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transboyswitchytales · 1 month ago

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A Proposition

This is Part 2

Wanda Maximoff Professor X Student Reader

Part 1,3

After a night together, reader is suprised to go to class the next day to see a certain one night stand or rather her professor? Will she be just a one-night stand?

Now how will they move on from that?

( Mommy kink, 18+ Will block you if under 18)

My Masterlist

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering yet.”

“Professor,” you say again, and the name falls flat, and it only amuses Wanda now. But she looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. You are both walking and you turn to see if you will be overheard.

“Yes, Darling?” She says, amused at your paranoia.

“This is inappropriate.” You whisper loudly.

“No, what’s inappropriate is if I fucked you on my desk really slow with the strap on from the other night. What would be really, really inappropriate is if I made the class watch. Especially that boy who stares at you all class long, Steve Rogers. That would be sweet revenge. Yeah, that, now that would be inappropriate. You and I met and were two consenting adults, and we still are.” She says with a shrug as if it’s nothing. Your eyes are fucking wide as she says such dirty things. You catch up to the last bit in shock.

“Still are?”

“I don’t know about you, though I have an inkling. But that was the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s also the most chemistry I’ve had, maybe ever. It was never gonna be a one-and-done. At least that wasn’t my plan. I knew at the bar I wanted more than one night with you.” She says, and the blush is now definitely all over your body.

“Professor-“

“Wan-da.” She sounds out and stops to open a door that is her private office. Unlocking it with her keys. She opens the door and waves her hand for you to enter. You hesitate, and she lifts an eyebrow. You roll your eyes and walk in as she flips the light on. It’s a cute office, her blinds are drawn. But there are plants everywhere, a little mini fridge with stickers from national parks all over it, and it's wall-to-wall shelves that are covered in books. You can’t help yourself; you get distracted and walk over to trace your hands over the spines.

Wanda seems to like this as she shuts the door behind her and locks it. You don’t feel even a little worried, like you know you should. You bend down and pick up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Its leather spine draws you in, and you love the story so much. You open it and look for a publication date.

“It’s about 80 years old,” Wanda says, pulling off her glasses and leaning against the desk. She threw her bag and keys onto it. Then she lets her hands hold her weight behind her.

“Fuck.” You say, and suddenly feel bad about picking it up. Wanda seems to take that as you have been scolded by people too much before. But she saves that thought away.

“You can touch it, honey. It’s ok.” She says, seeing your panic. You ignore her and put it back. Standing back up, you see Wanda looking at you like she was enjoying you on the floor. You chastise yourself to stop imagining her naked.

“I-“

“I’d like to take you out tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, well, right now actually. No time like the present,” she says, smiling at you for the hundredth time today. She likes how much she smiles because of you, she hasn’t done that in a very long time.

“Shouldn’t I play harder to get?” You tease at the lack of dating etiquette she’s showing. She shakes her head

“Why would you do that? I’ve already tasted you and I want more, I don’t want to play games. And before you ask no I’ve never fucked a student before. I never planned on it before you.”

“But-“

“Our age gap isn’t that wide, Darling. Even if I make you call me Mommy. Don’t look so scandalized. We aren’t breaking any district or college rules. I like you a lot. And I’m not the kind of woman who likes things and then takes no for an answer.”

“You do this with all your one-night stands, then?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, but it sounds desperate, and you hate it.

“You would be the first person I’ve ever taken home from a bar. I wasn’t going to say anything this soon, but I was married …to a man… for too long....”

“Oh.”

“It’s been a few years. I have tried to date but… no one’s caught my attention.”

“Until now?” You say, and you try not to sound hopeful.

“Until now.” She says more confident than you’d expect.

You turn and look at the books, and she watches you.

“I think we have more in common than you realize.” She says slowly, and you snort at her. Looking over your shoulder, you are sarcastic to a fault.

“You mean besides the fetishes we share.” It’s not supposed to make you blush more, but you do at your own sentence. She thinks it’s cute and smiles.

“It’s not just about sex.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.” It’s a bit of a lie, because you want it to be more. But you keep your eyes on the books. So she talks to your back, not seeming bothered by sharing your attention with her library.

“You are getting a BA in English with an emphasis on writing, so did I,” She says, and you look at her like ‘that’s obvious.’

“You like old books, and so do I. You are extremely smart. And way funnier than I am.” She says as if she’s already in love, and you aren’t sure how to respond.

“I don’t know if I’m all that.” You say, and she disagrees with you. Her face shows instantly that she doesn’t like your answer. You turn to her now, fully taking her in. She’s so fucking gorgeous. Her professor's look is sharp as hell. You would happily go back to the floor for her right here, right now. She surprises you, though.

“You have been hurt by people. That much is clear. So have I. I get that you don’t want to trust me. I’m scared too, but not scared enough to let you walk away without taking my chance.” She says, and her voice dips, and it does things to you.

“You can tell all that, huh?” You sa,y looking down at your shoes. She walks over and lifts your chin so you are eye to eye.

“I can see that and much more. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to be with you, will you let me?”

You nod slowly, and she moves and kisses you. It’s a sweet kiss, it’s slow and tender. Not possessive and demanding like her kisses the other night. She pulls back and grabs her keys.

“Come with me.” She holds out her hand, and you take it.

————

That’s how it starts. You go to a restaurant thinking it’ll be one and done. And you have an amazing time, and it’s not the last. Not even close. Wanda is on your ass like white on rice. She’s texting you, calling you, FaceTiming you all the time. You are inseparable. And you fucking love it. You won’t let yourself tell her you love her. Afraid of what that will mean. You are at her apartment all the time. She starts buying your coffee creamer and makes the popcorn brand you like for nights when you watch endless hours of sitcoms. It’s so fucking sappy and it’s getting extremely domestic on a Tuesday.

You are both sitting on a dryer in a laundromat. You got a big gulp of a cherry slushy. You are waiting for your laundry to be done. She asked if she could come, and you laughed at her and told her it would be boring. Wanda said nothing with you could ever be boring. And here you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“What do you mean you’ve never had a slushie?” You say after you wipe your eyes from tears over laughing. She reaches over and brushes stray tears from your other cheek.

“I’m from Socovia, baby. We didn’t have slushies.” Wanda reminds you and you hold the cup up like it’s amrosia from the gods and it’s being blessed.

“That simply won’t do.”

She giggles at your display, and it’s the best sound. You hold it to her, moving the straw so it bends.

“Isn’t it like water and corn syrup?”

“Do not knock the cherry syrup like that.” You say in mock horror. She shakes her head at you.

“You know, I keep Swedish fish at my place for you now. I read the back of it. That stuff is gonna kill you, devochka.”

You beam at her, knowing she’s calling you baby girl in her language, feels so sweet. So many partners called you baby. This felt so much better.

“I’ll die happy.” You say not to defend the red food dye.

“Nu uh, no dying, how about that. You stay my girl and be healthy.” She says, and it feels good under your skin. Being her girl.

“I can do that.” You whisper and kick your legs up against the machine. She seems to like you flushed and embarrassed, and she moves your jaw and kisses you. It’s long and slow, but unlike her offic,e it’s practiced now. Like two lovers who know how to slow dance with each others, understanding one another's body rhythms. You lean your forehead against hers and slowly open your eyes to see her staring at you with love laced in every single inch.

“Be a good girlfriend and drink my toxic slush.” You whisper, and she laughs now.

“I’m your girlfriend, huh?” She says, and you panic.

“I mean-“

“No, no, my love, no take backs. You taught me no take backs.” She reminds you, and you curse because you had taught her that.

“Well…”

“I did want to ask…”

“Yeah?” You say and tuck a hair behind your ear. She watches it and seems in a trance, looking at you. You look at her with a questioning glance. You take a sip of your drink as she finishes.

“Are we um… what’s the English word? Are we exclusive?”

You snort the drink and cough, and she looks panicked as she rubs your back. You breathe again after a few seconds.

“Um.. do you want to be?” You ask, catching your breath.

“I was hoping we already were.” She says slowly, and you look confused.

“Why did you think we weren't?”

“My friend Natasha told me it’s a conversation that people have to have?” She says and looks anxious now like she’s fucked up.

“You told your friends about me?” It’s what you take from the sentence, and she looks slightly miffed that you haven’t answered her question only asked follow up questions.

“Moya lyubov', you are killing me with the suspense. I’m a little scared now. Are you seeing someone else? Or sleeping with someone else?” Her eyebrows furrow, and you quickly grab her hands

“Oh god, no, Wanda. I have no interest and no time. When would I have slept with someone else? I’m always either on the phone with you or at your place. You think I sneak off after your apartment and have a gangbang or something?” You say, and it’s meant to be funny, and her eyes bulged.

“Gangbang? What is that? Do you get hurt with that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s an English word you might not have heard before. I’ll tell you later. The point is, I’m all yours, ok?” You say, and she instantly relaxes.

“Ok,” Wanda says, and she seems deep in thought again. Her nose scrunches, and you know she’s in the depths of it.

“So who’s Natasha?”

“Friend from college. You’ll like her, she mostly does S.H.I.E.L.D. agent retaining now.” She looks over and you and you nod, impressed.

“So she’s like super hot and buff?”

“Hey, you are now in a committed relationship. Very taken and very off the market. There will be no hot buff girls in your future. Only this Socovian Professor who is totally going to spank you tonight for that.” She says and scoffs in outrage.

“Yes professor.” You smirk and she mumbles in her native;’ you’re that she can’t believe you, and you are such a brat. ‘

“So will Natasha be coming by soon?” You say, and she turns bright red and looks at you.

“No, actually, I’m not sure you are ever meeting her.”

“Is she straight?” You say not getting that you are making Wanda more jealous.

“Why does this matter?” Her accent comes out and that’s when you realize she’s anxious.

“Oh, baby, I’m not into your friend. I’m very taken as I just was told. I’m just curious who your friends are.” You say, and you look down at the time on the machine. But when you look back at her, she’s thinking again.

“Well, there’s Natasha, Clint, who I’m not super close with. But he hangs around Natasha, so I put up with him. He’s gonna love you.”

“Wh,y because of my breasts?” You tease and you swear you see smoke come out of her ears.

“Hey! I’m not gonna tell you any more about my friends. I’m going to fuck you in that bathroom instead.” She points to the grungy bathroom.

“Not a bad time for me. But I’ll behave. Why would Clint like me? Would Natasha not like me?”

“No, she’d like you too. She already does. She’s always telling me what I should do with us.”

“Good stuff?” You say feeling weird.

“I’m not used to dating in the U.S I don’t know the customs of what’s too much too soon.”

You reach over and grab her hand.

“You don’t need advice. You can just talk to me. I’ll tell you.” You say, and Wanda rubs her thumb over your knuckles. She gulps and agrees.

“I know, but you scare easily sometimes, and I don’t want to ruin this or scare you away.” She says it, and it’s so vulnerable and rea,l and you know, just the feeling.

“Wanda Maximoff, you sweet charmer. You got me pretty wrapped up in you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She meets your eyes and grins now. Her mega-watt smile, the one she only gives you.

“So Clint.” You say, and she goes on.

“While he would love to see you naked, he’s never going to. Because your mine. He’s a jokester, and he will love laughing with you. Because he’s effortlessly funny.”

“So are you.” You say taking a sip. She furrows her brows.

“I am so not funny.” She says, and you disagree.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“My brother was funny. He would have adored you.” She says, and it’s only the third time she’s brought him up. You cup her cheek and she lays her hand on top of yours. You know she’s got a lot of trauma.

“You think so?”

“I know it.”

“Ok, so your brother, Natasha and Clit like me. Who else is in your life that you are hiding from your girlfriend?” You say, and she chuckles. Her face hurts from smiling this much. Like it has a lot recently because of you.

“Well, I used to hang out with this guy Stephen. He’s a doctor, well surgeon now, so he’s pretty busy, but we email a lot. Bruce is getting his PHD, so he’s slammed, but he texts me pretty regularly. He’s upset with his boyfriend a lot.”

“Wow, you have smart friends.” You say, and she arches an eyebrow,

“You won’t think that when you meet them. Beside,s I have a way smarter girlfriend.”

“Then a PHD student, a surgeon, and a S.h.i.e.l.d agent?”

“You are waaaay smarter.” She says, and you don’t believe her, but her face proves she believes it. Wanda doesn’t lie to you. Even when she wishes she could because it would be easier in some moment.

The dryer dings and you hop down. Wanda looks anxious for a moment, not wanting this date to end. You don’t see her worry and you speak.

“So I’m thinking we grab dinner and then you read my paper, professor.”

Wanda instantly feels relief that the night isn’t over. She hops down and takes your laundry out of the hamper you are putting it in, and starts folding.

“What are you doing, Maximoff?” You sa,y and she looks momentarily taken aback at you using her last name.

“Folding?”

“I think we have to be married for you to fold my underwear. You can’t just do that, like we haven’t been dating only three months.”

She looks confused at you. She wants to talk more about marriage, but changes her mind.

“Who do you think folds your laundry at my apartment?”

“Oh my god, you so do. You throw my clothes in with yours, too. Oh my god, you do my laundry.”

“Yeah, I’m also in a lesbian relationship, so I put your bra on the delicate cycle. Not just throwing it in with jeans like an ape.” She says, and your mouth opens. She looks proud as she folds one of your sweatshirts with more precision than you’ve ever folded. She doesn’t stop at your shocked expression, grabbing a pair of your sweats.

“That…is really hot.”

Wanda throws her head back and her curls bounce as she laughs at you.

“My love, you’ve never been taken care of, and it shows.” She say,s and it’s light coming from her, but you realize that it’s really true.

“Maybe, or maybe you just take care of me really well. Like better than anyone ever has.” You say and shut the door. You turn to load another load into the washer and move the wet clothes to the dryer. You pull out quarters and miss Wanda looking at you. Because she has more love for you than she thought she could have for anyone. After breaking her marriage with Vision and the loss of her family, her brother. She felt so lost and alone. But here you were, like a bolt of lightning into her dead heart. And now she felt like she was living, for maybe the first time ever.

“I’m thinking Thai. But I know you didn’t like the place on 3rd, even though you say you didn’t mind it. You barley ate your drunken noodles. And I know you were hungry cuz we went on that hike. So don’t even say “that place you like.’ Because I know my girlfriend way better than that.” You say, and it’s so easy, and you don’t even think about it.

Wanda looks at you still. She felt such warmth in her chest. You were now throwing around her new title with ease. Like she’d always owned it. And she realized she’d wanted your lips to say wife. And then she felt herself growing hot. So she coughed, and you looked at her.

“What? Did you find gum in my clothes? That’s happened here before, and it ruined an awesome sweater that had a Jane Austen quote. It wrecked me.” You say throwing a laundry pod in the wash and cranking it to start.

“You take really good care of me…too, just so you know,” Wanda says and she stops folding but looks down at your black jeans with new interest. You walk behind her and snake your arms around her waist.

“Wanda?”

“Hmm?”

“You think I take good care of you?”

“You make my to-go coffee in the morning better than I do now. You cook for me, and you make sure I take my meds at night. You always check in when you know I’m sad. Or reaching out when you know I’ve gone dark and gloomy, so I haven’t texted. You always lift my spirits and make me laugh…I…no one’s ever cared for me like you.” She says, and you kiss her neck. She leans back into you, and you repeat kisses over her shoulder and up her throat.

“I don’t want anyone else to.”

“To what?”

“To take care of you. I want to do it.” You say, and she turns and wraps her arms around your neck.

“No other college girls have applied, so you have job security.” She jokes, and you laugh sarcastically.

“I thought you didn’t date college girls.”

She pretends to think about it and you pinch her ass and she laughs.

“Only one college girl.”

“Aye, woman.”

“All women.” She says and leans in and kisses you sucking your bottom lip in. You moan, and she pulls bac,k putting her hand over your mouth.

“Those noises are for me, not the laundromat!” She hisses at you. You lightly bite her hand, and she pulls back.

“Oh, please, the only guy in here is drunk. It’s not like we are being live streamed on pornhub.”

“Ok, slow down, American girl. Livestream? Pornhub? Gangbang?”

“Sometimes the language barrier is really funny and other times it’s hilarious.”

Wanda glares at you but grabs your ass and squeezes. Making it clear she’s won… again.

“Lifestream is when you are giving a live, real-time feed onto the internet.”

She nods, and you continue. That was probably the most innocent explanation and you figured you’d build into the other ones.

“Pornhub is a website with pornography videos.”

Her eyes zero in on you.

“Do you watch porn on Pornhub.”

“I have.” You answer, not about to deny it.

“Do you still?”

You shrug as if it’s nothing.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to.” She answers plainly, but her eyes are squinting at you. Her nose scrunched, and you laughed.

“Are you being a prude? Because you made me squirt before. Hell you’ve tied me up and fucked my mouth with a dildo. Plus, the names you like in bed or call me in bed. I don’t think you have a leg to stand on here.”

“No, I’m not a prude. And plenty of women like being called Mommy in bed. I have no shame for what we do. I just don’t want my girlfriend masturbating to someone else.” She said the last part at a high decibel in her voice, and you realize you’ve hit a new nerve for her.

“So you are a prude.” You say, and she glares deeper now.

“I don’t think this is a hard ask. I don’t masturbate to porn.”

“Do you masturbate?” You ask genuinely curious now.

“Besides, when I’m on the phone with you, no.” She admits looking over at the man, clearly passed out in the corner. Before looking back at you.

“Before me?”

“You know I own a vibrator and some dildos,” Wanda says as if this line of questioning makes no sense.

“I know I just am curious what you cum to.”

“I used to use my imagination. Now I am having so much sex, I don’t have time or the desire to masturbate. Not when it’s so much better when I’m straddling your face. Why would I want to use my vibrator alone?” Wanda says, unsure of why this doesn’t make sense to you. Her arms stay around your neck.

“Hmm..”

“What?” She says a little too sharply.

“I think we should go to a kink event.”

“What?” She looks shocked at your answer.

“You might like it. Plus it’s always interesting.”

“Will you be clothed?”

“Yes, baby, I won’t let anyone else touch me. But you are a bit of a dominatrix, I think you’d like to see it. And if you don’t like porn then it’s an intresting way to watch.”

“I’m not much of a voyeur.” She says having learned the word from you.

“You like watching me. But that’s not the point. If you don’t wanna go, we don’t have to. No pressure whatsoever. But I do think it would be interesting. On the conversation of porn, I won’t watch it if it makes you uncomfortable. I haven’t really masturbated much since we started dating. Maybe twice in the shower on my own, but it was all to thoughts of you.”

This seems to make Wanda feel better.

“Do you mind that I’m…”

“Possessive? Jealous?” You insert the thoughts.

“Dominant?” Wanda says even though all of those thoughts crossed her mind as well.

“I like it all. I like that you put your hand on my ass when someone is staring at me at Starbucks. I like that you make me beg and call you Mommy in bed. I like that you ask me what I’m reading because you like picking out books for me.” You say and Wanda’s hands travel to your ass again.

She likes to touch you. She, for the first time, is allowed to do PDA. Vision didn’t even like holding hands, so it’s a big shift. Wanda craves being able to touch you. So she wouldn’t be able to stop in public if she tried. The hand on your lower back through a crowd gives her a shot of a power high. She knows you are gorgeous, and you chose her. So she doesn’t keep her hands to herself ever.

“You said you liked my book recommendations.”

“I do. I even lie and say I haven’t read it just so I can re-read it and talk to you about it.”

“You lie!” She yells now.

“Only about books. Only because I like it when we talk about them.” You admit, and she softens her gaze on you.

“You are getting punished for that later.”

“I’m game. After we get pad Thai, cuz your baby needs food.” You break the contact and throw one of your Lacey thongs like a slingshot, and it hits her face.

“Nice shot, kid.” The drunk man in the corner says, and you smirk at Wanda’s shock. His eyes were closed.

“Thanks, Ernie.” You say, and Wanda looks at you in horror.

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palmtreesx3 · 14 days ago

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Burning Through the Pages

Summary: Steve Harrington never planned to be a college professor, but somehow, a decade after Hawkins, he’s got tenure, too many girls in the front row, and a well-worn reputation as the guy everyone secretly signs up for. He’s charming, infuriating, and cruising comfortably through faculty meetings—until you show up. The newest hire in the Education Department. Sharp-tongued, no-nonsense, and utterly unimpressed by his smirk It’s enemies to lovers. It’s “fuck you” with feeling. It’s hot copy rooms, faculty fanfic, and a battle of wills that leaves them both undone.

Warnings: Eventual explicit smut (f/m), delayed gratification, academic banter-as-foreplay, enemies-to-lovers slow burn, emotionally repressed idiots, hallway tension, power dynamics (equal, but charged), inappropriate office behavior, emotionally competent aftercare.

Read the Epilogue Here || Read the Bonus Content Here

Steve Harrington rounds the corner of McKinley Hall, leather satchel slung over one shoulder, sunglasses low on his nose. His button-down is rolled at the sleeves, collar popped just enough to look like he didn’t try too hard.

He did. He always does.

Late morning light filters through the leaves, the kind of golden glow that makes the whole campus look like a catalog. A breeze kicks up, ruffling his hair just right—effortless, even though he’d spent seven minutes with a pomade wand this morning trying to tame the one curl that always flips too high.

Girls—and guys—part like the Red Sea when he walks through the quad. Whispers trail him like perfume.

“He’s even hotter this semester.” “Do you think he has a TA? I would literally die to grade for him.” “He wore glasses last week. Glasses. Like, please, sir, ruin me and my GPA.”

He hears every word. Doesn't acknowledge a single one.

Steve smirks but keeps walking. He doesn’t look back. He never looks back. He doesn’t need to.

What started as a happy accident—subbing in for a tenured psych professor on sabbatical—turned into tenure-track real quick once the department clocked his “natural rapport with students.” Which is code, apparently, for hot and somehow competent.

He loves it. Not the attention, per se. (Okay, yes the attention.) But the rhythm of it. The power of it. The control.

He hits the steps of the faculty building, adjusting his collar, when it happens.

You.

You walk by, nose buried in a manila folder thick with class rosters, syllabi, and a color-coded planner peeking out from between pages. Coffee in hand, the kind of cup that’s been through war—stickers, Sharpie scribbles, a small scratch near the lid like it survived a desk drop. Your cardigan sleeves are shoved to your elbows, revealing ink-stained fingers and a glimpse of a tattoo along your forarm—one of those dainty ones, maybe a phrase or constellation, hard to tell from this angle.

You're muttering to yourself like you're the only one on the planet. Something about “course shells not loading” and “students emailing at 2 a.m.” Your brow is furrowed in a way that says no time for bullshit and your shoes? Comfy. Practical. Still somehow hot.

You don’t even look at him.

Steve stops mid-step.

Your lanyard swings on your neck. A new one. Still stiff and shiny. “Faculty.”

New hire, he thinks. Probably from the Education Department. Probably earnest. Probably tired.

But then you unlock a door.

And the office it reveals?

The office is a whole goddamn vibe.

The inside glows warm like a hidden reading nook in a secret corner of a vintage bookstore. There are tiny string lights looped around a cork board. A woven throw blanket draped over the arm of a loveseat. A bookshelf with color-coded spines and one leaning stack of children's books, The Velveteen Rabbit, The Napping House, and something with a cracked spine that looks like it’s been read fifty times. There’s a lava lamp. A basket of granola bars with a handwritten note:

“Take one if your brain feels like mashed potatoes.”

A candle flickers on a high shelf. (Technically against fire code. Bold.) And music —faint music—spills into the hallway as you shut the door behind you.

Steve blinks.

Great. Someone with taste, and clearly not here to fuck around.

He lingers a second too long outside your door. The air smells like bergamot and cedar. And maybe a little vanilla. He rubs the back of his neck. Mutters something about caffeine. Heads to the lounge.

And just like that, the campus heartthrob feels—off-center.

---

The folder in your arms is a chaotic stack of color-coded syllabi, annotated department memos, a crumpled sticky note that just says “DO NOT trust Chad in IT,” and a worn planner threatening to burst at the binding. The corner keeps jabbing you in the ribcage as you try to sip your lukewarm coffee without sloshing it on your sweater.

You're muttering to yourself. Not softly.

“If one more Canvas shell ‘accidentally’ deletes itself I’m going to throw my laptop into the koi pond.”

“Why are students already asking about extra credit? The semester started yesterday.”

You pass clusters of students lounging in the sun, glowing with unearned optimism and oat milk lattes. A few wave at you—the “cool new prof” buzz is starting to catch on, but mostly, you’re flying under the radar.

You're almost at your office when the air shifts.

It’s subtle. A flicker. Like walking through a sudden sunbeam. You don’t see him at first, just feel the collective ripple across the quad. The tilt of heads. The hush of whispers. That specific brand of breathless energy reserved for only two things on campus: free pizza and someone hot enough to melt a MacBook.

You glance up, and there he is. Professor Steve Harrington. Tenure-track. Psychology.

Known around campus as “Professor Panty Dropper,” though you would never say that out loud.

He’s walking across the quad like a Calvin Klein ad and a back-to-school sale had a baby. Aviators, rolled sleeves, that stupid little smirk that says he’s fully aware of every pair of eyes tracking him like a migrating sun god.

And not just students. The woman from HR tripped over her stapler when he leaned across the printer last week.

He’s the kind of handsome that should come with a warning label. Probably smug. Probably has a signature cologne. Probably thinks the faculty lounge is his runway.

You… do not have time for that.

Your office is around the corner and the door sticks unless you hip-check it just right. You bump it open, nudging in backward with your shoulder, coffee still miraculously upright. A breeze chases in behind you, lifting the edge of your curtain.

Inside, it smells like cedar, lemon balm, and ambition.

Fairy lights blink to life as the door swings shut behind you. You toss the folder onto your couch, tap your Bluetooth speaker, something alt rock humming low, and breathe in your space.

It’s small, but alive. There’s personality here. A lava lamp burbles on the corner shelf. Your bookshelf is stacked with children’s lit and theory texts, paperbacks and worn journals. One shelf is dedicated entirely to tiny thrift store figurines of frogs and foxes. You tell people it’s a mindfulness collection. Really, they just make you happy.

You light your “cozy stormy evening” candle (yes, it has a crackling wick, yes, it’s against code, no, you don’t care).

And then for a split second you feel it. A presence outside your door. Lingering. You don’t have to look.

It’s him.

Because of course the campus Adonis can’t resist curiosity. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. You let the door click shut. Let him wonder. Let the song with the wicked guitar riff keep playing. You kick off your shoes, settle into your chair, and smirk to yourself. “Heartthrob Harrington, huh? Cute.”

But you? You’ve got lessons to write, freshmen to wrangle, and a strict no-fraternization policy—with your dignity.…Probably.

Later that week, you find yourself in the faculty lounge mid-morning, between classes. It smells like burnt coffee and academic disillusionment. Beige walls. Beige chairs. Beige energy. A sad vending machine hums in the corner like it’s dying slowly.

Steve pushes open the door to the lounge, a half-empty mug in one hand and the confident slouch of a man who never brings his own lunch. He’s already mid-text with his TA (who's begging to switch to online office hours again—coward), when he hears a laugh.

Not a polite laugh. Not a forced, colleague laugh.

A real one. Low, warm. Kind of musical.

You're standing at the coffee counter, staring down the sad excuse for a Keurig like it's personally offended you. Your sleeves are rolled, again. That same pen is tucked behind your ear. There's a new pin on your cardigan that says “Born to teach, forced to grade”

He smirks. Leans against the counter next to you. “You know the coffee’s been dead since 2012, right?”

You don’t flinch. Don’t giggle. Don’t even glance at him right away. Instead, you casually add a comical amount of powdered creamer to the cup. “Cool. I’ll embalm it, then drink it out of spite.”

He blinks.

You finally look up and your eyes don’t do that thing. That thing where they go wide and starstruck and thirsty. You clock him like he’s just… there. Present. Human. In your peripheral.

“You’re the psych guy, right? Harrington?”

He straightens a little. Not because he's flustered. (Okay. A little flustered.)

“Steve. Yeah.”

“Right.” You stir your disaster coffee. “I’m…New this semester. Education.”

You extend your hand and introduce yourself. Firm shake. Cool fingers.

“Nice to meet you, Steve.”

Not Professor Harrington. Not Oh my god, I’ve heard so much about you! Just Steve. Like he’s some adjunct in khakis and a lanyard, not the main character in every psych major’s late-night fantasy.

He watches as you lean on the counter, sipping your tragic little drink like it’s the elixir of life.

“So,” you add, eyeing him over the rim. “You always get followed by an entourage of undergrads, or is that a syllabus week thing?”

And god help him, he laughs. Actually laughs. Caught. Red-handed. Ego dented.

“It’s… a thing,” he admits. “I try not to encourage it.”

“Mm.” You raise a brow. “Try harder.”

---

You don’t mean to enjoy the way his jaw ticks when you say that.

Okay, you do.

You knew who he was, obviously. The moment you walked onto campus, students were whispering about him like he was a myth. Like he wasn’t just a thirty-something in tailored pants that were just snug enough you hesitated to question their appropriateness. With movie star hair and the smuggest dimples you’ve ever seen.

But now, standing next to him in this godforsaken excuse for a lounge, you realize something: he doesn’t know what to do with you. You’re not impressed. You’re not intimidated. And worst of all? You see right through him.

So you smile - slow, lazy, like you’ve got nowhere to be and all the time in the world to keep him guessing.

“Well,” you say, rinsing out your cup, “enjoy the groupies, Harrington. Try not to break too many hearts this semester.”

You turn to leave. Toss a wink over your shoulder. “And don’t steal my granola bars. I count them.”

He watches you go like he’s not entirely sure what just happened. You don’t even look back. You never look back. You don’t need to.

He stands there in silence for a few seconds, a little dumbfounded. Shit.

This particular Wednesday afternoon, the Campus Center conference room is packed to the gills with first-years. You’ve been “voluntold” to join a faculty mentorship panel and of course Steve’s on the panel too. He agreed because he thought it would be low stakes and high praise.

And as he will quickly find out, it is neither.

Steve drops into the conference room chair with the casual flair of a man who fully expected to be the most interesting person here. His name card is perfectly angled. His shirt fits just right. He consciously buttoned up his shirt one more than usual, for the freshman’s sake. He plants one ankle over his knee. Casual but composed. His smile’s already dialed in at 65% charm, 25% intellect, 10% effortless heat.

He’s ready.

He’s got a few solid anecdotes locked and loaded about student success, mindfulness, and how office hours are important but boundaries are sexy—he means, necessary. A story about a kid who discovered cognitive psychology through a breakup. A bonus quip about coffee dependency, if it feels right.

This is his arena.

Then you walk in.

Late—but not flustered. Smirking like you already know you’re going to own the room. You’ve got a legal pad under one arm and a novelty cup that reads “This Might Be Wine” in sparkly font. Your hair’s up, barely, in one of those messy knots that looks like it took three seconds and still somehow makes you look put together. Your cardigan sways when you move, and you’re wearing those little earrings again—pencils today. Last time? Moons.

You greet the moderator by name. Thank the admin. You nod at Steve like he’s a familiar bench on a walking trail—recognizable, comfortable, unremarkable.

