Then, the TV cut to a loud and bright commercial, startling you both, making the reality of the hour set in.
"You should sleep, it's getting late," Henry said, hands still together.
"Probably, but the blanket is warm," you admitted, though it was not only the blanket.
"It is," he agreed.
He leaned in, just a fraction, so close that your foreheads were almost touching. For a heartbeat, you thought he might actually bridge the gap. You could feel the warmth of his breath and the faint smell of your soap on his skin.
Then, with the squeeze of your hand, he pulled back.
"Go," he prodded, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Before I insist you stay up and watch the sunrise with me."
"Don't tempt me," you teased, feeling the rush of cold air as the blanket slid off you. "Though I thought you didn't like the colorful sky."
"I never said that," he countered with a smirk.
You felt a little lightheaded from his lingering touch. "I'll see you in the kitchen for tea before I leave. Don't break any rules."
"I do not know if I can promise that," he called after you as you retreated to the stairs.
summary: what starts as an academic crush on your painfully observant professor becomes significantly harder to survive after spencer reid signs a piece of feedback with āI remain yours sincerely.ā unfortunately, you make the deeply questionable decision to keep it tucked inside your phone case.
includes: no use of y/n, professor!spencer reid, student/teacher dynamic, mutual pining, slow burn, academic yearning, intellectual intimacy, awkward flirting, emotional repression, praise kink if you squint, small age gap, office hours tension, accidental confession, unresolved sexual tension, humiliation as a love language, reader is down catastrophic, hopeful ending
based on this request
By the second semester, you know three things with absolute certainty.
First: Dr. Spencer Reid writes on whiteboards like heās racing a clock only he can see.
Second: nobody voluntarily sits in the front row because itās psychologically exhausting to be perceived by him for extended periods of time.
And third:
You are developing a deeply academic crush that is rapidly mutating into something clinically embarrassing.
The lecture hall hums softly around you with the sounds of backpacks unzipping and laptops waking from sleep. Rain taps against the high windows in restless little bursts, turning the late afternoon light silver at the edges.
At the front of the room, Dr. Reid is already halfway through uncapping three different markers at once.
Heās wearing a charcoal cardigan today.
You notice because of course you do.
Not in a normal way, either.
In the kind of way where your brain stores the information carefully like it might appear on an exam later.
āStatistically,ā he says without turning around, āmost people remember information better when thereās contextual novelty attached to it, which is why you all remember where you were during emotionally significant events but not what you ate last Tuesday.ā
A beat.
Then he glances back toward the class.
āUnless it was tacos. People tend to remember tacos.ā
A few students laugh.
You do too, unfortunately loud enough that his eyes flick toward you automatically.
There it is.
That tiny spark of recognition.
Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just enough to say I know you.
Which is worse.
Much, much worse.
Because youāve taken two semesters with him now. You go to office hours. You answer questions when nobody else will. Once, during your first class, you made an offhand comment about eidetic memory research and his entire face lit up like someone plugged sunlight directly into the national power grid.
Since then, youāve been doomed.
Utterly doomed.
You try to focus on the lecture.
Really.
You do.
But Dr. Reid teaches like a man accidentally possessed by forty-seven documentaries and an anxiety disorder. He paces when he gets excited. His hands move constantly while he talks, long fingers stained faintly with marker ink. He veers off-topic in fascinating directions and then somehow circles perfectly back without notes.
It should not be attractive.
And yet.
Here you are.
Again.
Second semester.
Same problem.
Maybe worse.
āNow, if we look at the correlation between environmental instability and cognitive adaptation,ā Dr. Reid continues, already turning back toward the board before the class has fully caught up, āthereās a measurable increase in hypervigilant pattern recognition in subjects exposed to inconsistent formative environments, which sounds complicated but is actually just your brain becoming an overachieving raccoon.ā
Marker squeaks across the whiteboard in frantic slanted lines.
His handwriting is terrible.
Not objectively unreadable, exactly. More like every word is trying to outrun the next one. Sharp angles, crowded letters, arrows shoved into margins as though his thoughts physically cannot remain in a straight line.
You stare at it anyway.
Fondly.
Which feels like a personal failing.
He writes faster as he talks, cardigan pulling slightly across his shoulders when he reaches higher on the board. One sleeve has ridden up near his wrist, exposing the thin line of his watch and a faint smudge of ink against his skin.
You should be taking notes.
Instead, your brain is busy cataloging details like you'll be taking a quiz on his anatomy.
Then he steps sideways to underline something, and your gaze drops completely against your will.
Oh no.
Oh, thatās unfortunate.
Because apparently Dr. Spencer Reid has a nice ass.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not in a āmale model carved from marbleā way.
Justā¦ unfairly nice for a man who spends most of his time talking about psychology and forgetting to eat lunch.
The slacks help.
Which feels hostile, honestly.
You blink hard and jerk your attention back to your laptop with the violent internal energy of someone trying to slam shut fifty browser tabs at once.
Focus.
Academic environment.
You are a serious student.
A serious student who absolutely did not just spend several seconds staring at her professorās ass while he explained trauma responses.
Jesus Christ.
āRepeated exposure to unpredictability,ā he says, still writing, ācan create compensatory behaviors centered around control, organization, or information gathering.ā
A few tired chuckles.
Then the clock clicks over.
Immediate chaos.
The lecture hall empties like someone pulled a drain plug.
Students flood toward the exits in clusters of conversation and damp jackets, the noise swelling briefly before dissolving into the hallway outside. Within less than a minute, the room goes from crowded to echoing.
You stay seated.
Not intentionally.
At least thatās what you tell yourself.
Your laptop suddenly needs to be shut very carefully. Your charger has apparently tangled itself into a knot requiring advanced engineering. Your pens must be arranged with the precision of ceremonial artifacts.
At the front of the room, another student has stopped to ask Dr. Reid something about the midterm.
You try not to stare while pretending not to listen.
Itās difficult.
Because listening to Spencer Reid explain things is like accidentally falling into a Wikipedia rabbit hole narrated by a very pretty insomniac.
āā¦the issue isnāt the terminology,ā heās saying, already rifling through papers again while the student nods along. āItās application. Most people can memorize diagnostic criteria. The harder part is recognizing behavioral variance in context.ā
His sleeve slips down slightly as he gestures, revealing ink smudged along the side of his hand again.
God.
You wonder briefly if thereās a psychological term for being attracted to a man who looks like he's constantly five minutes away from a lecture.
Probably.
Heād know it.
The student thanks him and heads out, disappearing into the hallway with everyone else until suddenly itās justā
You.
And him.
The room feels different when it empties.
Too large. Too quiet.
Rain patters softly against the windows.
Dr. Reid glances up from stacking his notes, clearly registering your continued existence only now. āOh, you're still here. Perfect.ā
Your stomach drops so fast itās honestly impressive.
Perfect?
