#page junior college | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

esote-rika · 3 months ago

Text

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well.

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since.

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything.

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals.

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing.

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic.

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together.

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.”

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions, you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak.

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him.

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost.

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him.

That’s inaccurate.

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification.

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body.

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat.

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices.

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body.

Soft. So damn soft.

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat.

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience.

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh.

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock.

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his.

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face.

There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed.

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock.

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs.

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust.

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him.

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!”

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.”

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds x you #waldorf!reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #sub spencer reid #virgin!spencer reid #erika after midnight

954 notes · View notes

kaira-diaries · 2 months ago

Text

Teacher's Pet:

⚠️: smut || age gap (18+) || teacher’s pet trope

pairing: professor!in-ho x fem!reader (no games)

wc: 1.2k

a/n: now that I’ve watched LBH’s entire filmography I’m obsessed with his teacher roles…don’t know if should do more drabbles for this story? Kinda like the idea of continuing their relationship.

summary: I feel like the name is self explanatory!

-> Masterlist <-

It wasn’t like you meant to fall in love.

If you could even call it that.

Infatuation seemed more fitting—an unshakable pull, a slow-burning ache that settled deep in your bones. Perhaps even obsession, the kind that took root beneath your skin and refused to let go.

You weren’t some naive teenager.

You were a junior in college, fully grown, well past the age of consent, old enough to know better. And yet, nothing had prepared you for him.

Your Literature Professor.

Older, impossibly refined, with a presence that commanded attention without effort. His voice was rich, deliberate—each syllable a slow caress against your ears. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held the kind of secrets that made you want to drown in them. And when he spoke, quoting poetry and prose with an intimacy that felt illicit, you could do nothing but sit there, enthralled, burning beneath the weight of his words.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that one night.

But it did.

You sank into the plush cushions of his living room sofa, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of espresso lingering in the air. The space around you was a sanctuary of words, lined wall to wall with books that carried the weight of centuries, their spines cracked and well-loved, whispering stories from every corner of the world.

Your gaze drifted across the towering shelves, fingers itching to trace the gilded titles. Then, one book in particular caught your eye—its cover worn, edges softened from years of handling. Curiosity pulled you to your feet. You stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath you as you reached for the novel, its leather binding cool beneath your fingertips.

Flipping it open, your breath hitched. Nearly every page was marked with notes, the margins filled with hurried scrawls in a familiar, precise hand. Observations, questions, underlined passages—traces of a mind that dissected literature with an almost obsessive devotion.

Of course.

Dr. Hwang had always been relentless about annotating. He preached the importance of engaging with the text and of leaving a mark on the page as proof of understanding. And now, seeing it for yourself, you realized he didn’t just teach this—he lived it.

A strange warmth curled in your chest, a quiet thrill at witnessing something so intimately him.

"Snooping?" His voice cut through the quiet, low and smooth, pulling your attention instantly.

You turned toward him, pulse-quickening as your eyes took him in. His usual reading glasses were absent, allowing the warm glow of his deep brown eyes to shine unfiltered beneath the dim lighting. His black hair, normally neatly combed, had fallen into an effortlessly tousled state, strands curling slightly at his temples. And his shirt—half unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of collarbone and the faintest hint of his chest—was enough to send a rush of heat straight through you.

The sight of him relaxed and undone in the privacy of his home, nearly made you come apart.

You swallowed, grounding yourself by pressing the book closed against your palm. Your eyes flickered to the title before glancing back up at him.

"You have quite the collection, Dr. Hwang—"

"In-ho," he interrupted gently, his gaze holding yours with quiet insistence.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "In-ho," you repeated, the name rolling off your tongue with a newfound intimacy as if speaking it aloud changed something between you.

You placed the book back, walking across the living room to him. God he was beautiful..so strong, yet gentle. You nearly shuttered as his hands curved around your waist pulling you into him.

He sighed as his long fingers caressed the skin of your neck, just over your pulse. "This is shameful."

Your lips parted, breath hitching as his hovered just a hair’s breadth away—so close, yet not close enough. The anticipation was electric, a charged silence stretching between you for a fraction of a second before he closed the distance.

The kiss was deep, slow, devastatingly experienced. He didn’t rush—he knew exactly what he was doing, how to unravel you with the way his lips moved against yours, how to make you sigh into him as his tongue teased yours, coaxing rather than demanding. Every motion, every flick, and stroke was deliberate, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him as if he were the only thing tethering you to reality.

Your friends knew you were seeing someone, but you’d been careful—strategic, even—about the details. You never mentioned who he was, never let slip the little things that might give him away. And, of course, you’d completely omitted the one fact that would send them into a frenzy.

His age.

Forty-five. Nearly twice yours.

Twenty-one and forty-five isn’t that bad… right?

The thought alone made you cackle every time you tried to defend it in your mind. Maybe you should feel conflicted. Maybe you should care about the whispers, the judgment, the moral grayness of it all.

But then his tongue brushed against yours again, expertly, wickedly, pulling a soft whimper from your throat, and just like that—any lingering doubt, any concern for right or wrong—simply ceased to exist.

Another hand found its way to the back of your head, taking a fist full of your hair.

You’re probably wondering how the two of you ended up here.

Let’s just say it might have had something to do with your insufferable class participation—the way you challenged him just enough to be intriguing, how you always had an argument ready, your voice laced with just the right amount of defiance to make him smirk.

Or maybe it was the way you chewed on the ends of your pens, absentmindedly biting down as you listened to him lecture, completely unaware of how his eyes would flicker toward you, his train of thought stalling for just a second too long. You had no idea, at first, that he noticed—the way you stared at him a little too intently, lashes fluttering as if you weren’t hanging onto his every word.

And then there were your visits.

The ones that started out innocently enough—stopping by during office hours, armed with questions about literary theory, with scribbled notes and highlighted passages. But then the conversations started to stretch beyond the curriculum, turning into something softer, something dangerous. You’d linger too long, leaning just a little too close, your laughter filling the dimly lit space of his office.

Flirting was inevitable.

Touching came next.

But never kissing..at least not until tonight.

You remembered the first time the air between you changed.

It had been subtle(kinda, not really)—a shift so delicate(You'd beg to differ) it could have been ignored if not for the way it made your pulse stutter(yeah, right). A moment suspended in time, when his gaze held yours for a second too long, when his hand brushed your thigh beneath his desk his fingers lingering, making heat bloom under your skin and warmth pool between your legs.

He was so close, and you hadn't remembered what the two of you were talking about, but did it really matter?

Once his fingers had skimmed the material of your underwear you blinked, licking your lips. "Is this okay?" he had asked. He wanted permission. And while you didn't give it verbally, you embraced his hand pushing it beneath your lace underwear. Wanting his fingers to dig deep into you.

That was a week ago.

Tonight, he'd invited you over.

And you'd never been so quick to accept an invite. (yikes)

His lips broke from yours, teeth scraping against your cheek as he sucked at your neck, "always so good for me in class," he practically breathed into you. Your hands grabbed at his neck, pulling him in more...if that was even physically possible.

"Always so stunning for me."

Right..did you forget to mention your dress code? And how it drastically got more..dangerous.

It wasn't like this was breaking any rules. Was it unethical? Hell yeah, it was, but what was college without a little drama? You're only young once right?

Time must have warped...or you somehow teleported to his bedroom, and the time read 3 am.

Hell, you couldn't tell which way was up or down as he dragged you into your fourth orgasm of the night, pulling you from your hands and knees to collide with his chest from behind. His moans filled your ears as he nudged into your neck, arms wrapped around your torso, hands tangling with yours.

You knew you were in trouble as he whimpered your name.

But the best part?

He knew he was in trouble, too.

Because no matter how much restraint he tried to summon, no matter how often he reminded himself of the lines he shouldn’t cross, you had an unshakable grip on him. It was maddening—this pull, this undeniable force that wrapped around him like a vice, refusing to let go.

You were young. Too young for him.

Beautiful, in a way that was effortless, in a way that made it impossible not to look.

And smart—so fucking smart.

It was your intelligence that ruined him the most.

He had noticed you the moment you walked in on syllabus day, slipping into your seat like you belonged there, like you were meant to be seen. There had been something about the way you carried yourself—self-assured, observant, a quiet confidence laced with just enough mischief.

Then you spoke.

And that was it.

Sharp, articulate, never hesitating to challenge an idea or poke holes in an argument. You were fearless in the way you debated, your mind quick, your words calculated. He told himself it was admiration—professional, appropriate. But admiration shouldn’t make his chest tighten when you look at him like that. It shouldn’t make his thoughts wander to places they had no business being.

And yet, from the moment you took that seat, he was doomed.

->Part Two Here<-

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #front man x reader #front man #in ho squid game #fanfic #squid game season 2 #the frontman #squid game fanfic #fan fiction #the front man x reader

554 notes · View notes

jsbluu · 7 months ago

Text

left on seen - a park jisung smau

you, a first year college student at ncit university, "stumble" upon the twitter account of your campus crush, park jisung. you've had a crush on him since your junior year of high school, but he always seemed to have a flock of girls (one girl) chasing after him.

out of a boost of confidence (and maybe a little too much to drink), you decide to send him a dm. what's the worst that could happen? he has thousands of followers, it's not like he's ever gonna see it.. right?

wrong! will jisung reply to you and fall in love? or will you just become another girl lost in his dms. read to find out!

disclaimer: none of the characters in this smau depict the idol's real personalities. everything you see is completely fictional!

➨ pairing: park jisung x fem!reader

➨ posting schedule: wednesdays & saturdays at 5pm cst

➨ status: ongoing!

➨ genre: failed humor, suggestive innuendos, underage drinking, cursing, slowburn, “strangers” to friends to lovers, ANGST, sewerside jokes, an evil woman trying to come between them, jealous jisung, jealous y/n, for the sake of the story everybody is the same age, mentions of side effects from hangovers including nausea (absolutely NOTHING explicit as i do have emetophobia), random mentions of characters that are not technically introduced, SO much miscommunication it’s actually crazy, may or may not be a smut scene in this eventually..

➨ taglist: comment or send an ask to be tagged!

➨ a/n: this smau was heavily inspired by "score that goal" by @/lqfiles! score that goal was the first smau i ever read and i immediately fell in love. thank you for inspiring me to make my own! i'd also like to thank by bestie/loml for helping me create this entire thing, from the title down to the plot itself, i lub you >_<

y/n's friend group | jisung's friend group | honourable mentions

chapter 1: party time!

chapter 2: 13 reasons why

chapter 3: it’s so jover :(

chapter 4: new friends!

chapter 5: first day of class

chapter 6: study buddies (not!)

chapter 7: awkward silence

chapter 8: rem

chapter 9: alley oop

chapter 10: shared pages

chapter 11: three’s a crowd

chapter 12: jisung’s tweet

chapter 13: yes or no?

chapter 14: she said yes!

chapter 15: two to one (to two)

chapter 16: the aftermath

chapter 17: blooming confusion

chapter 18: yikes!

chapter 19: damage control

chapter 20: plan a

chapter 21: a long overdue apology

chapter 22: it worked!

chapter 23: jisung is STUPID (ft s’mores and mark)

chapter 24: he’s a directioner?!

chapter 25: a little TOO friendly

chapter 26: the bet

chapter 27: party time pt.2!

chapter 28: mistletoe by justin bieber

chapter 29: go with the flow

chapter 30: they’re onto me..

chapter 31: please invest in a diary

chapter 32: IDGAF!

chapter 33: get that d!

chapter 34: y/nsung official date

752 notes · View notes

uluvjay · 1 year ago

Text

Unexpected- W. Smith

Will Smith x Hughes! Sister

In which your brothers were not expecting to find a boy in your bed when they came to visit

Warnings?; cursing, anxiety, judgmental brothers, fluff, sorry for any errors!

“Dude just use your key.” Quinn grumbled to Jack as he continued to knock on your apartment door.

“I don’t want to invade her privacy.” Jack huffed.

“She came into our apartment to surprise us that one time.” Luke shrugged reminding his brother of the time they came home to find you on their couch.

“What if she’s like-i don’t know..not decent?” Jack cringed.

“Oh my god-move, I’ll just use mine.” Quinn huffed as he pushed his younger brother out of the way.

The boys had been texting you nonstop attempting to get an answer from you especially after their consistent knocking hadn’t worked and Quinn was tired of waiting.

Jack and Luke played the bruins in two days and having a short gap in his schedule Quinn decided to join his brothers on a surprise visit to their baby sister before he had to return to a hectic season.

Pushing open the sleek door of your apartment they were met with your natural vanilla scent, by the door was your messy shoe rack, umbrellas, coats, your keys on a hook, and hockey sticks-wait, why the hell would you have that many hockey sticks?

“Why does she hav-ow what the?” Luke began but was cut off as his foot came into contact with a hefty hockey bag and he went stumbling forward.

“Umm..why the hell is there usa hockey bag in her entryway?” Jack questioned, looking between his brothers with a raised eyebrow.

“The fuck are you asking us for?” Quinn spoke quietly.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because you dumbass her keys are here, which means she’s probably sleeping still.” Quinn replied.