And then—you sit next to him. Of course you do.

Your knee bumps his under the table. You don’t pull back. He doesn’t breathe.

“Just so I’m clear,” you murmur, eyes on the moderator, voice honey-smooth, “this is the part where we all pretend we have our shit together, right?”

He glances at you. You don’t look back.

“Speak for yourself,” he says, smile sharp.

“Oh, I am.” You sip your coffee. Cross your legs. Settle in like you own the goddamn floor.

The panel starts. It’s a blur of pleasantries and awkward icebreakers. Steve’s distracted. Normally, he loves this shit—being asked for advice, watching students lean in when he drops something inspirational, tossing in the occasional wink that leaves half the back row short-circuiting.

But today? Today, he’s watching you.

You field the first question like it’s a beach ball lobbed underhand. You're warm, relatable, but disarming in your honesty. You admit that sometimes you forget to eat lunch. That grading makes you question your life choices. That you once cried in your car over a printer jam—but you still believe teaching is the most powerful thing a person can do.

The crowd? In the palm of your hand. You speak like you're letting them in on a secret. And Steve’s left gripping his chair, trying not to visibly squirm.

Then it’s his turn.

He speaks—well, objectively. He’s charming. Polished. Drops the right buzzwords. Tells the story about the heartbroken psych major.

But something’s off. You’re too calm. Too quiet. Too still. Nodding with just enough delay to make it unclear if you’re agreeing or letting him spiral.

He speeds up. Talks more. Tries harder. And then—you do it.

A student asks a follow-up question—his question—and you jump in. Not rudely. Not competitively. Just with this smooth, practiced, lived-in ease.

“Actually, that reminds me of something that happened last semester—”

You tell a story. Quick. Funny. Undercut with a punch of emotion and just enough vulnerability to make it land. The students laugh. One of them claps.

You turn to Steve, touch his arm like punctuation. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hijack. I just get excited.”

You don’t even look sorry.

And Steve? He is losing. His. Fucking. Mind.

---

You feel him unraveling like a cassette tape in a too-hot car and it’s delicious.

You don’t say that out loud, of course. But you can feel it. That tightness behind his easy grin. The tiny pause before he responds when you raise your eyebrow. The way he’s blinking a little too fast and shifting in his seat like his shirt suddenly doesn’t fit right.

You didn’t do anything cruel. You were just you. Which, lately, is enough.

It’s not that you try to get under his skin. You’re just existing. Thriving, really. Which seems to offend the natural order of Steve Harrington’s universe.

You caught his whole vibe the second you sat down. Tthe twitch in his jaw, the way he adjusted his sleeve twice, then again. The overly casual slouch that’s now bordering on orthopedic discomfort. He smelled like cedar and expensive laundry detergent when you passed him. He smelled…nervous when you sat down.

You knew his type. You were warned about him, in the way that other professors warn you about the broken heater on the third floor or the feral raccoon that haunts the dumpsters.

“Oh, and avoid falling in love with Harrington. Everyone does eventually.”

You didn’t listen. You just didn’t care. Because what’s the fun in handing someone power they clearly expect?

So you sipped your coffee, played your part, and smiled at the students. Told them about your ugly crying in the supply closet. About how real leadership sometimes means admitting you don’t know the answer but you’ll figure it out together.

And when you touched Steve’s arm? That was for you.

Now, as the panel wraps and students swarm the edge of the room with thank-yous and questions, you catch a few lingering near him. But more than a few come to you. One asks about your playlist. Another wants to know where your cardigan’s from.

Steve’s watching. You can feel it. Burning at the edges of your awareness like a sun flare. You turn to him only once the room starts to clear.

“You okay there, Professor Harrington? You look like you just got hit by a bin full of ungraded midterms.”

His stare is sharp. Heated. His voice low, quiet, nearly clenched between teeth.

“You know you’re kind of infuriating, right?”

You smile. God, you love being right.

“Good. I’d hate to be forgettable.”

You wink - again, always just teetering on the edge of too much and walk away.

Not looking back. You don’t need to.

He’s still sitting there, in the wake of your personality, eyebrows scrunched and rubbing his temples. Jesus Christ, I’m gonna marry her or punch a wall.

It’s late, and you're tucked in the reprieve of The Resource Library for the night. It’s a quiet, dimly lit little faculty-only zone with overstuffed chairs, creaky floorboards, and the kind of hushed atmosphere that makes every pen click sound like a gunshot. You’re settled in and you smirk at the muffled commotion you hear through the heavy paned windows, students shouting at each other as they make their way to the bar for the night. Thirsty Thursday and all.

Steve enters the resource library with a stack of essays under one arm and a jawline so tight it could cut glass. He wasn’t looking for you.

Okay. He was.

He knew you sometimes graded here in the evenings. He’d seen the light under the door once—warm and flickering, like you’d lit a fireplace with your bare hands—and now it’s burned into his memory like a fever dream. He tells himself he needs the quiet. The focus. The printer…whatever.

But when he opens the door and sees you? Legs curled under you. Sweater slipping off one shoulder. A pen tucked behind your ear and something straight out of Warped Tour 2006 humming low from your phone speaker. You’re highlighting something in a copy of Pedagogy of the Oppressed and nodding along like you’re absorbing it.

And there’s only one goddamn chair left.

Of course.

You glance up. “Wow. You made it out of your leather throne and into the wild.”

He bites back a groan. “Didn’t realize this was your private lounge.”

“Oh it’s not.” You smile sweetly. “I just don’t usually have company that radiates… fragile masculinity and bergamot.” You say it without venom. Too casually. That’s the worst part.

He lowers himself into the chair across from you. The arm creaks. His knee bumps the table.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone who owns a frog figurine shrine.”

“That’s sacred, actually.”

“You should label it. For when they put your office in a museum. ‘Local chaos witch with excellent taste in cardigans.’”

You don’t blink. You just keep reading.

And Steve? Steve is falling apart.

---

He’s spiraling. Again.

You instantly clock the way he fidgets. How he shifts his weight, rakes a hand through his hair like it betrayed him, clicks his pen three times before remembering to unclick it.

He’s trying so hard to seem casual. But there’s nothing casual about the way he keeps glancing up. Like he’s waiting for you to break. To crack. To swoon, or stammer, or finally lean forward and whisper something breathless like, “I get it now. You’re irresistible.”

You don’t. You won’t.

Instead, you underline a passage and speak without looking up “You know, most people who live off student adoration eventually plateau. It’s science. Diminishing returns.”

“You think that’s what this is? A cry for help?”

“I think you don’t know what to do when someone sees you coming a mile away.”

That gets him.

He exhales sharply. Leans back in his chair like it’s trying to restrain him. The air shifts. The banter slows. There's a second where neither of you says anything. And it hums. Like the bass line of a song that’s about to drop.

You finally look up. Your eyes meet.

It’s electric.

“What is it you want from me, Steve?” You say it plainly. No challenge. No flirt. Just the question, dropped between you like a lit match.

He stares. And for a second, he almost answers. But then? He smirks. Shrugs. And lies. “Just borrowing the printer.”

Coward.

The semester is full swing and it’s Friday evening - the semi-annual faculty mixer. An annual event held in the campus art gallery, it's surprisingly refined. Jazz trio in the corner, string lights overhead, mini crab cakes and charcuterie on trays. Plus…the wine is free.

You arrive fashionably late, because of course you do.

You trade your usual cardigan for a slouchy black blazer and a silk camisole, hair down for once, lips just barely tinted berry. Not to impress. Just to remind the world that yes, you can. You float through the gallery like a whispered rumor. Something light and unbothered. The kind of presence that makes people check their posture.

The Education Dean beams at you. A biology professor asks what scent you’re wearing. You flirt with the appetizer table and offer a slow, purring “thank you” when a visiting adjunct says he loved your article on emergent curriculum.

And then you feel it. Like heat behind glass. Like a summer storm rolling in on silent feet.

Steve Harrington is watching you.

Across the room. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he hasn’t touched. Black button-down rolled at the elbows. Hair tousled like he tried to look like he didn’t try. The exact kind of effort you now recognize as desperate control.

He doesn’t move. So you do. You loop your arm through the adjunct’s, just casually. Just friendly. Laugh a little louder than usual at something not that funny. You don’t even look at Steve. You don’t have to.

He’s vibrating. You can feel it from twenty feet away. So when he finally approaches, posture tight, eyes slightly narrowed. You’re ready.

“Fancy seeing you out of your natural habitat,” you purr, swirling your drink.

“You mean my throne of desperation and first-year psych majors?”

“I mean your office with the tiny couch and the ego to match.”

You sip. He fakes a laugh.

“Making friends tonight?” he asks, nodding toward the adjunct, who’s since been absorbed by a conversation about fungi and academic burnout.

“Something like that.” You arch a brow. “Why? Jealous?”

“Of an adjunct named Greg who quoted Nietzsche with spinach in his teeth? Sure. Terrified.”

“Mm. Thought so.”

You let the silence stretch. Let the tension thrum. And then you lean in, voice velvet-smooth, just loud enough for him to hear “You always this easy to rile up, Harrington?”

He exhales through his nose. His jaw flexes. You can see the war happening in real time—charm battling pride, attraction strangled by ego.

“Only when someone’s doing it on purpose.”

Your smile is sweet. A weapon.

“Good. I’d hate to think all this unraveling was accidental.”

---

He is not okay.

He’s on his third glass of pinot and his fourth imagined fantasy of pulling you into the supply closet just to wipe that look off your face. Not even a sexy look.

Worse. It’s amused. It’s the look you give someone trying too hard. A toddler with jam on their face insisting they didn’t touch the jar.

He watches you flit through the mixer like it’s your stage. Like the night exists to orbit you. And goddammit it does.

Your laugh? Fucking illegal. Your hair down? Criminal. The way your blazer slides off your shoulder like it doesn’t even know it’s misbehaving? A personal attack.

He should walk away. Should retreat. Should win. Instead, he follows. Because he’s already lost. And when you look at him like you’ve already got him pegged?

You do.

“You always this easy to rile up, Harrington?”

“Only when someone’s doing it on purpose.”

“Good. I’d hate to think all this unraveling was accidental.”

He swallows hard. Wants to say something clever. Something cutting. But the truth hits him like a wine glass shattering in slow motion.

He likes this.

He likes the taunting. The chase. He likes you treating him like a puzzle instead of a prize. And that? That scares the shit out of him.

Last time you checked your watch it said 9:42 PM. The office wing is mostly dark. The desks are littered with energy drink cans and half-eaten granola bars. You don’t notice he’s there until you hear the door click shut.

You’re on the floor of your office, barefoot, cardigan tossed over your chair. There’s a half-empty box of tissues, three cold coffees, and a student portfolio spread out like battlefield debris.

You haven’t cried. Not technically. But your eyes are hot. Your neck aches. You’ve rewritten the same feedback note four times and every version feels wrong.

“Didn’t peg you for the collapse-in-the-dark type.” His voice is soft. Too soft.

You look up. Steve’s standing in your doorway, sleeves pushed to his elbows, backpack slung casually off one shoulder. There’s a half-smile on his face—but not his usual weaponized one. This one’s tired. Curious. Worried.

You roll your neck, trying to summon a quip. Nothing comes. “Didn’t peg you for the stalker-who-lingers-after-hours type,” you finally mutter.

“You’re lucky I’m hot, then,” he says. But it’s reflexive. Hollow.

He steps in, closes the door behind him. That makes it feel too real.

“What happened?” he asks, eyes sweeping the mess of your desk. Your floor. Your face.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because if you start—you might not stop.

You reach for a student essay. Hold it up. “She plagiarized her final. Her whole paper. And she’s the one who calls me ‘her safe person.’ She brings me tea. Leves notes. I was gonna write her a rec letter.”

He says nothing. You swallow. “And I don’t even care that she cheated. I just—”

Your voice catches. “I feel like I’m constantly giving everything I have to everyone else, and there’s just nothing left for me. And I keep doing it anyway, like some idiot academic martyr with a Pinterest office.”

You laugh, but it’s sharp.

Ugly.

Real.

And you hate how quiet he is.

You expect pity. Or worse—comfort. The kind that makes you feel small.

But instead—

---

He’s never seen you like this.

Not controlled. Not cocky. Not laced with irony or caffeine or your signature brand of bite me but make it witty.

You look tired. Really tired. And so fucking human. Something twists in his gut. He thought he wanted to crack your armor just to see what was underneath. Turns out? What’s underneath makes his chest hurt.

“Can I say something?” he asks.

You glance at him. You’re curled on the floor like a study break ghost, face streaked with the beginnings of not-quite-tears, fingers gripping the corner of a highlighted rubric like it wronged you personally.

“You scare the shit out of me.”

That makes your eyes flick up. That gets your attention.

“You walk into rooms like you’re already ten steps ahead of everyone. You don’t fawn. You don’t perform. You don’t need anyone to tell you you’re good—you just are.”

He kneels across from you now. Elbows on his knees. Voice low. “And I’ve spent so long being the one with the spotlight, I didn’t know what to do when you didn’t hand it to me. And now…”

He stops. Swallows.“Now I think you’re the only person I actually want to see me.”

You blink. The silence swells. Too full. Too vulnerable. So you do the only thing you can do. You break it.

“God,” you groan, dropping your head against your file cabinet. “That was disgustingly sincere.”

He barks a laugh. Real. Loud. Relieved. “Shut up. I’m evolving.”

“Into a thoughtful adult man? I liked you better when you were mad about your TA ignoring you.”

“I am still mad about that,” he mutters. “But also now I’m mad that I want to fix everything for you and I can’t.”

You look at him.

Really look.

He’s sitting cross-legged on your office rug, hair messy, face open. For once, he’s not playing a role. Not flirting. Not managing a brand.

He’s just here.

And that? That’s new

You haven’t spoken since Thursday night.

Not really. Just a clipped nod in the hall. A shared smirk during a joke about burnout. But you haven’t met his eyes. Not like that. And it’s driving Steve insane. At this point, it’s Monday afternoon and you’ve all just come from your respective division meetings. He’s trailing you down the hall. You’re not exactly avoiding him. But you’re not making it easy, either.

He keeps replaying it—the way your voice cracked, the way your hands trembled when you held that essay, the way you let him see you for one slivered second before you buried it all back under your wit and your warpaint.

Now he’s trailing behind you like a lovesick intern, watching the sway of your blazer and the curl of your fingers around your folder.

You stop by the mailroom. He catches up, heart hammering for no good reason. “You good?”

You don’t turn. “Fine.”

He clears his throat. Steps closer. Lowers his voice.“I meant… from the other night.”

You pause. Turn just enough to look at him over your shoulder. The look you give him could sharpen knives. “Oh, that?” you say lightly. “That was just a midterm meltdown. Happens to the best of us.”

You wink. And just like that—you’re back.

Unshakable. Unmoved. Fucking infuriating.

He should back off. Should let it drop. But instead he presses. “You ever let anyone help you?”

You cock your head. “Sure. All the time. They just never make it past the interview.”

He chokes on a laugh. Jesus.

You brush past him toward the copier. You don’t invite him to follow.

He does anyway.

---

You know he’s following you. You could feel it like a spark pressed against your spine. You shouldn’t bait him. You shouldn’t. But something about his presence sets your nerves buzzing in the most dangerous way.

You lean over the copier. Hit the wrong button twice on purpose. His shadow falls across your side.

“You’re hovering,” you murmur.

“I’m helping.”

“Are you?”

You turn to face him—too close now, your hip grazing the edge of the copier, his arm practically brushing yours. The air feels thick. Still. Like you’re both underwater and waiting to see who breaks the surface first.

He watches your mouth. He’s not subtle about it.

“You keep looking at me like you want something, Harrington.”

His breath catches. “And I keep waiting for you to admit it.” His eyes flicker. His soft mouth parting, chest rising, that one heartbeat away from something unforgivable.

You could kiss him.

You could ruin both of you. But instead, you lean in. Real close. Lips almost to his ear. “Go home, Steve.”

A pause. “Take care of it yourself.”

Then you walk away. Again you don’t look back. Again you don’t need to.

He stares at the ceiling. Shirt half-off. Sweat clinging to the hollow of his throat. Mouth parted like he’s still trying to catch up to what the hell just happened.

You’re all he can think about.

Your voice. Your mouth. The way you said his name like it was a weapon and a warning and a promise you had no intention of keeping tonight.

His cock is hard—throbbing in his pants—pressing against the band of his sweats like it’s angry with him for walking away.

He palms himself through the fabric, groaning quietly into the dark.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But you told him to.

“Go home and take care of it, Harrington.”

And he’s never been so obedient in his goddamn life.

He pushes his sweats down, his fist already wrapping around himself like muscle memory, slicking over the head, dragging his hand down the length with a hiss that sounds like your name.

He strokes slowly at first. Controlled. Like he’s punishing himself for not staying. Like he deserves this ache. He squeezes harder.

Thinks about the way you might taste if he kissed you. Like coffee and fire and something he still hasn’t earned.

He’s imagining that you kissed him. Hard. Unapologetic. A kiss with your hands in his hair, maybe even tangled up with your thighs brushing his hips. He thinks you might grind against him. Fuck, that grind. It would be burned into his skin like a tattoo.

He jerks harder now, eyes shut tight, your voice echoing in his head.

His hips lift into his fist, thighs tensing, body coiled with tension that no fantasy can quite shake.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes. “You’ve got me so—fuck—”

His stomach tightens. He can feel it—close, fast, coming apart like a thread being pulled from the inside. “Say it again.”

“Keep going.” He commands no one at all. Your voice is everywhere. And when he comes, it’s with a sharp, breathless grunt, his whole body curling in on itself, hand clenching, back arching like the release physically hurts.

Hot, messy streaks paint across his stomach, onto his shirt. He barely notices. He just lies there, one arm flung over his eyes, breathing heavy. His cock twitching against his stomach, still half-hard, because one orgasm is not enough to get you out of his system.

It never is.

It never will be.

---

On the edge of campus, you finally shove through your front door and it clicks shut. The silence hits like a slap.

You lean back against the door, jaw clenched, fists tight at your sides.

You should feel smug. You left him clearly wanting. But you’re the one with soaked underwear and trembling thighs.

So…who really won?

You stalk to your bedroom, muttering curses under your breath. Strip your shirt. Toss it. Peel off your jeans with furious efficiency. You don’t even make it under the covers, instead you just drop back onto your bed, legs spread, chest heaving.

You drag your pan“Fucking Harrington,” you mutter. “Asshole.”

You circle your clit hard. No pretense. No warmup. It’s pure damage control—get off, get over it, and get some fucking sleep.

But your breath still stutters because you imagine the sound he might make if you bit his jaw. You imagine the way his hips would roll against you like he was already fucking you through two layers of clothing.

You rub faster.

Deeper.

Your other hand fists in the sheets. You picture him sprawled out on his bed right now—shirt half-off, pants shoved down, hand working over his cock because you told him to.

The thought makes your stomach flip.

You imagine him groaning into the dark, jerking off to the thought of your mouth, your body, your voice in his ear telling him to be a good boy and go take care of it himself.

“Yeah,” you whisper bitterly. “Me too.”

You push two fingers inside and grind your palm against your clit. It’s messy. Fast. Almost angry.

Your back arches. Your toes curl.You clench around your hand and come with a ragged gasp that you immediately swallow—because fuck him if he ever gets to know how good you just made yourself feel thinking about him.

You lie there sweating. Unsatisfied. Still fucking pissed.

You wipe your hand on the sheet and roll onto your side.

“Go take care of it, Harrington,” you mutter into the pillow. “Not the only one who did.”

You did it again. You weren’t planning on staying late, but here you are.

Tonight your grading pile was taller than usual. Your neck ached. Your playlist looped twice. And you hadn’t eaten since breakfast. So when you wandered into the café and found the lights on, you didn’t ask questions. You just slipped into the corner booth and unbuttoned the top of your blouse. Not for anyone else. For you. To breathe.

You didn’t expect him to walk in five minutes later.

Steve freezes like he didn’t expect you either. He’s in a hoodie—rare—and joggers. Hair messy. Phone forgotten in his pocket. He looks like he’s just come from a run, or like he’s been pacing his apartment all night and finally gave up.

Your mouth parts. Something behind your ribs stirs. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over. Drops into the seat next to you like he’s out of lifelines. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says.

You nod. Don’t ask why.

“I keep thinking about that night. In your office.”

You glance down. Your hand tightens around your mug.

“You were real with me for, like, four minutes, and then you put the mask back on.”

You bristle—but not because he’s wrong.

“Yeah? And you’ve been real for how long, Harrington? You want a medal for not flirting for twenty minutes?”

He flinches and looks down. Suddenly you’re exhausted. Not just physically. Emotionally. You drop your voice. Let it crack. “I’m tired of holding everything together. Of pretending this job, this ego, this game doesn’t eat me alive some days.”

He looks up. Slowly. The cocky glint is gone. “Same.”

And it’s the way he says it - soft, almost broken - that makes your stomach twist.

He didn’t come here to cry.

He didn’t come here to beg.

But the moment he sees you with your hair messy, blouse loosened and exhaustion etched into the curve of your mouth, he knows he can’t keep up the act. Not tonight.

He sees the way your shoulders tense. Sees the way you don’t deflect.

Progress.

But when you shoot back—sharp, tired, true—he realizes something: You’re not untouchable. You’re just surviving. Like him. Only quieter.

He exhales. Laughs—but it’s dry. Cracked open. “You want to know something pathetic?”

You look at him. No smirk. Just waiting.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me. Not really. They like the version I give them. The smart, hot, chill guy with the tragic eyes. But that night when you looked at me like I was just… a guy…I didn’t know what to do with it.”

You don’t answer. You just slide your mug to the side and rest your hand on the table. Open. Neutral.

A peace offering.

He stares at it for a beat. Then reaches out. Not a grab. Not a grope. Just a simple, grounding touch. Fingers brushing yours.

---

You let him touch you.

Just barely. Just enough.

And when you speak, your voice is hoarse.

“You keep trying to be impressive. And I keep trying to be untouchable. We’re both full of shit.”

He huffs a laugh.“So what now?”

“Now,” you say, “we stop pretending.”

The air pulses. Slow. Charged. And then, just like that, you’re kissing him.

It’s not soft. Not sweet. Not polite. It’s months of tension, sarcasm, vulnerability, almosts crashing all at once. His hands thread into your hair. Yours tug his hoodie like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t anchor him to something real.

He kisses like a man who thought about this too often, too long, too alone.

And you? You kiss like a woman who stopped trying to win and started needing.

It goes on for honestly, far too long. After some time, you find yourself a little breathless, foreheads still pressed together when you finally speak.

“I still want to ruin you,” you whisper.

He grins. Chest heaving. Hair wrecked. “You already did.”

He knocks before entering now.

Which is wild. Because before? He used to just stroll in like your space belonged to him.

Now he pauses. Waits. Adjusts the coffee tray in his hand like it’s a peace offering. Or a gift to the gods.

You look up from your laptop, glitter gel pen in your mouth, brows furrowed. Barefoot again. That little woven throw blanket around your shoulders like you’re the spirit of overworked professors past.

You nod toward the chair without speaking. He takes the cue.

Sits. Quiet. No smirk. No lines. Just the coffee.

“Got you the weird oat milk thing,” he says.

You hum in acknowledgment. Sip it without looking.

He watches you read. Watches the way your eyes move. Watches the way your lips part when you’re processing something. He should say something.

Instead, he just breathes. And something in him—something unfamiliar—settles.

He’s comfortable. Which should scare him. It should send every red flag up, every muscle in his body screaming run, asshole, this is feelings—

But instead? He closes his eyes. Lets the silence stretch.

---

He’s not saying anything.

And that, somehow, says everything.

You expected him to push. To nudge the line again, cocky and smug and desperate to reclaim ground. But he’s not. He’s just… there. And it’s unnerving.

You’ve never had to figure out what to do with a man who doesn’t demand space. Who just occupies it. He’s being warm and magnetic and so obviously trying not to make it weird.

You glance over your laptop. He’s leaned back in the chair, legs sprawled, fingers drumming on his thigh. Eyes closed like he’s finally stopped performing. Like the show’s over and he’s just Steve now.

It makes your chest feel tight.

You clear your throat. “You know you haven’t hit on me in like... twenty-four hours.”

His eyes open. He looks at you. Llazy, soft. “That a complaint?”

You smile. Small. Crooked. “Just an observation.”

“I can pick it back up if it’s part of your wellness routine.”

“Nah. I think I like this version.”

His brows raise. “This version?”

“The one who sits quietly. Doesn’t flirt. Brings oat milk like some kind of reformed frat boy.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

You both smile. It's small. Safe. And under the safety, there’s tension. Not the usual brand. Not the "press me to the wall and bite my shoulder" kind. This one’s quieter. Heavier. Like a whisper brushing the back of your neck.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know I’ve never done this before, right?”

You tilt your head.“Done what?”

“This.” He gestures between you. “The… slow thing.”

“Oh. You mean restraint.”

“I mean not fucking someone the second I want them.” He says it so bluntly, so plainly, it lands like a gut punch.

You blink. The air goes still. “And how’s that working out for you?”

He stares at you. Serious. Unflinching. “It’s killing me.”

You sip your coffee. Unbothered. “Good.”

But behind your eyes? You’re soaked in want. In fear. In maybe. Because this version of him—the one who waits, who breathes in your space, who doesn’t take what isn’t freely given? He’s becoming real. And real is dangerous.

He doesn’t touch himself tonight.

He thinks about it. Of course he does. About your voice, your breath, the way you licked a little foam off your thumb without noticing.

But he doesn’t. Because this craving isn’t just physical anymore. It’s personal. And he doesn’t want to use it. He kind of wants to earn it.

You weren’t supposed to invite him in. You were supposed to take the food, say thank you, maybe touch his wrist with a lingering hand, and then shut the door like a well-behaved woman with excellent boundaries. But you’d been tired. The light was nice. And he looked so… uncomplicated with his hood up and a paper bag of Thai food clutched like a peace treaty.

So now he’s on your couch. Grading with his legs spread too wide, his hoodie half-zipped, hair a little messy. There’s a purple pen tucked behind his ear that isn’t his and chopsticks resting in his mouth like he forgot they were there. He keeps making tiny noises when a student says something smart and you hate how much you love it.

“This kid gets it,” he says, tapping the paper. “I might cry.”

“Don’t ruin my couch. It’s vintage.”

“You say that like I don’t respect antiques.”

“You say that like you’re not an antique dealer’s worst nightmare.”

He laughs. Leans his head back. Exposes his throat.

You don’t look. Except you do.

You sip your tea to distract yourself. Burn your tongue. Pretend you didn’t.

The silence grows. Stretching into something else. Something hungry.

And then your fingers brush his. Reaching for the same pen… The one behind his ear. The one that’s yours.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you. It’s such a small thing. Such a stupid, harmless little thing, but you can feel it. In the charge. In the shift. In the way the air tightens.

You look at him. He’s already looking at you.

---

He should pull away. He should. But your fingers are warm. And your gaze? Bare. Not amused. Not taunting. Just… open.

He hasn’t seen you like this since your office. And this time, you’re inches from his mouth.

He wants to touch you.

Not to fuck you. To feel you.

He wants to place his hand on the back of your neck and breathe you in. Wants to press his mouth to the place just below your ear and wait for you to say yes.

“Say it,” you whisper.

His brows knit.“Say what?”

“Whatever’s sitting behind your teeth like it’s trying to crawl out.”

He swallows.

Hard.

“You undo me,” he says. Voice gravel-soft.

“Good,” you whisper. “Maybe I’ll get to see what’s underneath.”

---

The line stretches. Taut.

You’re breathing too loud. The tea’s gone cold. And your hand? Still against his. You should move. You don’t. Instead, you say “If you kiss me now, it’ll matter.”

He flinches like you hit him. And maybe you did. “I know,” he says.

His eyes drop to your mouth. Flicker. Linger. Then—He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. Maybe less. But enough. And it hurts.

Not because he rejected you, but because he heard you.

Because he listened. Because he meant it.

You nod - slowly - and go back to grading. Like you didn’t just almost change everything.

The faculty parking lot is deserted at this hour. It’s late and everything is rain-soaked but tonight you just finished chaperoning a student showcase together. It was cute. It was fun. It felt like a date. And now you’re standing in the blue-black quiet of night, under the buzz of a dying streetlamp. There’s no one else left. Just you. And him.

He’s soaked.

Not dramatic-romance-movie soaked. Just enough for his hoodie to cling to his chest and for his curls to frizz at the edges. He should be annoyed. But he’s not. Not really. You’re laughing with arms wrapped around yourself, raindrops beading along your jaw, and he’d stand in a goddamn hurricane if it meant seeing that smile again.

“You let a freshman tell you his poem made him cry and then gave him your umbrella,” you say, nudging him as you both head to the far corner of the lot. “You’re such a sap.”

“I’m a mentor.”

“You’re a mess.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Your laughter fades, but the warmth doesn’t. It hangs there—between you. Like fog on glass.

And he can’t do this anymore. He stops walking.

You take two more steps before realizing he’s not beside you. You turn. Brows lifted. “Harrington?”

“I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something.” The words are out before he can filter them. Bare. Ugly. Real.

You blink. Caught. “Steve—”

“No. Let me—just—” He runs a hand through his wet hair.

“You’ve seen me. You’ve rattled me. And I’ve tried to play it cool. To match your pace. To act like I wasn’t spiraling every time you smiled at me like you knew. But I’m not built for this. I want more. I want you. And if that scares you—fine. If you’re not there—fine. But I had to say it. I had to give it to you.”

You’re silent. Too long. Too still, and his heart breaks before you even speak.

It’s not that you don’t want him.

God, you do.

But hearing it like this. So raw, unscripted and real knocks the wind out of you. You’ve made a career out of reading between the lines. Out of parsing subtext and maintaining distance. But now? Now he’s not leaving space for you to run.

He’s standing there in the rain, heart in his hands like an offering. And you freeze.

Because no one ever offered. You’ve always been the one earning affection. Not receiving it like a gift.

“Steve…” Your voice is barely a whisper.

He shifts. His shoulders tighten. You can feel him retreating already, pulling into himself, bracing for rejection like it’s muscle memory. You panic. “This does mean something.”

He stops. “But you’re not ready.”

You hate that he’s right. “I don’t know how to be with someone who doesn’t need me to be perfect.”

The silence between you is loud.

“Then let me be the one who doesn’t expect that,” he says softly. “Let me be the one who stays when you don’t have it all together.”

You blink, and there’s moisture in your eyes. From the rain. Maybe.

“I’m scared,” you admit.

He steps closer. Slow. Gentle. Rain trickling down his temple. Breath fogging the space between you.

“So am I.”

He reaches for your hand, and you let him. But just as your fingers brush—

“I can’t,” you whisper, stepping back. “Not yet.”

His hand hangs in the air for a beat, then drops. The look on his face? It destroys you.

He nods once. Just once. Then turns, and this time it’s him that walks away.

You almost don’t notice him.

In the midst of the bustling Campus café, mid-afternoon, you’re picking up a quick espresso between advising appointments and the line is long. The vibe is normal. Until you see him. You’re too busy scrolling through your calendar, juggling a dozen little fires, sipping the wrong drink the barista handed you because you're too tired to care.