There is no version of āperfectā that has ever ended calmly for a student being addressed by a professor after class.
Your brain immediately begins cycling through possibilities at medically concerning speed.
You plagiarized accidentally somehow.
You cited the wrong edition.
You hallucinated an entire journal article in APA format.
Youāve been academically excommunicated.
āMe?ā you say brilliantly.
Dr. Reid blinks once. āYes?ā
Excellent start.
You shove your charger into your bag and stand quickly enough that your chair squeaks against the floor.
The sound echoes.
Violently.
You briefly consider walking directly into the rain and starting a new life elsewhere.
Instead, you manage a strained little, āSorry. Uh. Yeah. Whatās up?ā
Dr. Reid gathers a few loose papers into a stack before pulling one free.
Your paper.
You recognize the bent corner immediately because you spent three straight hours staring at it last weekend in a caffeine-induced fugue state.
āI finally finished reading these last night,ā he says, tapping the packet lightly. āYour section on adaptive masking behaviors was particularly good.ā
The panic in your bloodstream stutters awkwardly. āā¦good?ā
āYes.ā He looks faintly surprised by your surprise. āVery good, actually.ā
Thereās something deeply unfair about receiving praise from Spencer Reid specifically. He says things too earnestly. No performance to it. No academic politeness. Just direct sincerity delivered with terrifying eye contact.
You feel your nervous system fold like cheap lawn furniture.
āYou made an interesting connection between hypervigilance and social mirroring,ā he continues, flipping through the pages. āMost students approached the assignment from a purely diagnostic perspective, but you framed it as a survival adaptation first, which is considerably more accurate.ā
Your heart does an embarrassing little cartwheel.
Because this is the problem.
Not just that heās attractive.
Itās that every time he talks to you, it feels like heās opening a secret door in your ribcage and switching on all the lights.
āOh,ā you manage intelligently. āThanks.ā
āAnd your question here.ā He points suddenly to a paragraph halfway down the page. āAbout whether prolonged masking eventually alters baseline identity perception?ā
You nod slowly.
He looks delighted.
Actually delighted.
Like you handed him a particularly interesting puzzle and not a half-panicked essay written at two in the morning while eating stale pretzels.
āThatās the kind of question people usually donāt ask until graduate-level behavioral analysis,ā he says. āThereās still ongoing debate about it, especially regarding prolonged trauma adaptation and identity diffusion.ā
You try very hard to remain normal about the fact that Spencer Reid is complimenting your intelligence in an empty lecture hall while rain taps softly against the windows like a movie determined to make things worse for you personally.
āMost current models oversimplify the distinction between performed identity and integrated identity,ā he continues, already slipping fully into Lecture Mode again. āHumans are actually much more context-dependent than people like to admit. Personality isnāt nearly as fixed as we pretend it is.ā
He flips another page absentmindedly.
āYou also cited Dr. Nakamuraās 2018 paper, which almost nobody finds unless theyāre specifically looking for it.ā
Your mouth opens before your brain catches up.
āā¦you noticed my citations?ā
Dr. Reid looks up.
Thereās a tiny crease between his brows now, confused in the gentlest way possible. āOf course I noticed your citations.ā
Well.
Thatās going to live in your skull forever now.
He says it like itās obvious. Like naturally he paid attention. Like naturally he read your work closely enough to recognize specific research choices.
Meanwhile youāre trying not to ascend directly out of your body.
āYouāre one of the strongest writers in the class,ā he says, matter-of-fact. āYour arguments are usually more structurally complex than your peersā, even when you seem unsure of them.ā
The room abruptly feels too warm.
You grip the strap of your bag tighter. āI didnāt know you thought that.ā
Because thereās something unbearably intimate about being understood academically by someone you admire. It feels dangerously adjacent to being seen naked. Like heās looking directly at the shape of your thoughts with careful hands.
Dr. Reid glances back down at your paper again, seemingly unaware heās currently causing neurological events.
āI did mark a few places where your transitions got rushed,ā he says, pulling a pen from behind his ear. āMostly because I think you were thinking faster than you could physically write.ā
You laugh softly before you can stop yourself. āThat does happen.ā
āYes,ā he says immediately, almost too quickly. āI know.ā
Silence.
Tiny.
Strange.
His expression shifts a fraction afterward, like maybe he hadnāt meant to say that out loud.
Rain rattles softly against the windows again.
And suddenly you become acutely aware that you are alone with Spencer Reid in an empty lecture hall while he holds your paper like itās something fragile.
Dangerous situation, truly.
Then he uncaps the pen and scribbles something quickly across the last page.
His handwriting slants wildly across the margin.
Fast. Crowded. Ink-smudged.
You watch his hand move despite yourself.
When he finishes, he folds the packet once and offers it back to you.
āThere,ā he says. āI added a few additional reading recommendations if you want them.ā
You step forward to take it, fingers brushing briefly against his.
Electricity.
Actual cinematic electricity.
You almost drop the paper.
Humiliating.
āThanks,ā you say, quieter now.
āMhm.ā
But he doesnāt let go immediately.
Not enough to mean something.
Just enough to notice.
Then he seems to catch himself and releases the pages all at once, clearing his throat lightly before stepping back toward the desk.
You look down automatically.
At the bottom of the final page, beneath a cluster of notes and arrows and recommended articles, heās signed off absentmindedly in cramped blue ink.
Excellent work here. Keep pushing this line of thought.
I think youāre asking the right questions.
ā I remain yours sincerely,
Spencer Reid, PhD
Your pulse trips over itself.
Because who signs feedback like that?
Who writes I remain yours sincerely like a Shakespearean poet accidentally trapped in modern academia?
And worse:
Why does it make your stomach feel like it just fell down an elevator shaft?
The walk back to your apartment is a blur of rainwater, campus lights, and psychological deterioration.
Your umbrella keeps tilting sideways in the wind.
You barely notice.
Because every functioning part of your brain is currently occupied by one singular, catastrophic detail:
I remain yours sincerely.
Who writes that.
You clutch the paper tighter inside your bag every time the rain picks up, irrationally terrified the ink might smear. Which feels insane. Deeply insane. The behavior of a woman one inconvenience away from being studied in a laboratory.
By the time you get home, your shoes are damp, your hair is frizzing at the edges, and your nervous system is fried.
You lock the apartment door behind you and immediately pull the paper back out.
Like an addict.
Like a widow rereading war letters.
āOh, this is bad,ā you mutter to yourself.
Your apartment offers no judgment. Just soft lamplight and the hum of the refrigerator and rain whispering against the windows.
You drop your bag onto the couch.
Then sit at the kitchen table with the paper spread carefully in front of you.
You read the signature again.
And again.
And then, because apparently humiliation is now a recreational activity, you trace the letters lightly with your thumb.
Spencer Reid, PhD.