The boys looked around your apartment a bit more, keeping quiet as they walked through the living room area and kitchen.

Jack and Quinn knew the layout well as this was their graduation gift towards you, they felt unsafe with you living on campus and despite your protests when you opened the box revealing keys, you had been living here since the fall.

“Uh guys..there’s a gold medal on her living room table.” Luke choked.

“What?” Jack asked as he rushed in from the kitchen.

Meeting his brothers in the living room his eyes met the good medal that was in fact sitting pretty in the middle of your coffee table.

“Usa bag, sticks, and a gold medal? Shes dating one of the Bc guys that just won at world juniors. She has to be.” Luke laughed looking up at his older brothers.

Jack was the first to take off down the hall and towards your cracked bedroom door, both defensemen following closely behind him.

Quietly pushing your door open they found you asleep on your back, a Boston college hockey shirt on, thank god Jack thought.

And on your chest was a head of blonde curls, one of your hands resting on the boys shoulder peacefully while one of his arms was thrown around your waist.

Retreating to your living room the three men huddled together.

“He looks familiar.” Jack spoke up.

“His name is will something, he just got drafted.” Luke confirmed remembering his face from the draft.

“It’s Will smith. He went fourth overall to the sharks.” Quinn spoke showing his brothers the boy’s Instagram page.

“What do we do now?” Luke questioned, not sure where they should go from here.

“We wait.” Jack smirked and moved to make himself comfortable on your large sectional.

A little over an hour later they heard soft voices coming from your room, quite good mornings and the sound of lips connecting.

“Breakfast?” They heard you question and will confirm with a soft yeah.

Making your way out of your bedroom and down the hall you felt your heart drop into your stomach and a scream escape at the sight of three large figures sat on your couch.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” You shrieked once you realized it was your brothers.

“Came to see you, why? Is there something your hiding from us?” Jack smirked as his eyes dropped from you to gold medal on your table and back to you.

You followed his eyesight and worry filled you as you remembered that your boyfriend, who was fresh out of Sweden had all of his things here, the boyfriend your brothers also have no idea about.

“Shit. J-just give me a second.” You groaned as you turned around and pushed a curious Will back into your room before shutting the door.

“Everything okay?” He questioned as the noticeable worry etched on your face.

“My brothers are here.” You spoke quietly.

“Your brothers? As in all three?” Will asked.

“Yep.” You spoke popping the ‘p’ before continuing.

“Came to surprise me, turns out they were a bit more surprised when they found all of your usa stuff.” You laughed.

“Wh-what uh, what are we going to do?” He coughed.

It’s not that Will was necessarily scared of your brothers, he’d already met your parents and talked to your dad regularly about hockey. But brothers are different, especially your brothers. You four have a bond he’s never seen before and the protectiveness they have over you is strong.

“You’re going to have to come out and meet them.” You shrugged.

“Right now?”

“No tomorrow at four. Yes right now will! They’re literally sitting in my living room waiting.” You spoke.

“Okay.” He breathed.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, let’s do this” he nodded confidently.

“I love you and you know I wont let them kill your right?” You laughed as you took his cheeks into your hands.

“I know, I love you too.” He smiled and you placed a light kiss on his lips before turning around and leading him into your living room.

To say the sight In front of him wasn’t intimidating wouldn’t be a lie, despite being around the same height as all three men their broody stance snd interrogating stares had will feeling a bit nervous.

The three nhl stars were dressed in all black, hoodies, joggers, and beanies as they stood around the living room table looking Will up and down.

“Boys this is my boyfriend Will, Will these are my brothers, Jack, Quinn, and Lukey.” You smiled.

Despite the circumstances you were happy to have your brothers here and it felt good to be back in their presence.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Will smiled as he reached a hand out.

All three looked at his hand but Quinn was the first to move in and shake it, locking wills hand in a tight grip.

The other two followed after Quinn, their grips just as if not tighter around Wills hand. You could see the gears turning in Luke’s head and that soon questions would be flying out left and right, and before you started to answer them you needed food.

“Why don’t we talk over breakfast? There’s an amazing place down the street.” You suggested and thankfully everyone agreed to a nice meal.

Forty-five minutes later you were all gathered at a table at the small restaurant down the road, coffees in your brothers hands while you and Will both chose a nice glass of Oj.

“So” Quinn coughed, “how’d you two meet?”

“Izzy is dating his friend Ryan, they introduced us and we hit it off pretty well so we exchanged numbers and went on a few dates. The rest was history after that.” You smiled.

Izzy was your best friend from back home, the boys knew her so well she was practically another sister to them and she was a big contributor to your decision to come to Boston college instead of Umich.

“Hmm, where’d you take her for the first date?” Luke spoke up.

“Mini golf, got my ass kicked though. Didn’t realize someone could be so good at it.” Will laughed at the memory.

“Y/n is an amazing golfer, she does it quite a bit over the summers.” Jack nodded.

“Best in the family i’d say.” You smirked.

“Okay don’t get ahead of yourself now.” Luke scoffed.

“So you’re a sharks prospect right?” Jack asked.

“Uh yeah, they drafted me this past spring.” Will smiled.

The questions kept up until the food came, but they began to get more relaxed and generic after a while. The boys began to asked will more about school and how it was a world juniors and soon they were all sharing laughs.

“You know, that wasn’t really the way I wanted to find out my baby sister had a boyfriend but you’re a cool kid Will.” Quinn smiled.

“Thank you, she’s amazing. Out my league really.” Will blushed as you elbowed him in his side.

“That’s true, but as long as you treat her right and make her happy then we like you.” Jack spoke softly.

“But don’t think we won’t flatten your ass out on the ice if you ever hurt her.” Luke smirked.

Will nodded with a winded expression and and awkward silence crowded the table before the ringing of Quinn’s phone broke through.

“Oh, it’s mom.” He smirked right at Will and it took everything in you to hold down your laugh.

“Hey mom!” He greeted her warmly.

“Hi sweetie, just checking if you got into your sisters.” She spoke.

“Oh yeah we got in, found quite the surprise to.” Jack laughed.

“Oh really? What happened.”

Quinn turned the screen around to show your mother Will and while they were all expecting her to freak out their expressions dropped the second they heard her voice.

“Will! How are you doing honey?” She asked excitedly.

“I’m good Mrs. Hughes, how about you.” Your boyfriend smiled.

“Oh I told you to knock that Mrs. Hughes off! I’m good though honey thank you for asking.” She smiled.

“Let me find Jim really fast, he’ll want to say hi.” Your mother spoke up.

You released a giggle at the shock and confusion that was written on your brother’s faces. Their eyebrows were all pulled together as they shared a look of confusion.

“Will! How are you buddy.” Your father greeted.

“I’m good Jim, how about you?”

“I’m good son, my boys haven’t given you and my girl any trouble have they?”Your father questioned.

“No, it’s been okay.” Will laughed.

The conversation kept up for a moment but your mother ultimately decided to hang up when Jack kept whining about her not telling them you had a boyfriend.

“I can’t believe they knew!” He groaned.

“I told them first, wanted to make sure they liked him.” You shrugged.

“This is unbelievable.” He pouted and that’s how the rest of your day continued until your mom apologized and offered to bake him his favorite homemade goods the next time she visited.

#will smith hockey #will smith hockey x reader #will smith hockey imagine #will smith x reader #will smith blurb #nhl #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #boston college #hughes reader!

1K notes · View notes

pagejuniorcollege · 3 months ago

Text

Best Junior and Intermediate Colleges in Hyderabad | Page Junior College

Best Junior/Intermediate College in Hyderabad - Page Academy is one of the Top Intermediate/Junior Colleges in Hyderabad. Apply Now for Best inter colleges in Hyderabad

https://pageacademy.com/

#page junior college #pagejuniorcollege

0 notes

for-your-modesty-dude · 2 months ago

Text

Sacred Tradition

A/N: Hi again! This was a quick idea that was bouncing around my head for the past two days. This is a little shorter than my last, and I honestly didn't even read through it once I finished typing it out, so... try not to judge me too hard for silly errors. - Hy

Just a special shoutout to @bl0ssomanddie whose compliment made me cheese so hard that I couldn't help but continue trying this whole "posting my writing" thing out.

Warnings: ramblings, momentary angst, fluffy ending

Word Count: 2.8k

Per tradition, Thursday nights were movie nights at Eddie’s little apartment.

Since the whole Vecna thing had gone down, he and Wayne had gotten a good settlement from the government to keep their mouths shut about what they knew, and then another for the accusations and resulting manhunt that had caused Eddie mental anguish and physical harm. As soon as he’d graduated high school, he’d gotten himself a little apartment on the nicer side of town, moving out of the house he and Wayne had been moved into once the trailer park was deemed unlivable. As soon as the town was cleared for entry, you’d taken a flight from your college town on the east coast to head back to your hometown, where your friends were. (Not that it looked the same, since the government had to jump through hoops to fix up what Vecna had left behind. Or officially, the “earthquake.”) The only reason you knew anything about Vecna was because Eddie had written almost a journal’s worth of letters to you, with polaroid photograph evidence, and testimonials from his friends before he’d been sworn to secrecy. So naturally, when you’d come home, you’d been panicked to see him and hear about the story in person. You had just entered your junior year of college, but after the chaos of Hawkins splitting open, you couldn’t bear to be away anymore. You decided you were staying in town, and you’d finish your degree at your local college, while you worked locally. Fridays were the only weekdays you didn’t have class, and thus had started your movie night tradition.

By the time you’d gotten your degree and gotten your own little apartment in town, you’d both felt it was inappropriate to change sacred movie night tradition. Eddie didn’t work at the shop on Fridays, and you didn’t work the opening shift at the store, so Thursdays continued to work. Sometimes, however, Eddie liked to break tradition and hold movie night at your place instead.

That particular Thursday, Eddie’s oven unit had been acting up, so he’d called you to request the change in venue, and you didn’t mind it one bit. A functioning oven was a must, otherwise you couldn’t cook your instant stovetop popcorn, and neither of you would dare do movie night without your popcorn. He arrived early, as you were getting home from work, so you left him to his own devices while you went to shower and get into your comfiest sweats.

Typically, with Eddie’s endless supply of energy, he usually found something productive to do with it. However, he was typically in his own apartment, which meant he could pick up one of his current reads when he was bored and read until you gave him attention again. At your place, however, it was a little harder to find a way to tamp down his energy. He chose to just read anything and everything with text that was on your coffee table. This included a mailer ad you’d received for a car, an electrical bill that was annoyingly lower than his own, and a fashion catalog. The problem was that none of these things were near interesting enough, so when he saw an open journal tucked in the bottom shelf of the coffee table, he had to grab it.

He started flipping through pages of random notes you’d made: movies you wanted to watch, a word you wanted to look up in a dictionary, a D&D campaign idea for Eddie, and then a bunch of blank pages. As he was about to give up on that, he flipped to a later page on accident, and saw you’d doodled a bunch of hearts, and in the middle was your name… with his last name tacked on. It stopped him in his tracks, and he just stared down at the page awhile, trying to process if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. After he gathered his bearings again, he flipped through more pages, and found his name doodled all over the edges of the pages, and hearts. He also found plenty more instances of your name with his Munson surname. Feeling that he’d definitely seen something he wasn’t supposed to, he closed the journal and put it on the coffee table, halfway covering it with a TV guide that was on the side table beside him, and sitting back on the couch, tense.

When you were done with your shower and fully dressed, you came out, scrunching your hair dry with your towel. You smiled when you entered the living room, “ready for some Gremlins?” He gave you a strange smile and a stiff nod, but you didn’t read too much into it, knowing Eddie had a tendency of being weird at times. Instead, you went to grab the movie from the shelf, tossing the box to him before going to prepare the popcorn. He was quiet while you did so, but again, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. When everything was ready, you headed to the couch with the bowl of popcorn in arm.

You were about to take your usual seat curled up with him when you spotted your journal on the coffee table, underneath a TV guide. Only you hadn’t left the journal there earlier that morning. When you realized what must have happened, your stomach sank to your toes, and you sat a respectable distance from him as the movie previews began. You put the popcorn bowl in the space between you, and tried to calm your now racing heart as the movie began. Usually, movie nights together were full of laughter and silly comments, especially when watching movies you’d already seen a million times. This time was not like those times. Unfortunately, he was too shocked at this new information to be normal, and you were too petrified that he knew how you felt to act cool. It meant that the whole movie night was weird and tense, and when it was time for him to go, you tried to act as normal as possible, waving before closing the door and locking it behind him, and then collapsing on the ground to stare at the hardwood and contemplate just about every life decision you’d ever made.

You shouldn’t have left your journal in your living room. It was such a stupid mistake. One you never made. But you hadn’t expected Eddie to change plans and decide to go to your place instead of his own, so it hadn’t even crossed your mind until you’d seen it there. You couldn’t be upset with him, he knew he was welcome to look through whatever you left in your living room. He knew not to snoop in your bedroom, but living room was fair game. He had seen your deepest, darkest secret. You had been so good about hiding your crush on Eddie. You’d never once let on, at least not in your eyes, and he certainly never seemed to notice. You thought you were in the clear. But the way he’d tensed around you today? That was all the information you needed. Not only did he not know prior to now, but he was uncomfortable around you now that he did know. Needless to say, you would not be speaking with Eddie anytime soon.