And then—You hear it. That laugh. That laugh. The one he does when he’s flirting. Actual flirting, not the subtle, almost-affectionate banter he’s given you for weeks. It’s his signature sound: light, confident, just a little too self-aware.

You glance up.

He’s leaning across the counter, elbows braced, head tilted just so. And she—a new adjunct, you think—is giggling. A lot. Flushed. Her hands fluttery. She touches his arm and you watch him let her.

You freeze.

Something ugly blooms in your chest. Jealousy is too simple a word. This is primal. Petty. Petulant.

And what’s worse? It’s humiliating. Because you don’t get to be jealous. You were the one who pulled away. Who said not yet. Who told him this mattered. So why the fuck does it feel like he’s rubbing it in your face?

Your stomach turns.

You hate how you’re staring. Hate how your mouth goes dry when he smiles that slow, crooked, charming-as-shit smile and says something that makes her laugh so hard she leans in.

You swallow your bitterness like bile.

He hasn’t even looked your way.

---

He sees you. Of course he does.

You walked in two minutes ago. Same stride. Same coffee order. Same low hum of exhaustion wrapped around your shoulders like armor.

He feels you before he sees you. But you haven’t looked at him, so he keeps talking.

The adjunct is nice. Pretty, even. But empty. There’s no pull. No static. No fight. She laughs too easily. Blushes too quickly. There’s no sport in it. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe he’s tired of being the one who always feels like he’s waiting to be chosen.

So he leans into it. Hard. Smiles like he means it. Makes her feel like the sun. And maybe, maybe, he can pretend he doesn’t feel your gaze like a blade between his shoulder blades.

But when she touches his arm?

He hates it.

Because it’s not you.

And when he finally dares to glance toward the door—You’re already gone.

Later, in your office, you’re ripping open a granola bar like it owes you money. You don’t know what pisses you off more. The flirting? The way she touched him? Or the fact that you care. You shove the granola bar into your mouth. Stare blankly at your calendar. And think about how his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How easy it looked.

Like it never meant anything. Like you never meant anything.

“God,” you mutter, throwing the wrapper in the trash. “Get a fucking grip.”

But your pulse says otherwise. Your jaw is tight. Your chest aches. You’re not okay.

You miss him. And you hate that he made you soft enough to admit it.

All the while, Steve is right there, standing outside of your office door, hand raised to knock. He’s there. He’s ready and then…he doesn’t. He stands there for a full minute. Then walks away.

The moment you step inside and see him, you know it’s too late to turn around.

He’s standing with one hand on the copier lid, sleeves shoved to his elbows, staring down like the machine personally insulted him. There’s toner on his wrist. His jaw’s tight.

He looks up. Freezes.“Of course,” he mutters. “Because of course it’s you.”

You cross your arms, your own stack of handouts balanced on your hip. “I’m not thrilled either, Harrington.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t.” His voice is low. Rougher than usual. Like sleep deprivation or restraint.

You nod toward the copier. “Let me guess—tray’s jammed again?”

He sighs. Moves aside just enough to let you pass. Your bodies brush. Barely, and it’s too much.

He leans against the counter. Arms crossed. Watching you. You open the tray, jiggle a few things with practiced expertise.

Silence stretches. It screams.

And then— “You saw me at the café.”

The paper you’re holding stiffens in your grip. “I saw you doing what you do best.”

“That what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“That’s not fair.”

You slam the tray closed harder than you mean to.“Neither was watching you turn it back on like it never meant anything.” You’re not sure if you mean the charm or you.

He flinches.“It wasn’t about her.”

You turn. Finally.“But it was about me.”

The words sit between you like broken glass.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” you say, quieter now. “You say it’s not a game, but every time I start to believe you, you remind me what you used to be.”

His voice is rough. “You think this is me reminding you? You think I want to go back to being that guy?”

He takes a step forward. “You think I don’t know I fucked up the second I let her touch me?”

Your chest tightens. You blink too fast. “Why’d you let her, then?”

He doesn’t answer at first.“Because for a second, I needed to pretend I could be wanted without hurting.”

And that—that cuts you clean open.

You’re both quiet. Breathing too loud. The copier hums softly behind you like background noise in a dream. Then he steps closer. One more step. Close enough to touch.

“You still have me.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I’ve only ever meant it.”

Your eyes meet.

And there it is. The pull. The moment that could be something. Could be everything.

But instead, you turn. Slowly. Press the print button and whisper “Then show me.”

You don’t notice it at first.

Not really.

It starts with coffee. Again. But now it’s every Tuesday. Always exactly how you like it. No note. No fuss. Just sitting on your desk when you arrive. Still hot.

Then it’s classroom overlap. He prints extras of whatever handout he knows you’ll need. Leaves them in your box. Sometimes with post-it notes that say “Fixed the typo in paragraph three. You’re welcome.”

Then it’s your office light. You forgot to turn it off one night. You were tired. You left in a fog. And the next morning? A text. Short. Simple.

💬 Locked up for you. Light’s off. Sleep, for once.

You stare at your phone for ten full minutes before responding. You don’t thank him, but the next time you see him in the hallway, you hold his gaze for just a second longer than usual.

He notices.

---

He doesn't flirt anymore. Not really.

No lines. No games. He just shows up.

He picks up your favorite gum from the bookstore and leaves it on your chair with your notes after a staff meeting. He starts letting students out three minutes early so you can use the room next door for your class without awkward overlap. He starts reading the books on your shelf—the theory ones. The dense ones. Just to see what you see.

And he listens. Like really, fucking listens. To your rants. To your tangents. To your silences. And somewhere between all that effort he forgets how not to care.

---

“Okay but like… Professor Harrington’s been soft lately.”“Right?! Like he still looks hot but now he’s… dad hot.”“He literally told us to take care of ourselves emotionally before we try to ace exams. Who is he.”“I swear he smiled at the Ed Prof in the break room like she hung the goddamn moon.”“I think they’re dating.”“No way. She’d eat him alive.”“Exactly.”

---

You walk into your office and stop short. Because he’s there. Not waiting. Not leaning against the wall like a smoldering statue. Just sitting. Quiet. Reading something from your shelf. One of the denser volumes on pedagogical theory. The copy you’ve highlighted to hell.

He looks up. Smiles, slow and soft. “This is good,” he says, holding it up. “Hard to read. But good.”

You raise a brow. Toss your bag onto the couch. “Since when do you read anything without pictures?”

“Since you stopped looking at me like I’m a joke.”

Your heart stutters, and he sees it. He sets the book down. Stands. Doesn’t move closer. “I know I can’t fix what I broke. Not fast. Maybe not ever. But I’m here. Still.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be the kind of person who deserves you.”

The room goes quiet. Heavy. Holy. You don’t answer, but when you walk past him, you let your fingers graze his. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

And maybe he has.

You shouldn’t have stayed.

You know it the second your hip bumps the edge of his kitchen island and your fingers brush the rim of the glass he just poured you.

It’s bourbon. Warm. A little sweet. The kind that burns slow. Like him.

He’s leaning against the fridge. Hoodie unzipped. White T-shirt clinging a little too nicely. Hair still damp from a shower, and God help you, it’s unfair. Unprepared, you think. You should’ve come armored. Closed off. But instead you’re here - dropped by to drop off a book he asked to borrow. It’s late and you’re both trying way too hard to pretend that means nothing.

“Didn’t expect you to actually read it,” you say, nodding toward the book you dropped off.

“Didn’t expect to like it,” he replies. “But then again, I didn’t expect to like you either.”

Your breath catches.

He watches you. There’s no smile. No smirk. Just intention.

You hold his gaze. “Careful, Harrington. That almost sounded sincere.”

“It was.”

Your pulse pounds. You take another sip. He steps closer. Not a lunge. Just a shift. One that brushes his knee against yours. One that makes your back touch cool granite and your glass feel too warm in your hand.

“You’re doing it again,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Looking at me like you’ve already got me.”

He tilts his head. Inches from your face. “I’m looking at you like I want you. Still.”

Still. After all this. After the café. After the retreat. After all the nights he didn’t knock.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not done showing you.”

He sets his glass down. Slowly. His hand brushes yours. “Can I?” he asks.

Just that.

You nod.

Once.

And then his hand is on your waist. Light. Barely there. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You don’t. You lean into it, and when his forehead drops to yours you feel the heat of his breath. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, you whisper,“We shouldn’t.”

He whispers back, “You’re still here.”

And you kiss him.

Or maybe he kisses you.

Or maybe it doesn’t matter, because the second it happens, you both stop thinking entirely.

Your back hits the counter, his hand tangles in your hair and your name leaves his mouth like a vow, and every second of waiting, of aching, of almost-touching? Gone.

You pull back just enough to breathe. Just enough to need. “This changes everything,” you whisper.

“Good,” he says. “Let it.”

You don’t know who moved first. Maybe you blinked and his hands were on your waist. Maybe you tilted your chin and his lips were right there. Maybe none of it matters, because the second his mouth touches yours—everything breaks open.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s starving.

He kisses like he’s drowning in you—like you’re the first breath after years underwater. Like every banter, every brush of your hand, every lecture hallway stare was foreplay to this exact second. His hand slides under your shirt, not greedy, just desperate. Fingertips dragging heat across your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, one stroke at a time. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, dragging him closer until his chest is flush against yours and you’re gasping into his mouth.

You gasp into his mouth when his palm finds your ribcage. He groans—low and wrecked. His hands roam—down your waist, over your hips, gripping your thighs like he’s claiming territory. His tongue slides against yours and you moan—sharp, involuntary.

He lifts you—just lifts you like you weigh nothing—and plants you on the edge of the counter, stepping between your legs like he was built for it. Your hands dive under his hoodie, pulling it up, dragging nails along bare skin. He groans—filthy, wrecked—and yanks your shirt up in return, just high enough to mouth at your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his mouth down your throat. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Then die pretty,” you breathe, raking your fingers through his hair and tugging just hard enough to make him bite.

And he does—your neck, your collarbone, the corner of your jaw. You arch against the counter. He pulls you forward by the backs of your thighs until there’s nothing between you.

His cock presses against you. Just grinding—hard, slow, desperate—against the soaked seam of your leggings and the unforgiving press of his sweats.

You cry out. Loud. Needful.

He swallows it with a kiss.

His hands slide under your ass, angling you closer, pushing right there—deliberate and devastating. You clutch at his shoulders, arch into him, rock your hips, chase the friction like your life depends on it.

You wrap your legs around his hips, and just like that—you’re both undone. His hands are everywhere. Your shirt rides up. His hoodie’s gone. You’re kissing like you forgot how not to. Like every second of restraint has finally snapped.

“You feel so fucking good,” he pants against your skin.

“Keep going.”

“Say it again.”

“Keep going.”

He grinds against you, hard and slow, and you moan before you can catch it. His hands tighten. His mouth finds yours again, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

You’re right there. On the edge. One more roll of his hips and—

You reach for his belt. He catches your wrist and you freeze.

“I want you,” he says. "So bad it hurts." He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving. “But not like this. Not yet.”

Your whole body is buzzing. Your thighs are trembling. Your lips are swollen. But your heart? Your heart cracks wide open. Because it’s not rejection it’s reverence.

You nod. He kisses your knuckles. One by one. “Let me want you the right way.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t walk away right now, I will ruin your life.”

He grins—wrecked and wrecking. “Not if I ruin yours first.”

The next morning, his T-shirt hangs loose on your frame. A little too big. A little too soft. It smells like him—cedar, clean laundry, heat.

You’re standing in his kitchen, one hip popped against the counter, sipping coffee from a mug that says #1 Psych Professor in faded print. You slept in his bed last night, but surprisingly he moved to the sofa. Said something about not having any self restraint before tugging a pillow from the bed and kissing your cheek and walking away.

In your morning daze, you’re pretending you’re not remembering his hands under your shirt. You’re pretending you didn’t moan his name with your lips at his throat. You’re pretending you’re not thinking about the way he said not yet—like it physically pained him to stop.

He walks out of the bathroom, rubbing the back of his neck, still shirtless. Gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.

You glance up and instantly regret it. Because your body remembers. And based on the slow grin spreading across his face…So does his.

“You drink all the good creamer?” he asks, opening the fridge like he didn’t just catch you checking him out.

“Maybe,” you say, deadpan. “I let you dry hump me against a countertop. I figured it earned me hazelnut privileges.”

He chokes on a laugh, grabs a spoon and stirs his coffee like he’s trying not to lose it all over again. “You’re evil.”

“You’re easy.”

He hums, steps in close. Doesn’t touch you. He just sets his coffee down next to yours, leans forward, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me something.”

“No promises.”

“When I walked away last night…” His breath is warm. Wrecking… “Were you hoping I’d come back?”

You swallow. Hard. “You wouldn’t have made it ten more seconds in that kitchen if you had.”

He groans. Burying his face in your shoulder, biting back laughter—and something else. Then his hands are on your hips again. Casual. Familiar. Possessive. But he doesn’t pull you in. “If I kiss you again,” he murmurs, “I’m not going to stop this time.”

You’re supposed to be in your office in twenty-three minutes.

You’re hardly presentable. You were—before Steve smuggled you into bed and dragged the sheets down, pushing your legs apart with a lazy strength that said, we have time, even though you absolutely do not. Instead, your legs are trembling and his head is between your thighs.

Your hips are tipped toward him, your thighs already sore from how long they’ve been bracketing his head—his shoulders broad and solid beneath them, his mouth ruinously good.

His tongue moves with slow, indulgent precision. Not rushed. Not greedy. Like he’s tasting, not just devouring—like he wants to savor every twitch, every moan, every sharp little gasp he drags out of you.

One of his hands is flat on your stomach, holding you down as you start to arch. The other is gripping your thigh, thumb stroking absently against your skin as his mouth works. He licks you in lazy circles, lips closing around your clit and sucking softly. Just enough to make your spine curve, just enough to make your toes curl.

Your hands are buried in his hair, fingers clenched tight, and your voice is a high, choked whisper of “Steve, I swear to God—” as he drags his tongue slowly, obscenely, across you again.

“That’s not my name,” he murmurs into your skin.

You gasp. Yelp, really. “Steven. Jesus—”

He groans like you just handed him the keys to heaven. The vibration goes straight through you. Your thighs twitch around his head. He doesn’t stop. He presses in deeper, tongue dragging upward in a long, slick stroke that makes your eyes roll back. His grip tightens on your hips. He pulls you closer.

“There you go. That’s better.”

He licks again—slow, deliberate. Your thighs clamp around his shoulders.

He’s taking his time.

He loves taking his time.

He flattens his tongue, works you with long, even licks—up, down, up again—before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard enough to punch the breath from your lungs.

Your entire body is flushed. A mess. Shirt wrinkled, hair twisted, one sock still on because he got distracted halfway through undressing you.

Your planner is open on the nightstand. Your to-do list, pristine and untouched. Your phone is buzzing with a department chair text. You couldn’t care less, because right now, Steve Harrington is worshiping you. Not with flowers. Not with words. With his mouth.

And God, is he good.

He’s smug about it too, that little shit. The way he flicks his tongue like he’s testing theories. Like your body is a subject he’s about to publish a groundbreaking paper on. He lets go with a filthy little pop. Looks up at you, completely gone.

“You always sound this pretty when you’re late?” he says, voice full of smug, sleepy sin.

You slap his shoulder. “You’re the reason I’m late,”

“Yeah, but you’re glowing. So technically I’m improving faculty morale.”

You collapse back into the pillow, laughing breathlessly and then he hums low in his throat—that sound, He just smiles. That lazy, post-sleep smirk. Bedhead. Swollen lips. His chin shiny with you.

And then—he goes back down. No warning. No teasing. Just mouth on you like he’s starving.

He works his tongue over your clit in tighter, faster circles now, your body jerking with every pass. Your hand flies to his hair—fisting, tugging, anchoring—and he groans into you again like he lives for it.

You’re already close. So close it’s humiliating.

“Steve—fuck—I really—class—”

“Just one more,” he growls, lips brushing your skin.

“You said that twice ago.”

“And I meant it both times.”

His hands slide under your thighs, holding you open, as his mouth descends. He sucks. He flicks. He hums.

You shatter.

You come with a sound that punches from your chest—half-cry, half-moan, full-body wreckage. Your back arches, hips grinding into his face, thighs clenching around him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

He doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking—slower now, gentler—drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until you're twitching, over-sensitive, gasping for air.

When he finally pulls away, his face is flushed, lips slick, pupils blown. He looks up at you with a grin that could end empires. “Good morning to me,” he says, voice low, utterly self-satisfied.

You try to respond. You can’t. Your whole body is boneless, so you glare instead.

“We are so late.”

“Worth it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love it.”

You mutter something unintelligible. He kisses your thigh, then your knee, then flops back into bed like he didn’t just commit oral war crimes.

“You’re glowing,” he says.

“You’re a menace.”

“I told you, you love it.”

You do. And when he finally gets out of bed, pulls on sweatpants, and saunters to the kitchen still licking his lips, it really settles in that you’re going to be very, very late.

You both start clamoring around the apartment. You’re trying to find your left shoe. He’s trying to find his dignity. Neither of you succeeds.

“If I get called out for being late,” you snap, throwing your bag over your shoulder, “I’m blaming your tongue.”

“I’ll write you a note,” he grins, adjusting his shirt. “Excused tardiness: wrecked her with my face. Respectfully, Prof. S. Harrington.”

You kiss him. Quick. Possessive.“We are not telling the students.”

“No promises.”

“I swear to God.”

“What? They’ve already started whispering.”

You freeze in the doorway. “They know?”

He shrugs, smug as ever. “Only that I’m happier, wear fewer button-downs, and keep looking at you like you’re the answer to a question I forgot how to ask.”

You blink. He leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth. “Go teach.”

“You gonna behave?”

He smirks. “Absolutely not.”

Everyone’s tired, under-caffeinated, and suspiciously quiet when you walk in together to the Monday morning Faculty Meeting a few weeks later. Like, suspiciously quiet. Like maybe you should’ve come in separately. But his hand brushed yours in the parking lot and… well. You’re human. Truly, you knew it was a bad idea the moment he held the door open for you. Not because it was chivalrous, but because he smirked. That just-fucked, slept-on-your-pillow, wore-your-shampoo smirk.

And now? You’re trying to look composed while Diane from Math is squinting at your neck, and Steve is across the room pretending he didn’t absolutely tell you to call him “Professor” last night—off the clock.

You sit down, chairs a respectful, appropriate distance from one another. Except his knee bumps yours under the table.

You flinch. He does not.

You glance at him. He’s reading the agenda like he’s not tracing circles on your thigh under the table with his fucking pinky finger.

“I will end you,” you whisper.

“Promises, promises,” he murmurs back, not even glancing up.

Across the table, someone coughs. Someone else mutters, “Tension in here is wild today.”

You cough. Sip your coffee. Do not look at him again.

---

He’s not even trying to hide it. He should be. He knows that. But you’re sitting there in that blazer and those glasses and he can still feel your nails on his back from the night before and, honestly, restraint is done.

You’re both adults. Consenting. Employed. You just happen to be very recently wrecked by each other and now expected to discuss budget reallocations.

He leans back in his chair. Tilts his head and you shoot him a glare that could kill a man at twenty paces.

He grins wider.

Then your dean says “Any… questions about cross-departmental collaborations?”

And before anyone else can speak, Greg, the adjunct from two months ago—the one who tried to flirt with you at the mixer—leans forward. “Actually, yeah. Is Psych and Education… working together on something lately? Seems like there’s been a lot of overlap.”

The room goes dead silent.

Your head turns. Slowly.

Steve just smiles. Cool. Calm.“We’re exploring some deeply engaged, hands-on strategies.”

You choke on your coffee.

Half the room does too.

“Very experiential,” he adds, not missing a beat.

Your face is burning. “Well,” you cut in, voice tight, “we have been reviewing active learning outcomes. Long-term retention. Depth of field experience.”

He nearly loses it. You don’t look at him again. But his pinky? Still brushing your thigh.

Once the meeting wraps you find him in a quiet hallway, tugging him into an empty office. “You’re going to get us fired.”

He presses you against the door. Grinning like a goddamn devil.

“You’re glowing,” he says. “You should see yourself.”

“I’m glowing because I haven’t slept and you won’t let me function like a normal person.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart. You’re glowing because I made you come three times last night and moan my name into my sheets like a prayer.”

You stare at him. Your pulse pounds.“You’re an asshole.”

“You love it.”

And when he kisses you, hard and fast and deep—hand braced against the door, tongue slipping into your mouth like he owns it—You let him. Because for once? You’re not hiding and neither is he.

You’re not technically doing anything wrong. You’re walking. Talking. Drinking bad coffee from the Student Union and arguing over whether your classes should collaborate on a capstone project next semester. Totally professional.

Except you’re standing just a little too close, your laugh is just a little too soft, and he keeps nudging your elbow like he can’t help himself.

“You seriously think your students could handle a shared project with mine?” you tease. “They’re used to watching Fight Club for extra credit.”

“That happened once,” he grins. “And it was deeply psychological.”

You snort. Sip your coffee, and then—you hear it.

“Okay, wait—are you guys, like, together?”

You freeze.

Steve tenses beside you.

You both turn.

It’s one of his students. Freshman. Wide-eyed. Holding a psych textbook and a half-melted iced latte.

“I mean,” she stammers, “everyone’s been kinda wondering? You guys are always... around each other. And you’re smiling. A lot. And he’s nicer now? Which is weird?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, and before you can craft the neutral, chill, professional response you should give, Steve speaks. “Yeah. We’re seeing each other.”

Your head snaps toward him.

What. You blink.

“Oh. Cool. Okay. Sorry. Just—yeah. Cool.” She scurries off like she witnessed something she shouldn’t have.

You stare at him. He stares back.

“Steve—”

“What? Was I supposed to lie?”

“No, but—” You look around. Lower your voice. “You just labeled it.”

“Because that’s what it is.” His voice isn’t loud. But it’s firm. Frustrated. Exposed.

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to kiss you in the hallway. I’m tired of not calling this what it is because we’re scared someone might see.”

You blink, the beat of your heart hammering.

“So yeah,” he says, shrugging, voice sharper than he means it. “We’re seeing each other. Is that really so bad?”

You don’t answer.You can’t.

Because the worst part? It’s not that he said it.

It’s that a part of you needed him to.

---

💬 I didn’t mean to say it like that. 💬 But I meant it. 💬 So maybe that’s okay?

You tried.

God, you tried.

You retreated into the fortress of your work, your planner, your independent woman armor. Told yourself you didn’t need him to say it. That it was better to keep things unspoken. Safer. But it’s been two days, and nothing feels good. Not your coffee. Not your playlists. Not even the jazz that usually soothes your racing thoughts.

All you can think about is the way he said it.

We’re seeing each other. Like it wasn’t terrifying. Like it wasn’t fragile. Like it was true.

And suddenly, you’re in your car. Keys in the ignition. Your pulse screams in your throat.

You don’t knock. You should, but when he opens the door, you’re already stepping inside. Already yanking your coat off. Already done pretending.

He opens his mouth.

You grab his shirt.

And everything else disappears.

---

He’s halfway through grading when you burst in like a storm, and he knows.

He knows this is the moment you stop running.

He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t speak, just pulls you into him the second your hands find his collar —fisting it, dragging him down, mouths crashing like you’re angry at how long it took.

You kiss him like it’s oxygen. Like you’ve been underwater for days. Like you’re angry at your own restraint and even more furious that it’s finally broken.

Your teeth graze his lower lip. He growls.

“You want to label it?” you gasp. “Then fucking show me what it means.”

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. Clothes hit the floor—fast, frantic. You’re already walking backward toward his bedroom as he follows, tugging at your jeans, shoving your shirt over your head, lips never leaving your skin. Your bra unclasps without a word. He groans when it falls.

There’s a trail—shirts, socks, his belt undone, your panties half-hanging from one ankle. He kicks the door shut.

He lays you back against the mattress like he’s waited years for permission. Hands framing your face, body hovering, staring down at you like he can’t believe you’re finally here.

You pull him down like you’ll never let him go. Your mouths meet again—harder now, deeper, wet and filthy and full of everything unspoken.

His hands are everywhere. Palms dragging down your sides, cupping your tits, thumbing across your nipples until your back arches off the bed.

You writhe under him—hips rolling, legs spreading, breath coming in ragged bursts. Your fingers dig into his back, nails biting down hard enough to draw blood, and he moans into your mouth like he wants you to leave marks. Like he needs to wear them.

“I want all of you,” you whisper. “No more games.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes blown wide, breath shaking.

“Then take me,” he growls, thrusting forward, finally, filling you with a groan that sounds like a man being saved.

He fills you completely. Thick. Hot. Stretching you in that perfect, devastating way.

Your mouth drops open on a gasp. Your hands clamp around his shoulders. He holds still, forehead against yours, both of you shaking from the sheer relief of it. Of finally being here.

“Holy fuck,” he pants.

“Move,” you whisper. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He fucks you like he’s learning you. Like he wants to leave something behind inside you. Not just heat, not just release—but a memory.

His rhythm is fast, deep, hungry. His hips slap against yours with delicious force, the wet sounds between you obscene and beautiful. Your legs wrap around him, ankles locking at his back. You meet him every inch of the way. Body to body. Mouth to mouth. Eye to eye.

He groans your name into your skin like a man being saved. You kiss his throat, his jaw, the hollow of his collarbone—dragging your tongue along the sweat-slick skin, biting down when the angle hits just right.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasps.

“So do you,” you breathe. “Harder.”

He gives it to you. All of it. Every thrust hits deeper, rougher, more desperate, his hands everywhere—your waist, your ass, the back of your neck—gripping like he needs to keep you grounded, needs to know you’re here.

You’re close. So fucking close. And when he slips a hand between your bodies—fingers finding your clit with practiced, perfect pressure—it’s over. You come shaking, gasping, clinging to him like he’s your center of gravity, like letting go would destroy you completely. Your whole body pulses around him, pleasure ripping through you like a damn breaking and clinging to him like he’s your center of gravity

He follows with a whine—hips jerking, cock twitching, spilling inside you with a groan that’s half-relief, half-prayer. He buries his face in your neck and you hold him there. Both of you panting. Wrecked.

It’s hot.

It’s filthy.

It’s honest.

And when he finally lifts his head, presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing yours like a question. You already know the answer. Because there’s no going back. Not now. Not ever.

You’re both still breathing hard.

He hasn’t moved. You haven’t told him to. His chest is pressed to yours, skin tacky with sweat. Your thighs are sore, legs still wrapped around him like your body hasn't figured out how to let go yet. He shifts—just barely—and you both groan.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, voice gravel-thick. “You okay?”

You nod. Then shake your head. Then nod again.

“That was—” You laugh once, breathless. “You ruined me.”

“Good,” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “That’s what you asked for.”

He pulls out slowly, carefully, and you both hiss—too sensitive, too much, too good. You twitch as he slips free, and you feel it—him, everything—slick between your thighs, your skin flushed and trembling.

You reach for him instinctively, fingers brushing his stomach, not ready to break the contact. He catches your hand and brings it to his mouth. Kisses your knuckles like they’re holy. Then your wrist. Then the inside of your forearm, slow and reverent.

“Don’t move,” he says, already rolling off the bed, standing naked and still hard, but now focused.

You don’t. Because you can’t.

He comes back with a warm washcloth and a glass of water. Kneels at the edge of the bed like he’s about to worship again.

You spread your legs without being asked. Your thighs tremble when the cloth touches you—warm, wet, gentle. He moves slow. Careful. His eyes are locked on yours the entire time.

He wipes away the mess between your thighs, catching what he left inside you, what leaked down to the backs of your legs, what you’re still clenching around like your body can’t bear to lose it.

“That okay?” he asks, voice quiet now. Real.

You nod again. And then he leans in—mouth just above your thigh—and licks.

Just once. Just to taste it.

Your breath stutters.

“Couldn’t help it,” he says, eyes dark, lips shiny.

He climbs back into bed, slides under the blankets, and pulls you onto his chest. You melt into him—sated, spent, but still buzzing from the way he holds you like he means it. One hand slides between your legs again—not to start anything, just to rest there. Fingers lazy and warm against your pussy, palm cradling you like he wants to remind you that you’re his now.

“Still full of me,” he murmurs, voice smug and sweet at once.

You hum. Kiss his collarbone. “Still throbbing.”

“Same.” His cock twitches against your hip.

You don’t do anything about it. Not yet.

“I want more,” you whisper.

“You can have it.”

“Later.”

“Later,” he echoes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “For now just… stay.”

You do. And when you fall asleep with his hand between your legs, his cock warm against your thigh, and his heartbeat under your cheek? Well, it’s the safest you’ve felt in years.

💬 You guys. YOU GUYS. 💬 What. 💬 I just saw them arguing over who gets the last blueberry muffin at the café and it was the most sexually charged thing I’ve ever witnessed. 💬 Was he wearing that tight henley again??? 💬 She literally called him a smug bastard and he just said, ‘You love it when I’m smug,’ and winked. I need a cold shower. 💬 Are they married yet or are we still suffering through foreplay energy? 💬 They’re disgustingly perfect. I love them. I hate them. I want them to adopt me.

It’s finally the end of the semester and you and Steve have your Joint Panel Presentation. The room’s full of students trying to pretend they’re not staring. You and Steve walk in together, completely unbothered, radiating power couple energy like it’s built into your DNA. You finish each other's sentences. Your banter is lethal.

💬 OKAY NO ONE PANIC BUT THEY JUST WALKED IN TOGETHER 💬 they always do that tho?? 💬 NO. LIKE. TOGETHER. TOGETHER. 💬 she’s wearing his hoodie. THE GRAY ONE. 💬 I saw him grab her coffee cup and drink from it without asking I am unwell. 💬 he pulled out her chair and she rolled her eyes and said “you’re not charming, you’re annoying” and he just SMILED LIKE IT WAS FOREPLAY 💬 I am filing an HR report against their sexual tension 💬 bold of you to assume HR doesn’t ship them harder than we do

You still fight.

Over coffee. Over pedagogy. Over who forgot to return the whiteboard markers to the supply closet. But now? The fights end with your back against a wall and his mouth on yours, or his smug grin wiped off with one whispered threat in the break room.

The fire never died. It just evolved.

You pass him in the hallway and he grabs your hand like he has every right to it. Like you’re the thing he reaches for without thinking. You grade together. You share playlists. You present on collaborative learning and co-teach a lecture where everyone leaves sweaty and confused about the nature of attraction.

You're not the professors they expected.

You're the professors they fantasized about but never believed were real.

You’re chaos. You’re love. You were so in love it was exhausting for everyone else around you.

You’re in his lap during planning meetings.

He keeps your nameplate on his desk.

He carries your stupid frog pin on his bag like a badge of honor and threatens students who joke about it.

He kisses you in the copy room. On the quad. Behind the lecture hall door after you give a student-teacher speech that makes him feel like he’s never known pride until you put it in words.

The students ask when you're getting married.

He doesn’t even pretend to be flustered anymore.