The ink catches faintly against the pad of your finger where he pressed harder on certain strokes. You can almost see the speed of him in it. The impatience. The intelligence outrunning the mechanics of handwriting.
God. You're so weird. You're unhinged. You're obsessed.
Your phone buzzes with a text from your friend Maya.
did u survive reidās lecture or did he accidentally make eye contact and kill you instantly
You stare at the message for a long moment before replying:
worse
Three dots appear immediately.
what happened
You look down at the paper again.
At the stupid signature.
At the devastating little yours.
Then, against every survival instinct evolution ever gifted humanity, you take a picture of the bottom half of the page and send it.
Thereās a full thirty seconds of silence.
Then:
OH YOU ARE DOWN HORRENDOUS
You groan aloud and drop your forehead directly onto the table.
The phone buzzes again.
āI remain yours sincerelyā????? WHAT IS HE A PROFESSOR OR A MAN WRITING YOU FROM THE CRIMEAN WAR
Another buzz.
he wants u biblically
āHE DOES NOT,ā you say aloud to the empty apartment, scandalized.
Your phone immediately lights up again.
u kept the paper though didnt u
You freeze.
Slowly, guiltily, your eyes drift toward your desk drawer.
Because inside that drawer already sits: one graded response paper, two annotated reading packets, and a sticky note from three weeks ago where Dr. Reid had written:
Your interpretation here is excellent. Come see me during office hours if you want to discuss further.
The sticky note currently lives tucked inside your favorite book like a pressed flower.
You close your eyes.
āJesus Christ,ā you whisper to yourself.
Another text arrives.
DID U KEEP THE PAPER
You type back:
not officially
Maya responds instantly.
that is the most incriminating answer ive ever heard
You abandon the conversation entirely and toss your phone onto the couch before she can escalate further.
Then you sit there alone for a moment.
Quiet apartment. Rain outside. Spencer Reidās handwriting beneath your fingertips.
The thing is, you know this crush is ridiculous.
Heās your professor. Technically not even that much older than you, but enough that it matters. Enough that your brain keeps trying to file this under impossible and failing spectacularly every single time he looks at you like your thoughts are worth listening to.
Thatās the real problem.
Not the cardigan.
Not the hands.
Not even the objectively offensive existence of that signature.
Itās the attention.
The terrifying sincerity of it.
Spencer Reid listens to you like heās carefully placing your words somewhere safe.
And you donāt think anyone has ever done that before.
Your chest aches unexpectedly at the thought.
Too honest.
Too close to something real.
You exhale slowly and pick the paper up again, intending to finally put it away somewhere normal and reasonable.
Instead, your gaze catches on the folded edge of your clear phone case sitting beside you on the table.
No.
Absolutely not.
You stare at it.
Then at the paper.
Then back at the phone.
āThis would be a humiliating choice,ā you inform yourself firmly.
Silence.
Rain taps softly against the windows.
Five minutes later, you are sitting on your couch with Spencer Reidās signature folded carefully behind your phone.
You look at it through the clear plastic.
Immediate stomach flip.
āOh, you absolute loser,ā you whisper to yourself.
But unfortunately:
youāre smiling.
By the time midterms crawl across campus like a biblical plague, your situation has not improved.
If anything, itās evolved.
Dangerously.
Because now there is routine.
Now there are office hours conversations that accidentally become forty-five minutes long. Now there are moments where Dr. Reid pauses to ask, āYou read the article I mentioned, right?ā already knowing the answer before you nod.
Now there are tiny things.
Tiny, lethal things.
The way he automatically hands you printed articles first when passing materials down the row. The way his face brightens with visible recognition every time you speak in class. The way he says your name like he enjoys the shape of it.
Itās become less like a crush and more like being slowly haunted.
Which is why remaining after lecture today feels less unusual than it probably should.
You donāt mean to time it like this.
It justā¦ happens.
The room empties in that familiar way, like the building exhales and forgets to inhale again. Chairs scrape. Jackets zip. Someone laughs too loudly in the hallway like theyāre trying to prove theyāre still human after all that thinking.
And then itās just you again, hovering at the edge of the aisle with your notebook pressed a little too tightly to your chest.
Dr. Reid is still at the whiteboard.
Erasing.
Relentless little motions. Wrist flicking. Chalk dust or marker residue or whatever ghosts lectures leave behind drifting faintly in the air. His cardigan is pushed up at the elbows now, like itās given up on behaving properly.
He doesnāt look over immediately.
Which, somehow, makes it worse.
Because youāve started to associate his attention with a kind of internal weather shift. Like the room tilts slightly toward you when he notices youāre there.
You clear your throat.
Soft. Careful.
āDr. Reid?ā
The eraser pauses mid-swipe.
Then stops completely.
He turns.
And there it is.
That subtle recalibration. Like a radio finding your frequency without meaning to.
āOh,ā he says. Not surprised exactly. Justā¦ pleased in a quiet way that feels too personal to name. āYouāre still here again.ā
Again.
Like itās a pattern heās noticed.
Like heās been waiting for it.
You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of your hands, your posture, your entire existence. āYeah. I had a question about todayās lecture.ā
āOf course.ā He sets the eraser down on the ledge beneath the board and steps away from it fully now, giving you his attention like itās the most natural thing in the world. āWhat about it?ā
Your brain, traitorous thing that it is, briefly offers you ten different ways to phrase this more intelligently.
None of them survive the trip to your mouth.
āIt was about emotional responses,ā you say. āLikeā¦ how people react differently to the same stimulus depending on context and prior experience.ā
He nods slowly, like heās already tracing where this is going.
You continue anyway, because stopping now would be suspicious and also physically impossible.
āYou said something about adaptation shaping perception. And I was thinking about whether emotional responses canā¦ overwrite themselves? Like, if enough context builds up, does the original reaction still matter, or does it get replaced entirely?ā
Dr. Reid tilts his head slightly, studying you the way he studies everything he respectsācarefully, like it might shift if he blinks wrong.
āThatās a more complicated question than it sounds like you intended it to be,ā he says gently.
Your stomach drops.
āSorry,ā you start immediately. āI didnāt meanā I just meant like in general, notāā
āNo.ā He interrupts softly. Not sharp. Just steady. āDonāt apologize. Itās a good question.ā
That does something unfortunate to your nervous system.
He takes a step closer to his desk, resting one hand lightly on it as if anchoring himself to the conversation.
āSo the original response doesnāt disappear. It becomes less accessible, or it gets reframed by later experiences. But itās still there. Justā¦ quieter.ā
You nod slowly, trying to keep up.
āThatās why certain triggers can feel disproportionate,ā he adds. āTheyāre not creating a new reaction. Theyāre reopening an old one thatās been reorganized over time.ā
Something about the way he says it makes it feel less like psychology and more like confession, even though it absolutely isnāt.
You swallow.
āThat makes it sound like nothing ever really goes away,ā you say quietly.