Eddie stood outside your door for a few minutes after you’d closed it, and he’d heard the lock turn. He stared at the parking lot a few yards away, just trying to process what he’d just experienced. If he’d understood correctly, his best friend was writing her name with his last name in her journal, surrounded by hearts… meaning she liked him. More importantly, she returned his feelings. He’d been in love with her for so long, but had never had the nerve to take things to the next level, for fear she’d reject him. Now, there was no more fear of that.

But he’d done something much, much worse, instead. He’d made it seem like he wasn’t interested. It was an accident! He had seen that information, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d read! So he’d let things get tense and awkward, and then he couldn’t very well do anything about it, because he had the distinct feeling she’d seen what he’d been doing. He’d succeeded at making her uncomfortable, and that was about it. He looked back at the door after his entire thought process had concluded, and noticed your living room lights were out, so you’d definitely retreated to your bedroom. He wouldn’t knock again, so instead he hurried to his car and raced home, before calling you and nearly chewing his nails off as he waited for you to pick up. When you didn’t, he called again. And again. On the fourth time, he got a busy signal instead of just no response. He went to bed with a heavy heart that night, afraid you hated him now.

You’d heard the phone ring the first time, and you just knew it had to be Eddie. Surely, he wanted to smooth things over and let you down easy, but you really didn’t want to hear the pity in his voice. So you’d covered your ears with your pillow, and hoped the phone would stop ringing. Instead, he called again, and again. So after the third time, you just took the phone off the hook and hoped he’d get the hint. You waited an agonizing twenty minutes before putting it back in its place and then finally letting yourself get to sleep, knowing you’d have nightmares that night. The next morning, you took yourself to your favorite coffee shop as a treat, figuring you could at least do something nice for yourself considering your relationship with your best friend was imploding entirely.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had gone to your apartment early to try and find you before work, only to find your car missing from the parking lot. He then tried the store you worked at, and didn’t see your car there, either. He waited a bit, in front of the store, before deciding to just go home and give you some space. On his way to his apartment, he found himself instead turning onto Wayne’s street, to try and get some advice. Wayne wasn’t home either, so he collapsed onto the old man’s couch and ended up falling asleep there. He’d get his uncle’s advice when he got home, surely.

You had no idea the trouble eddie had gone to to find you, so you went about your workday as normally as you could. Thankfully, your boss suggested closing early that night, and you grabbed takeout and headed straight home, refusing to speak to anyone. You found yourself watching one of your favorite romantic films, working yourself up about the whole situation despite not actually having spoken to Eddie about it all. You just didn’t want to see the pity on his face when he let you down easy. You’d much rather he just pretended nothing ever happened.

The next day, the only reason you’d had peace was because Eddie worked Saturdays at the shop. It was his longest shift. He got paid extra for it, since no one else wanted to work Saturdays. That meant that by the time he got home that night, he was too tired to pester you, and fell asleep quickly. But the next day, he was determined to follow Wayne’s advice. He woke up extra early, picking up your favorite drink and pastry from your favorite coffee shop, and headed to your apartment. He knew that knocking wouldn’t be helpful, so he had gotten there just in time to wait outside your car until you left for work.

When you opened your front door and saw the familiar mop of curls by your car, your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. You took steadying breaths, and tried to remain calm. Once your door was locked, you walked towards your car with your eyes on the sidewalk, then the asphalt. You unlocked your car door and he appeared at your side to hand you the drink and pastry. You looked up at him silently, before taking the treats with a soft thanks, putting the cup in its cupholder and the pastry on your passenger seat. He grabbed your arm, however, to keep you from getting in the car yourself. “Please,” he said simply.

You stared at the hand on your arm and closed your eyes a moment, before letting out a breath and responding, “I really don’t want to talk right now, I’m going to be late for work.” But that excuse didn’t work with him, because he knew what time you had to be at work to open the store.

“We need to talk, please. You haven’t talked to me in two full days. Thursday night, you avoided my calls. I’m not leaving until you talk to me, and I’m not letting you leave either,” he used his position to switch you, and close your car door - leaning on it for good measure. You took a breath and stared at him, expression unreadable, before shaking your head.

“No, I don’t really have anything to say, and I don’t need you to say anything either. Everything is fine and normal and great and I’ll talk to you later,” you tried to avoid the situation entirely, but your attempt proved fruitless.

“Nope,” he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me, sweetheart. That’s not how we work, and you know it.”

“You shouldn’t have snooped,” you said simply, “you shouldn’t have gone through my journal.”

He blinked, surprised that you’d bring it up first. “Well- yeah, that’s probably true. And I’m sorry about that, really, I am. But I’m not mad I saw what I saw, you know?”

This time it was your turn to look surprised, your eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “What do you mean? You sat there, stiff as a board, all night. If my feelings make you that uncomfortable, I don’t know what you possibly want to talk to me about. I got it, you’re not interested, okay? I don’t need you to-”

Eddie laughed and covered your mouth gently with his hand, effectively shutting you up, but shocking you as you stared up at him with wide eyes at the audacity. “Can you let me finish? I wasn’t uncomfortable about your feelings, okay? I was sitting there for an hour and a half, trying to figure out if the girl I’ve been totally pining over for ages actually doodled her name with mine, or if I was entirely insane. And then you got stiff as a board, and I thought for sure I’d messed everything up. Do you know how long I stood outside your door after you locked up? Probably like, fifteen to twenty minutes. Standing there. And then when I ran home to call you, you didn’t pick up. Those are mixed signals if I’ve ever seen ‘em,” he pointed out, slowly retracting his hand from your mouth.

“First of all,” you pointed your finger in his face in a familiar sassy attitude that made him feel a little more comfortable than your previous silence. “Don’t you ever shut me up like that again, I’ll kill you. Second of all, I- what?” You finally deflated, puzzled at his admission and not fully grasping it. “I don’t understand, so… you weren’t uncomfortable with my feelings? You were uncomfortable with… the not knowing? And I don’t understand, why did you stand at my door-” Eddie laughed warmly at your rambling, cheeks pink, and that time shut you up an entirely different way - by grabbing your face in his hands and leaning down to kiss you.

You felt like your heart might explode, and the butterflies in your stomach erupted like nothing you’d ever felt before. It took a moment before you finally closed your eyes and let yourself melt into it, before pushing him away from you with a pouty angry look, making his own eyes go wide this time. “I told you not to shut me up, Edward,” you huffed, though your flushed cheeks said you weren’t really angry with him. He hummed and brought his hands to your hips, pulling you closer to him as he leaned down to kiss your cheek this time.

“Oops. You should get to work, you’re really gonna be late…” he teased, and you smacked his arm.

“You’re driving me to work today. And you’re driving me home. And buying me pizza,” you told him simply.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I think I can handle that.”

#my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #stranger things #x reader #hy's writing #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #my fic #eddie munson oneshot

268 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 1 year ago

Text

A Guardian For All

TFP Optimus Prime x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Okay look, OP has a chokehold on me in all forms. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She’d somehow managed to become the in-resident mom, even though she was just in her junior year at college, after tracking down the three teens to the silo. To say it had been a surprise, to see and learn of the Autobots and the multitudes that came with the robots, would be an understatement. And yet, she fit right in, even with Miko’s constant, “She’s like a mom!” complaints.

Fortunate enough to be able to focus solely on schoolwork and not juggle a job, she was able to spend more time with the Autobots and learning about them. When the teens were there, she spent time utilizing the kitchen that was seemingly untouched by the Autobots—and why would they use it? They didn’t even consume human food. Often times, she made the three meals they had skipped in order to come to the silo and be with their guardians.

Guardians.

Jack had Arcee.

Miko had Bulkhead.

Raf had Bumblebee, and at times, Ratchet.

She didn’t have one.

Not that she needed one, of course. While she worried about the others running around with Decepticons, she felt it was the best course of action to not leave the silo all that much on missions. Typically, she stayed behind and helped Ratchet, well, when he decided he “needed” the help. She thought it didn’t bother her as much as it did until she was sitting up on the higher level, watching as the three teens played games and laughed with their guardians. Even Ratchet was smiling along with them.

“Are you in need of assistance?” A voice sounded beside her, and she blinked, looking over to meet Optimus’s gaze.

“Huh?”

He smiled easily. “You’ve been stuck on that page in your book for almost ten minutes.” His optics scanned the paper. “If I am correct, the answer for the question at the bottom is, ‘D. Administration of immunosuppressive medications.’”

She smiled, laughing with slight embarrassment, and shook her head. “Oh, no, the questions aren’t trouble.” Her eyes found the teens again. “I’m just…thinking.”

Optimus looked at the others with a calm look, an almost peacefulness. “Do you worry about them?”

“Sometimes,” she answered. “But I know that they would never let anything happen to the kids.”

He looked back at her. “Then it is not the thought of them that is occupying your mind. What troubles you?”

Looking away, she scratched at her notebook. “It’s…not important, Optimus. Silly even.”

“If it is causing you this much time in thought, perhaps it is not something silly.”

Optimus was always the voice of reason, a testament to the eons of troubles he’d seen and experienced.

She let out a sigh and met his gaze once more, a bashful look on her face as she admitted, “I just sometimes think of what it would be like to have a guardian like they do, y’know? I mean, I don’t need one like Jack or Miko or Raf do, but…I don’t know, sometimes I just think it’d be nice to have that companionship, no, friendship like they do.” She waved a hand. “Just wishful thinking, Optimus.” When he didn’t respond, she looked over. “Optimus? Is everything okay?”

He seemed to be in deep thought himself but shook from it with a smile. “I’m fine, and I understand what you mean. Thank you for letting me know what troubled you. I am honored to have that trust.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Optimus,” she murmured with a flush and grabbed her things as Raf started calling for her. “Time to head home for the night.” Reaching out, she gently laid a hand on Optimus’s shoulder. “Thank you for listening to me, Optimus. Maybe when Wheeljack gets back he can be mine,” she joked and grinned when Optimus chuckled along and helped her down to the ground level.

“Perhaps.”

***

As the Christmas season reached its peak, schools had started letting out for the winter break. Most of her class at the local university had all left early for vacations out of state, but since she had no plans to leave Jasper for the holidays, she stayed through the end of the school week.

As she joked with the few remaining friends and acquaintances as they exited the building, one friend stopped and pointed at the truck parked by the street. “Woah,” they admired. “Whose ride is that?”

Her gaze turned to the truck and widened. “Optimus?” she quickly waved and hurried to him, opening the door and climbing in, shutting it behind her. “What are you doing here?” she asked, then she started worrying. “Oh no, are the kids okay? What happened? Who’s hurt?” frantically, she took out her phone, checking for missed calls or unseen texts. “Was it the Decepticons? Or was it MECH? Or was it—”

“Peace,” Optimus calmed as he pulled onto the street and drove through the town towards the base. “No one is hurt. No attack has occurred.”

Curiously, she looked at the steering wheel. “Then why…?” then it hit her and she sighed fondly. “Oh, Optimus, you didn’t have to do this.”

“I believe it is unfair to you to feel such a difference between the others when there are more than enough guardians left to be one of yours.” His voice was calm and easy like always. “It is…also nice to spend time with you outside of missions.”

She shifted into the driver’s seat and curled her legs underneath herself, leaning against the window. “That sounds like you like me, Optimus.”

“…Your companionship is desired long after you leave base,” he murmured and she smiled, looking at the steering wheel.

“I…feel the same,” she said and gently traced the Autobot symbol at the center. “Y’know Optimus…there’s a Christmas lightshow in the next couple cities over.” She shrugged slightly. “I think the others could hold down the base for a few hours while we were out…don’t you?”

He let out a hum. “We really shouldn’t stray too far from Jasper without them.” Just as she was about to sigh and nod, he added, “But I agree, they could survive without us for some time. Besides…I have never seen Christmas lights. I wonder if they’ll be as beautiful as you are.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his words and she looked out the window with a giddiness in her chest. “You’re just pulling my leg.”

“It would be dishonorable to lie, even more so to lie about the beauty you possess,” he replied, and she could just hear the grin in his voice. “Now, what was that city, and which way to it?”

#optimus prime x reader #optimus prime x reader imagines #optimus prime x reader imagine #optimus prime imagines #optimus prime imagine #optimus prime #optimus x reader #optimus x reader imagines #optimus x reader imagine #optimus imagines #optimus imagine #optimus #optimus prime tfp #tfp optimus prime #transformer #transformer prime #tfp

1K notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 2 months ago

Text

: *✧･ﾟeddie x female reader | snowed in | 18+ smut [6K]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* sexual tension lingers when you + your bestfriend get snowed in together during the biggest blizzard on record - aka, eddie munson and the blizzard sex in apartment 4D

“So that’s how you would find x,” you say tapping the rubber eraser to your notebook paper, “is this making any sense?”

When you agreed to come help Eddie study you were glad to do it. Ever since you were kids he had always struggled with school. While he was able to skate through elementary and middle school, high school had been harder for him. And he would be the first to admit that it was you that got him through his final year at Hawkins High.