“Not yet,” he always says. “But she’s already mine.”

And you? You never correct him.

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #king steve #professor!steve #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington au #steve harrington x reader smut #Spotify

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strangererotica · 14 days ago

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…

…It’s giving CollegeProfessor!Steve, who arranges meetings with you in the university library after hours…The first time, he spends awhile just leaning against the shelves flirting with you, but eventually (inevitably) it leads to more…He shifts closer, gradually making the space between you smaller, touching your hand, complimenting your eyes, telling you how distracting they are during class, how hard it is for him to focus on teaching when he sees you watching him…And then Steve compliments your hair, lets his fingers brush it behind your ear, just so he can “see those pretty eyes better”…until he ends up threading your strands in his fingers and gently pushing your head down, guiding you onto your knees in front of him… And he knows it’s wrong, that he’s abusing his position of power by sleeping with a student…But if your mouth is as quiet as it is tight, he’s not worried about you saying anything…The way you hesitate, unsure of what to do next, tells Steve this is all new for you…So he’s extra gentle, extra considerate, talks you through it like the instructor he is…makes sure to teach you well so that every man you give head after him will benefit…Professor!Steve who resists putting it in your pussy since he can’t risk knocking up a student…So you let him fuck you in the ass instead…And it hurts so much the first time, but Steve talks you through it, his voice low and patient…his big hands clutching your waist, massaging your hips as he holds them in place, easing into you slowly at first, then picking up his pace when he’s stretched you out to fit him…He pumps your ass full of cum then sends you off on unsteady legs, leaking out of you all the way back to your dorm…

#joe keery #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #professor!steve harrington #professor!steve #djo #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x y/n

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justmeinadaze · 1 month ago

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The Very Thought Of You (Steve x Y/N)

A/N: Based on this post

Warnings: Older (Late 30s) Professor Steve & Younger (Early 20s) Fem Y/N, SMUT, big dick Steve Harrington, dirty talk, slight public (if you squint; the get briefly handsy in an elevator), oral (m receiving) p in v (unprotected), aftercare always. I think that's it. (Not my usual stuff but I wanted this story available for everyone :))

FLUFF, These two definitely like each other, Steve is a music nerd and loves talking to y/n about it. Hes soft with her❤.

ANGST, in the relationship itself (professor/student), Steve is disillusioned by life, talks down about himself from time to time. Nothing too dramatic.

Word Count: 5034

Kofi <3/ Steve Masterlist

“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Harrington.”, you apologize as you take off your headphones and stand from the piano to greet him.

You had been taking this man’s music theory class for a semester now and you absolutely enjoyed it. For the first couple of weeks, he seemed completely disinterested but the more time passed the more passionate he became especially when you asked questions or engaged in his discussions.

You didn’t know much about Steve Harrington and he never conveyed anything in his classroom. Even his office was devoid of any personality which you found shocking given when you two would talk about music, he suddenly became energetic and animated as if he had been waiting to talk about this for years.

Even his visual style didn’t scream anything new as he came in every other day with jeans and some kind of button up shirt. His hair constantly flowed every which way and the facial hair that clung to his chin and upper lip made him seem much older than he actually was.

One day you ran into him at the record store down the street from campus and he lightly teased you after finding you in the “oldies” section of the shelves.

“Nancy Sinatra isn’t exactly what your generation is listening to now a day.”, he jokes in low throaty tone that has you smiling as you bite your bottom lip.

“I know but…have you ever listened to her on a record player? Her voice is just pure magic and makes me feel so strong, you know?”

That was the first time you ever saw your professor truly smile; showing off all of his pearly whites before nodding his head.

After that moment, he would ask you to come to his office and give you some new records he thought you would like. Today, however, you were staying late to work on some homework in the music booths and asked him if he could bring what he had by later that evening.

“No worries. I just, um, I was listening to you play. You sound amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m not GREAT with the piano but I thought with this melody I have in mind, it will work perfectly.”, you smile his way as you take the records from his grasp and scan them over. “Aw, I love Billie Holiday.”

“I figured you would. Her vocals are always beautiful and you can hear passion in every song.”, he grins. “I used to be able to play some of her songs on the piano but I’m a bit rusty.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not.”, you giggle as you absently take hold of his wrist and pull him over to take a seat on the bench beside you.

“Y/N, I can’t…wait…”

“Come on, Mr. Harrington, talent like that doesn’t just leave you. It may lay dormant but… pleeeeease!”, you beg making him blush as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I won’t make fun of you, I promise.”

“Pfft, you better not.”, he jests as he heavily sighs and adjusts himself till he’s sitting up straighter with his hands on the keys. “Alright.”

Your eyes watch him as his fingers begin to move, putting together a melody you definitely recognize.

“I'm livin' in a kind of a daydream I'm happy as a queen And foolish though it may seem To me that's everything.”

A small smile paints his lips as his eyes close and you continue to sing.

“The mere idea of you The longing here for you You'll never know How slow the moments go Till I'm near to you.”

You can’t help but be surprised when your voice as an echo and your eyes drift to his mouth as he begins to sing along with you.

“I see your face in every flower Your eyes in stars above It's just the thought of you, The very thought of you, my love.”

His fingers stop moving but his eyes remain squeezed shut as if he clinging to the moment and your heart breaks for him.

“I didn’t know you could sing, Steve.”, you murmur; a boundary crossed.

You’d never referred to him by his first name before but for some reason you felt like this deserved a more personal touch.

“I wanted to be a singer when I was kid. In high school, one of my friends taught me to play guitar and let me play with him on stage with his band.” You softly smile as he chuckles at the memory and his eyes finally open to stare in front of him. “When I heard those people clap for me…Jesus, Y/N…it was like a drug, you know?”, he pants out with excitement as he adjusts his body to face you. “They were applauding for ME. The girls in front of the stage were grinning at ME. People were…proud of ME.”

“Why didn’t you continue with your friends?”

Steve sighs as he shakes his head.

“I couldn’t. My dad always said things like that weren’t reality. Men like me don’t become music stars. I never wanted that. I just wanted to play music and make people happy.”

“You…you should do it then. Do an open mic night at The Hideout.”

“I can’t.”, he laughs as he starts to get up but your hand on his gives him pause. “I’m not a young man anymore. I don’t even sing the same.”

“Are you kidding me? I just heard you right now and you sounded phenomenal.”

“Pfft, no. That’s because you were singing with me.”

“Steve, oh my gosh, stop!”, you try to sound light as he continues to chuckle and you smile with him. “Stop talking down about yourself like that. YOU are a beautiful singer. YOU played so well. YOU are a wonderful professor… you’ve shown me so much these past few months.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well for one, all the music you bring me. I love each and every record especially the ones I’ve never heard before. Sometimes at night I’ll put one on while I take a bath and just listen to the hum of the words.”

At the word bath, his honey irises trace along your frame down your hips and back up to your face as you continue.

“You’ve shown me how transformative music can be and how it can set the mood for any situation… like a man and a woman…sitting at a piano singing Billie Holiday…”

Between every other word, Steve slowly tilted towards you causing little nervous, needy breaths to leave your mouth. The air in the room was thick, as if one false move could break the atmosphere and remind you both who you actually were to each other.

“What mood could it set in a situation like that?”, he asked in a low gravelly voice that had you licking your lips. “How would the woman be feeling is she was sitting at a piano with a man… singing Billie Holiday?”

“The woman would feel a bit nervous but in a good way.”, you laugh as he smiles. “She probably wishes she could make the man understand how amazing he is inside and out. Not just because he brings her records or talks to her like a person and not a nerd whose family keeps telling her to get a real degree.”

When you giggle a bit harder, the tension breaks a bit but in a good way as he laughs with you and his hair tickles your nose as his head hangs before lifting to focus on you again.

“But because he’s sweet and funny and has this incredible smile she wishes she could see more of.”

Steve was so close to you now that you could feel the wind from his breath fan your face and you swallow down the last of your butterflies as you ask him, “What about the man? How would he be feeling?”

The silence is deafening but it’s nothing compared to the intensity behind his gaze as he searches your features as if looking for a reason to pull away other than the one that’s screaming in the back of your minds.

“He’d be concerned about regret…he already has enough when it comes to his life and…it would kill him to be the reason she carried her own…

“What if they both regret not taking the leap?”, you whisper as your forehead presses against his. “Not crossing that particular boundary…”

“What if they do?”

A loud bang as the door handle jiggles pushes you both apart even as the door remains locked and you hear cackling from students on the other end.

“Shit! Sorry, we didn’t think anyone else was here!”, a girl yells.

“It’s okay!”, you try to yell back but your voice cracks.

“I should go.”, he grumbles as Steve stands and powerwalks to collect his things.

“Steve, wait—”

“No, Y/N…MISS Y/L/N…I’m sorry for…leading you on. I got carried away a bit and…Just Mr. Harrington from here on out, ok?”

He started trying to sound authoritative but as he got to his last word, his eyebrows had raised as his face and tone softened, not only trying to soothe you but himself.

“Ok, Mr. Harrington. I understand.”

He nods, giving you one last small smile before practically running out the studio door.

***

Since you didn’t have classes on Friday, you didn’t have to see your professor having to face everything that happened but that didn’t stop you from thinking about him. You had dreams about his large hands touching you, playing your body with the same rhythmic precision he displayed while playing piano.

You could still feel his breath against your lips practically tasting the mint gum trying to hide the lingering scent of nicotine you imagined he tried to hide since you never saw him smoke around campus.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him but more than anything you wanted to tell him that he was much more than how he saw himself.

On Saturday, you decided to try and shake the feelings clouding your brain and went to The Hideout for a drink as well as listen to any of the new bands that may be performing. Corroded Coffin had started there and now they sold billions of records worldwide.

Finding your cutest black dress, you styled your hair, grabbed your heels, and called an uber to drop you off.

The energy in the bar was electric with patrons flirting and giggling as they drank their drinks waiting for the next act. After ordering something strong, you found a seat near the stage and scrolled absently through your phone till the coordinator came out and winced as the mic feedback.

“Hey, hey there, ok, there we go. Thank you everyone for coming out. We’re starting tonight with a new slash old addition to our open mic roster. He used to play up here with our Corroded Coffin back in the day but chose the teacher’s life instead—”

“Ok, ok, thank you, Nick.”, a familiar voice interrupts him causing your eyes to widen as you sit up straighter.

“Steve Harrington everybody!”

Your professor blushes as everyone claps and he pushes the man away from the mic as he adjusts the guitar strap across his chest.

“Like I don’t already feel old enough.”, he nervously chuckles as the crowd laughs lightly with him. “I, um, I haven’t been on stage in a long time mostly because…I thought that life had long passed me by…but I, uh, I met this woman a few months ago and she…she awakened something in me I also thought was long gone but…uh, yeah, I wrote this song for her and I guess…uh, here we go.”

After a heavy exhale, Steve began to sing and it was like time stopped as the words flowed effortlessly from his lips.

He seemed a bit stiff at first but after a while, physically, you could see his body become one with his music as his blue jeaned hips lightly began to sway as his loafers taped to the beat. His nose scrunched as his fingers effortless strummed along the strings of his guitar pressed against his button up shirt that had a couple of buttons undone allowing you to see just a bit of his chest hair peeking through.

As he got more into the performance, the power behind his lyrics hit you like a freight train as he sung about a woman who brought him to life after years of feeling lost. How her light ignited a passion within his heart he thought his father suffocated. How she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and would give anything to hold her at night instead of just in dreams.

When the song ended his eyes slowly opened to the rumble of applause in the bar and his smile widened as he waved his hand. Gradually his soft hues find yours, his face turning a bright crimson as your clap echoes louder than all the others.

You find him backstage and congratulate him with a big hug he wasn’t prepared for but embraced as your arms circled around his back.

Steve offered to take you home and you agreed.

***

“That was so beautiful, Mr. Harrington. I’m proud of you for going up there.”, you praise as he walks with you into your apartment building. “You don’t have to…go all the way up…I’m on the 5th floor.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I want to make sure you get there safely.”, he grins. “I didn’t expect you to be there at the bar. I don’t know why. A gorgeous woman like you on a Saturday night…why wouldn’t you be?”

“Usually, I’m a home body but I needed to clear my head.”

“Everything alright?”, Steve asks with genuine concern.

“Yeah, I, um, I can’t stop thinking about that man and woman playing piano.”, you shrug as you push the button and wait for the elevator.

“Me neither.”, he murmurs. “I’ve been having these dreams about her…the woman…like I mentioned in my song.”

“Is…was your song about that woman?”

He nods as he glances at the numbers on the wall as they gradually tick down.

“Do you think that woman would like my song?”

“I think she’d love it, Mr. Harrington.”, you smile, feeling his eyes search your face as the elevator dings open and you both walk in. “I’m sure she’s been dreaming about you to.”

“Oh, yeah? What has she been dreaming?”

Before the door can fully close, a group of drunk friends dive in pushing you into your professor as your back presses against his chest. On impulse his arm comes around to steady you and when you briefly look down, you notice his palm encapsulates the bulk of your tummy.

You can’t help but wonder what else on him is big.

Swallowing thickly, you arch you back slightly allowing your ass to push against him, his fingers twitching at the action as you graze the growing bulge in his jeans.

The people in front of you two giggle obliviously as their friend makes a joke you both didn’t bother listening to as your eyes close when you feel his head dip and his breath ghost the back of your neck.

You prayed the elevator would go slower so you could stay against him like this forever but as a ding filled your ears signaling the fifth floor, you opened your eyes to see the group practically fall out the door and sighed as Steve let you go.

Silently, he followed you as you led him down the hallway to your apartment door, pausing when you turn to face him again.

“I’VE been dreaming about your lips on mine while your fingers play with me the way you played the piano or strummed that guitar. I dream about your body on mine, fucking me till I can’t move. I-I-I dream about you tossing me around my apartment, using me till your spent and happy. I like seeing you smile, Mr. Harrington. I feel like you don’t do it a lot—”

His hands cupping your cheeks so he could crash his mouth to yours cut you off as he held you still and in return you gripped his waist, pulling him into you so you could feel him against you once more.

“Steve.”, he whispered as he continued to hold you with his forehead on yours. “Call me Steve, baby.”

Your heart almost exploded at the term as you turned away from him to desperately dig for your keys while his entire body remained pressed to yours. You whined with pleasure as his mouth attached to your neck sucking in little love bites as his palms clung to your waist keeping your ass against his lower half.

It takes an eternity to find what you need but when you hear that lovely jingle, you’re so thankful you won’t have to just kick the entire door down. As soon as its open, you both absently fall through with the front of your body meeting the wall of the entry way.

Steve kicks the door shut with his foot and hikes up the bottom of your dress a bit roughly before moving the piece of cotton blocking your core so he can guide two of his thick fingers inside of your entrance.

“Fuck, honey. You’re so wet. I-I—shit—my cock is gonna split you in half.”

“I want it—mmph—I want it to, Steve, please.”

The man pants in your ear as he grinds his bulge against you, alleviating some of the pressure in his jeans as his fingers continue to thrust at a merciless pace.

“M’gonna make you feel so good.” You nod as his free hand tries to pull off your dress but you hastily help him lifting it over your head to toss to the side. “No bra?”

Smiling, you grab his wrist to halt his movements, turning yourself around so you could face him and kiss his lips. Your hands fumble with his belt buckle but when you finally get it free, you both giggle before his breath fans your face as your hand slides into his boxers to wrap around his length.

“Oh.”

“I know, I know. I promise…I’ll go slow…”, he coos as he places delicate kisses along your cheek to your neck. “Fuck, your hand feels so good.”

“H-How long has it been since someone has made you feel good?”

“It’s…It’s been a while.”

As you push his jeans and boxers to his knees, Steve hisses as his cock springs free and he places his palm beside your head to help him balance himself as his forehead rests on yours.

“Too long. You deserve to feel good, Steve.” Your thumb smears the little beads of precum along his tip and your pussy clenches around his fingers as he shudders at the pleasant feeling. “Can I taste you?”

Nodding, he licks his lips as he removes his hand so you can slide down and take his length in your grasp. Just the tip of your tongue against his slit had him mewling as his now free palm pets your head.

“Fuck, Y/N, do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Your mouth envelopes him, bobbing your head as you hollow out your cheeks and take him down as far as you can. “That’s it, pretty girl, j-just relax. K-Keep your—mmph—keep your throat open for me.”

You pull back for some air and spit the remnants of drool that followed onto him as you continued to pump him with your hand.

“It’s ok, Steve.”, you murmur in a hoarse voice that has his cock twitch. “Use me. I can handle it.”

Tangling his fingers in your hair, your professor pushes you forward making you gag a little as his dick hits your throat.

“I don’t know if—shit—you can handle a cock like mine, honey. H-Have you ever had anyone as big as me?”, he asks, tugging you back long enough for you to shake your head before shoving himself back into your mouth. “Good. Good girl. I-I can teach you and train this sexy body to take me. I’m going to—mmguh—I’m going to fucking ruin you for anyone else.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he thrusts his hips, holding you for a few seconds to allow your throat to constrict around him before pulling you away to kneel down and sloppily kiss your lips.

Without detaching from him, you slither further into the apartment with your back flat on the floor and him putting his whole weight on top of you. As he choppily pulls his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, he smiles when he hears you giggle as you watch him fumble with one hand to dig through his pockets.

“What are you looking for?”

“A condom…I’m pretty sure…I still carry one…”

Again, you laugh as his tongue pokes out in concentration while his eyes glare off into the void.

“We don’t have to use one if you’re comfortable.” At your words, he freezes as his gaze shifts to meet yours. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. It’s been a bit for me to… kinda had a crush on this guy I thought I had no chance with…”

When his soft irises cloud over with jealousy, you bit your bottom lip to keep from embarrassing him till it clicks in his brain you meant him and he sighs at his own stupidity as his forehead falls onto your stomach.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No, you’re not. You’re adorable.”, you smile as your fingers run through his messy hair.

“I’ve never had a girl raw before. I don’t want…you to be disappointed…”

Your fingers slide down to caress his cheek and without missing a beat he turns kiss your index.

“I’ve never had a man whose cock is as big as yours and…I’m afraid of disappointing you…

“Hey, hey, no, no, no, sweetheart, you could never so don’t even think that.”, he cooed as Steve pushed up onto his arms to crawl further up your frame.

“You could never disappoint me either so ‘don’t even think that’.”, you mimic causing him to erupt in a fit of laughter as you feel any last bit of tension break.

Locking your eyes on his, you lift your hips as you pull down your panties and toss them by his clothes near his feet before reaching up to remove his button up shirt leaving you both vulnerable for each other.

“Are you ready, honey?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m ready.”

Lowering himself on to you, he softly kisses your lips as he utilizes his knee to open your legs a bit wider. You hold your breath as your professor maneuvers his hips allowing his shaft to rub between your folds and his tip catches your clit.

“Everything’s ok, baby.”, he whispers. “The mere idea of you…”

Steve’s voice cracks as he gently sings and you both breathily laugh as he continues.

“The longing here for you…”

With a gradual thrust, his mushroom head breaches your entrance as he watches your jaw go slack and feels your hands grip his shoulders.

“You’ll never know—fuck—how slow the moments go… What’s the—the next part, Y/N?”, he groans as his eyes scrunch closed and he tilts his forehead to yours as he continues pumping his hips allow every inch to gradually fill you. “You can do it, baby. Tell me.”

“Soooo big…fuck, Steve…”, you whimper as your legs circle around his waist.

“I know, pretty girl, I’m half way in… C-Can you take more? Say it.”, he commands when you nod.

“I can take more. I can take it all, baby, please.”, you beg.

“You want to feel all of me? Ok, sweetheart, but you have to sing to me that next part.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair again as you press his face into your neck.

“…Till I’m near you…Ahhhh my God, Steve!”

While you sang, he took the opportunity to thrust his cock the rest of the way inside of your cunt and he grunted at the feeling as your pussy hugged him tightly. He had never felt anything this perfect before, always hindered by the latex of the condom.

Now Steve could feel your core clinging to every vein as he pulled back and pumped into you again. His dick felt the warmth of you and your wet slick sticking to him and he knew in that moment, he’d never want to have you any other way again. He always wanted to feel your pussy like this while you moaned his name and panted with every hit to that spongy spot inside of you no man had ever reached before.

Testing the water, he turned his head to kiss your cheek as he delivered a particularly rough thrust that had your eyes rolling back as your nails dug into his skin.

“Fuck, S-Steve…j-just like that…”

“Just like that, baby girl?”, he asked as he repeated his motions. “You like it hard like that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, your pussy feels like heaven. Can I fuck you?”

You knew what he was asking and you were just as needy for it as he was.

“Fuck me, Steve. I m-meant what I said…fuck me till…I can’t move. I-I want to feel you through out my day.”, you whimper, struggling to form coherent thoughts as his pace quickened and his mouth sucked on that sweet spot against your neck. “Just like that, baby. Fuck…Fuck me…please…make me cum!”

“Cum on my cock, Y/N.”, he growled as your back arched and you sung his name to the ceiling so loud he was sure your neighbors would have something to say about it tomorrow. “Good girl! Fuck that was sexy.”

“C-Cum, honey. Fill me up.”, you exhaustedly whispered with a smile as he chased his high till his finger curled in your hair, clinging to you as his rhythm faltered and you felt his release coat your walls.

You laid there listening to the sound of him trying to catch his breath as your hands tenderly rubbed along his slightly sweaty skin. When he finally began to lift his body off you, however, you hissed and his features flooded with worry.

“Go slow. I’m just a bit sore.”

You watched as he blinked as if lost in a thought for a moment before kissing your forehead and rising to his feet so he could lift you into his arms.

“Bathroom?”

“In my room.”, you answer as you point in that direction.

After placing you back down, you observe him with amused eyes as he turns on your facet and begins to make a bath, smelling each one of your soaps and choosing one he likes the most.

He disappears for a moment leaving you alone until you hear the soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald flow through the speakers in your room.

“I love her voice.”

“Yeah me to.”, Steve beams. “My mom used to listen to records on Sundays. I have no idea why but Sundays were ‘listen to records’ days and she loved Ella. She would always sing along.”

Once your tub is full, the man carefully places you in the water, his palm tenderly petting your hair as he lightly groans on his descent to the floor.

“Calm down, old man.”, you tease eliciting a little chuckle from him as he reaches for a washrag to begin cleaning you. “No one has ever done this for me before…made me a bath after sex…”

“Hm, they should. Aftercare is important especially when your sore like you mentioned.”

“Always teaching me something, Mr. Harrington.” His movements stall only for a moment and your head hangs. “Do you regret it? What we just did?”

“Let's fall in love Why shouldn't we fall in love? Our hearts are made of it; let's take a chance.”

Steve places his fingers under your chin and tilts your eyes to look at his.

“No…Not even a little bit. You…you inspire me, honey. For the past few years, I have felt so…listless. I was just going through the motions of life with no direction because I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do, you know? My dad always said you need a career that’s tangible and ‘Music isn’t tangible’.”, he mimed in a deep authoritative sounding voice, smiling when you giggle. “You make me want to try my hand at it again. You…make me want to be happy.”

Leaning towards him you capture his lips with yours.

“I’m just scared. I’m a professor and you’re a student…for the time being anyway… I don’t want to make things complicated for you.”

“Let's close our eyes And make our own paradise Little we know of it; still, we can try

To make a go of it.”

“Maybe we can take things slow and see where that takes us? You won’t complicate things for me, Steve. I like you a lot and I want to experience all your happiness with you. I love seeing you open up the way you did on stage.”

“Pfft that’s because I was singing about you.”

“No!?”, you fake gasp and he rolls his eyes playfully as he gently pushes your shoulder.

“I’d, um, I’d like to take you on a proper date. There’s a restaurant outside of town that has music and some delicious food. The atmosphere is amazing and I’ve been thinking about how much you’d like it.”

Your grin grows as you watch him get more animated talking about this place he enjoys as those giddy butterflies return to fill your tummy at the fact that he wants to share that joy with you. Pulling him towards you again, you kiss him a bit more passionately than the last one.

“Is that a yes?”

“I'm happy as a queen And foolish though it may seem To me that's everything.”

Steve smiles wide as you sing, kissing your nose up to forehead before singing along with you.

“You'll never know How slow the moments go Till I'm near to you.”

##################

@debkk16 @myherometalhead @micheledawn1975 @chelebelletx @utterlyinsanity @twirls827 @veemoon @wroteclassicaly

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munsonluhvr · 1 year ago

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ohhhh and i honestly need more professor!eddie x student!reader

imagine he’s her professor. he’s like 39 and she’s 19. and just a hot secret affair ahhh.. where she’s the one to intend this relationship first like seducing him and all and getting fucked on the desk all the time!! he sometimes has to hold her mouth shut because she’s so loud!!

SCHOOL GIRL CRUSH

a/n: thank u so much for another amazing request. I hope u like it! I loved writing this sm, im tempted to write a part two in the future.

synopsis: professor!eddie munson x student!reader. unable to resist your professor munson, you begin seducing him, making every visit to his office hours productive. lucky for you, all your efforts pay off in the end. word count - 4.7k warnings: 18+, explicit content // age gap relationship, throat fucking, p in v, cum eating, fingering, finger sucking.

Your ears are numb to the sound of your classmates engaging with Professor Munson, answering his questions eagerly to please the young and handsome teacher. You’re trapped in your own mind as you imagine Professor Munson bending you over his desk, his ungraded essays cluttered underneath your upper body. You imagine your thighs shivering and growing goosebumps as his fingertips graze your legs, hooking his pointer fingers onto your panties and pulling your undergarment down as slow as possible…

“Are you listening, y/n?” Professor Munson asks as he leans against his long wooden desk, his legs crossed in front of him. You sit in the front row, of course, to be able to gain his attention. Your legs are outstretched in front of you and Professor Munson taps your foot with his. “Care to share what you’re day dreaming about with the rest of the class?”

You blush, shaking your head quickly. “I wasn’t daydreaming, I was listening.” You lean forward on your desk, resting your elbow on the tabletop, your hand cupping your chin. Bending at the waist, you push your chest forward, allowing Professor Munson to get a front-row view of your breasts that are supported by your bra.

Professor Munson, or Eddie which is what he allows you to call him in his office hours, lets his eyes dip to your exposed chest but he catches himself quickly, coughing into a close fist. “I see; let’s switch to talking about the book we read last week that we didn’t get to talk about.” He says to the class.

You sit in the small classroom, your other classmates scattered about the room; there’s only about fifth teen of you, the classroom big enough to fit at least thirty students. Above the chalkboard is a clock that ticks rhythmically, and you watch for the next ten minutes as the class talks amongst themselves. Today was the day you’d go for the kill, feeling as if you and Professor Munson were playing a cat and mouse game since the beginning of the semester.

Professor Munson was young, probably in his mid to late thirties, and incredibly attractive. Though he was physical attractive, an angelic face with soft features that combine to create a beautiful face, Professor Munson also had a ‘swagger’ about himself, a confidence that you could sense from a mile away. He never dressed, nor acted, like any of your other professors, he wore black ripped jeans, various metal band t-shirts and utilized an informal teaching style. Nonetheless you enjoyed Professor Munson’s class, though you had to admit, you had an agenda. You wanted to fuck him.

It all started in the beginning of the semester when you first walked into the classroom. You were automatically enamored by Eddie, easily charmed by his charisma and good looks. It was then and there where you began developing a plan, each week bringing you a step closer to today.

Over the first two months of the semester, you had frequented his office hours, finding that even though the other girls in the class giggled about how cute he was, nobody went to his office hours leaving you hours to occupy his time. Professor Munson welcomed it happily: at first he quizzed you about the class readings, forcing you to engage with the conversations that happened during class. Though as the weeks went on, your meetings became more personal, and he started to ask you about your background, where you’re from, what your family is like. You were able to get some answers out of Eddie as well; it was fair game after all.

For a while you weren’t able to figure out if Eddie was understanding your motives, or if he found you as attractive as you found him. If he did, he kept it well hidden as a university Professor should. However, the last few meetings you had gave you no doubt in your mind that now was the time to try, to attempt to discover uncharted territory of what is Eddie’s body.

Two weeks ago, you had visited office hours in hopes of getting your midterm essay edited with suggestions from Eddie; why not try to improve your grade while trying to get fucked? You were planning on making it a quick visit, meant to leave Eddie with dirty thoughts about you. You had worn your shortest skirt, barely covering the paisley patterned panties you wore, a long-sleeved t-shirt with the three buttons at the top completely unbuttoned. With ease, and all the casualty in the world, you brought your paper, printed and paperclipped together, to Eddie’s office, coming around the side of his desk to drop it in front of him.

“Thank you so much for looking at my paper before the deadline, I just want to make sure I get it right,” you had said, your eyes soft and doe eyed.

Eddie nodded slightly, his eyes drifting from your face down to your completely bare thighs. “O-Of course, Miss y/n. I’m happy to though I’m sure there’s not much to be corrected.” You spied his hands resting on his desk, and you took the opportunity to make skin on skin contact.

You placed your hand on top of his, feeling the coolness of his silver rings that were scattered across his long fingers. You laugh softly, the reverberation causing your breasts to jiggle on your chest. “You’re so kind to me, Professor Munson.” Your fingers curled around his soft hand, and you let it rest there, taunting Eddie to almost say ‘See? You could have all this. Come find out.’ There’s no doubt in your mind, standing in his office, all alone, barely clothed, that he wanted to jump you, lifting that tiny skirt you wore to bunch up at your midsection.

Eddie’s eyes flickered to where your hands rested together and he coughed, rolling his chair under his desk to hide his lower half. You bit your lip, hoping that a boner was what he was attempting to conceal as he pushed his bottom half under his desk. You lift your hand off of his, stepping away from the side of your desk. “I’ll come to your office hours next week to see what you thought of my research?”

Eddie nods, his eyes no longer looking to make contact with yours. “See you then.”

The following week you had done what you said you would, making an appearance in his office hours for the thousandth time. You had begun to grow a confidence that was reassuring, probably contributing to your delusions: a professor could never let himself fuck a student, right? Not in your world. You played innocent, pretending as if you didn’t know what you were doing as leaned across Eddie’s cluttered desk to grasp your paperclipped essay with his suggestions scribbled across it, your breasts on full display. You pretended to not know Eddie was watching as you ‘accidently’ dropped your paper on the way out of his office, making of a show of bending down to show your ass that was fitted in a lace thong – and also pretended not to understand why Eddie gasped, then coughed, as you took a moment to pick up your papers that were scattered across the entrance of his office. When you were away from his office, sauntering down the hallway, you just had to pat yourself on the back for the show you just put on. ‘Damn, I’m good at this.’ You thought to yourself, a smug smile playing across your mouth. Eddie was beginning to be just where you wanted him.

“Well, I think we’ll leave it there for this week. Make sure to follow the syllabus and read what’s required for next week,” Professor Munson said, continuing to lean against his desk. “I’ll wait around if anyone has any questions.”

You were slow to gather your things, tucking them all away into your backpack. You peeked around you to watch the last of your classmates filter out into the busy hallway. At last, it was just you and Eddie.