A beat.
Dr. Reid looks at you a little more directly now.
āIt doesnāt,ā he says. Simple. Certain. Then, softer: āBut that doesnāt mean it stays the same.ā
The room feels warmer again.
Or maybe thatās just you.
You glance down at your notebook like it suddenly contains emergency instructions for being normal.
āRight,ā you manage. āThat makes sense.ā
It doesnāt feel like it makes sense. It feels like it rearranged something in your chest and didnāt bother explaining itself.
Dr. Reid pushes off the desk slightly, as if the intensity of the moment has to be gently contained.
Then, almost like an afterthought, he adds, āIs that what you were thinking about specifically? Or was there another angle?ā
There it is again.
That attention.
Patient. Open. Not assuming youāre wasting his time.
You hesitate.
Because the truth is more dangerous than the question.
But youāve never been very good at leaving things unasked.
āI guess I was wondering,ā you say slowly, āif people canā¦ respond emotionally to something they intellectually understand isnāt rational.ā
Dr. Reid stills for half a second.
Not much. Most people wouldnāt notice.
But youāve started noticing everything.
āThat happens frequently,ā he says after a moment.
Your grip tightens on your notebook.
āEven when they know better?ā
His gaze flickers briefly toward you again. Sharper now. Not unkind. Justā¦ more precise.
āYes,ā he says. āEspecially then.ā
A quiet beat stretches between you.
Too quiet.
Your pulse has started doing strange, uneven things against your ribs, every instinct in your body suddenly screaming that this conversation has drifted dangerously close to something exposed.
Because the problem with Spencer Reid is that he listens too carefully.
Most people let things slide past them. Most people hear the shape of a sentence and move on.
Dr. Reid hears the fracture lines underneath it.
And right now youāre increasingly certain heās standing one follow-up question away from watching you spontaneously combust in front of the behavioral sciences department.
You tighten your grip on your notebook hard enough to bend the edge slightly.
āRight,ā you say quickly. Too quickly. āOkay. That actually answered my question, so I should probablyāā
You gesture vaguely toward the door.
Toward freedom.
Toward escape.
Toward literally anywhere that is not this room with this man looking at you like heās trying to solve something.
But Dr. Reidās expression shifts faintly before you can move.
Concern.
Not suspicion. Somehow worse.
āAre you alright?ā
Thereās no accusation in it. Just immediate attentiveness.
Which unfortunately makes panic bloom hotter in your chest.
āYep.ā The word arrives at terminal velocity. āAbsolutely. Totally fine.ā
You are speaking with the cadence of someone being held hostage by her own nervous system.
His brows pull together slightly. āYou seem anxious.ā
āWell,ā you laugh weakly, āI think thatās sort of my baseline.ā
Wrong choice.
Because that earns the smallest flicker of a smile from him.
Soft. Brief. Real.
It hits you directly in the bloodstream.
You need to leave immediately.
āI just remembered I have toā¦ā You motion uselessly with one hand. āDo something.ā
Brilliant.
Academic titan.
Dr. Reid opens his mouth like heās about to say something else, and that tiny moment of anticipation detonates pure survival instinct in your chest.
āAnyway!ā you blurt. āThanks for answering my question. Sorry. Again. Iām gonna go.ā
You turn too fast.
Your bag catches against the side of a chair.
The strap yanks violently sideways, dragging the chair with it in one catastrophic scrape against the floor.
You stumble trying to untangle yourself, notebook slipping from your grasp entirely.
Papers explode everywhere.
For one suspended second, the universe goes completely still.
Then Dr. Reid moves instantly.
āOh, hereāā
You both crouch at the exact same time.
Of course you do.
Naturally.
Because God is dead and this is apparently funny to the universe.
Your foreheads nearly collide.
You jerk backward so abruptly you lose balance a second time, catching yourself with one hand against the floor while loose papers scatter farther beneath the desks.
āIām so sorry,ā you say immediately, horrified.
But that's not the end of the torture. Because why would it be? Why would the universe and whatever forces rule it let you get out of this embarrassment that easily?
Your phone.
No.
No, no, no.
Time slows with cinematic cruelty.
The device must have slipped from your bag when the strap caught the chair. The clear case popped loose on impact, skidding separately across the floor.
And there, face-up beside the phone itself like evidence submitted directly to a court of lawā
his signature.
And Dr. Reid is staring directly at it.
Thereās no plausible explanation for this.
None.
You cannot even pretend itās accidental.
Who accidentally stores a professorās signed feedback inside their phone case?
No one, that's who. Just you.
Your soul begins exiting your body through your ears.
Donāt panic, your brain says uselessly, while panic fully consumes the landscape.
Dr. Reid reaches for the paper slowly.
You want the floor to open and swallow you whole like a tectonic event.
āOh my God,ā you whisper.
Dr. Reid looks at the note for one suspended second longer.
Then another.
His expression changes in tiny increments you only notice because youāve spent months studying him with the intensity of a graduate thesis.
Recognition.
Confusion.
Realization.
And then something else. Something softer. Something that makes your pulse stumble violently against your ribs.
Very slowly, he lifts his eyes to yours.
You have never known true psychological horror until this moment.
āI can explain,ā you blurt immediately.
Can you?
Absolutely not.
But the sentence launches itself out of your mouth anyway with all the grace of a car accident.
Dr. Reidās brows lift slightly. āYou can?ā
āNo,ā you say honestly. āActually, not in a way that helps me.ā
Excellent.
Wonderful.
You briefly consider faking your death.
He glances back down at the paper again, thumb resting lightly near the edge where the fold has started softening from use.
And then, very softly:
āYou kept it.ā
Not teasing.
Not judgmental.
Which almost makes it harder.
Heat floods violently into your face.
āThis was,ā you say immediately, āso much less creepy in my head.ā
A tiny crease appears between his brows like heās trying not to smile.
āI didnāt say it was creepy.ā
āItās objectively creepy.ā
āI donāt think objectively means what you want it to mean there.ā
āThatās worse somehow.ā
The corner of his mouth twitches. Actually twitches.
You stare at him in horror.
āPlease donāt laugh at me,ā you whisper.
āIām not laughing at you.ā
āYouāre visibly experiencing amusement.ā
āThatās not the same thing.ā
āIt absolutely is.ā
The smile threatens again, smaller this time, restrained at the edges like he doesnāt fully trust himself with it.
And then, disastrously, his gaze drops once more to the signature.
His own handwriting.
His own absurdly formal sign-off.
When he speaks again, thereās something almost embarrassed threaded through his voice now.
āIn fairness,ā he says, āI probably shouldnāt have written āI remain yours sincerely.āā
You make a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and cardiac arrest. āNo, you really shouldnāt have.ā
āI wasnāt thinking about how that sounded.ā
āThat somehow feels less reassuring.ā
His eyes flick back to yours then.