Now, many states away, at a college where the only person he knew was you— he was falling behind.

Having a new found freedom of college professors genuinely not caring if you showed up to class or not, he took advantage of that perk and decided to not attend his eight AM class monday, wednesday, and definitely not friday.

Assignments went undone, tests were skipped and forgotten about. Weekday ragers, mid morning hangovers, and late night shifts as a barback at O’Houllihan’s kept Eddie busy but not enough to excuse his lack of attendance.

The end of the semester was nearing, and Eddie was looking at failing remedial algebra. A class that meant he was already behind everyone else, and if he were to fail— he’d be kicked out left to pack his shit and head back home.

After an ass chewing over thanksgiving break from a disappointed Wayne, that icy blue stare nearly welling with traitorous tears, Eddie finally decided to pull his head out of his ass and study for his last semester of junior year.

“You’d think after dealin’ for Rick all through high school that math would be a fuckin’ no brainer.” Eddie huffed, sitting back in his desk chair, his long thick fingers folded behind his head, “maybe if they added dime bags and some half ounces, I’d actually understand this shit.”

You snickered, pushing eraser shavings from the page with your fingers, “think Mr. Walter would go for it, he totally ate his fair share of shrooms in the 60’s.”

“Mother fucker probably invented them.” Eddie agreed, dragging those big hands down his face with a groan, “godddd I hate school.”

You close the Algebra book and shove it into Eddie’s backpack zipping it up, “oh you poor thing, must be hard to be musically talented and go to college on a full ride scholarship.” Your bottom lip pops out to show your fake sympathy and Eddie returns it with an eye roll and a middle finger.

“Shit,” he sighs, blowing air through his lips standing and running his fingers over your jacket on the back of his chair, “didn’t even think I’d get in let alone have all of my tuition paid for, besides.. you’re the one who was going to leave me for dead back home Miss This-Will-Look-Perfect-On-My-College-Applic—ow!”

Your friendship with Eddie was never a casual thing.

You were friends, sure, but it was somehow more than that. Eddie had dated around in high school and you had too but they never lasted. Summer of senior year you had even been so close as almost sharing a kiss while drunk on Boonesfarm at Byers’ party— something you both denied ever happening. But something you also both stayed up at night thinking about unbeknownst to one another.

That June night was burned into your brain, and you could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours.

“I wasn’t going to leave you for dead!” you teased, giggling as Eddie nursed his ‘injury’ after the pencil you had been holding slammed into his soft hoodie, “I told you we’d find a way for you to come with me.”

Eddie smiled and bit his lip, he was grateful that you were willing to do whatever it took to get him into college. And he was stunned stupid when his creative writing, and an autobiography that was assigned freshman year had gotten the attention of not one, but two of the bigger colleges you had also applied to.

He swore he never submitted them, deciding at the last minute that college wasn’t for him and that he didn’t want to leave his uncle behind— so you and Wayne both did it for him. Licking envelopes and sticking stamps, praying on a trailer park dream that Eddie could get in.

“Always lookin’ out for me aren’t ya?” He mused, his cheeks burning with a blush on his porcelain skin.

“We look out for each other, Eddie,” you say cheerfully, “Always have.”

Eddie stares as you read through your notes, eyeing the little piece of hair that falls into your eyes, too short to shove behind your ear. He remembers when you got glasses, how you hated them. Loathed the way they made your face look, and how the wire rims sat on your round cheeks. Now they’re pushed on top of your head, pulling your hair back so the light in his room shone on your silky skin.

You were beautiful.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you stretch with arms over your head, fingers laced together. Eddie snuck a glance at you, noticing that your soft cardigan fit too big on the sleeves and the plain shirt you wore underneath was riding up your stomach, showing a strip of skin that he only got to see during the summer time.

He wasn’t sure when he started noticing you were more to him than just a friend— that’s a lie, Eddie knew the exact moment, the exact second.

He skipped out on dates, said no when Rick’s girlfriend offered to “show him the ropes” one night when he was waaay too high and was blabbing away about how he didn’t know why he ended things with every other girl he had been with.

It was obvious why. Maybe to everyone but him and to you.

“I’ve had enough studying for tonight,” Eddie says, cracking his back, “wanna go to a movie or somethin? Channel 6 said we are in for some snow… I can drive, we can sneak in some shrooms Pete left, I might have some k laying around here somewhere.”

You giggle reaching back to the bed and gathering your stuff. “Nothing about being high at the movie theater sounds good to me, Eddie.”

He rolls his eyes, “yeah because you always freak out, weed is s’posed to be relaxing.”

For whatever reason, weed was never that for you. It left you paranoid and skittish, but mostly clinging to Eddie with wide horrified eyes, whispering about how you couldn’t feel your legs.

“Thanks, but not tonight,” you say behind your hand as a yawn escapes, “I gotta work in an hour and Sal said if I’m late one more time he’s gonna fire me.”

“Ppffft, he’s not gonna fire you, fucker can’t afford to lose anyone at that shithole.”

You grab your bag and look for your shoes, shrugging.

“Tips are good, all I have to do is bat my eyelashes a few times and they fork the dough over. Plus! Mikey always saves me a burger when he shuts the kitchen down. Win-win.”

He stands with a cross to his brows and when he doesn’t say anything you pull at the sleeve on his hoodie, “come on, walk me out. ”

Eddie hated your job. Hated that you worked at the sleaziest bar in town. The thought of you flirting with drunk guys to make a little extra money made him sick.

He’s mumbling under his breath the short walk to the door, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling the door open with dramatic flair, he bows with a hand forward to let you exit. You laugh, and before you can say bye, before you’re crossing the threshold Eddie pipes up in a serious voice.

“Tomorrow. Movies. You, me, a bucket of over buttered popcorn… I’ll even buy you a Cherry Coke.”

Heat warms your cheeks under his stare, and you can’t help but smile back at him. That nagging feeling you couldn’t pinpoint was hung thick between the two of you again, and you looked anywhere but at him.

Taking time to examine the veins on his hand as it gripped the door handle, the way his eyelashes seem to have their own permanent curl to them…. “add a pack of twizzlers and you got yourself a deal, Munson.”

He smiles as you step into the soft lit hallway of the fourth floor. “Don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, he’s standing in the doorway, the door partly closed behind him, “see you later, better hurry—you’re gonna be late.”

Eddie watches as you head for the stairs. His heart pumping wildly in his chest, but why? You two were friends. What was he even doing?

Shutting the door he slides the bolt into place pressing his forehead into the wood, a low groan escaping from his lips. What the hell was he doing? He runs the conversation back over in his head mocking himself as he strips off his hoodie and t-shirt, tossing them around his shared apartment.

“You and me and buttered popcorn’ Christ Munson, get it together.” Flopping on the couch Eddie sighs loudly, saying your name out loud and letting a smile quirk on his lips as he drifts to sleep.

❆ ❆ ❆

Frantic knocks pull him from his catnap and he rolls his eyes as the knocks turn to pounding. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep for but it was now dark, his apartment cast into complete inky blackness.

Pete probably forgot his keys, again, he thinks. Bounding to the door and flinging it open an annoyed expression on his face. But it’s not Pete at the door, it’s you.

Snowflakes, and chunks of ice were matted in your wind blown hair, your teeth chattered loudly as you tried to force a small smile, wiping a tear away from your eye.

“Jesus! Are you alright?”

Eddie pulls you inside rubbing your arms to bring warmth back into them. He listens as you sob about getting stuck in the ditch on the way to work, and how the only landmark you could make out was Eddie’s apartment, so you made the decision to leave your car and trek back the way you had come.

He huffs in a worried tone, flicking on the lights and watching as they sputter to life. You’re gently trying to pry the gloves from your fingers when he steps in to help and unzips your jacket, assessing you further as he realizes you are covered in snow.

“You walked here?!”

Eddie always yelled when he was worried or scared, a bad habit that he unknowingly picked up from Wayne.

The tears flow down your face now in a frozen river, the ache of numb limbs and nearly frostbitten skin has you crying out in pain.

“I should have st-stayed in the car, but it was so cold Eddie, and th-the snow is coming down so hard, nothing in town is open! N-no one on the streets, not even a snow plow.”

Eddie leaves you to throw open the crooked blinds. Not a single street lamp was on, the city looked deserted except for the howling wind and sheets of snow blanketing the ground, swallowing up the roads. If he were to look hard enough he’d see the waist deep path you had made to get here.

Doubling back to your shivering body, his mind was scrambling on what to do. “Christ! You’re lucky you’re not dead!”

“I know,” you wail, unable to stop the clacking of your teeth, “b-but I didn’t know what else to do!”

Wayne had taught Eddie many things in his time of caring for his nephew. How to fish, how to hunt, how to be a respected man (that he was still trying to master) But something that always stuck with Eddie was the fear of the elements and how you could die from a heat stroke or the opposite—freeze to death.

“You gotta warm up before you pass out or something, your clothes are soaked, they need to come off.” He shakes his head like a parent finding their teen sneaking out of the house. “Go to my room, undress and I’ll make some coffee.”

Your clothes were stiff and heavy as you peeled them from your body. Clumps of snow littering the carpet of Eddie’s room as you stripped with shaky fingers and shivering limbs. If you weren’t freezing you would have thought about how strange it was to be naked in your bestfriends room, but at your current state you could barely register what you were doing.

His bed was warm as you sat under a blanket, the entire thing webbed around your head down to your toes, only leaving your face exposed.

A low ring sounds from the kitchen and you hear Eddie move around to answer the phone. You couldn’t remember a single time where you felt this cold. Even doing your traditional New Year’s eve plunge into Lover’s Lake with Eddie every year was warmer than this.

It could have been ten minutes or an hour before Eddie came into his room. He was balancing two cups of coffee and a plate stacked with two grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Alright Frosty,” Eddie jokes lightheartedly, eyeing your heap of clothes. Clearing his throat, his cheeks pink as he starts to ramble, “h-hope you’re hungry, because this is all I know how to make and I can’t go to the grocery store to get anything else.”

“Smells good,” you manage through shivered lungs and rattling teeth, “thank you.”

He sets down the mugs on his nightstand, adjusting it so you could both reach as he sat beside you, then deciding to grab one and moving closer, taking a big gulp before he sits back.

“Probably shouldn’t hold a cup yet, you’ll burn yourself.”

He waits for your hands to wrap around the porcelain and he gently tips the cup towards your lips. The coffee seems to seep through your bones, warming you up ever so slightly as you convince your throat to cooperate and swallow. It was heaven.

“Always looking out for me, Munson,” you say with a little smile, your eyes meeting his.

He holds your gaze for longer than he ever has, not saying a word just staring endlessly into your eyes. A smile creeps to his lips and he hums softly in agreement.

A beat passes of Eddie carefully helping you sip at the coffee, and you begin to feel your fingers thaw, yet the chill in your body is still prevalent and you shake beneath the heavy blanket.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch again as he contemplates how to help. A hot shower would only make it worse, causing your body to go into shock. But you needed to get warmer. His mind is working a mile a second but it comes down to the same thing, there’s only one thing he knows of for sure that will help.

Kneeling in front of you Eddie reaches forward and touches your cheek. “Hey, I need you to know that all I’m trying to do is help you okay? Cause right now you are shivering and your lips are changing color… so I need— I … shit, I’m going to hold you, so that my body temperature can help get yours back up.”

“Okay,” you murmur, glassy eyes barely open.

“Do you trust me?” He asks almost shamefully, “Because its—”

“Yes, Please.”

“Okay, okay okay,” Eddie moves the end table and positions himself in front of you again, pulling gently at the blanket wrapped around you until you’re only sitting in your bra and panties, but he doesn’t look. Instead he positions himself behind you and wraps the blanket behind the both of you.

He winces when your cold skin presses into his chest, “goddamn, you’re freezing.”

You muster a small giggle in response. His skin feels like fire against yours, almost painful as your body temperature fights to calibrate with his own.

Any other day you’d have been embarrassed to have Eddie see you like this, mismatched undergarments and looking sickly, and you would definitely feel something more than anything but tired with your bodies huddled together under the blanket.

His warm calloused hands run up the length of your arms and down your knees to your ankles and up again. You can feel the press of his belt buckle into your lower back, the heat from it almost branding your flesh like cattle on a ranch.

You welcomed his body warmth with open arms, his hands melted you, and fuck— they felt amazing on your frozen skin. Your teeth chatter as your hands huddle around your mouth, blowing any warmth into them you can, trying to stifle a small escaped mmmf.

Given the circumstances, Eddie is relatively calm. He’s not letting himself register that he is touching you, that his bare chest is against your soft back. That your skin, although ice fucking cold, is smooth like silk, he’s not comprehending that you’re both half naked in his bed.

No— he’s not doing any of that. Because you are his friend, and you were going to get sick if you didn’t warm up soon, and he was helping you.

Nevermind that your clothes were cluttered on his floor.

Nevermind that you were wearing a lacy pink bra, a color that he definitely didn’t know the proper name of.