“Professor Munson, I have a question.” You say, standing up from your seat. Oddly, you were nervous, your fingers trembling, your voice wavering. Perhaps you are afraid of rejection.

Eddie hums, his eyes flickering to where you stand. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

‘So much’ you think. “Well, I just feel like I’m not following the discussion in class. As if reading all the material isn’t enough to understand what we’re talking about. Perhaps I need a more hands-on approach?” You say, stepping forward to where Eddie rests against his desk.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Eddie says, his arms uncrossing from in front of his chest to holding him up against the desk. “A hands-on approach?”

You bite your lip, nodding as you step closer to him again, continuing to close the gap that exists between you and your professor. “Something more.. intimate, perhaps?” You let your backpack drop to the ground, freeing your hands. You wear a zip up hoodie that’s cropped at the waist, though underneath it your skin becomes slick with sweat and nervousness. You make a show of unzipping it slowly, the sound echoing through the classroom. Outside, students shout and chatter as they walk to their next class and for a moment you’re afraid of someone walking in.

Eddie’s eyes watch closely as your fingers work to unzip your hoodie, then shrug it off, dropping it on top of where your backpack lays across the linoleum floor. “A-Are you referring to when I called you out for daydreaming because, of course, our minds can’t stay occupied on a single topic for a long time; studies have proven that.” Eddie says, beginning to ramble. His adams apple bobs at the front of his throat, his voice quivering.

You smile, cocking your head to the side. Crossing your arms in front of you, you take the hem of your shirt into your fingers, lifting up and off with ease. “I’m not talking about that. I think I just need some lessons; you know?” Confidence courses through your veins, pushing the disbelief that you were stripping your clothes off for your college professor into the back of your mind.

Eddie says nothing, his eyes watching every movement you make. His mouth gapes open slightly, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He knows he shouldn’t be sitting against his desk watching, he should be stopping you, but he can’t move, his mind in a trance watching you, his student, bare yourself in front of him.

You watch closely, analyzing Eddie’s facial expressions. You interpret his face as shocked, bewildered. You decide to take it another step further, reaching behind you with both hands to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts that you’ve been taunting him with. Left in only your skirt and tennis shoes, you step once more to Eddie, finally close enough to reach out and touch him.

Your fingers play against his face, your fingertips beginning to trace his features. To your surprise, his hands reach out to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt. Eddie maneuvers you between his legs, bringing you almost nose to nose with him. The sensation of Eddie holding on to you makes your core begin to tighten, knowing he’s finally beginning to lean into game you’ve been playing.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Eddie says, his brown eyes watching as the pad of your thumb brushes against his bottom lip. You lean forward, letting your lips hover over his. “Oh, but you know you want to, Professor Munson. I know I want to,” You say, your nose nudging into his as you let your lips get closer and closer to his.

Eddie swallows, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue creating a tender, painful boner to form against the tightness of his jeans. He wants to so bad, ever since you walked into office hours for the first time. So, innocent you were, though Eddie was no fool – he knew it was all an act. The way you were just barely an adult, only nineteen, his young pupil, yet you had the confidence and sexual charm of a grown woman. He had fallen right into your trap, a willing victim.

Without hesitation, you let your lips gently intertwine with Eddie’s, each movement soft and delicate. Eddie hesitates at first, your lips moving against his as his mouth remains stiff though he isn’t able to refrain for long, the feeling of your soft lips against his, the sweetness of your mouth flowing into his forced him to give in. Eddie’s hands begin to move lower down your body, his hands finding their way underneath your skirt. Before he pulls your panties down, letting the drop to your ankles, he lets his fingertips drag against your cunt, feeling the way your pulsing clit is pressed against the fabric of your undergarments. To you, the feeling makes your eyes roll back, the pressure of Eddie’s fingers pressing against your most sensitive parts making your knees weak. You whine against his mouth, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders to press your bare front into his.

It takes everything in Eddie to refrain from pulling your panties down abruptly, flipping you face down onto his desk when you whine against his mouth. Slow and steady; Eddie wants to relish every minute he’s under your spell. Instead, Eddie pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, letting your moistness to be revealed. You drip around his fingers, your body preparing itself for his arrival. Eddie’s breath hitches when he feels how slick your cunt is, how turned on you are from merely his presence, just from a minute or so of kissing. Eddie’s stomach twists with guilt, knowing his interaction with you goes against every university code of conduct, though he couldn’t care less. With a swift movement, he lets his pointer and middle finger plunge into you, your wet core swallowing his digits whole.

This time, the feeling of Eddie pushing his fingers inside of you causes you to moan loudly, throwing your head back, eyebrows knitted together with building frustration. Eddie takes the opportunity, now that your lips are detached, to leave a trail of gentle kisses down your chest, centering right between your breasts. With his free hand, Eddie cups your breast, letting his mouth envelop your hardened nipple. You hand grips Eddie’s upper arm tightly as the tip of his tongue flicks across your nipple, sending a spark across your chest, your eyes pinching shut with pleasure. In a rhythmic motion, Eddie’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, your wetness from arousal beginning to drip down your inner thighs, and down the back of Eddie’s hand, down his forearm.

Your thighs began to tremble against Eddie’s movements, his long fingers fluttering inside you, immediately attracted to the weakest spot inside of you. You feel pressure beginning to build inside your lower abdomen, the aching feeling of needing Eddie’s cock inside of you. Your eyes flutter shut; your body overwhelmed with the feeling of pleasure caused by Eddie’s thick fingers.

You’re caught off guard when you’re moved quickly, now the one sitting against the hardwood desk, Eddie standing above you. You frown at the feeling of emptiness in your cunt, Eddie’s fingers going missing. Through your eyelashes at Eddie, your lips in a small pout. Eddie lingers above you, his tall stature seeming even taller as you sit at the edge of his desk, the hard edge digging into the softness of your ass.

Eddie’s eyes gaze at you admiringly, his hand reaching out to touch your face in the manor you had touched his, his fingertips attending to all your soft yet beautiful features. The world around you slows to a vibrant hum, the hallways no empty, all the other students off to their next classes. You stare back at Eddie, feeling tension hang in the air similar to how humidity hangs in the air on a hot summer day. Thick and heavy. Slowly, his fingers come to a stop, his eyes never leaving your face. The pad of his thumb brushes the bottom of your lip then pushes between your lips. You part your lips, eyes wide as Eddie places his thumb on your tongue, your lips puckering around his finger. Your eyes flutter closed again, his finger moving in and out of your mouth as you suck gently on his digit, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin.

“Such a good girl,” Eddie whispers, his voice shuddering as he feels your mouth enclose around his finger. “Such a bright student.”

You can’t help but smile, the sound of Eddie complimenting you causing heat to creep up your neck to the apples of your cheeks. You sigh against his finger, letting your tongue cradle his thumb. Your clit begins to pulse, the anticipation beginning to kill you softly. Your eyes flutter open, letting your hands reach out to grasp his lower half, your fingers working to unbuckle his black, leather belt. Next, you pull down his fly, revealing a few inches of dark grey boxers, the outline of his cock growing more evident by the second. You let your fingers creep across the band of his jeans, using your upper arm strength to begin to tug downwards.

Eddie pulls his thumb out of your mouth, stepping back to allow you the space to pull his pants and boxers down. You push yourself off the edge of the desk, kneeling down on the floor, in front of Eddie, to pull his pants down to his calves. Satisfyingly, Eddie’s thick cock bounces free from the confines of his jeans, his pink tip at your eye-level. With no hesitation, nor second thoughts, you take his cock into your hand, your mouth opening to welcome him down your throat. Eddie’s member bulges as you guide him gently down the canal of your throat, your lips puckering in a way that that’s you engulf him. You feel him shudder underneath your touch, his eyes pinching shut, his hand finding its way into the thickness of your hair. His fingers intertwine in your hair, allowing Eddie a good grip to guide you how he pleases.

Eddie is only the second person you’ve ever fucked, though your positive the first time barely counts. And he’s certainly the biggest cock you’ve ever dealt with, surely ever seen. Your eyes begin to water as your throat expands to fit him inside, your throat walls beginning to ache at the work it has to do to fit him. Nonetheless, you move back and forth, tears beginning to threaten to spill over onto your cheeks, Eddie moving seamlessly in your mouth. Eddie begins to thrust gently into your mouth, his body moving in autopilot as he responds to the pleasure you provide by giving him head. You whimper and moan as he utilizes your throat in just the way he likes, Eddie deciding what temp you move at, as you hold onto his thighs for balance.

Eddie feels himself getting nearly close, though he has no intention of finishing now. He wants his time with you to last even longer. Eddie backs his hips away from your mouth, letting his cock slip out of your mouth, a single spit string attached at the tip of his cock to your mouth. He leans forward, gripping his hand tightly around your upper arm and lifting you off the ground. With authority, he spins to around, pushing you towards the wooden desk again. Placing a hand on the middle of your back, he pushes you forward, legs pressed against the front of the desk, upper torso bent across the classroom desk. Your eyes and fists squeeze together tightly, the anticipation of feeling Eddie pushed inside of you leaving you on the very edge. You’ve waited for this moment for months. All your wildest fantasies coming true.

Eddie gently kicks your ankles, spreading your legs apart further, gathering both of your wrists into his hands, behind your back. He leans forward, hovering near your ear. “You’re so beautiful, y/n.” Eddie says, his voice low. “I knew you were special when you walked into my classroom at the beginning of the semester – so perky, so eager to please.”

You nod against the desk, feeling the muscles in your shoulder begin to burn from Eddie holding your wrists behind your back. “I wanted to be a good student, Professor Munson. The best one you ever had.”

You hear the sound of Eddie moving behind you, feel the softness of his skin as he presses himself against you, his throbbing cock getting closer to your cunt. With his hand, Eddie guides his tip against your entrance. “How do you want it?”

Truthfully, you wanted it every and any way. “Hard, rough. I want you so bad, I’ve been thinking about this for so long, Professor Munson. Please, I just want to be fucked.”

Eddie can’t help it anymore, the sound of you practically begging for him, the way your voice contorts into a whine. It’s the hottest sound he believes he’ll ever hear. He lines himself up with you, his tip grazing your cunt. You sigh loudly, the feeling of him teasing your throbbing cunt makes your legs shiver and become weak.

Eddie takes a deep breath, feeling like he could come all over your bare ass, the sight of you bending forward across his desk just enough to do the trick. But he refrains. With one hand, he spreads your ass cheeks apart, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Eddie’s heart beats against his chest, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he eases himself into you. Your slick cunt envelopes Eddie’s cock, tightening around him as he begins to thrust into you. His eyes roll back into his head, the feeling of you causing him to lose his breath.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a whine escaping your lips. Your arms extend from behind your back out to the side, gripping onto the desk. “Oh fuck, Eddie.” You mumble, sighing as you speak. Your body goes from tense to slack, the feeling of Eddie rutting into you bringing you pure pleasure. “Keep going, don’t stop.”

Eddie nods, though he knows you can’t see him. His body moves into you rhythmically, his cock driving entirely into you. Eddie watches for a moment, the way his cock moves into you slowly, your cunt swallowing him whole, and how when he pulls back, his cock is drenched in your arousal. He can’t help but moan in disbelief.

As Eddie takes you from behind, his motions are slow and even, though your body begins to crave more as the seconds pass. You feel Eddie’s long fingers drip your hip bones; his fingernails blunt against your skin. Needing the feeling of Eddie moving through you at a faster pace, you begin to roll your hips against him, essentially using his cock to fuck yourself. Eddie’s eyes widen, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as he watches you move against him. “Such a good girl, y/n.” Eddie says, leaning over to brush your hair that has gathered in front of your face. He watches as your face softens; your lips parting as little breaths escape your mouth. “Yes, Professor Munson,” you mumble, your cheeks flushing with a soft pink.

Your back arches, your bottom lifting higher into the air. You squirm underneath Eddie’s grip, his stance holding you in place as he takes over thrusting into you. Eddie feels his knees becoming weak, the sensation of his core tightening in his lower abdomen causing him to flinch. Eddie would love nothing to more than to come into you, thick ropes of his cum filling your cunt, giving him the opportunity to watch it drip out of you. He chooses to refrain, knowing that getting a student pregnant would be worse than fucking a student. As Eddie fantasizes about all the places he wants to come on you, he senses your legs tremble underneath him, your arms extending reaching out across the table, gripping the edge. “Yes,” your voice coos. “Right there.” You clench around Eddie’s cock, your core burning as if you’ve touched the sun, legs trembling as you reach a peak, an intense wave bringing your orgasm through your body, straight down to your toes.

Eddie watches mystified, the way your body shudders underneath his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, soft sighs and whines echoing across the empty classroom. Just you and him. Eddie is sure your orgasming, all because of his touch, is the most beautiful sight, pretty enough to be a historical painting, hung in the Louvre.

After a moment, your body relaxes again, becoming limp as sweat collects across your body and in your hairline. Eddie pulls himself out of you, reaching to grab your forearm. With his strength, he pulls you across the desk, bringing you to your knees in front of him. For the first time in several moments, and he gets a look at your weathered face. Your lips are red and puckered, dried spit across your cheek. Your eyes are glassy, red rimming your eyes, black mascara smudged under your eyes. Your cheeks are flushed, pieces of your hair clinging to your face. You look tired, exhausted, yet you’re still so eager to please, your hands beginning to move towards Eddie’s cock that rests at your eye level. You lick your lips, missing the flavor of him inside your mouth.

Eddie lets his fingers intertwine in your hair again, bringing you underneath his cock. You crouch down, looking up at Eddie through your eyelashes. You watch, arousal still collecting in your cunt, as Eddie strokes himself above you, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. “Come for me, Professor Munson. Let me find out how you taste.”

Eddie’s eyes open, his eyes finding yours. Just then, ropes of cum dribble out of the tip of his cock, splashing onto your cheeks, across your nose. You lean up, resting your tongue just underneath his tip. In a slow flow, Eddie’s come dribbles onto your tongue, the sweet, yet salty, flavor causing your tastebuds to flair. You sigh, satisfaction playing across your face as you swallow Eddie’s load, more of his semen splattering your face as you do so.

Once Eddie is finished, he’s out of breath, sweat causing dark spots across his ‘Metallica’ t-shirt. Eddie pulls his boxers and jeans up, glancing at you as he rights himself, zipping his fly and re-buckling his belt. You're slower to put your clothes on, liking the way it feels to have Eddie’s gaze on your naked body, his eyes taking in every curve of yours.

Once you put your clothes back on, bending over to pick up your zip up hoodie and beginning to put your arms in the sleeve, Eddie coughs, standing awkwardly off to the side. “This can never happen again, y/n. This was a lapse in my judgment.”

You pout, tossing him a glance. You bend over once more, picking your backpack up by one of the straps. “Professor Munson, please” you say, shaking your head. You run a hand through your hair, attempting to make it look as if you just didn’t get railed, by your professor, in a classroom. “We both know this is going to happen again, and again. Should I come to office hours next week?”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. Eddie knows it’s wrong to have relations with a student, likely to get him fired if anyone were to ever find out. But you were so enticing, irresistible. For a moment, Eddie wonders how many people you’ve been with. Where did you learn to be so appealing, to move your hips in such a way, pouting your lips and batting your lashes to draw in any man you please? Regardless, Eddie wants to know more about you, learn what else you want to do with him. “Yes, come to my office hours next week.”

#stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #professor Eddie x reader

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huffelpuff210 · 5 months ago

Text

All my stories so far

Fighter series Alpha Tony x Alpha Steve Roger’s x Alpha Bucky Barnes x omega reader

Ch 1

Ch.2

Ch.3

Ch.4

Ch.5

Ch.6

Ch.7

Ch.8

Ch.9

Ch.10

Ch. 11

Alpha Steve Rogers x Alpha Bucky Barnes x Omega teen reader

Ch. 1

Ch.2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Dark Alpha Steve Rogers x Dark Alpha Bucky Barnes x omega Reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Bucky x shy reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch.5

Dark Stucky x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Andy Barber x shy Reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Dark mob Stucky x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

King loki x shy reader

Ch. 1

Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch.3

Dark professor Steve Rogers x innocent reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch5

Dark biker Bucky Barnes x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Dark professor Tony Stark x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Dark Steve Roger’s x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Dark mob boss Bucky Barnes x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Dark Bucky Barnes shifter x Shifter reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Loki x shy reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Mob stucky x child reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes x depressed teen female reader

Ch. 1

Ch.2

Ch. 3

Dark Stucky x pregnant reader

Ch.1

Bucky Barnes x shifter reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Mafia Bucky Barnes x reader

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Part. 5

Thor x shifter reader

Dark Tony Stark x Reader

Dark Stucky x pregnant reader

Dark husband Bucky Barnes x pregnant reader

Dark Steve Rogers x shifter reader

Prompts

Loki

My Dove

Loki x shifter reader

Bucky Barnes

You are mine now

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moniquesha · 1 month ago

Text

magical notebook

Pair: Professor!Steve x student!reader

Summary: Everyone writes random stuff at the back of their notebooks like jokes, doodles, boredom ramblings. But when your spicy fantasies about your professor start coming true... that’s a problem.

Warnings: is this being short considered a warning?

Every student knows the back pages of a notebook are sacred. Reserved for chaotic doodles, late-night ramblings, or outrageous fantasies written in boredom. So when you start scribbling some particularly inappropriate and most vile thoughts about your infuriatingly attractive professor, Mr. Rogers, it's all just harmless fun.. right?

But then, weird things start happening. The smirk you imagined? He flashes it the next day. The offhand comment you made up? He says it word for word. And that scandalous daydream you definitely didn't mean to jot down? It’s beginning to play out in real life.

Now you're stuck between trying to keep your thoughts college appropriate and figuring out why your notebook might just be cursed or enchanted. Either way, you’re in trouble if any of what you’ve written down gets out to the public.

“Hey, let’s play tic-tac-toe. Give me your notebook,” Kate whispers beside you, nudging your elbow with hers like she’s in on some grand secret.

You clutch your pen tighter, eyes widening. “No! Use your own notebook.”

Kate raises an eyebrow and grins, smug as hell. “Why? You writing dirty things about Mr. Rogers?”

Your face heats instantly. “What? No!” you whisper-shout, already turning away so she doesn’t see the exact shade of mortified red blooming across your cheeks.

Kate leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You totally are. Is it the arms? The jawline? The ‘yes, ma’am’ energy?”

“Shut up!” you hiss, but she’s not letting up.

“I'm right, aren't I? Damn, what did you write? ‘Oh, Mr. Rogers, I forgot my homework—guess I need a private lesson’?”

You groan, slamming your forehead down on your desk. Somewhere behind you, Mr. Rogers clears his throat. And when you lift your head, heart pounding, he’s looking straight at you. With that exact smirk you described in your notebook last night.

Absolutely loving this energy—here’s the next part, keeping that tension and inner chaos alive:

“Anything you wanna share with the class, ladies?”

Mr. Rogers' voice radiates in the room. Smooth, deep, and dangerously hot.

You both stiffen. Kate’s eyes go wide for half a second before she ducks her head, feigning innocence. You’re quicker on the draw.

“None, sir,” you say, straightening your back like a soldier at attention. You hope he can’t see the way your hand is clenching your pen like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence.

From the corner of your eye, Kate slowly fixes her posture too, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. But you can’t help it. Your thoughts betray you.

Because the smirk on his face, that smirk, is exactly how you wrote it.

“Mr. Rogers smirks like he knows something I don’t. He’s so hot.”

You wrote that. In ink. In your notebook. And now here he is, doing exactly that like he read the damn thing himself. You glance over at your bag, where the cursed notebook rests. Your eyes narrow.

Okay, what the hell is going on?

“Well, that’s all for today,” Mr. Rogers announces, his voice warm but commanding. “Notebooks here in front for your homework before you leave.”

The usual shuffle of zippers and chairs fills the room as students begin filing out. Kate flashes you a wink over her shoulder before disappearing out the door, traitor that she is.

You move slower, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. There’s something quietly addicting about being the last one here. Just you, him, and the low hum of leftover tension hanging in the air.

You zip up your bag, straighten your pile of books, and finally step toward his desk, notebook in hand. His eyes flick upward from the papers in front of him. That slow, lazy drag of his gaze feels intentional.

And then, that smirk again. The one you definitely didn’t write about in specific, feral detail.

You smile back. Polite. Innocent. Lie harder.

“Ms. Y/N,” he calls as you turn to leave. “I think you passed the wrong notebook.”

You blink, turning around. “Excuse me?”

He holds it up with one hand, the corner of his mouth tugged in barely-contained amusement. “This isn’t your history notebook.”

“It.. is?” You tilt your head, confused. “I swear that’s—”

“I know it’s the wrong one,” he interrupts smoothly, tapping the cover with a finger. “Because the back of it is clean. Empty.”

You freeze.

“I was looking forward to reading your little… fantasies about me,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Did you change notebooks?”

Holy. Fuck.

Your brain goes static. Your soul briefly leaves your body. Is it hot in here? Is this death?

He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

What do you even say to that?

Your mouth opens, but your brain hasn't caught up yet.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you finally stammer, mentally screaming at yourself to pull it together.

Mr. Rogers hums thoughtfully, flipping your notebook open with one hand, like he’s not just casually dismantling your nervous system right now.

“No doodles, no nonsense in the margins, no poetic thirsts about me scribbled at the back,” he muses, flipping to the last page and holding it up like it’s evidence. “This can’t be yours.”

You gape at him, heart pounding in your ears. “You read the backs of our notebooks?”

He shrugs, smile sharp. “Only yours.”

You forget how to breathe for a second.

He closes the notebook slowly, places it neatly on the pile, then looks up at you again, this time with that look. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is enjoying every second of it.

“I’ll expect the correct one tomorrow,” he adds, voice dropping an octave, “with all the usual.. dirty commentary.”

You laugh nervously, trying to figure out if he’s messing with you or if you’ve accidentally written yourself into a romcom or worse, a fantasy that’s rapidly becoming reality.

“Right,” you mutter, backing away with all the grace of a malfunctioning Roomba. “Tomorrow. Yep. Got it.”

You practically sprint out the door, and as it clicks shut behind you, you hear his low chuckle smug, knowing, lethal.

Kate is waiting down the hall, and when she sees your face, she cackles. “You did write down the most filthiest fantasy, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer. You just dig through your bag for your real notebook.

And when you pull it out, you sigh in relief but the thrill creeps back in as you look at the last line you wrote.

Because it says:

“Mr. Rogers finds out everything. And then he plays along.”

a/n: i laughed so hard writing this, used to draw penises at the back of my notebooks and got scolded so hard before LOL

divider from: omi-resources

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america x y/n #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #bucky barnes au #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #professor steve rogers

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saiyanprincessswanie · 21 days ago

Text

Extra Credit

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 1715

Summary: You try to beg your professor for a better grade on your paper. He’s come up with extra credit instead.

Warnings: Oral Male, Smut, P in V.

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with squares Professor AU + “Kneel for Me.” Card (KB010)

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for my wonderful header. I absolutely love it.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

You’re heading to college today to speak with Professor Rogers about the grade he’s given you on your latest History paper - it’s far lower than you thought you deserved. You worked on that paper so hard, holed up in the library for almost a month perfecting it. You’ve even sacrificed seeing your fiancé for all that time. No sex, no sleepovers, nothing. This means that not only are you mad, you’re sexually frustrated, especially as your fiancé is refusing to talk to you currently as some kind of payback.

Walking to Professor Roger’s office, you double checked your appearance in the reflection from the windows. You’d made sure you were dressed seductively in the hope it would help you get your way with some extra credit. You’re wearing a pink sundress and sandals that show off your legs to perfection. You know that Professor Rogers has liked your dresses all semester long by the way he’s stared at you and cleared his throat. It was clear that he’s been wanting to get his hands on you but you’ve shyly blown him off. Maybe grading your paper is his way to stick it to you?

Finally arriving at his office, you knock twice and hear him call out, ‘Come in.’ Opening the door, you see Professor Rogers sitting behind his desk. He’s a handsome, muscular man, built with wide shoulders and a trim waist. He wears his dark blonde hair a little longer than would be expected for someone in his position and sports a matching beard that had touches of grey in it. To top it off, his azure blue eyes are framed by the glasses that sit perfectly on his handsome face. Safe to say, Professor Rogers is legit sex on a stick.

When he says your name it gets your attention right away. “Please have a seat.”

You close the door behind you and walk in, taking the seat opposite him. As you cross your legs you notice his eyes following your movement. He licks his lips before a smile settles on his face.

“What can I do for you today?” He asks as he sits straighter in his chair.

“Well, Professor Rogers, I’m here because of my grade I got on my final paper. See, I don’t understand why I got a ‘C’ grade for my paper. I worked very hard on it and spent the last month in the library researching the topic. I even stopped seeing my fiancé so I could focus on doing my best. I think I deserve better than the grade you gave me.”

Professor Rogers just stares at you for a moment. “So you think because you gave up on things in your life and stayed in the library, you deserve a better grade?”

“I mean, when you put it that way, yes, I do. I was in the library after my classes for hours on end. I went some nights with barely any sleep. So I feel…”

He interrupts you. “You feel like you deserve a better grade? Maybe I was too tough on you?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m so glad you understand.”

“Wrong.” Professor Rogers leans forward on his desk, his sleeves rolled up and looking quite annoyed. “This is college. You’re supposed to be working hard for your grade. Just because you quit seeing your fiancé doesn’t mean you get extra points.”

“But Professor, you don’t understand, I need this grade to be better in order to keep my scholarship. Maybe extra credit or something to help me out.”

“So you want extra credit now to help your grade. Say I do this for you, what do I get out of it?”

“You would have a student who will be very appreciative of your help.” You offer a smile but you can see he is not amused.

Taking his glasses off he pushes back from his desk and walks around it to sit on the edge of it. “While that may be nice on your end, I’m talking about me. What do I get out of this? Hmmm. Let’s say I’m willing to give you extra credit for your assignment. What are you going to do for me?” He raises one eyebrow and pointedly looks you up and down.

Your thighs rub together on their own accord as your pussy grows wet. You can see where he’s going with this. “I would do anything for you.” You coyly professed.

“Anything? Just like that.” He gets up again and walks behind you. You hear the faint click of the lock being put into place before you feel his hands on your shoulders, lightly massages them.

“Yes. Anything.” You whisper out.

He appears back in front of you and smirks. “Kneel for me.”

You hesitate for a moment, but get out of your chair and do what he says.

“Good girl. Now your assignment is to let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours before I take your pussy. If you can behave, I’m sure your grade will get the boost you need.”

You look up at him with doe eyes and nod your head. “Yes, Professor Rogers.”

“No, darling, call me Steve.”

“Yes, Steve.” You answer, seductively.

Steve undoes his top button on his pants and unzips them, pushing them and his underwear down just enough for his hard cock to spring free. You can’t believe how long and thick he is and let out a little whimper and then lick your lips.

You gently take hold of him and lick up from his base. At the tip, you swirl your tongue and then take him in your mouth. You start to bob your head up and down, slowly working him down your throat, your right hand stroking what you can't fit in your mouth. Your eyes are locked with his the whole time you take him.

Steve groans above you as his hands fist your hair. You speed up and slow down over and over again, driving Steve wild. Until finally, he takes charge and starts thrusting into your throat. You gag at first from the intrusion, but finally relax your throat, allowing him to take what he wants from you.

You hum around his cock and Steve lets out a low growl from the feeling. His light moans and groans fill his office. When his rhythm falters you know he’s close, so you reach up and cup his balls. That’s all he needs to cum down your throat with a shout of your name.

You swallow every drop of his cum and kiss the tip of his cock when he pulls it from your abused throat. It twitches at the sensation and Steve smiles down at you. “That was a great start. Plenty of effort from beginning to end. Now let's see how your pussy does.”

He strokes his cock until it hardens again and you slowly stand up. Steve leans in and kisses you on your lips. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate and allow him to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, Steve spins you around toward the desk and pushes his things off it, including a picture frame. He lifts you up onto its edge and parts your legs. His hands slide up your thighs to your pussy but he stops short when he realizes you have no panties on.

“You little minx. No panties?” He pushes your dress up around your hips. “You really were here to get my attention, huh? I have to say you fully have it.”

Steve thrusts into you hard, causing you to whimper. His pace iss anything but soft as he fucks you fast on the desk and you moan with every thrust as he takes you apart with his cock.

“Take it. Every. Fucking. Inch.” Steve growls in your ear.

You can’t help but breathily whimper his name. “Steve…” Your legs weakly wrap around his hips as you try to meet him thrust for thrust.

Steve slows his pace and gently lays you down on the desk, changing the angle taking you with an agonising slowness that makes you whine in frustration.

“Don’t like it when I get you back for teasing me, do you? If I were you, I’d hold on for the ride of your life,” he grunts out.

You do your best to hold onto the desk as Steve stops torturing you and speeds up again. With the change in position, he’s now able to hit your sweet spot. Over and over he thrusts against it, making you cry out his name.

“St-Steve! More. Harder.”

On a particularly hard thrust you finally let go and cum for him. Your walls tighten around his cock, triggering his orgasm and he cums with a shout. He continues to thrust as he spills deep inside you before slowing and then stopping.

You lie there on your back and feel absolutely satisfied. You hum your approval as Steve starts to chuckle. Slowly he pulls out of you and grabs tissues to clean both of you up. After you’re both as clean as possible he throws the tissues in the garbage and helps you sit up. Your breathing is only just returning to normal.

“That was incredible, Steve,” you murmur out.

“Your extra credit has been approved.” He states in reply as he pulls his pants and underwear back up.

You slide off the desk and retrieve the picture frame from the floor, smiling as you put it back on his desk. An engagement photo of the pair of you.

“So does this mean you forgive me for not sleeping with you for a month?” you enquire as you fix your dress and hair so you don’t look completely fucked out.

“Oh no, you still have more making-up to do, although I’ll admit that this little roleplaying of yours was hot as hell. We should do it again sometime.” Steve runs his fingers through his hair, picks his glasses up and puts them on.

“Well then, since you’re done for the semester, let me start making it up to you when we get home.”

“That sounds like a plan, future Mrs. Rogers.” Steve kisses the top of your head and throws an arm around your waist. Unlocking the door, you both head home for some more sexy times.

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#saiyanprincessswanie #missy writes #extra credit #professor au #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #professor steve rogers #professor!steve rogers #professor!steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #aakinky

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Late Bloomer 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

You are as ever painfully early. It's a habit that often leaves you wandering or hovering awkwardly. You check your watch as you come up to the steps of the century-old building. You are in dread of your physics class but it turns out that all the easy electives fill up fast.

Before you can start the ascent, there's a scuff of steps from the other side. The breadth of the stairs nearly spans a third of the grand facade. You glance over as a young man with a messenger bag rushes up the first few steps only to trip and sprawl over the concrete stairs with an oomph. Without hesitation, you rush over as he groans and clatters back to the bottom.

"Oh my gosh, are you alright?" You scoop up the phone that flew from his hand, seemingly the cause of his accident.

He grunts and struggles to turn himself over, clutching his chest as he can't even get a word out. You know exactly what's happened. You rub his back through his burgundy jacket and give a gentle lat.

"Ah, you're fine, honey, you just got the wind knocked out of ya."