Warm amber under fluorescent lights. Too attentive. Too intelligent.
āBut you noticed it,ā he says quietly.
Thereās no ego in the statement.
Just observation.
You swallow hard.
āYes.ā
The room goes still around the answer.
Not awkward exactly.
Just aware.
Dr. Reid looks down briefly, almost thoughtful, before carefully placing the paper back atop your fallen notebook instead of immediately handing it over.
āYou know,ā he says after a moment, āhistorically, formal academic correspondence used possessive sign-offs fairly often.ā
You stare at him.
āAre you trying to academically explain away my crush on you right now?ā
The sentence escapes before you can stop it.
Silence detonates instantly afterward.
Your entire nervous system flatlines.
Because you did not mean to say that.
You meant to think it privately and then carry the shame forever.
Dr. Reid goes completely still.
His lips part slightly like his brain lost the next page of the script.
āOh my God,ā you whisper, staring at the floor. āForget I said that.ā
But the problem with Spencer Reid has always been this:
he never ignores important things.
And when you finally force yourself to look back up, heās watching you with an expression so carefully controlled it almost hurts to see.
āYou have a crush on me,ā he says.
Not mocking.
Not smug.
Honestly, he sounds more astonished than anything else.
You squeeze your eyes shut briefly. āI am asking respectfully for the earth to open beneath me.ā
āThatās not an answer.ā
āItās the only answer I currently have.ā
You expect discomfort.
Distance.
Professional correction.
Instead, Dr. Reid exhales softly through his nose and sits back slightly against the leg of a desk beside him, still crouched across from you among scattered papers and your exploded dignity.
And then, to your complete horror, he says:
āI thought there was a possibility.ā
Your head snaps up.
āWhat?ā
A faint flush has appeared high on his cheekbones now.
Tiny. Visible.
It rearranges the architecture of your entire universe.
āYouāre very attentive to me,ā he says carefully.
You choke immediately. āI need you to stop observing things.ā
āThat seems unlikely.ā
āYouāre a behavioral analyst. This is abuse of power.ā
That almost earns another smile.
Almost.
āBut I wasnāt sure,ā he continues more quietly. āAnd I didnāt want to assume something that would make you uncomfortable.ā
You stare at him.
āYou noticed,ā you say faintly.
Dr. Reid tilts his head a little.
āYou keep every note I give you.ā
Well.
When he says it out loud like that, it sounds medically concerning.
āI didnāt think you knew that.ā
āI didnāt,ā he admits. āNot conclusively.ā
His gaze flickers briefly toward the paper beside your phone.
āI do now.ā
You cover your face with one hand.
āThis is the worst day of my life.ā
āI donāt think thatās true.ā
āThatās because youāre not experiencing it from inside my body.ā
A pause.
Then, very gently:
āNo,ā he says. āI donāt think I am.ā
Something changes in the room after that.
Tiny shift. Tectonic consequence.
The humor softens at the edges, leaving behind something quieter. Something breathing carefully between the two of you.
Dr. Reid reaches down first, gathering the scattered pages into a neater stack before offering them back to you properly this time.
Your fingers brush again.
And this time neither of you jerks away immediately.
It lasts maybe half a second longer than it should.
Enough to feel intentional.
Enough to ruin you permanently.
His eyes lift to yours again, thoughtful in that dangerous way he gets when heās turning something over carefully in his mind.
āYou know,ā he says slowly, āthere are ethical complications here.ā
You let out a startled laugh. āThatās one way to put it.ā
āIām serious.ā
āI know.ā
His fingers tap once against the edge of the paper still resting between you.
āYouāre my student.ā
The words land carefully. Reluctantly.
Like he hates them a little.
āWhich means,ā he continues, āthat regardless of how I feel about this conversation, there are boundaries Iām responsible for maintaining.ā
Your pulse stumbles.
Regardless of how I feel about this conversation.
Thatās the moment the floor drops out from under you.
Because thatās not rejection.
Itās worse.
Itās possibility wearing a seatbelt.
āBut there are also only six weeks left in the semester.ā
Your breath catches.
The words land between you with astonishing softness.
Not a proposition.
Not quite.
Just a door left cracked open in the dark.
Dr. Reid seems to realize exactly how that sounded one second after saying it, because a flicker of alarm crosses his face immediately afterward.
āIām not implying,ā he starts quickly. āI mean, I am implying something, technically, but not inappropriately. I just meant that institutional boundaries are temporary in specific contexts and I thought transparency was preferable to pretending I hadnāt noticed the situation and now Iām explaining this badly.ā
You stare at him.
Then laugh suddenly.
Not nervous this time.
Real.
Because Spencer Reid, genius profiler, has gone visibly flustered sitting on the floor of his own lecture hall.
The sound seems to catch him off guard.
His shoulders loosen a fraction.
And for the first time since this catastrophe began, the panic ebbs enough for something else to bloom beneath it.
Something warm.
āIā¦ I can wait six weeks,ā you say softly.
Spencerās smile is small enough that someone else might have missed it entirely.
You donāt.
Because of course you donāt.
It changes him in tiny ways. Softens the sharp concentration he usually wears like armor. Pulls warmth into his face until he looks less like Dr. Spencer Reid, terrifyingly intelligent guest lecturer, and more like a man trying very hard not to look too happy about something.
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Summary: Things were getting heated between you and Professor Creel; it started as a kiss, so how did you end up with his blood on your hands?
Even worse, Henry knows your secrets. He might even know more than you do. And as the mysterious pain consuming you reaches a breaking point, your reality fractures, and you begin to wonder if Henry was telling the truth.
Pairing: Henry Creel / Vecna x Reader
CW/tags: MDNI, Mutual Pining, Enemies to Lovers, Self-Insert, Sexual Tension, Romantic Tension, Angst, Forbidden Love, Dark Romance, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Possessive, Choking, I dare say a lot of choking, Dubcon, Blood, Drug use, Physical Violence, Trauma, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe, College/University, Canon Divergence... and more to come!
Words: 4.5k
***
Chapter 5
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Terror wraps around my spine, loops down each vertebra and buries itself so deep I know it's a feeling I would never forget.
It feels like jamming a stick into wet clay, a fork into soft meatā
Henry recoils away from me, and the look on his face is one I've never seen before: pure horror flashing to raw, unbridled fury as he clutches at his shoulder, at the silver handle there.
His eyes are wide, so wide, so angry, laced with hurt and disbelief.
"You stabbed me," he wheezes. "You stabbed me?"
He actually laughs, and itās a bitter hollow laugh that makes him look deranged. Twisted and sick, how different from the polished facade he portrays. Crimson blooms across the fabric of his shirt, his vestā a color so stark and alive and bold against the white of the fabric.
With bared teeth, he rips the letter opener from his shoulder, and a horrified gasp catches in my throat.