It didn’t matter that your breathing seemed to hitch a bit when his hands worked up your knees and skimmed along your waist, his thumbs rubbing over the string of stretchy fabric sitting high past your hips.

You were Eddie’s friend, he was your friend, and that’s all that matt— jesus christ are y— are you enjoying this?

No, no. He’s mistaken. His voice was almost gravely when he collected his thoughts. “Is this okay? Are you feeling better?”

Answering with a nod you lay your head back against his shoulder, “feels good, your hands… s’ warm.”

Eddie takes the opportunity to nuzzle his chin into the space between your neck and shoulder, wrapping himself around you in a hug. “For the record, there won’t ever be a day where I won’t look out for you, sweetheart.”

If your cheeks could heat up they would burn, but right now the frozen butterflies in your belly warm up and flutter around, causing a sheepish little grin to paint your lips.

“Really?” you whisper, tracing the top of his hand delicately with your finger tips.

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs lightheartedly, “can’t imagine not having you.” He goes rigid, stumbling over his words, realizing what he just said, “n—not having you in my life, as a friend.”

The silence grows loud and Eddie panics, but you haven’t pulled away yet.. in fact you haven’t said anything at all. He was aching to know what was going through your head.

“Have you… thought of having me another way?”

“What?”

Your own heart is pumping so fast all the cold has left your extremities. It was either now or never knowing, and missing this opportunity so perfectly laid out like you had in June years ago wasn’t something you are willing to do again.

“Have you thought about us.. being more than what we are now, more than this.”

Eddie, ever the brave, takes a deep breath steadying his hands on your knees in a slight grip, “yeah, yeah I have.”

“Oh,” you choke out.

Oh? A word of multitude meanings. It’s silent again, only the roaring wind outside to accompany the wild beating hearts in Apartment 4D.

Before either of you could say anything more, the lights flickered once, twice, and finally went out for good.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes behind you, and he tries to move but you hold him where he is: with you, holding you, touching you.

“Do you remember the summer after Senior Year? When Jonathan threw that party at Hopper’s abandoned cabin?”

Of course he remembered, the smell of your vanilla perfume still stung his nose from time to time, even though you had switched to a different one, Eddie never forgot how your skin glistened, how your hair smelled of sticky honey and vanilla. He found himself drowning in that memory of you often.

“Yeah,” he swallows, “I do.”

It's easier in the dark to ask these kinds of questions, easier to answer them also. Like the dark casted a veil of trust and zero judgment. As if whatever you were admitting would stay here forever, in the inky dark, beneath the heat of Eddie’s warm arms and a hand me down blanket.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” your voice was small and meek, but beneath your skin your heart thundered.

He lets out a shuddering breath past your shoulder, one that raises goosebumps against your bare skin. “I didn’t know you wanted that from me.”

Before you can object Eddie continues, “you made me nervous back then… I couldn't think, and I don’t— didn’t— want to ruin it.”

“And now?” You ask, moving Eddie’s hands like a puppet master so they skim up your hips and around your middle, cupping just below your foreign shaded pink bra. “Do I still make you nervous?”

He swallowed audibly, but he took back control of his hands and rested them below your ribs, circling your skin in lazy patterns, his thumb nail catching on the underwire.

“Well,” he whispers against your shoulder, his lips hovering idly over your pebbled skin, “I’ve had years to fantasize about it.”

“Fantasize?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, lowering his mouth impossibly lower to your skin, “can’t get you outta my head.”

Your breath catches in your throat and your body is pulsating with want, warming from the inside out, no longer shivering from the freezing temperatures but from him.

You needed your hands on him. Now.

Lifting your arms to escape the warmth of the blanket, you reach backward to cradle them behind his neck. Weaving them through his soft curls as you arch your back and pull him toward you.

A groan escapes his lips and you shudder in response, unable to take one more minute without his lips on you, you turn around and balance on your knees between his legs.

He’s too pretty like this, nothing but the shadows of the storm on his face and bare chest. A haze in his eyes as they roam over your body. A strangled fuck slips from his lips and he’s all but drooling like a puppy at the sight of you like this in front of him.

“C’mere,” he nearly whispers, gesturing with his fingers and patting his lap with his other hand.

You straddle his hips and lay your hands on his chest, flicking your thumb nail across his silver chain he never took off, a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

Eddie rests his hands on your lower back, following your spine and finally feeling that the little stretchy fabric he felt earlier on your hips, v’d off into a tiny thong. He was positive he’d have a stroke before this blizzard was over.

“I wanna kiss you like I should have at Byer’s party. ‘m not gonna stop unless you tell me to, and goddamn baby I really hope you don’t.”

His lips find yours in the dark and fireworks light behind your eyelids. It’s soft and slow and impossibly sweet. Eddie tasted like coffee and cream and slow Sunday mornings.

You open your mouth and his tongue greets yours, tangling together into a sleep massage filled with soft moans and rolling hips. Your fingers weave through the hair at the back of his neck and after all this time of knowing Eddie, you can’t believe how soft his hair feels.

Like silk sheets in a fancy hotel.

He’s swallowing your little gasps as he grows hard beneath you. Peppering kisses down your neck, across your collarbone and landing back to nip at your earlobe. He’s taking his time, carving his hands along your curves, kissing every surface he can find, growing impossibly stiff beneath your sweeping hips.

Eddie moans when you call out his name once he has you on your back, his mouth hot against your peaked nipple, your fingers wrapped in his curls. You’re practically writhing beneath him, aching for him to keep going.

His boxers come off and you can only feel, and judging by the way your hand can’t wrap fully around him— you knew taking him would be every bit of heaven and the best parts of hell.

He whines with pleasure when he’s pressed into the mattress as you tease him. Kissing the tattoos on his hips, you make sure to take extra care of the warped and mottled patch of skin on his ribs. You knew, despite his protests, that they still itched and weren't as pliable as it had been before the skin was ripped from his body.

Your hands work his shaft in tandem with your mouth, wrapping as much of him as you could manage, he’s a panting mess when he practically pleads that he can’t take anymore, he needs to be inside of you.

He leaned towards the night stand reaching for a lone condom. But you want him just the way he is. Want to feel everything he has to offer. Want to feel him stretch you open, want him to feel the way you adjust and gasp with each inch of him stuffing into you.

When he lines up, he looks up just as you intake a sharp breath, watching as your bodies connect, and he practically cums on that sight alone.

He’s moaning low and practically rumbling out fuck every other word. Your breath is gone, suffocated by being so full you can barely contain yourself. Eddie works you through it, and when he’s fully seated to the hilt, he leans forward and collects your lips whispering how he’s got you, how he’ll take of you, always. And he would forever if you’d let him.

When he moves it’s slow and steady, his hips moving fluidly like the rhythm to a song. Your hands are clutching onto him, gripping his biceps, leaving moon shaped indents in his skin that only add to his pleasure.

Eddie picks up speed when your body moves back against him, knowing that you need more, want more and he’s happy to oblige. Pressing a thumb on your clit he rubs slow, then fast. Circular, then up and down. He’s working her like a rotary phone and you come undone, whimpering his name and moaning as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

He follows not far behind you, and it’s a shaky, earth shattering high that has him throwing his head back holding onto your hips as if you were keeping him Earth bound.

You both collapse into a tangled mess of sheets and sweat and discarded clothing. Eddie tries to get up but you pull him back to you, kissing his jaw and reveling in the high of euphoric bliss.

❆ ❆ ❆

Four days the power flickered on and off as the city worked hard to restore things back to normal. It was the most snowfall the city had ever seen, but you missed it all. Hard to keep track of what day or time it was when you were constantly being fucked into oblivion by a man who absolutely adored you and worshipped your body like a sacred temple.

You were raw, and stained with presses and laps from his lips and tongue, a deep set of teeth marked the back half of your shoulder that you were extremely privy to.

Eddie also had his fair share of love bites and claw marks from you. Unlocking a kink you didn’t know even existed a/n: (Does it? Marked men? is that a kink? listen bitch idk but it’s hot)

Neither one of you worrying about anything, barely making time to make a meal before you were back at it again, on the table, the counter, the bathroom floor, Pete’s bed, up against Eddie’s closet— everywhere, not a single surface was left untainted.

The questions of what comes next, what does this mean for him and for you would be answered another time.

For now, in the blissful naivety of the shelter from the blizzard in his bedroom of apartment 4D —that would later smell of coffee, and cigarettes and a record set of orgasms: you were tickled pink to be snowed in with him.

likes, comments, reblogs are loved and adored ** if you want to see more dm’s are always open and welcome, thanks for having me back here after being gone from this space for a few months ��💋

All time taglist that i’m dogshit at remembering: @dashingdeb16 @bastardstevie @what-the-jams @lexr86 @pretendthisnameisclever

@littlebibibliophile

#eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie x you smut #eddie x reader #stranger things

771 notes · View notes

dilfl0v3rss · 2 years ago

Text

baseball player!connie

baseball player!connie who is one of the top pitchers in the country. ever since he was young his family and friends knew he would be one of the best and they were right.

baseball player!connie who had been working the hardest on the team from his freshman year of college all the way to his junior year right now.

baseball player!connie who decided in high school that he wanted to get a degree before taking baseball to the next level and has stuck with it.

baseball player!connie who despite his 6’3, strong figure and prodigious talent in almost every sport, only took an offer for baseball, seeing that sport as his true calling since he was little.

baseball player!connie who would’ve never thought he’d be going to college with you, his high school sweetheart. you’ve been together since his freshman year of high school, always at his varsity games with pretty bows in your hair as you cheered on his team. you’d sit front and center, school colors painted in two lines on your cheeks as you sat in his opposite jersey with a bright smile on your face.

baseball player!connie who never leaves for a game without getting a pep talk from his favorite girl, your serious face always turning him on as he thinks about how you value these games just as much as he does.

connie’s wide hands were outstretched on your ass, rubbing and squeezing as he stood in his team warmup. he had an important away game today and you could tell he wasn’t feeling good about it, him and his team’s poor performance during the last few practices filling his brain with doubt. “ion wanna lose mami” he groaned, his neck tattoos peaking from his collar as he averted his gaze to the living room. you brought your hands to his cheeks, slowly moving his head back towards you as you spoke. “you been workin hard?” he nodded, hands giving your ass a squeeze as he thought back to some of his better pitches he threw during practice. “you still think you the best?” he nodded again, making you smile as you moved to your tippy toes to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “then stop worryin, the team feeds off you. if you go out there actin unsure of yourself then they gon be unsure of themselves too. you the captain ain’t you?”

“yes ma’am”

you smiled at the name, moving from his hold to pick up his bag from the floor. you slid the strap onto his shoulder before giving them a light squeeze.

“then lead em”

baseball player!connie who does phenomenal every game, but really excels when you’re there watching him. your pretty face and voice always bringing a small smirk to his face as he listens to you cheer after striking his opponent out.

baseball player!connie who is still in college, but is pretty famous since his games are broadcasted on espn and his highlights are shown all over sports pages. he even got sponsored by nike and did some commercials for them with other stars his age.

baseball player!connie who despite his age and profession, has friends everywhere. he’s had rappers, singers, pros, and even the nations best in other sports attend his games. showing their support for their friend. his closest friends are the nations finest volleyball and basketball players aran and ony. they were all around the same age and absolutely dominated in their respective leagues. the three men would always make time for each other regardless of their differences and busy schedules. the media liked to call them the three stooges for their funny personalities and when they’re around each other.

baseball player!connie who has different women in his face everyday, trying their very best to get the athletes attention, but they never got far. always getting brushed off with an “i’m married” before he’d walk off and look for you in the room.

baseball player!connie who doesn’t care that the two of you aren’t actually married or even engaged, during every interview he labels you as his wife since he’s vowed to love, honor, and protect you since the two of you started dating, no ring or wedding required.

“jesus christ c.p i gotta give it to ya. you’ve got to be one of the most talented players i’ve seen in a long time. you bat wonderfully, you run faster than a running back, and when your opponents think they have time to breathe they are plagued with your bullet like pitches. what do you have to say about your wonderful performance tonight?” the reporter said, a smile already forming on connie’s face as he looked down towards the ring tied in his laces.

“well first i wanna say hey t’my wife. she wanted t’be here but she’s a lil sick.” he said, a small frown on his face as he looked towards the camera as if he were staring at you. “i love you tho and i’m always gon thank you cause i wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for all those nights you’d encourage me and get on the field wit me t’work on my pitches. uhh what else? oh yea my performance!”

you giggled from your seat on the couch, nothing but put joy and pride filling your heart as you watched your man go on about how much he loved and adored you and the sport he was blessed to play.

baseball player!connie who to isn’t allowed to wear the promise ring you bought him during games so he ties it in the lace of his left cleat, always leaning over to rub it during games to let you know he’s thinking of you.

baseball player!connie who already pitched great when you’re there, but does even better when he’s angry. the sight of some random guy hitting on you in the stands made anger rush through his veins. his arm moving as if the ball were on fire in his palm.