He nods and gulps, a spiral of his reddish brown hair falling down his forehead. His dark eyes meet yours, their panicked sheen softening as his lips tremble in an attempt at a smile.

"Thanks," he rasps at last.

You pull your arm back and offer him your phone.

"That was quite the tumble," you stand straight and extend your hand. He takes it and hauls himself up.

"Yeah, this dang thing," he wiggles his cell and tucks it away in his jacket, "always getting me in trouble."

You smile nervously and your eyes drift down as he favours one leg. There's a red splotch growing on his khakis. You pop your brows up in concern.

"Er, think you got yourself good." You point and he looks down.

"God! I knew I shouldn't have worn these ones. I told May, dark colours!"

"Baking soda, maybe a bit of club soda," you assure him. "I got bandaids in my bag."

"You-- do?" He's surprised.

"Can never be too prepared," you smile. "Um, I guess..

We're in the way."

You glance around as you sense bodies heading up the steps, a few glancing your way.

"Uh, yeah, why don't we head inside," he takes a ginger step. "Uh, typical. My first day."

"It'll get better," you say.

"Hm, yeah, I guess it already has," he grins at you before he turns back up the steps.

"You need help?" You ask.

"No, no, I'm not a total disaster," he chuckles. "So," he clears his throat as you catch up to him, "what do you teach?"

"Oh," you repress a strike of embarrassment. Of course he would assume you're a professor, or a TA at the very least. It's obvious you have a few years on him and most of your classmates. "I'm a student."

"Nice," he nods, "wait, oh, gee, I didn't mean to imply-- ah, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. It's my second year. First year all the freshmen called me mom," you shake your head. "But that might be the bandaids in my bag."

"Maybe," he stops and squints, "right..." he points his finger around as he thinks, "this way."

You let him guide you. You don't need to be in class for another half hour. You follow him up to the second floor. That's where your class will be. Convenient.

When he stops at a door and digs around in his pocket, your heart drops. You look up at the room number as he takes out a set of keys and unlocks the door. You chew on your dismay.

He lets you in ahead of him. You wait patiently and he heads up to the podium. He leans on the table next to it as he unhooks his bag from over his shoulder. He sighs and peers down at his knee.

The pulls up the fabric and hisses. You approach as you sift through your bag. He bends his leg as he looks at the scrape. It's not that bad.

You take out the little pack of alcohol wipe from the little emergency pouch. How many times have you played mother hen to drunk coeds? You're prepared for it all.

"Wow, you got everything in that magic bag," he teases.

You squat down and wipe the blood away. As you peel the bandaid wrapper away, you scoff, "I'm a pack horse. Utterly terrified of forgetting anything important."

You cover the cut and run your fingers across the bandage to make sure it sticks. He winces.

"Sorry," you apologise as you stand and crumple up the wipe and wrapper.

You search around for the garbage and toss the waste. You fish again in your bag and take out your sanitizer. You squirt it onto your palm and drop it back through the open zipper. Your rub your hands together as he pulls his pantleg back down.

"Well, since you got my blood on your hands, I guess you should get a name too," he chuckles, "I'm Peter. Er, Professor Parker. Still getting used to that."

He offers his hand and you shake it, "Olive."

"Olive. Pretty. Er, interesting. Oh no," he pulls back, "I went through sensitivity training. Can I say that?"

"It's fine, professor. I'm not overly fond of the name myself," you shrug.

"Right, well," he bends his arm and tugs up his sleeve to check his apple watch. "I hope I didn't make you late."

"Well, actually, funny story," you scratch the side of your neck, "I'm enrolled in Physics 2."

He tilts his head and his lips part on disbelief, "you're joking."

"Nah, it's not exactly my favourite subject but I'll do my best," you say, "but er, if you need to get set up, I can wait in the hall."

"What? No. You're early. Make sure you get the best seat," he insists. "I will say the front row is where you wanna be but I was a student not too long ago and I won't be insulted if you sit in the back."

You laugh, "well, you know, I'm a late bloomer and these ears aren't so good." You kid, "front row's fine with me."

His grin lingers, awkwardly as his forehead lines and he tries to come up with a response. You smile, "I'll go sit down."

You give a little wave and go to find a seat. You settle in with your bag in your lap and slid out your notebook and the box of fresh pens. You tried your laptop for notes but you just find your eyes hurt from the blue light.

You tuck your bag under your seat and unfold the small desk from the arm rest. As you peel back the cover of your notebook, your ears tingle. You glance over as Peter-- Professor Parker, peeks at you. You give a tense smile and pull out a pen, putting your focus back to your notebook.

At least if you do crappy, you might be able to charm yourself into at least a passing grade.

#peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #peter parker x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #spider-man #captain america #avengers #au #bad professors #mcu #marvel #late bloomer

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 months ago

Text

i dare you

a/n: for all of you hoes who are also hot for teacher, bon appetit, bitch ♡

summary: “no, I was thinking a little something else,” a mischievous grin slowly twisted up his lips, “how about, if we win, then you have to make a move on that professor,” he goaded, “but if you win, then we’ll–, I don’t know, what would you like?”

warnings: professor!peter parker x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, college au, polyamory, student/teacher relationship, forbidden romance, age gap, dilf!peter, babysitting, alcohol consumption, kissing, corruption kink, car sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, panty sniffing, dirty talk, hair pulling, masturbation, fingering

word count: 3611

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

Staying back, you watched in your periphery as the other students slowly filtered out of the lecture hall, though your gaze stayed glued to the teacher as he packed up his things down by the wide chalkboard.

Professor Parker’s back was turned to you as you neared, and a murmur quickly rolled off your tongue, “professor, I just wanted to–,” but then as he whirled around, unaware of how close you had crept, his frame bumped directly into yours, and the half-empty cup of cold coffee in his grasp jostled in the clash and splashed down upon the both of you.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed as his eyes first flickered down to the large stain on his shirt before they blinked up to discover who was to blame.

“I am so sorry, oh no…” you gasped as you stared back at his ruined button-down, the sodden state of your own clothing not seeping through your guilt yet.

“It’s–,” the flash of anger that had momentarily sparked was swiftly squashed when his gaze fell upon you, “it’s alright,” he exhaled as his shoulders relaxed, “I have some spare clothes in my office.”

“Really?”

“Habit of being a dad,” he shrugged as he picked up his leather satchel, “this is not the first time I’ve spilt something on myself. Come, you can borrow one as well. I’m guessing you don’t want to walk around campus like that,” he faintly nodded to your t-shirt as his eyes fought not to stare.

“What?” you finally glanced down at yourself and noticed how the soaked coffee stain had turned the thin cotton of your shirt nearly transparent, “oh…” heat swiftly began to rise in your cheeks for a different reason other than just the mortification of the clumsy collision, “oh my god…”

Though you only shrugged on the button-down he handed you once you stepped inside of his office, merely covering up the sheer state of your shirt enough for you to get back to your dorm and change, your heart began to hammer in your chest as he absentmindedly stripped off his ruined shirt and didn’t realise what he had done till half of the buttons on the fresh one was fastened.

“So,” he swiftly cleared his throat as you struggled to blink away from the sliver of his chest that he hastily covered back up, “what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Hm?” you hummed, fearing drool might be leaking down your chin by now.

“When I walked into you,” he reminded your foggy head, “you started saying something, so what was it?”

“Oh, that…” an airy chuckle puffed out of your lungs as you averted your gaze, “it’s so silly now…” and you tugged open your backpack and reached into it before you uttered, “I know it’s cliche, but I brought you an apple…”

“Oh,” a smile warmed up the older man’s features as you plucked the fruit out of your bag and held it for him to grasp, “that’s cute.”

Once in his hand, he twisted around to place it delicately in the middle of the cluttered desk behind him.

“You know, now that you’re here,” he began before he turned back to face you, “I wanted to talk to you about maybe looking after Benjamin again.”

“I dare you.”

“What? No!” you shrieked at Andy as he cracked open another beer for himself, “he’s my professor!”

“So? That shouldn’t stop you,” he cocked a brow, “go ask Billy, he’s screwed more faculty members than I can recall,” he nodded to the frat guy currently propped up against the far side wall, chatting up some girl as the party buzzed around him, “come on, you said you have a crush on him.”

“Oh my god,” you swiftly buried your head in your hands, “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Well, then maybe don’t play truth or dare if you’re gonna be such a baby about the things you share,” he only chuckled in return.

Marc then draped an arm around your shoulders and boomed over the music, “you should go for it!”

“Stop, I’m not gonna seduce him,” you crawled out of hiding with a groan, “I’m not some siren.”

“No, but you are a hot little freshman, which is pretty damn close,” Marc smirked as you met his gaze.

A head then poked through the open doorway before it swivelled to find you, “hey, there you guys are,” Scott waved a hand, “we’re up.”

“Oh, finally,” Andy exhaled before you all began to shift into the room in the fraternity where the beer pong table was permanently set up in, “who won last round?”

“Curtis and Bucky,” Scott cocked his head as you settled in beside him on one end of the table while the two others migrated towards the opposite side.

“Aw, man…” Marc swiftly sighed, “they’re probably gonna take the crown again…”

And as you all prepared the table for another game, lining cups up in triangles on either end, Andy’s voice then found your ears as you grasped the small ping pong balls in your palm, ready for your first toss.

“Wait, how about we make this a little more interesting?”

Furrowing your brow, you shifted the lightweight sphere from one hand to the other, “interesting how? I don’t wanna put money on this, if that’s what you mean. My stepfather, and by proxy Steve, may be rich assholes, but that doesn’t mean I am…”

“No, I was thinking a little something else,” a mischievous grin slowly twisted up his lips, “how about, if we win, then you have to make a move on that professor,” he goaded, “but if you win, then we’ll–, I don’t know, what would you like?”

“Oh, wait, I get to choose something?” your eyes couldn’t help but widen at the temptation.

“Yeah.”

Mulling it over, you then uttered, “…well, my notes for pretty much all of my classes are really messy… so, if I win, then you guys could organise them all,” you pointed at both of your competitors with a smile, “rewrite them in nice legible handwriting, colour code it and everything.”

“Seriously?” Andy promptly squinted at you as a look of disappointment washed over his features.

“That's what I want.”

“You know you could have had anything, or anyone, as a prize, and you chose that?”

“What?” you blinked back at him as if you were a puppy, “it’s what I want.”

“Alright then,” a chuckle slipped through his sigh, “game on.”

“Oh, hey. You’re back,” you uttered as you picked your nose out of the textbook cracked open on your professor’s dining table and glanced up to spot him waltzing in through the door. He was slightly wet from the brief trek up the driveway and into the house as rain had begun to hammer against the windows.

“Yeah, that fundraiser dragged on for an eternity…” he sighed as he hung up his coat. Stepping closer to where you sat, he asked, “how did it go here? Is Benji down for the night?”

“Yep, he’s asleep,” you nodded, “we played outside in the garden,” you smiled as you reported, thinking back to how you and the six-year-old had played hide and seek, “he helped supervise while I made dinner, by the way, there’s still some left over in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet,” you briefly pointed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, “and then we started reading Ronja, the Robber's Daughter as a bedtime story, and just as a fair warning, he is hooked. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wakes up tomorrow morning with a burning desire to run into the woods and pretend that he is the daughter of a viking.”

Your collective giggles about the child filled the air a moment before it simmered down once more and Peter’s eyes drifted to your homework on the table.

“And what’s this now?” he planted a hand close to where you sat and leaned in.

“This is the assignment for your class, but don’t peek yet!” your fingers swiftly grasped the corner of the notebook in front of you before you tilted it mostly shut to hide the scribbled words from his view, “that’s cheating! You’ll just have to be patient and get it next week along with all the others.”

“I’ll try my best,” he chuckled as he gazed down at you.

And as you met his eye, your vision soon flickered down to the buttoned-up collar of his shirt before you remembered, “oh hey,” and you dipped down to slip a hand into the backpack you had leaned against the leg of the dining table, “I forgot to give this back to you earlier.”

“Oh, thanks,” his eyebrows floated up a tad as you handed him the shirt you’d borrowed, “I almost forgot about it,” before his fingers drifted up to push his glasses back into place.

A crack of thunder then ripped both of your attentions to the broad window behind you.

“Wow,” you murmured as you watched a bolt of lightning split through the darkness of the late evening, “it’s really coming down out there…”

“Yeah…” Professor Parker hummed before his glance shifted to you, “wait, was that your bicycle out front? You can’t ride back in this weather,” his head faintly shook from side to side.

“Oh, well, you live so close to campus, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense, I’ll drive you,” he pressed.

“You really don’t have to, it’s already so late.”

“Young lady, I am giving you a lift and that’s final,” he captured your timid gaze, “I can’t have my best student get sick or struck by lightning.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you breathed, “well, when you put it like that…”

“Let me just go put this away,” he raised the shirt in his hand up slightly, “and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Great,” you smiled before it promptly dropped as he slipped out of the room.

It had been the guys who had talked you into shimmying off your panties the next time you were here and placing them on his bedside table to enjoy, though you had all but forgotten about the lack of coverage currently beneath your skirt right until you watched your professor waltz right into the lion’s den.

“W-wait–,” you tried to stop him, but by the time you parted your lips, he was already long gone.

And before you even realised it, you had risen from the chair and your feet had begun to tip-toe after him. The dark hallway swallowed you whole as you crept through it towards the open doorway into his bedroom.

Hiding yourself in the shadows with your fingernails digging into the doorframe as you peeked inside, a silent prayer left your lips as you hoped he’d not notice the tiny ball of folded-up, pastel-blue cotton on the nightstand, at least not while you were still under his roof.

Though when he’d tossed the shirt into the hamper by his closet, his footsteps faltered when he turned to exit the room. As he stared at the small bundle, it wasn’t till he reached the bedside table that he realised what exactly it was.

Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand a moment before your palm soared up to clasp over your mouth and silence a gasp as he then raised the pale fabric up even higher till it reached his nose.

Though you knew that you should have, you just couldn’t tear your stare away from him, even after his free hand had squeezed the growing bulge in his pants, after he had freed his fat cock, and even after soft grunts began to tumble up his throat as he let his eyes flutter shut and his tight fist began to stroke his length.

And once he’d gotten himself off, his cum now staining your panties clutched tightly in his grip, he then crumbled them up and stuffed them into his pocket.

Scrambling to rush back to the dining room, you tried to ignore the throbbing between your thighs and the arousal that had begun to leak down them as well from that sinful display.

When you heard his footsteps echo down the hallway, you packed up your things as quickly as you could, tossing them into your backpack as you tried your best to pretend that nothing had just happened.

Clearing his throat as he entered the room once more, he then murmured, “you ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you twisted around to face him, however noticed how he refused to meet your eye.

Though you both tried to be hasty as you went out into the storm, strapping your bike to a rack on the back of his car, you were both still completely soaked when the vehicle’s doors closed behind each of you, low exhales acting as punctuations after the slams.

You tried to recall the long list of tips and tricks your stepbrother’s friends had pushed on you, but your mind went completely blank as all you could think about was the vision of your teacher touching himself before your very eyes.

And before Peter’s fingers could slip the key in and turn on the engine, you found yourself, in your flustered frenzy, leaning in to press your lips to his own.

The kiss was rushed and rather clumsy, but you stayed frozen, long enough for your tense shoulder to begin to thaw, though when you finally felt him slip from his stunned state, he only kissed you back for a split second before his hands grasped your shoulders and he tilted you away from him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded breathlessly as his grip stayed at your upper arms to keep you at a distance.

“I’m sorry, I just–,” you gasped shakily, “I think I might like you…”

“Oh fuck…” a long sigh slipped from his lungs as he bowed his head and closed his eyes, “this can’t be happening…”

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just kind of panicked,” you tried, hearing your voice tremble embarrassingly.

“No, you shouldn’t have asked, because none of this should have happened in the first place,” he swiftly grumbled before he let his touch fade from your arms, “this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have crossed this line, opened my home to you and let you see me as something other than your superior.”

“Professor,” you shifted in your seat, “I’m sorry that I kissed you, I just thought that you might–”

“Kissed me? Oh, this isn’t just about you kissing me,” a soft scoff bubbled out of him as his head faintly shook, “miss Y/l/n, you can’t just leave your undergarments around for your teacher to find.”

Averting your gaze, you found yourself muttering just beneath your breath, “…well it didn’t look like you minded…”

“What?” he nearly growled, “what did you just say?”

“I–…”

“Were you spying on me?” he accused heatedly.

“I–, well–,” you panted, “I can explain, it wasn’t my idea–”

“So, what–, this is just some game you’ve got going with your little friends? See who can sleep with a teacher first or something?”

“No, it’s not,” you frantically shook your head before you had to tilt it in shame, “or well–, some people I know found out about the dumb crush I have on you and then they kinda dared me, gave me some suggestions on what to do…”

“Oh my god…” he exhaled slowly and averted his gaze, “…okay…” he then enclosed his fingers around the steering wheel, “I am gonna drive you back and then we will both forget that any of this ever happened, you got it?” he said firmly, though the hurt in your eyes he then spotted as you blinked back at him swayed him to take a step back and choose his next words very carefully, “look, you’re a very sweet girl, and I’m flattered, truly, but you don’t want me,” he faintly shook his head as he gazed back into your glossy eyes, “you should go be with someone your own age…”

“Should I?” you innocently uttered in a heartbreaking tone, “just like you shouldn’t be getting off to the thought of your students?”

Checkmate.

Slowly, you inched closer to his frozen form, “it’s okay,” you whispered when you leaned so near that your noses nearly touched, “I promise, I won’t tell anyone…”

And then as if something inside of your teacher snapped, he huffed, “fuck…” before he closed the short gap between you both and kissed you fiercely.

It felt as if he was trying to devour you whole as you began to make out in his car, rain still thrashing against the outside as his tongue fluttered against yours for a taste of your youth.

Your fingers soon drifted up to tangle his soaked tie in your grasp and you found yourself purring meekly against his lips as his own touch floated up your frame, ghostly against your sides, before he cupped your jaw.

But just as quickly as he had shattered, he once again pulled back, just ever so slightly to murmur, “this is wrong…” his hot breath fanned across your flaming cheeks, “you’re my student…” before you tilted up to steal another peck from him, one so sweet that it prompted him to crumble even further, “h-how old are you? You’re eighteen?” he asked breathlessly before you offered him a faint nod, “you’re eighteen…” he panted through his conflict, “holy fuck…”

You then kissed him again till his hands gradually began to gain more confidence as they raked across your frame. His touch was bold as it captured your tits, palming the softness through the wet clothing that clung to your curves, making you whimper into his mouth, a sweet sound that caused him to smirk faintly against your lips before he deepened the kiss even further.

“You can touch me, professor,” you panted as one of his hands soared up to weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, “it’s okay, I want you to.”

With his grip rooted in your hair and keeping you close, he held your eye as he then let one of his palms slowly wander down between your thighs till your skirt gathered around the watch on his wrist and his touch crept up to brush against your bare core.

Studying the reaction that flashed across your features closely, he groaned, “holy shit…” as your needy nectar soaked his careful touch, “is this for me? Really?”

“Mhm…” you struggled to nod as his fingertips swept up to graze against your throbbing clit.

“Fuck…” he shared your breath, “you really had me believing that you were just a good little girl who’d never pull a stunt like this…”

“Well, maybe I am,” you uttered raggedly as his caresses caused you to tremble with every rub and flick he granted you in his exploration of your haven, “maybe I just have some really bad influences in my life.”

“Yeah, well then lucky me,” two of his long fingers promptly swept down to slip inside of you, making you gasp at the sudden stretch before you squirmed, your legs instinctively wiggling further apart for him, “keep that devil on your shoulder if this is what it gets you.”

Loosing himself completely, it was as if he was possessed as the kind hearted professor you once knew was no longer the man sitting in the car next to you, certainly not the older doctor who soon began to fuck you with his fingers, making your pussy sing for him, and weep against the leather seat below, as he greedily rocked his digits inside of you.

Tilting down, he let his lips flutter against the collum of your neck as he murmured, “what else did your friends say you should do to get me to fuck you, huh?”

“They–, they–…” you tried to recall, but simply couldn’t as the sensation of his fingers, dragging in and out of your dripping cunt, rendered it an impossible task to accomplish, “fuck… I don’t know, I don’t remember…”

“You don’t?” a low chuckle rumbled in his chest at how flustered he’d made you.

“N-no,” your thighs trembled on either side of his hand as it momentarily withdrew to slip up through your soaked petals to offer your puffy pearl a brief rub, before his touch once again soared down to fill you up, “fuck, please don’t stop, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he pressed his nose against your cheek as he gazed down at your pussy, the front of your skirt now pushed up so high on your hips that one merely had to glance to catch sight of the leaky mess now on full display, “you gonna cum?”

“Mhm,” you nodded frantically as your eyes too fluttered down to peer at his fingers, shiny as they pumped within you, and your eyebrows knitted tightly in pleasure as the overwhelming high threatened to come crashing down upon you like an avalanche.

“Then do it,” the grip he had on the roots of your hair flexed as he then tilted your head slightly for him to capture your hazy gaze, “give me something to think about when I get myself off,” he groaned breathlessly as he kept up his ruthless pace, “cum all over my fingers like a good little girl.”

And as your cunt clenched down around his digits, your loud moans bounced off the car’s walls, “p-professor–, o-oh fuck!”

#lea’s writing #take her under your wing au #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker smut #professor!peter parker #doctor!peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker au #marc spector x reader #scott lang x reader #andy barber x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 9 months ago

Note

bonjour could I please request some beefy professor Steve Roger’s smut? 🫶🤤

Jealous Professor » Steve Rogers (AU)

Pairings: College Professor!Steve Rogers x College Student!Female Reader

Summary: Steve gets jealous when he sees you get a little too friendly with another professor.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, age gap (reader is in her early 20s), dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, spanking, degrading, name calling (slut), pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Steve watched you from the doorway of his office, leaning against the door frame. You were talking to your Literature professor, Professor Barnes, about the homework. To Steve, it looked like you were flirting with his colleague. He didn’t like that and he was going to do something about it.

“Thank you, Professor Barnes! See you tomorrow!” You say, walking away.

Steve called out for you before you got any further down the hall. You turned around to see your History professor motioning you towards him.

“Yes, Professor Rogers?” You asked.

“I’d like to talk to you in my office.” Steve opens the door. “After you.” He says.

You walked in his office without questioning him. You sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Steve closed and locked the door behind him before taking a seat at his desk.

“Is this about my test?” You asked, worried that you got a bad grade on it.

“No. You got an excellent grade on it. That’s not why I called you in here.” He says.

“Oh ok.” You replied. “Why am I here?” You asked

Steve stood up from his desk chair and walked around his desk to where you’re sitting, leaning against the edge of his desk.

“I called you in here, because I didn’t like the way you were talking to Professor Barnes.” He says.

“I wasn’t disrespecting him if that’s what you’re thinking. I was just asking him a question about the homework he assigned.” You explained.

“That’s not what I meant.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his shirt sleeves threatening to rip around his biceps. “You were getting a little too friendly with him.” He says.

“I was just being nice.” You say innocently.

“Being nice doesn’t involve flirting.” He says.

“Sir, I wasn’t flirting with him.” You answered honestly.

“Here’s the thing…” Steve pushed himself off the edge of his desk. “I’d believe you if you were acting so innocent.” He says.

“I’m not acting at all, sir. I swear.” You say in a pleading voice.

As you’re talking to him, Steve takes a moment to look at what you’re wearing. A short sleeve shirt that shows off your cleavage and a skirt that’s just long enough to cover your ass. He could tell what kind of bra you’re wearing. From what he can see, it looks like some kind of lacy design. It made him wander if you were wearing matching panties with it. He felt his cock grow hard the more he looked at your outfit.

“Stand up.” Steve orders.

You didn’t question him. You stood up and stood in front of him, waiting for further instructions. Steve watched as your hands smoothed out your skirt. He couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of your cleavage. He pushed himself off of the edge of his desk, getting closer to you.

Without warning or hesitation, Steve kissed you sloppily. Your eyes widened in surprise, catching you off guard. You didn’t pull away or push him away. Your hands grasped onto his button up shirt, clutching the material in your hands and pulled him closer to you.

You gasped when you felt his bulge against your lower stomach. Steve took the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. He pulled away from your lips, leaving the two of you breathless. You looked in his eyes, his blue eyes now clouded with lust.

“Bend over my desk. Hands on top of it.” He instructs.

“Yes, Professor.” You replied submissively.

“Call me Steve, sweetheart.” He tells you.

“Yes, Steve.” You replied submissively again.

You bent over his desk, placing your hands on top of it like he told you to. Your ass was sticking out towards him. You looked over your shoulder at Steve to see him bunching your skirt up just above your ass so your panties were exposed to him. Just like he thought, you were wearing panties to match your bra. Lace panties to be exact. Same color and same design.

He hooked a finger in the waistband of your panties, pulling on them and letting go of it. A squeak left your lips when your waistband snapped against your skin. He then hooked his fingers in the waistband again and pulled them down, letting them pool around your ankles. Your ass and wet pussy are now exposed to him.

A small yelp left your lips when Steve smacked your ass. He then rubbed his fingers between your folds, getting them wet with your slick. He teasingly rubbed your clit in painfully slow circles. You wanted more. You backed yourself against his hand, but that earned you a smack on your ass.

“Be a good girl.” Steve says in a warning voice.

You pouted and looked over your shoulder at him. Steve slid two fingers in your pussy. A gasp fell from your lips. He moved his fingers in and out of you at a decent pace. Your mouth fell open, soft moans left your lips.

Steve’s free hand went underneath your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra. He gave them each a squeeze before sliding his hand inside of your bra. His fingers rubbed over your nipples and pinched them. A gasp left your lips and your pussy clenched around his fingers.

His hand left your shirt and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He pulled his cock out of his boxers, stroking it a few times before taking his fingers out of your pussy, making you whine at the loss of the feeling of his fingers. That earned you another smack on your ass.

Steve took a step closer to you. He rubbed his cock against your pussy, getting it wet with your slick. You moaned when his cock bumped your clit. He then lined his cock at your entrance and slid it inside of you, inch by inch. Your mouth fell open and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. You could feel every vein of his cock rubbing along your wet walls as he slid it inside of you.

“So big…” You say more in a gasp.

“You can take it.” Steve gave your ass a gentle pat. “I bet you’re used to taking big cocks like mine.” He says.

When he was fully inside of you, he gave you a short moment before he started thrusting. His hands held onto your hips, bring you back with each thrust. Your hands scrambled to hold onto something. You grabbed onto the edge of the desk, digging your nails in the wood.

Steve moved your hair to the side and leaned forward, the front of his body against your back. He placed kisses along your neck. His teeth nipped on your skin hard enough for hickeys.

“I bet you like this, don’t you, sweetheart?” Steve’s voice is husky. “I bet you’re loving the fact that you’re getting fucked by your professor.” He says.

“Mhmm, yes!” You answered more in a gasp.

“Was it your intention to make me jealous by talking to Professor Barnes?” He asks.

“No!” You replied in a moan. “I was- oh fuck! I was just talking to him. I swear!” You say.

Steve hummed to himself as he continued to fuck you. You were actually talking to Professor Barnes about the homework he assigned, but you were also flirting with him a little bit.

“Maybe I should call him in here.” He suggests.

You moaned at the thought of him doing exactly that.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He chuckles. “Maybe you do want him to see you getting fucked like a little slut.” He says.

You got even more turned on when he called you a slut. You shouldn’t have, but you did. It was something about the way he said it that turned you on.

Steve put a hand on your shoulder and pulled you up straight so your back was against the front of his body. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head and your mouth fell open when you could feel his cock hitting all of the right spots at this angle.

Steve pulled your shirt up above your bra covered breasts. He then took your breasts out of your bra and held them in his hands. He gave both of them a squeeze, causing you to gasp loudly. One of his hands left one of your breasts to cover your mouth to keep you quiet.

“You gotta be quiet, honey. Don’t want anyone to hear us.” Steve said in your ear. “Or maybe you want Professor Barnes to hear us. Is that it?” He asks. “His office is right next door. Maybe I should pin you against the wall so he can hear the slutty little noises you make for me.” He says, chuckling a little bit.

You whined at his words. You reached your hands up, blindly feeling for his hair. You found his hair with ease and ran your fingers through it, tugging on it. Your back arched off of his body when his cock hit your sweet spot perfectly. Your pussy clenched around his cock at the feeling.

“Right there!” You tell him, followed by a moan.

“Aww, did I find your little spot?” He asks in a cooing voice.

“Mhmm.” You hummed in response, unable to form any coherent words.

His cock hit your sweet spot again, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You bit your bottom lip, moaning soft when you felt Steve’s beard against your skin when he placed kisses along your neck. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access. You gasped when his teeth bit your skin hard enough for a hickey.

You were caught off guard when one of his hands went in between your legs and began rubbing your clit, moans leaving your lips. Your legs clamped around his hand. Steve’s free hand opened your legs by grabbing onto your thigh and spread your legs apart.

“Keep your legs open.” Steve says.

Steve wrapped his arm around your waist just below your breasts and fucked you harder. His cock hit your sweet spot perfectly almost every time. His hand that was on your thigh moved upwards to your clit and started rubbing it. Your pussy clenched around his cock at the feeling.

“I can feel your pussy squeezing my cock, sweetheart.” He says raspy in your ear.

His dirty words alone made you want to cum on the spot. You reached a hand down to his wrist and held on to it, keeping his hand there. Steve lightly chuckles in your ear and rubbed your clit faster. He moaned when your cunt clenched around his cock. That’s when your orgasm was beginning to build up.

“Professor-” A small squeak left your lips when Steve smacked your clit. “Steve!” You corrected yourself. “I’m getting close.” You tell him.

“I know you are, honey. I can feel your pussy squeezing my cock.” He says huskily.

A whine left your lips the more you felt your orgasm building up. Steve applied more pressure to your clit as he continued to rub it. Your legs began to tremble the more his fingers rubbed your clit and the faster he fucked you.

“Steve, I’m going to cum.” You whined. “Please let me cum.” You begged desperately.

“Since you’ve been such a good girl for me… go ahead, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear, kissing just below your ear.

That sent you over the edge. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you bit your bottom lip to keep your moans quieter when you came. Steve gave your clit one last rub to help you ride out your orgasm before focusing on his own orgasm. He wasn’t too far behind you. His thrusts became sloppy the closer he got to his orgasm. He bit down on your neck to muffle his moans when he came inside of you, painting your walls with his cum.

His thrusts came to a slow stop and left his cock inside of you while the two of you stood there and caught your breath. Your legs were a little bit wobbly and Steve wrapped one of his arms around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from falling. After a moment, Steve pulled his cock out of you, making you whine at the loss of contact of his cock. He cleaned the two of you up with tissues before you guys readjusted your clothes.

As you were about to pick up your bag, Steve grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him, kissing you passionately. You moaned against his lips. You picked up your bag when he let go of you. You were met by Professor Barnes when you opened the door. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment and Bucky smirked to himself when he seen the marks Steve left on your neck.