He looks at the bloody letter opener, then at me, back and forth, back and forth, and I see him trying and failing to understand something. I don't know what, though.
"You actually stabbed meā"
I scramble off the desk and nearly trip as I bolt for the classroom door.
"Don't you dare open that door!"
No, thanks.
My hand slams onto the handle, frantic, shaking, wrenching the stupid little metal, and I'm throwing my body against the wood but it's not budging, not letting me out.
I try again,
Again, again,
Again,
Push and pull push and pull
But it's like trying to fight a solid wall. Like there's something impossibly heavy on the other side.
"Do not shut me out," his voice comes tight, "I am trying to help you."
I spin around so fast. "Help me? You'reā you're insaneā"
"Please listen to me," he says again, gently this time.
"I don't need your fucking help, Professor, and I certainly don't need whatever the hell it is you're trying to play at," I say heatedly. My hand tugs at the stupid handle behind me. "Do you always do this? Prey on your students like the sick pervert you are?"
He grips the desk to steady himself, still holding his shoulder. He manages a fucking smile even through the pain.
Hell, he doesn't even seem like he's in pain. Just mildly uncomfortable, and it's fucking creepy and absurd.
Which means I probably should have stabbed him deeper. Maybe I should have gone for the neck?
"First, breaking into my house like a greedy fool," he grits, dry amusement flickering in his crazed eyes as he walks over to me. "And now, stabbing me? Are you truly so desperate for my attention that you've resorted to this."
I actually laugh at that. Desperate for his attention? This man is the most delusional person I've ever had the pleasure to meet.
No. Displeasure. There's no such thing as pleasure with this guy.
I'm fuming now, but I don't give him the satisfaction of a response.
"My offer still stands, Y/N, I can help you out of this mess. I'm willing to do everything in my power to ensure thā"
"Fuck's your problem? You don't know shit about me! So quit acting like you do!" My voice shakes with anger. "You humiliated me! And now you're using my crime as a way to get into my pants? Why? Why?" I'm no longer thinking, everything just coming out in a desperate torrent. "How the fuck did you know about Jason, asshole? Are you stalking me? Is that it? Fucking answer meā"
He grabs my jaw and I shriek, claw at him, but even with a gaping wound on his shoulder he's still annoyingly stronger than me.
"I was being generous to you," he says seriously, "but let me make something very clear. I'm still your professor and I will not tolerate any disrespect from you. If you wish to spend the rest of your life relying on Jason for your pathetic little fix, then by all means, go ahead. You are making a terrible mistake."
He releases my jaw with a harsh shove, the sudden cruelty leaving me stunned. I shouldn't even be surprised; he's always been a royal asshole, but his dismissal somehow has my stomach twisting into a painful knot.
I stabbed him for fuck's sake, of course he'd be mad.
As if the universe has decided that I'm not unlucky enough as it is, the door behind me suddenly gives way.
With a hiss, I fall backwards into the hallway and land on my ass painfully.
Fucking ouch. I press a palm to my backside and stare at the door in disbelief.
How fucking convenient that the door I've been trying to open suddenly opens.
Whatever. I've had enough of today.
Henry says nothing as he stands by the doorway, a look of utter revulsion written all over his face as he pats a black handkerchief over his wound.
He looks like he just failed to push a big shit out and I'm actually proud to say that I'm the reason for that constipated face. He looks roughed up, his hair no longer prim and proper, his dirty blonde strands sticking out messily, sweat dripping from his forehead to his throat, down to his Adam's apple as it bobbed andā
I look away. Clear my throat. I'm glad I stabbed him.
The prick had it coming. How dare he put his nasty lips on mine. Stalk me. Act as though he cares about my connection with Jason. I still don't understand how he found out about that or how much he knows, but right now, I don't even have the energy to care.
Fuck this whole university and fuck him.
Wait. No, that's gross. Not in that way.
Fuck, what's wrong with me today?
"If you're done being a nuisance, I have places to be," he says, casually stepping over my legs. He's throwing on a brown suitā the one that matches the color of his vestā effectively hiding my gruesome creation.
Nuisance. Hypocritical prick.
I scowl at the back of his head. "You fucked up, professor. Your days are numbered."
He doesn't even look back as he replies, "I'm so intimidated," before rounding the corner and disappearing.
I keep scowling at the empty hallway.
"Uh."
I crane my head to see Eddie looking all confused. Though it's more suspicious than anything. He offers me a hand reluctantly. "What was that all about?" he asks with narrowed eyes.
Grinning, I gladly take his hand and haul myself to my feet. "What was what all about?"
"You're not fucking Mr. Creel, are you?" Eddie asks, still with narrowed eyes.
My grin disappears and I narrow mine right back, beginning to walk in the opposite direction of where Henry went because I don't trust myself not to stab the motherfucker again.
"That's gross, Eddie."
He scurries to catch up, matching my annoyed strides. Shoves his hands in his pockets. "Is that a no? You didn't fuck him, right? Right?"
I inhale deeply.
His question has my heart jumping erratically and I don't like it.
Technically, we didn't fuck. Not even close. I think? So I can say no. I should say no.
Did Eddie see anything? I'm pretty sure the freaky door was jammed shut, so he couldn't have.
Maybe he overhead shit?
Nope. Not gonna think about that anymore.
The horrific, disturbing images of earlier's events flash through my mind. Henry's firm grip on my hips, squeezing and rubbing the same inch of skin; his sturdy, commanding frame pressed against mine, heaving, panting, as his lips devoured me; our gasps mixing and his groans echoing and his skin onā
Okay, seriously.
"No," I mutter. "I didn't fuck him."
Eddie doesn't look convinced. "If you say so... because you seemed like you hated him. I mean, I do too, but if you actually don't, you know I don't judge. I totally get the hype, manā"
I smack his shoulder. "Please shut up."
"Ow! Hey!"
"There is no hype, okay, he seems like a raging psychopath."
"Some people are into that."
I glare at him.
"O-kay!" Eddie throws his hands up and laughs. "I'm just kidding, man. He does look like a psycho. Hey, I'll catch you later," he stops in front of a door with 'Physics' written on it, though the P is so faded it just reads like Hysics. "Can't miss a class if I want to graduate this year. Once I get that diploma I'm running the hell out of here." He flashes me an enormous grin.
I chuckle. "I'm sure it's going to be your year."
Eddie just winks.
***
The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur, with me mostly using what's left of my willpower and brain cells to power through my remaining classes. Thank fuck it's the first day of classes, otherwise I'd be falling behind. My focus has been shot to shit, and everything's just a dull sequence of professors explaining the syllabus, the grading rubrics, and whatever the fuck. I don't absorb a single word of it, sitting in the back row of every lecture hall.
By the time my last class is over, my headache has mutated from a dull throb into an intense pain pulsing from my neck.