“strike one!” the umpire said, the batter standing straight up in surprise as if he didn’t even see when the ball was released. connie wasn’t paying attention though because he was counting his own strikes for you, the first one being you letting this man touch your hair. ‘strike one’ he thought.

as his anger built up so did the speed of the ball as connie threw this second one as if it weighed nothing. “strike two!” the umpire said, the commentators going crazy as they watched your man throw another record breaking pitch. the crowd was going nuts but connie’s eyes stayed on you. your pretty teeth bare to the man next to you as you let him take your phone for something, probably to put his socials in it. ‘strike two’

your last strike nearly costed the catcher his hand, the force of the ball so strong that he felt it through the glove.

‘strike three’

“strike three! out!”

both connie and the umpire were in sync as the pitcher moved from his place. connie wasn’t paying the game any mind anymore, his anger at its highest peak as he watched the bastard bring his lips to your ear, whispering things to you with a smirk on his face as your eyes widened.

‘you’re out’

baseball player!connie who didn’t even let you explain that the man in the stands was a friend you invited from class before taking you home and having you face down in the sheets of your shared bed.

“got me fucked up furreal” he grumbled, his big hand colliding with your ass three times as connie deepened his thrusts. your cries and begs were muffled into the sheets, his other hand squeezing the back of your neck as he pushed your face down into the silk fabric. “got me staring into the stands every ten seconds cause you think it’s okay t’be all buddy buddy wit men ion know. tch….cuero grande mami” (such a slut)

you tried to move your hand towards his abdomen to soothe him, but connie roughly rejected you. slapping your small hand away before spanking you again. “don’t touch me. youn get t’touch me when you be letting randoms do it so easily” you cried loudly, your tears soaking the sheets under you as you tried your best to pull your wet face from the cushion so you can speak. “papiiiiii! s’not l-like that, p-promiseeee!” your beg fell on deaf ears as connie flattened his free hand on your back, pushing your stomach to the mattress as he fed you every last inch of his dick at a breathtaking speed. “uhh huhhhh. s’not like you was letting some lambón (ass kisser) be all in your face, right? not like you was letting him touch your phone and whisper shit in your ear, right mami?”

now that he put it that way you did look a little guilty, but you and the guy were strictly friends and you were determined to let your boyfriend know that. “i love youuu! o-only you daddy i swear” connie knew you’d never cheat on him, the love the two of you carried too strong for either of you to even think of being with someone else, but he couldn’t stop himself from becoming this jealous, possessive lover as his fame began to grow. when more people recognized him the more they began to recognize you as well. your pretty face and kind personality driving many men crazy to the point where connie had to keep a a close eye on your choice of “friends”. your easily gained trust making you prone to getting tricked into being friends with a man that only wants one thing from you.

connie knew for sure that was the case when it came to the man he saw today, his wandering eyes and lingering touches giving him away completely to your boyfriend, but you were naive, too innocent to understand that this man wanted only one thing from you. just thinking about it brought connie’s anger back up to a ten, his hips slamming into you as he lifted your back to his chest with one hand. “how yall meet, huh? he came up t’you after class didn’t he?” you nodded your head, earning you a hard slap on your clit from connie’s rough fingers. “que mama? respóndeme la pregunta” (what mama? answer the question) his hand snaked around your throat, giving it a tight squeeze to let you know he wasn’t playing, but you could already tell he wasn’t given the situation you were in right now.

“y-yes, he came up t’me after class” connie nodded as you spoke, already knowing he was correct. “and being the kind little lady you are, you invited him t’come sit wit you at my game, correct?” you replied wit a small “yes” coaxing him to continue. “and f’course he came, probably asked for your instagram on your phone so he could follow himself, said y’all should take a lil selfie to save the moment and begged you t’post it and tag him, right?” your eyes widened at how spot on your boyfriend was, his thrusts doubling in power as he listened to you agree to everything he said. “but you a my good girl so i know you ain’t post it, but he ain’t let it go did he? nahhh…he leaned down and whispered in your ear some stupid pickup line that made your eyes widen, and since you rejected him i know for a fact he ain’t follow you back, and he doesn’t plan on talking t’you ever again”

you couldn’t stop the little whine from escaping your throat as you listened to the wise words of your boyfriend. “m’sorry p-papi i didn’t knowwww” connie quickly shushed you, leaving light kisses on your wet cheeks as he pushed you back down towards the bed. he laid both of his hands flat on your back before pushing your arch so deep you almost screamed.

“you too nice mami i been tellin you this, but it’s coo tho. papi gon make sure you understand by the end of the night.”

baseball player!connie who spent an entire night fucking his lesson into your poor little pussy, making sure his sweet girlfriend didn’t fall victim to the bad, clout chasing, drama filled people you’d encounter everyday at college.

#connie smut #aot connie x black reader #connie x black!reader #connie x black reader #aot connie x black!reader #aot connie x black y/n #connie x black y/n #aot connie springer smut #aot connie springer x black reader #connie springer x black y/n #connie springer x black!reader #connie springer x black reader #connie springer smut

2K notes · View notes

psformybss · 5 days ago

Note

could you please write something about secret fiancé! reader and Drew and how they met and their love story? I see them being high school sweethearts

Folded Notes & History

series masterlist

warnings: fluff, high school slowburn

an: i also see them as high school sweethearts! i tried my best to keep it kinda vague because if i got into details this would have been over 10k words but if anyone wants to see anything specific ab high school or college lmk and i will definitely write it

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Junior year U.S. History smelled like old carpet, burnt coffee, and dry-erase markers that hadn’t been replaced since the Bush administration. The windows barely opened, the chairs squeaked every time someone moved, and the only working clock on the wall ticked just a little too loud.

Y/N sat in the second-to-last row, back straight, notes neat, her pen gliding across the lined paper in even strokes. She didn’t talk much in class—kept to herself mostly—but her notebooks were always full, color-coded, and annoyingly precise.

The seat behind her was usually occupied by Drew Starkey.

Basketball team starter. The kid who always had one earbud in until the teacher told him to take it out. Somehow managed to look both effortlessly tired and infuriatingly good in a wrinkled hoodie and scuffed-up Nikes. He wasn’t loud like the others. He laughed with his head tilted back and his whole chest, but he talked in this low, lazy voice that made people lean in.

He wasn’t in class that day.

Or the next.

By Friday, he slid into the desk behind her like he hadn’t missed a thing.

“Hey,” he said, a little raspy.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Strep,” he said, tugging his hoodie up over his head and ruffling his hair. “Felt like swallowing knives.”

She winced. “Sounds awful.”

When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out—some slower than others, hoping to stall their way into lunch. Y/N was stuffing her folders into her bag when Drew tapped her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said again, a little more unsure this time. “You, uh… take good notes?”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

He grinned. “The kind where I’m hoping you’ll let me borrow them.”

She stared for a second, weighing her options, then flipped open her binder and gently tore out three pages.

“Here,” she said. “Don’t crumple them.”

Drew took the pages like they were made of gold leaf. “Whoa. Color-coded and everything.”

“I like things to make sense,” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a look—just a flicker of something amused and genuine, like he hadn’t expected her to be funny. “Thanks. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back by actually listening in class,” she teased.

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

From then on, something shifted.

It started subtly. He started saying hey every morning, even when he didn’t need notes. He started tossing her pens when hers ran out mid-lecture. When they got assigned group work, he pulled his desk up to hers before the teacher even finished talking.

They weren’t friends yet. But they were circling something.

One Wednesday in early February, she caught him doodling in the margins of his quiz while they waited for the bell. He passed her the paper before handing it in—Mr. Klein drawn as a Cold War dictator, complete with sunglasses and an absurdly large cigar. She snorted, smacked him lightly with her pen, and nearly got detention for “disrupting the learning environment.”

That afternoon, Drew waited by her locker.

She blinked in surprise. “Did you get lost?”

“Nah.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“You busy Friday?”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“I was thinking… coffee. And maybe you could quiz me for the test. But mostly coffee.”

She raised a brow. “You’re using school as a cover to ask me out?”

“I’m multi-talented.”

She smiled. “I’m free after six.”

That Friday afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the wind had a bite to it—the kind that made you hunch your shoulders and tuck your hands deeper into your pockets. The coffee shop sat on the edge of downtown, nestled between a dusty used bookstore and a florist whose windows fogged from the heat inside. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso the second you walked through the door, the kind of scent that made you want to stay a little longer than you meant to.

Y/N slid into the corner booth first, the red vinyl cool beneath her jeans. Drew followed, his backpack thumping softly against the seat as he dropped it beside him. The table between them was scratched and slightly wobbly, and one of the overhead bulbs flickered every few seconds, casting them in and out of soft, golden light.

Drew’s hands dwarfed the paper coffee cup he held. He turned it in slow circles, fingers twitching around the lid. His foot tapped under the table in a restless rhythm—quick, uneven, like he couldn’t decide if he was cold or just anxious.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes flicking down toward the motion.

He offered a quick smile, almost sheepish. “Yeah. Just… too much energy, maybe. I had practice this morning, but I guess it didn’t wear me out enough.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“Could be the caffeine. Or nerves.” He met her gaze for a second and then looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d made a joke he wasn’t sure she’d laugh at.

She gave him a small smile. “Nervous about what?”

He shrugged, eyes on the lid of his cup. “I don’t know. Talking, maybe.”

“But you talk to everyone,” she said, brow raised.

“Yeah, but not like this.”

Her smile faltered slightly, not because his words were bad—but because they felt… honest. Real.

They had both said they needed to study. Finals were creeping up fast, and the stress was starting to hang over the school like storm clouds, thick and heavy. But neither of them had even unzipped their backpacks.

Instead, they talked.

About everything and nothing at all.

He told her about late nights after football practice—how the field looked different when it was empty and quiet, the stadium lights buzzing above him, casting long shadows. Sometimes he stayed behind after everyone left, just to sit in the silence. He told her how his shoulder clicked every time he threw too hard, and how he’d ice it without telling the coach because he didn’t want to be benched.

“I hate calculus more than I hate losing a game,” he confessed, resting his forehead against the heel of his hand. “And that’s saying something.”

“That bad?” Y/N asked, hiding a smile behind her cup.

Drew groaned. “It’s like a foreign language I was never supposed to learn. And the teacher… he acts like we’re just lazy, not confused.”

She nodded. “I get that. It’s the worst when they make you feel dumb for asking questions.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his head. “Like, I already feel stupid. No need to pile on.”

She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, letting the steam rise into her face. “That’s why I always study with music on. I can’t do silence—it makes everything feel heavier.”

Drew looked at her, curious. “Music helps?”

“It’s like… noise that doesn’t expect anything from me,” she said. “Just fills the space so my brain doesn’t spiral.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away for later. “What kind of music?”

“Depends. If it’s math, it has to be instrumental. If it’s history, I can do lyrics. English? Full-on sad playlists.” She smiled at that. “Like tragic heartbreak anthems while I write essays.”

Drew laughed, the sound warm and low. “You’re way more strategic than I am.”

“I just can’t sit in a quiet room and focus. It makes me feel like I’m waiting to mess up.”

He was quiet for a second, watching her with a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier. “I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. “Not something I really talk about.”

He leaned back, stretching one arm over the booth. “Well, for the record, if you ever need study music, I make a mean playlist.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “Do you specialize in tragic heartbreak anthems too?”

“Only the best,” he grinned. “I’ve got taste, Y/N.”

They laughed, and the tension that had been buzzing low between them since they sat down seemed to lift, just a little.

Outside, the sky had faded into a dull blue-gray, and the streetlamps were flickering to life. Inside the café, the lights over the counter glowed golden, making everything feel softer, smaller—like they were the only ones in the world for a little while.

“I like this,” Drew said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Just… talking.”

Y/N met his eyes. “Me too.”

His foot had finally stopped tapping. His hand rested on the table now, not far from hers.

“You make it easy,” he added.

Her heart jumped at that, but she kept her voice steady. “Easy to what?”

He shrugged, almost shy. “To be myself.”

There was a silence after that—not the kind that felt heavy or awkward, but the kind that settled between them like something gentle. Like understanding. Like maybe they were both just starting to see something they hadn’t quite realized before.

The following week, students spilled out of the building in slow waves, some lingering in clumps by the flagpole, others heading straight for their cars with earbuds in and heads down. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, juggling her water bottle and a loose folder full of notes.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the low hum of chatter as he caught up to her just outside the double doors, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

She turned, surprised. “Hey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking unsure. “You headed out?”

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Wanna walk together?” he asked, his voice almost too casual. “I mean—I’ll walk you to your car. If that’s cool.”

It was.

They fell into step beside each other, his steps a little slower than usual to match hers. The air smelled like cut grass and something sweet from the vending machines by the gym. Neither of them said much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a quiet ease in it. Just the occasional brush of his arm against hers and the low hum of his voice when he pointed out a sticker on someone’s bumper that made him laugh.

When they reached her car, she turned to unlock the door, but paused.

“Thanks,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something more but didn’t.

Instead, he smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And he waited until she pulled out of the parking space before turning to leave.

A couple of weeks later, it was Thursday, right after seventh period. The bell had just rung, and the halls were buzzing with bodies and noise—slammed lockers, overlapping conversations, the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Y/N was heading toward the front stairwell when she felt someone catch her hand gently from behind.

She turned, and there he was.

Drew.