“See you in class tomorrow, sweetheart.” Steve says to you and smacked your ass before you walked out of his office.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

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biteofcherry · 7 months ago

Text

A deep study

professor!Steve Rogers x female reader

Since I unleashed that academic demon yesterday and already a few little fruits have come out of it, it's safe to assume more might happen. Which means it needs its own masterlist 😆

By my personal preference, I choose to imagine professor Rogers with another professor, or a professional in a field with whom he sometimes works, but I may also (if I feel inspired and in mood) answer the professor/student bits.

general warnings: very much Dom Steve; submissive Reader; power exchange; degradation; light humiliation; all sorts of debauchery and filth;

first musings

midterm grade

no discussion

various asks and musings

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #professor!Steve Rogers #a deep study

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palmtreesx3 · 14 days ago

Text

Burning Through the Pages: EPILOGUE

The Quiet Burn

Summary: After everything—after the hallway standoffs, the near-misses, the late mornings and the ruined bedsheets—they’ve finally stopped running. This final chapter gives them what they’ve earned: quiet. Touch. Clarity. It's the softness that follows the storm, the kind that still makes you gasp.

Warnings: Explicit smut (f/m); oral (f receiving); aftercare; soft dominance; mutual obsession; emotional honesty; cuddling with intent. Minor flashbacks to early tension. Tooth-rotting filth. No notes, just ruin.

Read This First Here! || Read Bonus Content Here

You don’t know what time it is.

You don’t care.

The only thing anchoring you to reality is Steve's arm looped around your waist and the soft, rhythmic sound of rain against the windows. His body is warm behind you—bare skin pressed to bare skin. The kind of closeness that’s not about lust or convenience. Just… want.

There’s a quiet to mornings like this.

Not silence. Just peace.

The sheets are tangled at your knees. His thumb rubs absent circles against your stomach while you lie there, half-asleep, half-overwhelmed by how safe you feel. His mouth is tucked into the curve of your neck. When he exhales, it tickles, and you smile before you can help it.

You shift to face him. His eyes blink open—slow, soft, sleep-warmed.

You study him in the hush. Messy hair, long lashes, lips swollen from sleep and memory. His face is relaxed in a way you rarely get to see. Like he’s settled.

Like maybe—so are you.

“Mm,” he hums. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m good.”

And you are. More than okay. You roll toward him, and his eyes open—soft and sleepy and full of the kind of affection you never let yourself believe you'd get from someone like him.

And when you lean in and kiss him, it’s slow. Intimate. Like you’re answering a question neither of you had the courage to ask out loud.

He kisses you back just as gently.

And it starts like that.

No rush. No heat behind your teeth. Just hands. And breath. And the slow, grounding press of bodies that already know each other—but want to learn again. He peels your shirt up inch by inch, like a gift he’s unwrapping slowly. His hand slides across your hip, deliberate and unhurried, until his palm cups your thigh. Your fingers trail across his jaw, down his chest, over the familiar curve of muscle and skin and the warmth of him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice gravel-thick. He sighs into your mouth, deep and content.

“Let me love you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

You nod. And when he pushes inside you, slow and deep and achingly careful, your breath catches.

Your fingers curl around his bicep. His mouth finds your throat. Your body opens. And for the first time in a long time—you don’t resist it. You let him have you.

All of you.

Your hands tangle in his hair. Your knees draw up around his waist. He moves in slow, reverent strokes, like your body is sacred. Like he’s memorizing it again, even though he already knows it like his own.

You whisper his name like a secret. He answers with your name like a prayer.

“You’re everything,” he murmurs. “Everything I didn’t know I needed.”

His words land like fire in your chest, and suddenly, the dam breaks.

“I love you,” you breathe. “God, I love you.”

His rhythm falters—just a second. He presses his lips to your jaw, your cheekbone, your mouth.

“Say it again,” he whispers, like he can’t believe it.

“I love you,” you say again, this time not afraid. “I love you. And I need you. I hate that I do. I hate that I spent so long pretending I didn’t. But I do. I choose you.”

He groans—low, guttural, like the words hit him where he lives. “I love you too,” he gasps. “So fucking much. You have no idea.”

You wrap yourself around him. His hand slips between you. His mouth finds your chest. You come first—soft, slow, shaking—body trembling as you whisper his name over and over and over, foreheads pressed together. He follows, buried deep, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I fucking love you” like it’s the only language he knows.

After some time, your fingers start to trace lazy circles on his shoulder. His hand rests against your ribs like he’s grounding himself there.

“You started it,” he murmurs.

“Started what?”

“The feelings.”

You laugh. Sleepy. Satisfied.

“You’re the one who left coffee on my desk and read my bookshelf.”

“You’re the one who said I need you.”

You go quiet, then whisper “Yeah. And I meant it.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re never going to have to ask for anything alone again.”

You believe him. And for the first time—you let yourself lean in.

Steve’s sitting backward in a chair like a cool youth pastor. You’re perched on the desk edge, sipping your coffee, half-listening as your students present their end-of-semester project.

You glance at Steve.

“This group really pulled it together at the last second. Sound familiar?”

He quirks an eyebrow.

“If that’s a dig, Professor, you’re about one thesis short of a clapback.”

“No clapping back in my classroom.”

“No clapping in mine unless it’s supportive or sarcastic.”

The students laugh—too hard. Because they love you. Because watching you two bicker-flirt with that now-confirmed we’ve-definitely-seen-each-other-naked glow is entirely too much.

You lock eyes with a girl in the front row. She’s beaming. The second Steve brushes your arm, she straight-up gasps.

You whisper to him without turning your head “They’re obsessed with us.”

He whispers back “Obviously. We’re iconic.”

You snort. He grins. “God help them when we co-teach next fall,” you murmur.

“They’ll never recover.”

💬 I just want what they have. 💬 same. A partner in academia AND filth. 💬 I’m applying to grad school just to be near their energy again. 💬 do you think they roleplay staff meetings 💬 I know they do 💬 I swear if they don’t write a book about love and trauma bonding I’m dropping out

[STUDENT EVALUATION CARD, LEFT ON YOUR DESK]

Best course I’ve ever taken. Learned a lot about child development, critical pedagogy, and emotional repression. Also—I want what you two have. In love. In life. In everything.P.S. Please invite us to the wedding.

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fan fic #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x au #professor!steve

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espinosaurusrexex · 2 years ago

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Revision

Professor!SteveRogers x Student!Female!Reader AU

summary: Professor Rogers was a lot of things, but for you, he was even more. A secret affair? A fun little side thing? You didn’t know yet. But you'd gladly seek out every possible moment with him until you did.

a/n: once upon a time I had a crush on my professor… this is what came out of it (don’t worry it didn’t really happen) but shame on me for keeping this in the drafts for so long

thank you @sebsgirl71479 for finding this gif and also very special thanks to @urcatslitterbox for taking the time and making one herself! you are the greatest!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: age gap (reader is of legal age of course), student/teacher relationship, a little fluff (because apparently I can’t do it without) this is obviously smut (dry humping, praise kink, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it guys, slight overstimulation, voyeurism - if you squint), I don't know what else to tell you !MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

“Do you know why I asked you to stay, Ms. Y/L/N?” His arms crossed before his chest as his gaze followed the last students roaming amongst the rows of the vast lecture hall, a blonde strand of hair falling loose and settling in a soft curve over his eye. Professor Rogers looked intimidating, but so damn sexy as well. His biceps bulged beneath the checkered white and blue button-up, his sleeves halfway rolled up, restrained by his evenly muscular forearms.

“To be perfectly honest, Professor,” Your voice stayed even, a slight mockery undertone by the use of formality when you had called him far more personal things than that before. Steve, Stevie, Daddy... you shook out of it - there were still people here. “I don’t. I was quite confident that my assignment was to your... satisfaction.” A smug grin hid behind the last word, as you remembered the actual satisfaction that assignment had brought you as well.

Steve had to hide his smile, too. His eyes darted with amusement when he tilted his head forward to peer up at you through his thick lashes. Your eyes wandered to his legs. His tan chinos were tight on his muscular thighs and the way he leaned back with his knees spread even wider - holy mother of god.

He knew damn well how hot he was, and the annoying thing was that he also knew how to make it work for him. Steve reveled in the power his body language had over you.

He watched as your tights clenched together behind his desk. The simple movement of his fingers on a desk could make you keen thinking about the places they had done that before. His confidence seeped though every fucking vein in his body, dripping in thick undertones and slight remarks out of his mouth and invading your senses through his touch and smell.

He was to die for. Tall, muscular, charming, and older.

You looked him up and down again and as his head tilted to the side you knew exactly that he could read your every thought. His arms opened when the door closed behind the last student, one hand gliding to his inner thigh while the other motioned for you to step closer.

You did.

It was like an automatic response of your body. Though you leaned forwards on the wooden desk, your arms pushing inward to help the cleavage peeking through the collar of your top, Steve’s eyes pulled down in an instant as well.

“It certainly was.” He rubbed his beard. “I just thought it would be beneficial to go over it once more, highlight the good parts and make sure you know what made them so... enticing.” He leaned forward now, his fingers brushing yours on the sleek surface of the polished wood, though his eyes remained on your breasts. Steve wet his lips before his eyes flicked up to yours again. “I’m willing to thoroughly talk you through the rougher bits as well.”

“Are you implying they weren’t all good?”

“Oh, they were good, just not as good as other parts.”

It was a game. You knew that, and Steve knew that too. But the little role-playing brought an excitement to this ordeal that couldn’t be denied by either of you. He was like a magnet and your entire body felt like it was made of metal with the pull he had on you. You stood on your toes, pushing yourself further over the table, where Steve stayed entirely still. He was observing you, though. The slight intrigue in the twig of his brow when your lips came dangerously close to his. A fast glint to the double doors leading to the hallways full of students rushing to their next classes. There was no nervousness in his stare though. Steve actually liked the potential threat of getting caught. It spurred him on, enticed him, and turned him on beyond belief. You had learned that just the other week when he had dragged you behind the open door to the janitor's closet of the history building. He had absolutely no shame in getting his hands dirty while all the students walked past the dark room where Steve had his hand firmly pressed above your mouth as his other relentlessly plunged in and out of your wet cunt.

“Huh.” You pushed back. And even though the muscular blonde on the other side of the desk tried not to react, you caught his shoulder slouch in disappointment. You liked playing tough, though. While his perfume worked hard to pull you back into him, your feet shuffled a little further back, looking him up and down again. His legs were still manspreading on the chair and damn did those thighs look inviting. You knew they were.

The clock above the double door clicked louder now that the students outside had passed on to their next classes. You had one, too actually. But the professor was boring as hell and who wouldn’t trade a creepy scarf-wearing weirdo for this specimen of a man in front of you right now? Exactly: no one. But they didn’t have that chance. Steve had chosen you, reserved his glances and touches, and kissed for you and it was exciting. Getting to share his experiences, letting the older man take control of your body in such rough yet gentle ways.

Your legs strode around the desk as Steve’s eyes followed you through the room. His arms had reached out to you once you were close enough for him to grab and once his index finger looped in the belt loops of your jeans, he pulled you onto his lap. As your hands wandered to his shoulders, his snook around your waist, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your top. A shiver ran through you when he leaned back, his icy blue orbs piercing the air as they focused on yours, a small smile twinkling in the corner of his mouth.

“You look good.” You whispered, a hand smoothing over the collar. Steve’s lips escaped a laugh, and even though the sexual tension you build up with the sneaky conversation still lingered in the air, there was a softer, sweeter sound invading the atmosphere right this moment.

“I know you like the blue.” He mumbled when he dipped forward, his nose brushed your neck and a trial of goosebumps traveled down your back. The rasp in his voice stirred something in your stomach, a slight tingle shooting up to your brain and telling you ‘hey that’s hot!’ In bright and blaring neon lights.

Steve’s fingers ran down your legs and began massaging your thighs on each side of him. Another strand of hair came loose and fell forward. It tickled your neck as his mouth began to suck its way up to your sweet spot, your hands frantically cramming his shirt at the sudden attack. His tongue shot forward, soothing the place his teeth just nibbled on and the familiar burn ran over your skin as hisses and moans mixed in your mouth. Your hips jolted forward when he finally reached that spot behind your ear, hot breath blowing over the wet skin and a soft kiss right after.

“You smell...” A growl broke through his speech when your hips ground a second time. “So sweet...”

A jolt of confidence placed a grin on your lips. The perfume you wore had turned some heads before, but the only one that mattered was Steve’s. His mouth resumed his caress of your skin as his hand wandered to your ass, slowly pushing you forward and guiding you over the growing bulge beneath his pants.

“Ah, yes!” It was only a breath out when the seam of your jeans was pushed into your clit by the hardness in his lap, but - God did that feel good! Your back arched when he continuously ripped you over the spot, your hands buried in his hair, pressing him deeper into your skin, encouraging him to keep going.

“Goddamn...” His head switched to the other side of your neck, the skin on the neglected one already hot and tingly. But your sole focus lay between your legs, where his cock massaged your clit in perfectly firm rocking motions. The roughness of the jeans just added to the pleasure creeping through your body.

You could’ve gone like this forever, with the heat rising in your belly and Steve’s muffled panting lingering in the air, but Steve pulled away. A whine brushed over to him when his lips left your skin. You were burning from his touch but at the same time, a cool brush of goosebumps covered your body. It was crazy how much you craved his touch even when he was sitting right in front of you. His stare alone lit a fire within your stomach, butterflies flying wild patterns through every nerve ending when his light blue eyes found yours in the distance of the lecture hall. It had happened suddenly and spiraled beyond your control within days. And then, when he had finally kissed you, it was pretty clear that there was no going back. Steve was like a drug. Something you shouldn’t play with and something that was definitely illegal to pursue, but so so so freaking good because he made you feel things you could have never imagined.

His voice pulled you back to reality.

“As much as I like your ass in those jeans...” Steve tugged on your Jeans with dark eyes, the silver button glimmered in the lecture hall light when his rough fingers yanked on the material. “They need to go.” That last part was just a growl in your ear but the tire of it made you eagerly wiggle out of the blue denim.

You stepped out of your jeans once he had finally opened them and when his eyes fell on the underwear covering your heat, he pulled you closer by your hips. His thumbs drove circles over your skin, sending yet another tingle of excitement up your spine. His hands wandered back to your behind, squeezing and needing the flesh all while pressing you into his front.

Your lips attached to his neck like a magnet, your hand scraping the gruff on his chin with excited circles. A growl traveled past his lips when you reached his sweet spot - the one right beneath his ear, making him melt every time. A deviant smile spread about your face but before you could revel in the control you had over him - even if it was just for a short moment - he had you turned around, facing the rows of desks stretching to the walls.

“You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” His hand wandered past your breasts down your front and stopped right by the edges of your panties, the other holding you by the hip, pressing his hard-on right to your back. The excitement shooting through you did nothing to hide, slick pooling between your legs, and your nipples already hard pebbles on your skin. “Putting on these scandalous little lace things thinking about how I’ll be seeing them today...” Warm breath tingled at your ear when he leaned closer, pushing his hand past the hem of the lace. “...taking them off of your perfect body.”

You moaned when his fingers slit past your folds, gathering some slick to smoothly roam about your clit.

“Maybe...” The shivers erupting from his touch interrupted your speech until you could collect yourself. “I’m always thinking of you, Stevie.” He bit your neck before his tongue smoothed over the spot again. It was a perfect interplay of pleasure and pain, the wet warm strokes of his tongue soothing the stinging and adding fuel to a desire only he could evoke in you.

“Say it again,” he growled, adding more pressure to the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You squirmed as the muscles in your abdomen tightened, clenching around nothing and reminding you what you had been missing. “What else are you thinking about?”

“Your hands all over my body...” Your hand guided his over to your breasts encouraging him to squeeze the soft flesh and breathing heavily when his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple. “Pushing me to bend over that desk while you fill me up with your big cock.”

“Nothing I’d rather do, doll.” Before you knew it your face was gently pressed against the cold and polished wood. Warm hands wandered to your ass where they pulled down your underwear painfully slow, having you fiddle in place impatiently.

“Now, don’t be so hasty, love. I gotta take my time.” You heard his belt unbuckle.

“Unfortunately, Professor, time is the one thing we do not have a lot of...” His hands stopped moving as you called him ‘Professor’, though you knew it wasn’t a bad thing. If anything, it probably turned him on more, which would hopefully speed up the process of him finally filling you up to the brim. Your pussy clenched at the thought of it again - a frustrating reminder of the emptiness you so wished to disappear.

“Too bad, I would have loved to play with you a little more.”

“Tick Tock...”

“As you wish, princess-” And before the words had even reached your ears, you felt his swollen tip nudge at your entrance, stroking up and down your slit to cover in your arousal as a sinful sound escaped Steve’s lips.

His hands found their way back to your waist before he finally pushed fully into you, leaving you no time to adjust to his size as he started pounding into you with an unrelenting pace. The burn wasn’t painful though. You knew he was big, and even though you had not believed that he would ever fit inside of you, Steve had managed to not only do that but also ruin you for every other man to ever come.

“Look at your greedy little cunt begging for my cock, practically sucking me in, doll.”

You couldn’t answer, too focused on holding onto the desk and controlling your body not to melt with his strokes as he pushed into you over and over again.

“Gripping me so tight... perfect little pussy.” A slap landed on your ass cheek to which you responded with another loud moan. If there had been a care for anyone to hear you doing the indescribable in this lecture hall before, Steve had certainly fucked it out of you by now. You turned your head watching as he spit down on his cock before it disappeared in you again, his head falling back with shut eyes while he reveled in every piece of pleasure you gave him.

“Fuck!” He locked eyes with you, a determined smirk painting his face when his hand wandered around your body again, finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles over the nub.

Your vision blurred as the hot pleasure crept up your spine. There was something about Steve’s touch that made you feel as though every nerve in your body fired twice and fast. You clenched around him again, watching with pleasure as his brows furrowed.

He picked up his pace, kicking your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle now.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you closed them, trying to last longer than this. The feeling was just too good to let go of so soon. But with Steve’s hunky body towering over you and his cock stroking just the right spot with every moan he pulled from you, that seemed like an impossible task. You tried your best, though, but right when you thought that you would last a little longer, his fingers changed the direction of the circles on your clit and turned your brain to mush.

“I’m gonna- ah”

“The hell you are.” He pulled away, leaving you to whimper with the empty feeling you had never wanted back. But Steve pulled you up and turned you around in one swift motion, walking forward until you were pressed against the desk again. This time, though, he made you lay on your back with a hazy smile.

“I wanna see your pretty face when you come all over my cock.” He placed your legs on his shoulders and grabbed his dick to line it up with your entrance again. Then, he made sure to keep eye contact while he pushed himself into you once again, but this time, painfully slow.

You gripped him tight when he bottomed out, stroking the flesh on your thigh while he pulled back just to pound back in again.

“I fucking love this pussy,” he growled as his pace picked up much to your delight, “it’s mine. Tell me, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s all yours, Stevie.” You couldn’t even focus on the words leaving your mouth at this point. You would say yes to anything he said just to make the feeling of his cock stroking your walls last forever.

“That’s a what?” He halted, raised eyebrows watching you expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” you smirked.

“Good girl.” The pressure built up again and when his hand found its way back to your clit, you felt like exploding. His pace didn’t falter, determination taking over while he watched himself slip in and out of you with hungry eyes.

You would be busting in seconds if he kept it up like this, your walls clenching tighter and tighter, your stomach feeling rock solid from the pleasure building up with every circle of his thumb and every stroke of his cock.

“Don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

That was all it took for the knot to finally come loose. “Ah!” Your back arched off the table while your hands frantically searched for something to grip, the walls of your pussy fluttering and making your core be on fire with pleasure. It just intensified when Steve slowed his strokes to let you ride on the wave of bliss that made your body tingle.

When you relaxed again, you felt your walls pulsing with lazy delight. A weak smile shining through your hooded eyes when you watched him intensify his strokes again. Shaky whimpers left your throat when his cock brushed over your sensitive parts. He was close, too. You could feel him twitching inside of you, waiting for the perfect moment to let go. And you would give him just that.

“You make me feel so good, sir. Your big cock stretches me out, fills me up. I want you to come inside of me.”

“Fuck, keep going.” He closed his eyes, speeding up his movements and making the pressure build right up for you again.

“You’re so big. I can feel you in my stomach, baby. Make me come by just thinking about you. So sexy and strong and- ah oh!”

Steve’s movements staggered his cock twitching as his face contorted into pleasure while you felt his cum spill inside of you. The scene was erotic, and the sounds coming from the man above of you made you reach another orgasm, milking the last drop from him with every pulse of your walls.

Your chest heaved as you leaned your head back, watching the clock above the door. It was too sad this moment was ending.

Though Steve took his time. He watched his juices drip after he pulled out, whispering a low ‘perfect’ into the room that made your head feel hot.

How was this man making you flustered after shamelessly rearranging your guts in a public lecture hall?

“Put your jeans back on, doll. I don’t wanna get in trouble today.” He winked at you while he zipped up his pants and secured the buckle on top. You stood, fixing his slightly tossed hair and leaving your hand hovering over his jaw.

“Where’d you put my panties?” He kissed you.

“I think I’m gonna keep these,” Steve smiled while stuffing them into his back pocket.

“For revision, I presume?” You smiled with wicked eyes.

“Exactly.”

Here it is - finally! Please tell me what you think (hopefully it was worth the wait)! I've missed you guys so much; life is keeping me busy and excited for more. How have you been?? 💛

Wanna be added to the taglist?

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justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

Text

Don't Be So Hard (Steddie X Plus Size You)

"Don't be so hard on yourself The name of the game is humiliation, And thanks for your admiration. I never thought I'd say this: The way that we play has its confrontation, And guilt by association."

A/N: New version of these beings for me to try out. Thank you @bimbobaggins69 for the idea by just being amazing <3.

This take place 10 years after events in season 4 so about 1996.

Warnings: Older Dom (30s) Coach Steve Harrington/Older Dom (30s) Professor Eddie Munson & Young (20s) Fem Plus size Sub Student Y/N (whew! That's a mouth full lol), SMUT, spanking, choking, degrading, voyeurism, use of sir, FLUFF, Eddie and Steve have an established relationship. ANGST (because I'm me), reader is plus size and gets name called by the jocks (they call her names like piggy), one of them does assault her (pushes her and yells at her; brief), Steddie saves the day, mentions of reader staring in a play that makes her anxious due to her body.

This whole dynamic is technically angsty (which is why I love it muahaha).

Word Count: 8679

“I fucking hate schools.”, you grumble under your breath as you hit snooze on your alarm for the fifth time that morning. The beginning of your junior year spring semester at Hawkins University started today but the idea of getting out of bed sounded exhausting. In Hawkins, everyone was in everyone else’s business and being the bigger girl some of the jocks felt the need to butt in more than anyone else.

“Hey Y/N. Did you put on more weight this summer? Those jeans look like they’re about to pop!”

“Should you be eating that, piggy? Maybe try a salad every now and then.”

You thought when you left high school, you wouldn’t have to deal with this crap anymore but unfortunately some of it followed you to college.

When you finally made it to your first class it was right before it began so you could avoid any unwanted conversation. You weren’t so lucky.

“Heeeeeeey, Y/N.”, football star Martin Click cooed obnoxiously as he leaned towards you from his seat above yours. “I was hoping we’d have some classes together, piggy. I missed you over the summer. You couldn’t bother to dress up for me?”

“Oh, sorry Martin, if I had known we would be sharing a class I would have made myself uglier but unfortunately for me that’s impossible since I’m so fucking sexy. Maybe you can tutor me on how to be a sloppy asshole.”

The breathy laugh that echoed to your ears caught you off guard as you glanced up towards the front of the classroom and met the chocolate eyes of your new Literature & Writing professor.

“I’m sorry.”, you whisper as red paints your face.

“No, no. No reason to be sorry. I thought it was a good comeback.”, he grinned making you blush even more. “Mr. Click, should I tell Coach Harrington that you’re more focused on ladies attire than my class or are we going to behave this semester?”

Rolling his eyes, Martin leaned back in his chair making the professor smugly smirk as he winked in your direction.

“As I’m sure ya’ll are aware, I’m professor Munson and if you’re here because of my reputation then I will kindly ask you to leave. I’m not here to talk about my past or my family history.”

You had heard rumors about Eddie Munson and of course knew all about him being on the run back when you were little. You parents never let you leave the house or play outside for fear that the “satanic Hawkins killer” would snatch you up and make you his next victim. As you grew up and read more about what happened, it seemed less to you like he did anything at all and obviously the chief agreed because Mr. Munson was never tried or did any prison time.

No, you weren’t interested in his past. You were interested in the things he could teach you. After overhearing one of his lectures, you were fascinated with the way he told a story and explained the material. He got so animated to an adorable degree and as a theater major you thought it would be fun to see how he interpreted literature while getting the final English credit you needed.

When no one moved he smiled and began talking about usual first day things such as the syllabus and what to expect over the semester. After the class had ended and everyone left, you stayed behind and quietly made your way to his desk.

“Hey, um, I’m sorry if I was rude or—”

“I didn’t think you were rude. If anything, he was and definitely needed to be put in his place.”, he interrupted without looking your way as he sorted through papers in front of him. “You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yes, sir. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen some of the plays you were in on campus here. I dragged my friend to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream and you actually got him to pay attention.”, Mr. Munson smiled as he finally lifted his head to look your way. “You were very good.”

“Oh, um, thank you very much. That means a lot coming from you.” He tilts his head at your comment as blush fills your cheeks again. “I just meant I’ve seen some of your lectures before and you’re an amazing storyteller. You excite me, I mean you make me want to pay attention to, I mean… ok, let’s pretend I just left right after class and didn’t just embarrass myself.”

Hugging your books to your chest, you power walk out the door as his chuckle fills your ears.

***

With a break between periods, you hastily headed for the gym after lunch to change and get out on to the track by the field. Contrary to popular belief, you were fairly athletic despite your size and enjoyed letting off steam as you pumped your legs as fast as they could take you.

As your music blared loudly in your ears, the feeling of eyes watching you grabbed your attention towards the bleachers where Coach Harrington was standing with his arms crossed and leaning to the side as Professor Munson balanced his arm on his shoulder, murmuring something to him as their eyes followed you.

Trying to block them out, you continued to focus on the path in front of you but was blindsided when a football whizzed past your nose almost hitting you.

“Whoa! Sorry, piggy. Have to keep your eyes open around here.”, Martin laughs as you roll your eyes.

Glancing their way, you noticed both men were standing straighter as if prepared to defend you if needed. You weren’t a weak little girl and for whatever reason you strongly felt like you needed to show them that. As you pick up the football one of the players lifts his hands running towards you as if expecting you to not be able to throw it but at the last minute you throw a perfect spiral to their coach who doesn’t even hesitate as he lifts his hands and catches it seamlessly from the air.

“Well, shit, gentlemen. Looks like I have a new passer.”

“Oh, no thank you, Coach Harrington. If I ever played a sport it would be with a team that doesn’t suck.”

Again, Mr. Munson snicked through his teeth as the man he was leaning on flashed you a big grin.

#############

That night you decided to run after hours, thinking you would be alone but were surprised when you saw Coach Harrington on the track.

“Shit! Sorry, you scared the hell out of me.”, he nervously chuckled.

“I’M sorry. I thought no one would be out here.”

“Yeah, normally there aren’t.”, he teased raising an eyebrow at you. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

As he took off continuing to jog, you pushed your headphones on your head and started your run. After a couple of laps with you in your zone, your feet abruptly slipped out from under you as you tumbled forward onto the gravel.

“Whoa!”, Coach Harrington shouted in concern as he ran to your side and kneeled down. “Are you alright?”

“Ow. Yeah, I just…tripped. Fuck that hurt.”

“Let me see.” Without any hesitation, his hand gripped your leg and looked it over. “Oof, you may have a pretty good bruise there but you should be alright.” Rising to his feet, he extended his hand to you to help you up which you eagerly accepted while he gripped you tightly and led you towards the bleachers. “You must have been deep in thought because you passed me a couple of times and didn’t even turn your head.”

“I did? Yeah, I’m sorry. I just have some things on my mind.”

“No, I know what you mean. Eddie—Professor Munson told me what happened in his class. If any of those guys bother you again, please let me know. I’ll make them run laps or even sit them out of a game if I have to. Nothing scares these kids more than not being able to play.”

You knew of Steve Harrington mostly because of his parents. The Harrington’s were prominent members of the community and very well respected. In your high school there had been pictures of him from his days on the basketball and swim team when he was a student.

After he graduated, other rumors began to circulate about him spending time with the “freaks of Hawkins” but who cares. Not you especially since you had been labeled a freak since elementary.

“I, um, I hope you didn’t take offense to what I said. Your team doesn’t suck just…some of your players. I mean, not their playing ability just their personalities. FUCK, why can’t I talk today?”

His smile widens as he laughs from his gut making you don your own smile.

Coach Harrington’s eyes meet yours for a moment before a controlled laugh escapes his lips.

“What, um, what were you listening to so loud that you didn’t hear me yelling for you to slow down?”

Giggling, you gesture towards your Walkman.

“Just some CD I burned to get me pumped. Right now, it’s playing ‘Master of Puppets’ by Metallica. Have you heard that song?”

Something dark flashes over his face before he awkwardly nods and gets up leaving you alone on the bleachers as you stare after him.

***

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, you growl as you push on the girl’s locker room door to find it locked. “What is going on with me this semester?”

Glancing around and seeing no one, you brave the boy’s locker room, finding it open, assuming that in his weird state, maybe, Mr. Harrington forgot to lock up. As quickly as you could you showered and began to change into some comfy clothes.

The sound of something hitting the wall nearby froze you in fear as you gaze scanned the area.

No one nearby. It could be the janitor cleaning the coach’s office.

Quietly, you threw your things over your shoulder and tiptoed that way with the intention of ducking under the window of the area so you weren’t seen but the muffled sound of moaning had you pausing again.

“Mmm…Steve…Steven. Wh-What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

“Your student that you talk about…Y/N…she was listening to that song you played in the upside down. I just…it made me think of us…us finding you.”

“Hey. Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s ok. I’m ok. I’m right here, Steve. You saved me.”

Peeking through the window, you saw their forehead’s pressed together as Eddie gently caressed his cheek with his thumbs. A small sigh left your lips when they began to kiss each other again. With a bit of needy force, Steve turned him around and pulled his back flush to his chest. Gently nibbling on his neck, he reached around and unbuckled Eddie’s pants, pushing them down to free his cock that he promptly began stroking.

Fuck me he’s big.

You practically drooled at the sight, licking your lips as your palm absently glided under your shirt to rub your tummy.

With his free hand, Steve sloppily yanked down his sweats making you moan as you watched him spit in his palm and rub it between Eddie’s cheeks before gradually guiding himself into his entrance.

“Fuck, Steve. That’s it, baby.”

Clinging to each other tightly, Steve thrust his hips at a steady rhythm and you marveled at the sight as your fingers drifted into your own sweatpants and you began circling your clit.

“H-Harder, Steve, please.”

“Please.”, you whisper as you try to keep your eyes open and on them.