I keep walking, however, determined to get home while checking every notification from the group chat. I ignore Steve's missed calls, though. He probably just wants to have dinner again, which I have no time for. I'm simply too exhausted to go anywhere else but my room.
I scroll through the chat bubbles to try and distract myself from the throbbing pain, finding myself amused by the three photos Dustin sent to the group chat. Three photos of Mike and Will cuddling in what seems to be a lecture hall in 3 glorious angles, with Dustin's caption: 'Get me out of this class'
I giggle at the third photo specifically, at Mike's sleepy, drooling face and Will's splendidly embarrassed face.
Steve The Hair: D's getting cranky cuz all he's getting is phone sex LOL
Lucas: Oh my god y'all
Dustin: BRO
Dustin: At least I have a girlfriend????
Steve The Hair: In Utah
Dustin: You have none in every continent, what's your point?
Max: in every continent is insane (skull emoji skull emoji skull emoji)
With a chuckle, I switch to my inbox with Steve.
Three missed calls from Steve The Hair
Steve The Hair: Yoooo
Steve The Hair: U wanna get scoops ahoy? Im so bored (sad emoji) my treat
Steve The Hair: Where you atttt
I ignore it and turn my phone off, making a mental note to answer him later when my head isn't being crushed under a goddamn hydraulic press.
When I arrive home, El looks up from the small cabin model she's working on and smiles. "You look like shit."
"Thanks," I say, shrugging my cardigan off. "I missed you too."
El just laughs. "Steve called earlier," she informs me as she stands up, taking my bag off my shoulder to set it down. "He was asking if you're okay. You didn't eat lunch with them and they got worried."
"Oh. I was busy." Busy trying not to murder a certain professor. I sigh, rubbing an absent hand over my neck.
El zeroes in on the motion, her smile fading. "Is it getting worse?"
I only shake my head as I make my way to the bathroom. She follows me and stands by the open door with her arms crossed. "Y/N," she says. "You're lying."
If thereās anything I hate about El, itās that I canāt hide anything from her. She simply knows me too well, and Iām sure she feels the same way. I guess that comes with living under the same roof as Hopperās adopted daughters. You canāt keep secrets.
I canāt even go anywhere without El somehow finding out where I am, and her threatening that sheād tell Hopper unless I come back with like, ten boxes of eggos. The greedy fucker. But I love her, regardless, and I canāt help but feel like I donāt deserve her or Hopper for being a fuck-up.
I take in a heavy breath, both palms on the edge of the sink. "I don't know what you want me to say, El."
"I want you to get better. I want you to get help. Real help."
"We already tried that. Shit doesn't work."
"Then maybe we need to look harder. Just because it didnāt work doesnāt mean we canāt try again.ā El pushes, stepping into the bathroom. āYou canāt keep doing this. Youāre my sister and I wonāt let you keep doing this to yourself. There has to be another way.ā
I look up at my reflection in the mirror. Iām sickly pale, and some of my hairās messily matted to my forehead with sweat. I barely recognize myself. My eyes look hollow.
I grip the sink harder when a fresh wave of pain eruptsā and it takes everything in me to not give it away. With trembling fingers, I open the medicine cabinet; maybe Iāll go for the Advil just for show, just to make her think Iām laying off the stronger shit, but whatās the fucking point. Itās starting to hurt too much.
I grab the OxyContin bottle and slam the cabinet door shut way harder than I intend to.
āYou said you would stop, Y/N. I got you some Advil, itās right there somewhereāā
"Advil doesn't work," I say, shoving past her into the room. "You know it doesn't work."
"But the doctorsā"
āThe doctors donāt know shit, El. Iām getting worse and all theyāve ever done is take our money and tell us to try ice packs,ā I scoff bitterly. āWell guess what, weāre thousands of dollars poorer and their cold compresses still donāt do shit. They donāt take me seriously enough to try harder beyond tests and scans and all that crap.ā
El doesnāt say anything for a second, but her face kinda softens. āJasonās just going to take all your money.ā
Sheās not wrong. Jason is a greedy scumbag who will likely never get off my case for as long as Iām alive. Every time I think Iāve given him enough to buy myself three weeksā worth of Oxy, he manages to jack up the price. He has no conscience, and Iām convinced he has no soul either. He knows heās the only one who can pull this off without any consequences, and even if he does get caught, his daddyās money can easily bail him out in the same day.
āDustin said you lost the pouch last night,ā El says quietly. Meets my eyes.āHow many pills are left in there anyway? That thingās not lasting another week. You canāt afford another deal with Jason.ā
āI know,ā I whisper, hating how small my voice soundsā hating how right she is. Sheās always right. āFuck. I know.ā
āIām going to help Hopper with dinner,ā she says, rising to her feet. She stops by the door, looks at me hesitantly. Sighs. āI wish I could help you.ā
āI get that.ā
She flashes me a weak smile, then closes the door behind her.
I stare at the closed door, feeling like a major asshole for the way I acted. My eyes drift to the small cabin model on the deskā a tiny scuffed replica of this very house. There's little silly figurines standing by bits of green sponge meant to resemble grass. Even though they're faceless and kind of janky I can clearly tell who they are: Hopper, her, and me. Huddled together. She's made it so the wooden hands are pressed next to each other so they're holding each other.
A heavy wave of guilt washes over me. El has always loved making these things, and I know for a fact she has at least four more hidden somewhere. But the one she took the most time on is the model of Mike's basement. She frequently tells me it's her favorite place, and since she's making one for the cabin, there's no doubt that she feels just as home here too. She never fails to show how much she cares, and I... I don't even know when was the last time I showed that I care.
More guilt carves their way into my chest, but it's instantly ripped away, the bottle of pills flying from my grip as I scream.
I think Iām screaming. Itās hard to tell.
Three months of dealing with this persistent pain, but all of those days combined will never compare to this.
Itās like something is splitting my head open from the insideā a stabbing, burning force breaking out of me, pounding at my skull, at my neck, blow after blow after blow that I canāt do anything but scream. I feel every sick, pulsating pressureā each wave crashing so quickly I donāt have enough time to breathe in between. My vision is blurring around the edges. I try to yell for help, but my jaw is clenched so tightly together that it comes out as a strained grunt. My shaking hand flies to my throat as a new wave of pain sears from my neck, climbing up into my head like cracks on a glass.
In the midst of this chaos I can hear Elās voice yelling something I canāt understand, and then Jimās horrified face comes into view, his mouth moving hysterically but I canāt tell what heās saying either.
āDad?ā I choke out.
Thereās another wave, another white-hot explosion that ripples through me with renewed violence, and Iām drowning,
I am a flightless bird whose wings have been cut off.
10 steps
8 steps
10 steps
8 steps
I always turn left, over and over and over
There are four corners in the dark. One door, but it's always locked. I have tried opening it 108 times. They open it every 37,800 seconds. Sometimes they're late for an extra 912.