Still wearing his practice jersey from PE, cheeks a little flushed, eyes scanning hers like he was trying to read something written just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like maybe he’d jogged to catch up.

She smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped a little closer, checking over his shoulder. The hallway was mostly clear now, just a few stragglers around the far corner. His fingers laced through hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmured.

And then he leaned in.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was quick but warm, like a spark that caught and lit something deeper. It wasn’t showy, or practiced, or perfect—but it was real. He pulled back just enough to look at her, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face.

Her heart was racing, but she smiled back.

He tapped her knuckles gently. “See you eighth period.”

And just like that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned grin and the taste of cinnamon gum still on her lips.

By the time spring bloomed and the world smelled like fresh grass and impending finals, they were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that made other people tease them in passing.

Afternoons were for shared iced coffees and laying in the sun behind the bleachers. Evenings were late-night phone calls that started with “I should probably study” and ended with whispered laughter and one of them falling asleep mid-sentence.

And that’s when she started writing him notes.

Little ones. Folded into triangles with sharp creases, sometimes stickers stuck to the outside—smiling suns or tiny frogs with glittery eyes. The messages varied. Sometimes it was a quote from a book she liked. Sometimes a joke from class. Sometimes just: good luck today or don’t fall asleep in history again or I’ll steal your hoodie.

She slipped them into the vents of his locker when no one was watching—between fourth and fifth period, right before his lit class. He never said much about them, but she’d catch glimpses: Drew standing at his locker, one shoulder pressed to the metal like he was shielding the moment from the world, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he read her words.

He kept them all.

She found that out months later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon in his room. The window was open, and the curtains moved with the breeze. She sat cross-legged on the floor, picking through a shoebox of old ticket stubs and tangled friendship bracelets, when she found them—flattened out notes stacked neatly under a band of ribbon.

“You kept them?” she asked, holding one up between two fingers, her voice caught somewhere between laughing and blushing.

Drew looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, arms tucked behind his head. He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

“They were the best part of my day,” he said simply.

She blinked at him, heart stuttering, and looked down at the mess of her handwriting, all those tiny things she’d never really expected him to remember—much less treasure.

“You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was soft. Adoring.

He sat up then, barefoot and slightly rumpled, his t-shirt creased from the way he’d been lying. He rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous, and she tilted her head.

“What?”

“I was gonna wait,” he said, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Like… I had this idea to ask you at prom or something cheesy like that.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “But then you found the box, and you smiled like that, and—God, I really don’t wanna wait.”

Her smile softened. “Wait for what?”

He looked up at her then, finally, and she could see it in his eyes—the mix of hope and nerves, like the way he looked right before a big game.

“To call you my girlfriend,” he said. “Like, officially. If you want.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other still holding one of her notes, and kissed him—light and warm, like the breeze drifting through the open window. His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm.

When she pulled back, she was still smiling.

“Of course I want to.”

And for a second, neither of them said anything else. The world felt small and soft and safe, like maybe everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Then senior year came. So did prom, late-night drives, college decisions, and the terrifying realization that not everything lasted forever.

But somehow, they did.

Even when school ended.

Even when dorms and deadlines tried to pull them in opposite directions.

And now, years later, he still has that shoebox.

She still folds her notes into triangles.

And he still grins like a boy with a secret every time he finds one.

#drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey #drew starkey x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #drew starkey x you #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader

135 notes · View notes

ghostbasin · 2 months ago

Text

— BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Kevin Khatchadourian x Reader. You aren't quite normal, and Kevin can tell. 900 words. Warnings: None so far. Reader gender: Neutral. 🦇 Please feel free to submit requests! 🦇

Notes: This will end up being a series if people want it to be! I do plan on writing more for it and if it doesn't really gain traction I might pause, but for now, you can expect at least 2-3 more updates for this. I've also got some more romance-y imagines/HCs in the works for Kevin, so stay tuned.

In this world, there are more people like Kevin than we like to realize.

You hadn’t met Kevin yet, but you knew this fact—that people pretended the “oddballs,” the “weirdos” didn’t exist—like the back of your hand.

As a kid, people always questioned you. You didn’t play like other kids, didn’t flinch like they did when someone jumped out at them, didn’t cry about the monster under the bed and demand to sleep in your parents’ room.

It’s not like you were ripping eyes out of squirrels or anything, but everyone always thought something was up with you.

And while you didn’t quite care what constituted “normal” behavior, it was easier to pretend—less questions, less hushed speculations about you in the halls, and less overbearing concern from the grown-ups if you just acted like a normal student.

Still, nobody’s perfect.

And it’s no wonder that when Kevin saw a flicker of himself in you, he was completely devoted to unraveling you—dissecting you—to find out just what was so different about you.

***

Junior year of high school rolls around, and your schedule is packed. Honors and AP courses wash down your schedule page like a tide, and you come to realize that maybe you should pay a little attention this year. That, however, didn’t stop you from assuming your usual position in each class—second row to the back, one over from the wall.

Students filtered in, jostling bags around the haphazardly built desks as everyone scrambled to sit in at least near proximity to any friends who shared the same class. While the room was abuzz now, you knew that AP history wouldn’t facilitate such energy after a few weeks. No one in their right mind is pumped for history class at 8AM.

You sighed, taking out a folder and a few pens, as the desks around you filled. To your right, a girl you recognized as a member of the cheer team. The row behind you filled with kids you knew planned to talk or sleep through every instance of history class, and then the seat to your right filled.

Kevin.

You’d never met him, but it wasn’t hard to see the name on his schedule placed neatly in the corner of his desk. You glanced discreetly at him as he settled in, then trained your eyes back to the front of the room. Within minutes, the teacher was droning on—the syllabus, the final, homework and late policies. Things that were already written down but, for some reason, needed to be verbalized anyway.

You watched as classmates either scribbled in the margins of their syllabus, ripped staples out of it absentmindedly, or stared blankly at the front as the teacher spoke. You could already tell which kids were going to burn out halfway through the semester, which ones thought their AP history grade would make or break college, and which ones simply didn’t not give a damn about who won what war and where and when.

As your eyes flickered from the back of one classmate’s head to the next, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s eyes were facing the front—everyone except his.

Kevin’s.

You glanced sideways at him and your eyes met, him studying you as you studied the class, neither of you focusing on what nonsense note-taking strategy the teacher swore would be a life-saver in his class this semester.

And Kevin was, sure enough, fascinated. Anyone else would’ve looked away shyly, embarrassed to be caught staring at someone. You, however, just locked eyes and looked at him with as much interest as he looked at you—which wasn’t much outwardly, but inwardly, you were both wondering the same thing.

Why is this person looking at me, or, more importantly, what does this mean about this person?

After about a minute, you did break eye contact. Not because you cared about making eye contact with some random classmate, but because you didn’t want the teacher to start up about focusing, paying attention, being a diligent student if he noticed you two locking eyes.

The full class period passed without you two acknowledging the others’ existence again, and when the bell rang, students filtered out. You packed your bag orderly, with each folder and notebook having a place, and slung it onto your shoulder. Heading to the door, you noticed something.

He was watching you again.

Not in a creepy, “I’m about to come after you” way, but in the casual way you watch people passing by while waiting to meet up with a friend. Kevin leaned against the wall as classmates walked out the door beside him, and you approached as well.

You stopped walking just in front of him, eye to eye. You tilt your head slightly and watch him—not looking at him, but watching him. His eyes flickered between yours, your hair, the way your bag sat on your shoulder, even how you stood as you watched him. He wasn’t staring, but taking you in, and you could only begin to piece together whatever story he was brewing in his mind about you.

It lasted for about 20 seconds, before other students needed to exit and you stepped outside of the room to avoid blocking traffic—no need to make enemies for being slow. Without turning, you kept heading to your next class, but you wondered what would await tomorrow morning when you and Kevin saw each other again.

#kevin khatchadourian #we need to talk about kevin #kevin khatchadourian x reader #fanfic #x reader #writing #mdni blog

89 notes · View notes

literaryslapshot · 1 year ago

Text

LOVESTRUCK, WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEAD ⎯ S. CROSBY

y/n just wants the best for her son, she thinks the program rule of no freshmen players on varsity is stupid. she just did what any mother would do...right?

coach!sidney crosby x teacher!single mom!reader

warnings: angst, smut (fingering, handjob, sex on a table), somewhat of an inappropriate relationship, single parent content, light talk of divorce, lowkey based off of "slut!" by taylor swift

word count: 4,244

a/n: look at that....i do still know how to write

The bitterness of the coffee wasn’t doing it’s job. On her third cup and it’s not even ten in the morning, Y/N waits for the next period of students to walk through her door. Taking in one of the few moments of silence she has, she refreshes the page on the sports page on the school website, itching to see her son’s name.

Carter had tryouts with the hockey team last week, he had been talking about it since the beginning of the month. He was training every day to make varsity; in leagues ever since he was ten years old every single coach and spectator could not brag enough on how much talent he had. Y/N was pressured to send him across the country, even out of the country, to go to the top hockey camps but as a single mother she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to send her baby off to some strangers for a few months, and she couldn't afford to move away from family either.

But her heart dropped as she refreshed the page, pulled up this season's roster, and saw her son’s name and number on the junior varsity roster instead of varsity. She didn’t understand it, she was told by the coaches herself that he was the best kid on the ice that day. Why didn’t he make varsity?

Her questions were interrupted by students flooding into the classroom for the start of the next period. She pulled herself out of her thoughts to then teach this class period. Reluctantly though.

The final bell rang and that meant she was done for the day. Saying goodbye to her students Y/N started to gather papers and put them in the “to grade” folder to take home with her before tidying up some areas of the room. She anticipated her son’s arrival. Ever since moving up to high school he always stopped by her room at the end of the day to talk about school and help her carry things to her car.

“I didn’t make it.” Carter said as a greeting when he walked in the empty room. His face was defeated, his tall slender frame was slumped over in sadness and his eyes welling with tears. Out of all people Y/N knew and saw how hard he worked to make varsity his freshman year. He skated over fifty laps a day, worked on shots in the garage until way past dusk, he also started to lift more weights.

“Oh baby, c’mere,” Y/N pulled her much taller son in for a hug. There he broke and rested into his mother's arms like a little kid again. He softly cried before pulling away.

“I don’t get it mom, they told me i’d make it for sure, why would he tell me-” “Don’t worry about it son, I will talk to the coach first thing in the morning. I promise. But for now you have to play the cards you were dealt,” Y/N consoled her son in the way moms know how. Gathering her bags she gave the heaviest one to Carter to help carry out the building. They continued chatting on the way to her car, talking about school and homework he had for the week. Carter was a special kid, he deeply cared about his grade and education. He remembers promising his mom when he was younger that if he ever got to play hockey in college that he would get his degree and not go to the draft early.

Carter was a momma’s boy through and through. His dad lived an hour away so he spent the weekends there twice a month, but he’s at his mom’s house the rest of the time. Carter is also protective of his mom too. He never told her this, but he’s beat in a couple boys’ faces because they made some lewd comments about her. He’s respectful of her, more than any other man on earth ever has been. Y/N is very proud of how she’s raised her son.

“Okay son, go to practice. Have a positive attitude, don’t do anything stupid okay? I know you’re frustrated but just go into practice and do you, maybe they got you mixed up with someone else. But-” she saw his facial expressions change and get tense, she knew that he was still angry inside, “hey, don’t get mad at them. Wait until I talk and then you and I will figure something out.”

They walked in opposite directions, Carter to the athletic building and Y/N back to the school for one more item in her classroom. Hustling as best she can so she can get home, she runs into the person she didn’t want to speak to until in the morning. Coach Crosby.

She felt her body coil and tense up in anger at just the sight. She was supposed to wait until morning, but her tongue got the best of her.

“Coach! Hey, can I ask you a quick question?” she pulls him to the side, into an empty classroom where the teacher had left for the day.

“What’s up?” Sidney asked, sitting down on one of the wooden desks. He was wearing black joggers, a tight pullover with a school cap on. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the material of his clothing clung to his toned body. He had been out of the professional league for at least two years, but he still kept up the physical shape of his body, and it was obvious by the way his pants were stretching at the seams on his thighs.

“I really don’t want to be that parent, but can you tell me why Carter didn’t make varsity?” Sidney cocks his head to the side. He’s only been on sight three months and he’s already dealing with this.

“Well, it’s my understanding that freshmen must be on the JV team, no matter how good they are. That rule was put in place before I got here.” He explained while crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles making his pullover look incredibly small on his frame. “He’s a good kid though, he’ll make great improvements this year and I'll look forward to having him on varsity next year.” Sidney said, trying to end the conversation and smooth things over.

“But…you’re the new coach. This is your program now, not someone else’s.” Y/N couldn’t really understand what he was getting at. Did he not see the potential in her son that everyone seemed to say? Did he not see the great player, the great athlete that Carter was? Maybe it was just her being a mother, and so obviously her child is the best compared to other kids. But she swore she didn’t want to be like those parents. She remembers being a kid in youth sports herself and hated parents who thought their kid should be player of the week every week. In her mind, she needed to earn player of the week because of her work ethic, not because her parents were board members.