“Like this, honey? Fuck you feel so good, Eddie. I love you.”

Arching his back, your professor craned his neck to kiss the man’s lips as he pumped into him as hard as he could without hurting him.

“I love you to, baby. Shit, I’m going to cum. Cum with me, Steve.”

Nodding aggressively, he chased their highs until both men grunted and came. While they softly kissed each other your body trembled as you covered your mouth, trying to stifle your moans as the coil snapped. It wasn’t enough as both their heads turned meeting your eyes as you were coming down from cloud 9.

No one moved as the three of you stared each other.

Holding up his hands in surrender, Steve pulled out as Eddie straightened up, worry painting both their faces.

“Y/N…”

Before they could do anything else, you turned and quickly ran out of the locker room.

##############

What the fuck was I thinking?! I shouldn’t have watched them. Two teachers in the MALE locker room while I was touching myself. Shit. I’m going to be expelled for sure.

Sitting on the stage of your theater class, you focused on the script in front of you as you prepared for an audition your professor recommended. Mrs. Lilah always felt constrained by Hawkins when it came to material but this year she quiet literally said fuck them and decided to do Rocky Horror Picture Show.

As you read through your lines for Magenta, a clearing throat caught your attention.

“Hey Eddie!”, your theater teacher beamed as she waved at him and he smiled back before jumping onto the stage to sit beside you. He smelled strongly like cigarettes and a dash of cologne that had your head spinning as you continued to keep your eyes on the paper in front of you.

“Hey Lilah. I hope I’m not disturbing anything. I just need to talk to Y/N here about an assignment real quick.”

“No problem. She does have her audition for Janet in a few minutes and I’m dying to see her interpretation.”

That caught your attention as your head swiveled her way.

“I’m doing what now?”

“For Janet, honey. I think you’d be perfect. She’s a bit timid at first but comes out of her shell.”

“But…but…she’s in a bra for a good chunk of the play.”

“Yeah…does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Hm, yeah, Y/N, does people seeing your body in the shadows in an intimate way make you uncomfortable?”, Eddie murmured low enough so only you could hear.

“Let’s just do the audition and if you prove me right, we can talk about the wardrobe, ok?”

Flashing her a timid smile, you turn to give your attention to your professor.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Skipping my class this morning? Oh, you mean when you watched me and my boyfriend have sex in the boy’s locker room?”

“The girl’s one was locked and I needed to shower—”

“That explains why you were in the locker room but not why you were there watching. Are you going to run and tell all your little friends about how you saw the murderous freak fucking the pretty, rich football coach?”

“What? No. I would never—”

“Mhmm. Look how much will it take to keep your mouth shut?”

“Nothing. I don’t—”

“Please, Y/N! Everyone has a price and Steve doesn’t deserve to lose all he’s worked hard for. So, tell me—”

“Will you let me talk!?” Glancing around to make sure no one heard your outburst; you lower your voice as you continue. “I don’t want anything or any money. I won’t tell anyone. I genuinely don’t care about your private lives. I’m really sorry I watched. I shouldn’t have…I just…”

Your professor’s eyes focused intently on you as he waited for you to continue.

“I was attracted. The way you two kiss and the way he holds you…no one’s ever been that way with me…” When your eyes dared to finally meet his, you expected anger but those gorgeous chocolate irises displayed a softness you appreciated. “I swear, Mr. Munson, I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

Nodding, he jumped down from the stage before turning to face you again.

“I think under the circumstances you can call me Eddie. Not in class but… I also think you should play Janet. You’re a very beautiful young lady. Don’t let any of these superficial idiots take away that lead role from you just because of how you look.”

#############

A couple of weeks had passed and nothing of note happened with school or your classes. You were cast as Janet, allowing Eddie’s advice to drive you as you maneuvered the role. Your professor and Coach Harrington had minimal contact with you but you always felt their eyes following you around.

Tonight, you were studying in the Hawkins diner off campus. You preferred it here then the library after hours because not only could you munch on some delicious food but no one was usually there that you knew.

As the bell above the door dinged, you glanced up from the novel Eddie had you guys reading to see said professor and his boyfriend entering the establishment and taking a seat. You couldn’t help but wonder how hard being out like this must be for them. They couldn’t share a booth or be flirty. They couldn’t hold hands or kiss, at least not visibly where people could see. You hated that for them since both seemed like good men. You wondered why they stayed behind here in this terrible little conservative town instead of moving anywhere else.

Hoping to slip out unnoticed and allow them privacy this time, you gathered your things and placed some money on the table.

“Is that my favorite piggy?”

You roll your eyes at the sound of Martin’s voice as you try to ignore him and head out the door. A hand abruptly grabs you but you slap it away.

“Don’t touch me.”, you hiss.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’s Saturday and we just left an awesome party. Can’t you and I get along for once?!” His friends around the table behind him snickered as a big devilish smile stretched across his face.

“If you weren’t such a fucking dick maybe. Now leave me alone.”

As you storm out the front door to your car, something tugs your backpack, ripping it open as all your books and papers tumble to floor. Martin’s hand wraps around your throat and pushes you against the trunk of your car.

“You will show some fucking respect especially in front of my friends.”

“Aw, did little Martin get his feelings hurt?”, you sass. “Didn’t realize you had any.”

Your knee rises as you hit him in his stomach but he’s still faster as his palm reaches out to grab your shirt tugging you down hard onto the pavement.

Abruptly, someone grabs his own jacket collar and tosses him roughly away from you as Eddie quickly maneuvers around them both, kneeling to your level.

“Are you ok, sweetheart? Can you stand?” Silently nodding, you take the hand he offers to you and rise to your feet. He notices immediately that your blouse is torn and without hesitation shimmies out of his leather jacket and places it around your shoulders.

“Mr. Click, on Monday, you will see me in my office.”, Coach Harrington growled as he glared at the boy.

“Oh, fuck you! That fat little whore pushed me into it!”

“HEY!”, he bellowed making you jump as your teacher rubbed your shoulders comfortingly. “I would advise you to stop speaking. You’re already in a lot of trouble.”

“Pfft, you think I’m scared of you, Steve Harrington?! Yeah, my parents told me all about you and the disappointment you became to Hawkins. You’re fucking pathetic! I’m surprised they even hired you to coach us let alone your friend the freak! I guess those satanic rituals DO fucking work.”

The man’s body language stiffened before he did that controlled chuckle you had heard before.

“Alright, Martin, we can do this right now then. I was only going to suspend you but you know, since I’m so fucking pathetic I think I’ll just go all in. You’re off my team.”

“WHAT?!”

Turning around, he ignored the boy’s continued expletives as he faced you both.

“Eddie, get her books and all her things. We’ll take her back to our house, if that’s ok with you.”, he asked pointedly in your direction. All you could do was nod and try to bend down to get your thing but the metalhead stopped you before descending to the concrete to collect your things.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! YOU’LL REGRET THIS!”

“Take it up with the dean. Until then on Monday, I want your shit out of my locker room or else I will throw it in the garbage. Come on, guys.”

Coach Harrington opened the back seat door for you, startling you when he closed the door a bit too hard.

***

When they parked outside of a home, neither moved as Eddie’s eyes scanned over his partner’s face.

“You ok, babe?”

His ringed fingers reached out to caress through his hair and in the rearview mirror you could see Steve close his eyes as he exhaled.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get inside.”, he answered curtly as he came around and opened your door and you followed both men inside. You stood in their living room silently as they threw their keys down and Eddie disappeared down a hallway.

When he came back, he handed you a t-shirt that read “Def Leopard: Tour of 88!”

“Go put this on and we can see about fixing your own.”

His eyes followed you as you entered their bedroom where the bathroom was located and shut the door. Removing your blouse, you could see a slight bruise forming where the strap of your backpack had been on your shoulder and some redness around your neck where Martin had grabbed you. Swallowing your pain at the sight, you put on the shirt they provided and folded his jacket, placing it nicely on the countertop.

Your eyes took in their fairly average bathroom, smirking slightly at the hair gel you imagined was Steve’s as Eddie’s hair was always wild even during class when he pulled it back. Both their colognes and bathroom products were side by side like any couples but the few things you knew about them had each personality standing out. Cigarettes were by the window near the bathtub where you imagined Eddie smoked as they took a bath together. On the floor by the shower, were some handheld barbells you imagined Steve used while Eddie took a shower or got ready so they could talk to each other about their days.

Walking back out to their bedroom, you noticed a guitar against the wall and grinned at its slightly cheesy 80s aesthetic. You remembered once hearing that Eddie Munson used to be in a band but for the life of you couldn’t remember the name. You wondered if he still played.

“Your student that you talk about…Y/N…she was listening to that song you played in the upside down. I just…it made me think of us…us finding you.”

What could he have meant by that…

Your gaze shifted to their dresser that had a vanity mirror attached with pictures taped to it. There were so many images of them together that made your smile widen but there were also photos of Steve with a young lady you remember seeing around Hawkins. She used to work at Family Video until a few years ago but you weren’t sure where she moved on to from there. Did you remember Steve there? No… you were pretty young though and focused on your own carefree life.

There were pictures of Eddie with the Hellfire club. They were still active when you went to Hawkins High filled with a cool group of kids you hung out with from time to time. There were whispers of the man that created it but everyone in the club always said good things about the former Dungeon Master.

They must have been in two different worlds in high school.

What must have happened to bring them together?

“Steven, you need to calm down.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice caught your attention after something loud slammed in the kitchen. You tiptoed down their hallway and paused on the other side of the wall.

“Fucking asshole kid, I swear to God.”

“Baby, it’s not the first time someone has said those things to us and it won’t be the last especially since we chose to stay here.”

“We didn’t exactly choose and that’s not why I’m upset.”

“Why then?”

“She…she seems like a nice girl.”

“She IS a nice girl.” Eddie sighs as he lowers his voice. “Steven, she’s a student and a lot younger than us.”

“Not a lot. Jesus, you make us sound ancient. She’s, what, how old you were when you graduated high school.”

“Hey, ok first off, rude.” They both giggle making you grin. “Second, again, she’s a student. She’s MY student. I could get in way more trouble than you.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you.”

“I swear, sweetheart, don’t we have enough chaos fucking hiding our relationship?”

“Oh, come on, Ed, you don’t like her?”

“I didn’t say that. I just… yeah, she’s beautiful and adorable and… fuck. We shouldn’t talk about this with her here.”

Collecting your bearings, you walk around the wall and knock on it lightly.

“Hey, there she is. I, uh, I fixed your backpack. Let me, um, see if I can salvage this top for you here.”, Eddie smiles as he takes it from your hands and heads for their couch.

“I didn’t know you could sew.”

“Mhmm. I can’t like whip up a brand new outfit or anything but I can patch things together.”

“Are you alright? Do you need any Band-Aids or an ice pack?”, Steve asks from his place by the counter.

“No, I’m ok. My throat is a bit sore but…” You don’t even finish your sentence before he’s turning around and grabbing an ice pack from the freezer, wrapping it in a rag, and sitting in front of you on their coffee table to place it on your neck. “Thank you. I like being choked but not like that or by that asshole.”

They both glance at each other as you blush.

“Yeah, probably not a joke to make right now. Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot.”, Eddie says from behind you.

“Sorry.” They laugh making you grin to yourself as you look down at your feet. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. I’m not…actively…trying to do that.”

“Oh, no worries, honey. Trust me. What is he going to say? ‘Coach Harrington kicked me off the team after I drunkenly assaulted a girl?’ I’m pretty sure the dean will side with me on that one.”

Your silence makes them nervous and they exchange another look.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?”

“I’m thinking about how I never expected Martin to do what he did. He’s been mean to me since freshman year but never aggressive like that.”

“You know that wasn’t your fault, right, princess?”

“Yeah, I know. I…I…” Unable to control them, the tears began to flow and a ring laced hand delicately reached for your shoulder, moving the things in his lap aside so he could hold you to his chest. Steve placed his own palm on your jeaned thigh and comfortingly rubbed against the material.

Once again you were engulfed in the scent of Eddie’s cigarettes and cologne as his cheek rested on the top of your head. You couldn’t explain why but you felt safe here with their hands on you encased between them.

It had been a few months since your last relationship and you could feel yourself dropping into that particular headspace the longer they comforted you.

“I’m…I’m also thinking…about what I saw that night…in the locker room. How you two took care of each other…”

All movement on your body ceased as they even held their breathes.

“H-How about we get you home, Y/N? I can give you this shirt after our next class.”

Eddie lightly pushed you to the side as he tried to stand but you hastily grabbed his arm stopping him.

“I heard you. You said I was beautiful and sweet.”

As your little voice flowed through his ears, his eyes squeezed shut trying to keep control.

“Y/N, maybe, he’s right. Maybe, we should get you home before—”

“Before what, Steve?” This was the first time you were using his name out loud and the notion sent tingles all through your body feeling like a little girl who misbehaved.

“Hey. You show him respect, little girl. That’s Mr. Harrington or sir.”, Eddie scolded in gruff tone.

“Edward…”

“No, Steven. Little girl wants to play with the grownups, then that’s how we will treat her. Now, we said, you’re going home. Grab your things and head towards the front door.”

“Why did you bring me back here, Mr. Munson? You could have taken me back to my dorm but you didn’t. Why?”

“Because people shouldn’t be seeing a professor drop off a student on campus.”

“But Steve said he was taking me to your house out loud to Martin.”

The man’s hand firmly came down on the side of your thigh making you yelp as you bit your bottom lip.

“He said show me respect.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington.” Placing your hand on top of his, your thumb tenderly ran along his skin as you leaned against Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Munson. Like I said…no one has ever taken care of me or looked out for me the way you two do with each other.”

You were slightly surprised when his fingers gently came around and brushed your hair away from your face.

“We brought you back here because we thought you were safer with us here. After what he did, we thought that’s what you needed.”

“Am I not safe here?”, you whisper as you can’t help but rub your thighs together.

“Y/N… Eddie and I have been through a lot. What you saw in my office isn’t always how we are when we’re intimate. We’re not always…soft.”

“But I promise you, princess, we are nothing like Martin. If you wanted to leave…right now…that’s ok. We can take you home or call you a cab if that makes you more comfortable.”

He was giving you an out; they both were. You could leave right now and the three of you could pretend this never happened. You could pretend that Steve’s large hand on your upper thigh wasn’t turning you on as you thought about how those long fingers would feel inside of you. You could pretend that Eddie’s touch wasn’t getting progressively slower as the pads of his own fingers traced your cheek making your pussy clench around nothing. You could pretend the notion of doing something you shouldn’t and being at the mercy of these two men’s wills didn’t drive you crazy. You could do that…

Or…

“I don’t mind it not being soft, Mr. Harrington. I trust you and Mr. Munson.” Both men exchanged on final look of caution before your last sentence pushed caution to the wind. “Please, I need you.”

“I think since you saw us in vulnerable position we should get the same courtesy.”, Steve replied in a much huskier tone than before. Taking your hands in his, he pulled you to your feet and pushed the coffee table out of the way before taking the seat you had just been in. On impulse, Eddie leaned closer to him as the other boy wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

“Go ahead, Y/N.”

As your eyes shifted between their heavy gazes, you lifted off the shirt he gave you, unbuttoned your pants, and shimmied them a bit clumsily down your legs.

You stood there waiting for more instruction as they continued to stare at your body.

“Did you see our cocks?”

“Yes.”

Steve smirked as his boyfriend began to kiss his neck while his palm traveled along his chest down his stomach.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Remember that, Y/N. I don’t like repeating myself and Eddie is a lot nicer than I am in here.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered when the metalhead’s palm grazed the bulge in his jeans.

“Now, if you saw or cocks, then why are you stopping?”

“You said…I should be vulnerable, sir.”

Your small voice had them groaning as Eddie fumbled with the pretty boy’s belt almost desperately.

“Fuck. Don’t move.” He commanded towards you as his head turned to capture his boyfriend’s lips. Lifting his hips, he helped Eddie blindly pull his jeans down just enough to free his length. As he started to lean over his lap, Steve hastily stopped him with a smile. “You don’t want to see her, honey?”

He chuckled as he focused his attention back on you.

“Do you feel vulnerable, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hm. Not enough to not finger yourself out in the open though, huh? I mean at least you had pants on.”

“I-I-I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking—”

“No, you weren’t. Take off the rest so we can see you.”

While doing what he said, you watched as Steve pushed down Eddie’s pants as well and both men kissed passionately in front of you as they stroked each other’s cocks.

“Y/N, is there anything we should know? Anything we should avoid?”

“No, Mr. Munson.”, you answered, appreciating his soft tone as he asked his series of questions.

“You said you liked being choked but is there anything physical we shouldn’t do?”, Eddie groaned out as Steve lifted off his shirt.

You heard his question but couldn’t form an answer as your eyes starred at the scars that littered his chest. They looked like whatever wound created them was deep, possibly life threatening. What could have happened to him?

“HEY!”, he barked making you jump. “He said he’s not as nice as me but that doesn’t mean I’m easy going! Now, answer the fucking question, little girl.”

“I’m sorry, sir. N-No, I don’t mind being hit or p-punished. Mr. Munson, what happened?”

As you started to step forward, both sets of brown eyes glared your way freezing you in place.

“Do you know the stop light system?”, Steve growled in a much rougher tone than you were prepared for. Nodding curtly after reciting it to them, he got up and grabbed your arm, sitting you between them. “Now, we do have some rules, Y/N. The first rule is the most important. DON’T ask about our scars.”

“Our?”

Steve slowly lifted off his own shirt and tossed it to the side. He didn’t have as many scars as Eddie but they were just as deep and looked similar. Whatever happened must have happened to both of them.

“I’m so sorry you both went through…whatever hurt you.”, you coo as you reach out to graze your fingers down Eddie’s chest.

The darkness in their eyes faltered slightly at your sincerity and the metalhead took your hand in his, tenderly kissing the back of it.

“Second rule. You have to be vocal, Y/N. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, we need you to say red ok?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Munson. “

“Good. Good girl.”

His praise made you giddy as you blush making him smile.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I have one more question, princess. Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“Yes and no.”

“Yeah, we’re going to need you to clarify that.”, Steve laughs.

“I’ve done rough stuff with dominate partners before. I’ve never been with two men before.”

The way you said the word men had Eddie’s eyebrow quirking upward.

“Are you trying to tell us you’ve only been with boys your age?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you feel the need to tell us that?”

“Do we make you nervous?”, Steve asks as his fingers dance up your arm.

“Yes b-but not because of you two, Mr. Harrington. I just wanted you to know j-just in case I’m not as ‘experienced’ as you both.”

Eddie’s palms cupped your cheeks as he brought your lips to his. You weren’t surprised by the nicotine that lingered there but you were by the tingle that ran through your body as his tongue caressed your own. When he pulled away you tried to lean forward for more but his grip held firm.

“We weren’t expecting you to be, pretty girl. You’ve only ever been with these little boys but you’re about to be fucked by real men, sweetheart. Trust us, we know how to take care of you.”

You moaned at his promise, turning towards Steve to crash your lips with his. He was a much more determined kisser, his mouth and tongue sending that same shock wave through to your core.

“Have you ever sucked a cock as big as mine?”, he panted against your lips.

As you shake your head, his fingers grab your throat just below your jaw as if purposely avoiding where Martin had hurt you.

“What did I say? How do you answer us?”

“I’m sorry. No, sir, I’ve never sucked a dick as big as either of you.”

Sitting back, his palm moved to the back of your neck, guiding you down over his leaking tip as Eddie adjusted your body till you were on all fours for them.

“Fuck me, Steve. She is so fucking wet. Her pussy is just tripping down her thighs.”

“Aw, you like being a bad girl, don’t you, honey?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Harrington. I like being a bad girl.”

“Open your mouth.” Doing as he directed, you quickly kissed his slit making him mewl before fully taking him between your awaiting lips. “Yes, oh my god. T-That’s a good girl.”

Eddie’s fingers glided through your folds causing your eyes to roll as you bobbed your head.

“Steve, baby, Jesus, she’s so fucking tight.”, the metalhead groaned as his palm came down hard on your ass.

“Yeah, Y/N? Did that feel good? You like when your professor spanks you?”

Yanking your hair roughly he tugs you off of him as you continue to stroke him with your hand.

“I didn’t hear that, little girl. What did you say?”

“Y-Yes, sir, I like when Mr. Munson spanks me.”

At your response he spanks you again right as he guides two of his digits into your core. Gripping you tighter, Steve forces your mouth on him again and holds you still as he thrusts his hips allowing his cock to hit the back of your throat.

“Good girl. That’s it, Y/N. Keep your throat open for me.”

Abruptly, Eddie swats his boyfriend’s hand and tugs on your shoulder, guiding you down the hallway to their bedroom and tossing you onto their bed. After completely removing the rest of his clothes, he climbs between your legs and runs his wide, flat tongue through your pussy up to your clit.

“Oh shit.”, you moan as your back arches into the feeling before yelping when his palm smacks your cunt.

“Watch your mouth, little girl.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckles as he climbs in beside you both placing his knees by your head as his fingers grip your hair again.

“Can’t really blame her. I know how amazing your tongue feels. Then again, you may have some competition, babe, because her fucking mouth feels so good.”

Pride washes over you at his praise as you grip his cock and take him as far back as you can trying to continue to please him.

“I-It’s ok, honey. We can train this little throat. As—fuck—as you know, Eddie’s a wonderful teacher.” His boyfriend tosses him a smirk as his tongue flicks faster against your bud. “Are you going to cum? Cum, Y/N. Cum all over his face.”

Your hips grinded against him as the man’s mouth wrapped around your bundle of nerves and he pushed two of his fingers rapidly inside of you as the sound of your arousal to fill the room.

Steve backed away from you, allowing you to focus and breathe as your orgasm washed over you. As you came down from your high, Eddie lightly slapped between your legs making you jump and groan.

“Sensitive. I like that.”

Tilting towards their bedside table, he paused as their eyes met.

“Shit. I don’t have any condoms.”

“What?”, Steve almost wined as you tried to contain your smile at their desperate need for you.

“Steve, we’ve been together for almost 10 years. When was the last time we used a fucking condom?”, Eddie growled.

“We’ve been talking about adding someone to our dynamic for a while now.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t prepared for it to be tonight with a fucking student!”

“Excuse me.”, you finally pipe up. “I’m on the pill. I can understand if you still don’t want to but…I’m safe. And like I said, I trust you.”

Both men exchange a glance and you can’t help but giggle up at them.

“So how long were you going to wait before you said anything, huh?”

“Mr. Munson, you didn’t ask. I wanted to be a good girl and only speak when spoken to.”

They narrow their eyes playfully at you for a moment before Eddie grabs your jaw and tilts you till your face is level with his.

“You’re not cute, little girl. That little snarky attitude may have worked on those pathetic boys you were with but you’re in the bed of real men now. Don’t hide things from us you think we should know. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-Yes, sir. I’m—”

Steve’s hand cuts you off as he pushes you back against the mattress.

“We know. You’re sorry.”

Taking hold of his shaft, Eddie taps himself against your pussy making you squirm as you open your legs wider for him. Grabbing your hips, he slides you closer and gradually guides himself into your dripping entrance.

“Fuuuuuck.”, he moaned as he slowly pumped his hips. “We are going to fucking ruin you for anyone else, little girl. Goddamn.”

“How does she feel, baby?”, Steve asks as he leaned towards him to lightly kiss his neck.

“S-So fucking tight, sweetheart, you have no idea. I want…”

“What do you want, Ed?”

“I wanna…fuck her into the fucking mattress.”

Your pussy fluttered around him at his words and his eyes that been closed shot open as he placed his palms on either side of you and started thrusting into you aggressively.

“You want that, you little whore. I can give that to you.”

Much softer than his partner, Steve turned your head and slide his cock back into your mouth that you eagerly sucked on relishing the taste of him. As he pounded into you, Eddie’s lips kissed along his boyfriend’s chest making the man groan louder as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Bringing his lips to his own they passionately exchanged a kiss that had you mewling as the long-haired man rolled his hips hard hitting that soft spot inside you repeatedly.

Eddie’s head tilted back as his jaw went slack and you couldn’t help but reach your hands up to run your nails down your chest.

“I’m…I’m…please…”

Steve moved back as the metalhead grabbed your wrists and held them against the bed as his face fell beside your own.

“You fucking ask me, Y/N. You beg us to let you cum. Shit. We have control in here.”, he whispers in your ear making your shudder underneath him.

“P-Please, Mr. Munson. Can I cum? I want to cum on your cock, please.”

His hair tickles your face as he nods and the action of him tenderly kissing your cheek pushes you over the edge as the coil snaps.

“Fuck, that’s it, pretty girl. Came so fucking hard on my dick. I’m going to fill you up, princess, ok?”

“Please…”, you whimper as he slams into you, chasing his high.

Your professor’s grunts filled your ear and you turned your head into the sound as he warmed your insides. As soon as he rolled off you, a hand took hold of your ankle and yanked you to the edge the bed.

“Hey, hey, honey. No, no.”, Steve cooed with a hint of sarcasm as he lightly slapped your cheek. “Open your eyes, baby. What color are you at, Y/N?”

“Green.”

His massive palm slapped you a bit harder causing your eyes to fully open as you leaned up on your elbows.

“Green, what?”

“Green, SIR!”

You’re suddenly turned on to your stomach as rough hands lift your ass in the air while another set takes hold of your wrists and pulls your top half down and forward.

“Get rid of the attitude, Y/N. You think just because you came you’re allowed to be disrespectful?”, Eddie growls as Steve spanks your behind. “Now, answer him clearly without the tone.”

“Green, Mr. Harrington.”

As he ran his tip through your folds, you knew even after taking his partner, he was going to split you in half.

“Fuck me.”, Steve moaned as he began pushing himself into you.

Eddie’s head tilted to the side as he watched your face scrunch together.

“You’re alright, sweetheart. Trust me, I know how hard he can be to take at first but it will feel good soon. I promise, baby.”, he soothed and kissed your lips.

“F-Feels…feels good…now. Fuck.”

The man behind you smacks your ass at the curse, pressing further into your cunt till his hips finally connected with yours.

“Still green, babe?”

“Yeeeees, sir.”

“Good.” Clinging to your waist, Steve pulled back till he was almost all the way out of pussy before roughly slamming back into you practically punching the air from your lungs.

“Oh my god!”

With a slanted smile, he pounded into you as Eddie watched from the side, sitting up on his knees to occasionally run his fingers down the man’s chest.

“She feels really fucking good, right? Our young, new little toy.”

“Goddamn, I’m gonna fucking bust like a teenager.”

“Wait, pretty boy. You need to feel her cum. Her pussy fucking chokes your dick, I swear.”

“Fuck, Y/N, are you close, little girl?” When you didn’t answer, his hand reached around to grab you throat and lift your back to his chest. “Still coherent, you little slut? I asked you a question.”

“H-Harder, Mr. Harrington, please.”

As his forehead landed on your shoulder, he did what you asked till the bed began to jostle underneath you. A jolt of electricity shot through your body and you mewled as Eddie rubbed circles into your clit.

You took their conversation as approval and your arm circle around Steve’s neck as you came.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”, he grunted as he took hold of your chin and turned you so his lips could mingle with yours as he pumped into you a few more times before releasing his seed inside you.

You were completely drained and slightly sore as he tried to delicately pullout of you while you waited for what to do next. Usually, the boys you were with did the minimal amount of aftercare, choosing to just cuddle with you which was fine. You were surprised, however, when Eddie informed you the bath was ready when you were.

“For me?”

“Yeah, princess, come on. It will soothe your muscles.”, he murmured softly as he took your forearm and slowly walked you to the bathtub and guided you in. Your head remained lowered as you listened to him maneuver around the bathroom, sliding on some boxers before lighting a cigarette and placing himself on his knees beside you.

Utilizing the washcloth, he cleaned you pausing when your hand suddenly grabbed his wrist as he attempted to clean between your legs.

“I’m sorry. Just sore.”, you whispered as you let him go.

Eddie’s eyes scanned you over and you heard him blow out some smoke from his lips as he put the cigarette down in a nearby ashtray. His fingers moved some of your hair back and he pressed his nose into your cheek while he continued to clean you.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. You’re still doing really good for me. I know your little pussy hurts from how we stretched her open but we got you, pretty girl. You took us both so well.”

As his deep, comforting tone continued to whisper praises, you keened into the sound as you winced, trying not to grab him again.

“I know, I know. I’m almost done.”

Tilting your head, your lips found his, both of you getting lost in the feeling as he dropped the rag from his hand so he could cup your face and hold you closer. A throat clearing distracted you two as Steve entered the bathroom.

“I, uh, I have some clothes for you here, Y/N, whenever you’re ready.”

Nodding, you allow Eddie to help you out and lead you in front of his partner who took a seat on the edge of the bed. His honey irises ran along your body, checking for extra care you may need that they inflicted but unlike your assault earlier the only mark they left was the slight reddening of their handprints on your behind.

“How’s your throat? I tried not to grab you where—”

Your kisses startled him at first but after a few seconds his hand slithered tenderly behind your neck as he kissed you back.

“I’m ok. Just sore…and tired.”, you reiterate as your heavy eye lids dropped.

“Ok, honey.” Steve’s hands held you steady while Eddie dressed you in what smelled like their clothes as you swayed in his grasp. “You did so good for us. You deserve some sleep. Would you like me to carry you to the guest bedro—”

Both men watched with amusement as your shook your head before climbing over him and crawling under their covers.

“I guess we can sleep in the—”

“Please don’t leave.”, you begged in a little girl voice that pierced their hearts.

“Why does she keep interrupting me?”, Steve chuckles as he gets to his feet and yanks Eddie into his arms to kiss his lips. “She doesn’t do that with you. Or does she in class?”

At the word the metalhead became silent as he kissed his partner’s shoulder and crawled into the bed in front of you. His palm softly caressed your face and through your hair as Steve got in bed behind you.

“You’re worried.”

“Of course, I am and not just because she’s a student. That’s just the frosting on top of the cake that is our problem.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“Steven.”, Eddie scolds as they both smile. “She’s so much younger than we are.”

“10 years. Not much.”

“Not to mention the fact, that we are already hiding OUR relationship let alone another with a young, student. She deserves to be taken on dates and to live her life. She deserves to be seen not hidden.”

“So do you, honey.”

“Steve… we decided a long time ago to stay in Hawkins for a reason. We can’t be run out of town by these homophobic small, minded idiots. They’ve just barely started calming down when it comes to me and what happened in 86. And that’s another thing. What if…what if something happens? What if Vecna comes back or any other fucking monster? We can’t drag her into that.”

“Eddie, you’re over thinking again, but I see where you are coming from. Let’s…let’s take it one day at a time, ok? Who knows. She may wake up and decide this is all too much herself. She may not want to be with some…old, broken-down college professors slash coach.”

“Oh my god, baby.”, the long-haired boy chuckles as he throws his arm over his eyes. “You’re not broke down. We just have some wear and tear.”

Your palm reaching out and pulling Eddie closer as you fully folded into Steve silenced them. They relaxed into you as your professor kissed your forehead and your school’s coached nuzzled into your shoulder as they drifted off to sleep with you.

##############

@corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @nailbatanddungeon

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