I hear a heavy hiss, a loud clank, and I smile because they aren't late today. Slowly, the darkness stops pressing against my eyes and warm amber kisses my face.
I wonder what it looks like outside?
"Good morning, my child."
He smells like fresh citrus. Clean detergent. My lips try to form around the word I always say. Always use. It's my favorite word. "Hello."
Step. Step. Step. "You have been doing wonderfully," he tells me. It sounds like being draped in very soft blankets. I always crave that sound, that feeling. "You are getting much better. Much calmer and more focused. Do you feel that way?"
"I...am?"
"Of course," he says easily. "You should be very proud. I am proud of you."
I smile wide. I think I like it whenever he says that word. Proud.
"But we must ensure your progress continues," he says again, and I shiver at the feel of leather on my hair. He ruffles the strands softly.
Comfort.
6 seconds pass.
"Let us begin," he says. There's rustling and shuffling and more steps, heavy steps, light steps, forming around me.
I step back, horrified. Two arms catch me roughly and I still.
"There's no need to be frightened," he tells me gently. "We are going to try something a bit different. And I think, if you try your very best for me, we might just have a special treat when we are finished. How does that sound?"
"A treat...?"
He hums. "Yes, a treat. Will you behave for me?"
I like treats. I nod.
"Very good."
A beat.
"Secure her."
Panic pours into me, hot and heavy, as loud steps fill my ears and in an instant I'm being strapped down, bands and bands and bands of leather snapping painfully around my wrists and my ankles and my chest.
Iām a flightless bird whose wings have been cut off. I wonder what it looks like to be outside?
I wonder what it's like to fly?
Someone yanks the fabric from my eyes and I instinctively squeeze them shut, hissing as bright too bright too bright t o o b r ight lights burn through my eyelids.
I feel something cold on my neck, trailing a short burning line.
My fists are balled on either side as warmth seeps out from my exposed flesh. Smooth gloves pry into the open wound, and they stab something inside there, and I'm screaming I'm screaming and all my insides are screeching.
So much pain.
I think I will die.
I'm already dead.
"Enable it," he says.
Click.
The pain jolts me forwardā a powerful current landing on my neck and slithering its way down my stomach, up my head, behind my eyes, inside my brain. I cry out as my arms thrash around uselessly.
āPlease stop,ā I choke out. āPlease stop.ā
"Doctor, I think we need to reduce the load. Her vitals are fluctuating dangerously. If we don't dial back, she might go into cardiac arrest."
"Cut the feed for now."
The pain snaps off and my body slumps weakly against the straps, my arms and legs like stone. My lips are still shaped around a scream but my voice no longer exists.
It's quiet for a moment, like my skull has been hollowed out and there's nothing there.
Slowly, light bleeds back into my eyes and my head lolls around in a daze, the last residues of pain easing off.
I blink so fast, damp lashes separating until the shadow in front of me resolves into him. He is the man who smells like fresh citrus and detergent, the doctor who visits my cell every 37,800 seconds. I have only seen his face three times in the light. So I look at him carefully. I study the whites of his hair that look like silver threads, the skin of his face that looks oddly smooth for his age, the faint lines of his forehead. His clean-shaven jawline.
But then I notice him.
The boy in the corner.
I almost gasp when he meets my eyes. Even through the haze of my tears, I can't look away. I don't think I've seen him before. Have I seen him before? I've been in the darkness for so long. His eyes are a striking shade of blue like swirling tidal waves; his dirty blonde hair is perfectly combed back, and yet there's something about his beauty that unsettles me. He doesn't seem real. There's something cold and dark about him. Maybe because he's not smiling. His lips are pressed in a tight line, his sharp jawline steeled.
The longer I stare at him, the more it grows in my chest. This peculiar, disconcerting ripple of emotions I can't seem to grasp. Anger? Sadness? It's a potent mix of both and it makes me avert my eyes.
I stare at the floor instead.
"Ridiculous," the Doctor scoffs.
I force my chin up.
"One," he juts his chin towards the blue-eyed boy. "Get out. I told you to stay out."
The boyā One, I take note of his nameā doesn't move from the spot. He stays standing still in his corner, his gaze locked onto mine.
"Can one of you bring him out of the chamber?" The Doctor orders. "This is starting to become ridiculous."
"Of course, Doctor."
He's still looking at me even as he's being shoved toward the exit, craning his neck and keeping me in his line of sight until he can't anymore.
A final glance at his face sends another agitating ripple through my body.
I float in the darkness for what feels like an eternity, carrying this coldness in my chest.
Is this loneliness?
My heart is a swing and loneliness is a feeling perched carefully on top.
Itās been swinging for so long so so long itās all it can do.
"Love," a voice says to me. It sounds so far away. I want to fly towards it. It's a tender voice, a soft kiss, a damp cloth to a fevered skin.
I mumble something.
"Return to me, love."
"Mmhmāwho...where? What?" I say, trying and failing to move, trying and failing to open my eyes.
It doesn't answer me.
I keep floating like the lightest feather, and I've never felt so at peace before. I am alive.
I am an aimless bird.
But something is snagging at me, pulling me away from the darkness and keeping me still. I try to push it away. All I want to do is fly. But it keeps tugging and pulling and I'm getting frustrated.
āD..nā¦it,ā I hear faintly. āY/N!ā
Itās a different voice this time, but I think I know him.
It says my name louder, and then some more words. āHeyā¦ā Goddammitā¦ ome onā your eyesā¦wā¦ke upā¦.!ā
He sounds like my dad Hopper. I laugh.
The motion wakes me with a violent rush and I draw in a sharp gasp of air as my eyelids fly open.
āBreathe, kidāā
I blink up at Hopperās bleary face. His brows are deeply furrowed and he wears a frown that makes him look ten years older. Elās face hovers right behind his, pale and tear-stained with her hands clamped over her mouth.
āThere we go,ā Hopper is saying. He cradles my head in his knees, brushes my sweaty hair. āThere we go, itās okay, easy, now, just breathe.ā
āWhatās happening to me,ā I croak, āwhatās going onāā
Something rings in my ears and Iām slipping out again. I feel like the room is spinning too fast and I canāt tell if Iām on the floor anymore or standing up or sitting down and I think I might throw upā
Hopper says, āItās okay, kid,ā Ā and pulls me in a tighter embrace, rocking me back and forth. I feel a cool towel on my forehead and the feeling makes me sigh. āYouāre okay. Take it easy. Just stay awake for me, the doctors are coming, alright? Just hold on, goddammit.ā
El lets out a sob and rushes over to my side, practically yanking me off Hopper. āYou canāt do that,ā she sobs into my neck. Pulls away to look at my face while shaking her head furiously. I have to squint to make out her features.
āYou canāt. God. Youāre okay. Youāre okay,ā she says.
And itās the last thing I remember before I fall back into darkness.
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