“Right but I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers my first year. This is barely my program, I need to establish relationships before I change things here,” Y/N takes a step closer to Sidney, her hands folded in front of her.

“But you’re Sidney Crosby, who can say no to you?” God she feels horrible for doing this, she feels like…like some junior league mom whose husband has nothing between his ears. But she thinks, if she can just rile him up for a minute, startle him, then he’ll change his mind and put Carter on varsity. That’s her end goal, get her son feeling better. If that means pretending to be a horny college student again, so be it. “I mean really, they had to give you this job cause they trust you. So obviously you can do what you want, like putting my son on your varsity team.”

He sighs, looking down at his shoes. He knows what she’s doing…and he can’t believe it’s sort of working. He hasn’t had a woman flirt with him in heaven knows how long. He doesn’t even know how to respond to such a thing anymore. His life for the past almost twenty years has been nothing but hockey. Sidney’s family has been asking him for a long time when he is going to settle down with someone, but nobody ever scratched that itch quite like hockey did. But now? That he’s got a woman in front of him, a gorgeous one at that, who’s buttering him up? Maybe he’ll give in…just to see what it feels like.

“Your son is a hell of a player, Y/N. He really could go far,” His words got heavier as she got closer, he could smell her perfume, he could feel her breath, he could see her chest move up and down with every huff she took- “so put him on your team, Coach.” she put her hand on his chest softly and she sighed feeling his stern muscles. “C’mon, what’s it gonna take? Dinner and a show?”

His eyes, dark and blown, looked into hers and if he remembers what the term eye fucking means then that’s exactly what they were doing. His breaths became short but heavy as she left a heavy hand on his chest. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, trying her best to work her charm that she used to have. She hopes she’s still got it.

He thinks, thinks, and thinks. This is a bad decision.

“My place, six thirty tomorrow evening. Give me your best sales pitch, and we’ll see about the show.”

Sidney stands up and for a brief second his nose bumps hers, an innocent touch but it makes him take a deep breath in to calm himself down. He exits the empty class room and takes long strides to get to practice, glancing at his watch he’s already a few minutes behind.

She’s eternally grateful that Carter is with his dad this weekend. How could she explain to him that she’s not really going on a date…but she’s going to his coach's house with plans to seduce him..but again it’s not a date. Of course, she’d have to leave out the seducing part. She put on her best dress that she had, it was pretty simple but it hugged her figure nicely. She made sure to spritz some extra perfume on as well.

The drive to Sidney’s house is silent, it’s her having fake conversations in her head about what to say or what not to say. Debating on if her seduction speech was still on date or if it’s too cheesy now. She suddenly feels like she lives in the lowest tax bracket possible when entering his neighborhood; she's never seen so many fake lawns before. She’s actually never been on this side of town much, except to look at christmas lights when Carter was younger. Now that he’s older he doesn’t care for that stuff anymore.

“Nice place you’ve got,” she said walking into his entry way. To her surprise Sidney dressed up a little bit, wearing a button up with a nice pair of slacks, the top two buttons undone for visual purposes of course. He takes her coat and her purse, hanging it up by the door. “What’s on the menu?”

“Well, I figured I'd go simple with just spaghetti and toast, with dessert to follow if that’s okay.” Sidney went into his pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “This okay?” He holds the bottle in the air and she nods her head, sitting at his kitchen bar watching him pour a glass. She takes a glance at the label and she’s taken back. On her teacher salary she definitely can’t afford that brand.

Maybe she’s in over her head here- she didn’t think about any of this stuff. Suddenly she’s this woman who doesn’t have much to her name, sitting in a millionaire’s kitchen drinking wine that costs well over two hundred dollars- but damn if it doesn’t taste good.

They make small talk before heading into the dining room where he sets dinner onto the table for her, such a gentleman. Continuing the semi dull conversation she thanks him for making a meal for her, joking that she’s never had a man make dinner for her. Only half true, her dad growing up would make dinners for her family. But when she married Carter’s dad, she was the chef in the family. Not that she was complaining, it was just odd for her to be on the reverse side for the first time in a while.

“I am sorry about that idiotic rule, Y/N. Carter can easily be a varsity player.” Sidney broke the minute silence after finishing off his second glass of wine that night. She huffs, finishing her plate and scooting it away from her on the table. Was she really about to do this?

“Is there anything I can do, sidney? C’mon my boy’s in shambles, he’s thinking that he’s not as good as everyone makes him out to be,” Y/N reaches her hand out to rest on his softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Y/N hoped he knew what she was implying and that she didn’t have to say it out loud.

And he did.

He understood every word she said and the words that were left unsaid. He knew what she was implying and he knew what she was getting at. But Sidney hated that he was willing to do what she wanted. Y/N was leaning forward on the table, getting close enough to Sidney where he could smell her perfume and her lotion mixed together, he could see a couple small freckles up close as he couldn’t see them from a bit further away.

There were no words exchanged between them, his eyes kept drifting from her tinted lips to her lustful eyes, back and forth a couple times before resting his hand on her cheek and pressing his lips against hers gently. Immediately he felt a rush of arousal- it’s just a kiss, really? He silently asked himself. He hadn’t gotten this aroused in a while, a long while.

Both parties leaned into the kiss, wanting and aching for more. They tasted wine on each other and felt each other’s temperature begin to rise. Sidney got out of his chair, lips still connected to hers, and got closer. She stood up, one hand cupping his chin and the other resting on his chest, and she leaned against the dining table. She hadn’t made out with someone in years, she hopes she’s doing it right.

She gets pushed onto the table just by the force of his body so now she’s sitting on the wooden table, Sidney standing in between her legs with both of his hands cupping her face. He doesn’t care if he seems desperate or if he seems needy, or if this is totally wrong and against almost all of the words he signed in his contract, he can’t seem to get enough of her. Sidney feels her play with the buttons of his shirt and how she begins to pull the shirt up and out of his dress pants. It was easy since he wasn’t wearing a belt.

He didn’t even know that she completely unbuttoned his shirt until he felt her hands roam all over his naked chest, her hands slowly raking up and down his toned muscles. He takes a breath and scans her body. Her skin is hot to the touch, her eyes are completely blown now and her lips are parted. “How do I get this off you?” he asked, taking a fist of the hem of her dress.

“There's a tie in the back,” she huffed out, not able to take her hands off his body. Plus, she wants him to take it off of her.

“You tied this yourself?” he asked in shock, surprised at how she tied such a perfect bow on her back with such thin strings.

“I’ve been tying, zipping, buttoning my dresses myself for the past twelve years now, safe to say I got pretty good at it.” God- has she been alone for the past twelve years? Nobody to love on, kiss on, touch on this wonderful body of hers? Sidney takes in a sharp breath when he pulls the dress off of her and he gives her body a quick scan over. Wearing a strapless bra that she’s almost spilling out of, she has on silk leopard print panties that he can’t help but notice a significant damp spot on.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hands roaming over her soft skin. “Don’t make fun of me, it’s been a long time since I've hooked up with someone.” because that’s just what this is, a hookup. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I haven’t since I got divorced, so it's the same here.” she hooks her leg around his pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against hers again this time most softly. His hand goes down to play with the hem of her panties, “you sure about this?”

“Very sure, don’t mess with a pissed off mama sidney.” she pulls him down with her as she lays down on the table. He kisses down her body, she arches her back and lets him take her bra off. Tossing it onto the floor Sidney wraps his lips around one of her hardened nipples. She lets out a heavenly sounding moan at the action.

It’s been so long she could cum just from Sidney doing this for a couple minutes longer. One hand slips down over her clothed cunt, rubbing her sensitive and wet area. She arches her body into his, already she’s lost in a great euphoric high that she can’t even mumble words. All that’s coming out is moans and gasps.

He removes his mouth and Sidney stands up, she watches up on her elbows as he takes his pants off and removes his boxers. She bites her lip at the size - the sight - of his hardened dick in his hand. She reaches out for it herself, “you’ll give me what I want, and I promise you won’t regret it.” he thought for a moment too long, she began to doubt herself but he spoke up, “deal.”

She licks her hand before taking a grip on his cock. Slowly she starts stroking up and down, keeping harsh eye contact with sidney. She gives him a nice squeeze and a twist of her hand which makes him throw his head back in pleasure. He can only do so much with his hand, it’s nice to have someone else for a change. Y/N scoots closer to him on the table, with one of his hands he works his hand over one of her breasts softly massaging it. She leans into his touch and continues to work her hands over his hard cock.

He moves his hand from her breast down and slips it into her soaked panties. At first his fingers were a little cold but they quickly warmed up after being immersed in her sex. He circles around her clit a couple times, getting familiar with the female body again. He explores for a minute or two, his middle finger teasing her hole. The more he teases her the harder her grip gets on his cock. He pulls his hand out of her panties, they’ve never broken eye contact this whole time and he sucks everything off of his hand. God that was hot.

Sidney removes her hand from his cock fearing if she kept going he would cum all over her hand and that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He’s panting heavy now, his body forming sweat on his forehead. He pushes her down onto the table with a palm on her chest lining his cock up with her entrance, “wait do I need any-”

She chuckles, “that ship sailed a while ago, just fuck me like you mean it coach.”

With her permission she slides in and she lets out a long, loud, moan as he does it. He wants to hear that on repeat for the rest of his life, he swears. Sidney puts both hands on her hips, keeping her body steady as he rocks in and out of her, his hips meeting her every time.

Sidney allows to feel himself in her warm, wet walls. He throws his head back in pleasure and she shuts her eyes tight. Her hands come up to her breasts to add to the pleasure, fingers pinching both of her nipples as she feels his huge cock pump in and out of her small hole. He feels like he’s three feet deep inside of her, he feels lost in how good she feels. His head grows foggy each time he squeezes her.

Sidney hits the spongy spot in her tight cunt that made her gasp out in pleasure, she sang his name like a chant over and over which made him fuck her harder and harder. She warned him about her orgasm and he did the same, begging her to cum with him. A few more pumps of his cock he spilled his heavy load inside of her and she moaned loudly like a queen when he did. He pulled his cock out of her, watching his load spill out with it.

Maybe it was the post orgasm haze she was in, maybe it was the lovestruck feeling she had the minute they began making out, but minutes later she’s standing between him and the cold shower wall. His forehead pressed against hers. His fingers knuckle deep in her cunt and a hand wrapped around her throat as hot water rained down on either of them, her cunt squeezing his thick fingers while she couldn’t even say anything but his name. That’s exactly what he wanted.

The hot shower water kept her eyes shut but she knew that he was gazing at her. He was in awe of her facial expressions, how she bit her lip through a smile with every jerk he made with his hand, when she furrowed her eyebrows when she was on the edge of cumming, and how she cocked her head to the side while he kissed around her neck silently asking for more.

He took his hand away from her pussy, licking the honey off his fingers. He stayed that close to her though knowing her legs were probably jello and she wasn’t able to stand for at least a minute or two.

She took a deep breath, “got what you wanted?” she asked in a joking tone, moving her hand up and down his chest in the hot steamy shower. He chuckled, his hands never leaving her body. He palmed her breasts, he seemed to have a thing for those she contemplated, heavy lustful eyes staring into hers.

“How many more you got in you?” he asked, spreading her legs with his thigh.

“I can give you as much as you want.” Y/N answered, her hands slowly roaming down lower and lower on his chest and stomach.

“Then no, I didn’t get what I want yet.”

She woke up in Sidney’s bed the next morning with messy hair and sore muscles. Looking over on the nightstand the clock read 8:02 AM. She was glad that it was a Saturday and she was able to sleep in. She saw that Sidney was still asleep, he laid on his stomach with his head facing the other way. Looking over his back, studying the freckles, the faded scars. Y/N wants to stay in this moment for as long as she can.

She hates to admit but she really fell for Sidney. Not because of how skilled he was in bed, or because he could do wicked things with his hands, but she shared a few heartfelt conversations with him before tryouts even began.

He cared for the kids at school, the kids he taught and the kids he coached. He had a heart for the coming generation. He wanted them to have someone in their corner, and some kids don’t have that at home and he wants to be that. She got lovestruck in the past few months, sure she never planned on sleeping with him, she felt young again with how big of a crush she had. It went straight to her head, it all moved so fast.

God if her mother were still here she could just hear the word “slut!” come out of her mouth if her mom found out what happened. But she wouldn’t care. She enjoyed it, and she was sure Sidney enjoyed it too.

But still, she can’t help but think to herself what did I just do?

Sidney turns his head and sees that she’s also awake. Raising up he sees the time, 8:10. He doesn’t even care that he missed his morning workout session an hour late. He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him, tucking his head in her neck. With dry lips Sidney placed a tender lingering kiss on her hot skin.

It might be worth it for once, she thinks.

feedback | masterlist | au tag

tagging mutuals to boost, let me know if you don’t want to be tagged! @fallinallincurls @nylwnder @bitchinbarzal @ilyasorokinn @leafsbabe @twinklelilstarkey @raysofcrosby @lcandothisallday

#j's writing #sidney crosby #coach!sidney #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl writing #nhl smut #sidney crosby smut #nhl x you #smut #drabble #blurb

819 notes · View notes