#sjs x reader

synopsis having a class partner that wasn't a deadweight was rare. but having one that was nice, hot and helpful? it had never been heard of

a.n first x reader in a hot minute! college has been soso busy but it was so nice to write again. title is from sofia by clairo also sorry if it's a little short lol and as always, this fic is not betaread

wc 1.9k

req yes

heads up! blacking out, mentions of vomiting, use of y/n, you guys are both in college though details on your degree are non specific. otherwise mainly just fluff!

When you first met Collin, you were apprehensive.

It was Sophomore year, and for your UNIV301 class, your professor had broken you all up into pairs to research and map out different career paths that come with your chosen degree. He was a business major and on the hockey team, so you really had to set your expectations underground.

Still, he had managed to surprise you. It's not like the work you both were doing was hard; the class was meant to be an easy A after all. But he was helpful, did all of his stuff before the night before it was due, and hadn't dodged you when you tried setting up a meetup at the library. It was basically a dream come true.

Once the project was done, you hadn't really expected anything. Y'all had just been partners, and now you really had no reason to talk to each other.

While you guys had been working together, you had exchanged Instagrams. And while you were in a mind-numbingly boring lecture, a notification had popped up on your phone. Making sure it wasn't in the professor's line of sight, you checked your notif center.

collin.graf yo if you aren't busy wanna meet up and grab food?

🩸༉‧₊˚ Summary: The SAP Center is usually noisy, but the heavy silence of the late-night post-practice now dominated the arena. You were the only marketing intern left in the building, tasked with delivering a last-minute schedule to Macklin. However, Macklin Celebrini seems to prefer the darkness for reasons that go far beyond dedication to the sport.

🏒༉‧₊˚ Warnings: Mildly suggestive tension, vampiric elements (biting/neck contact), and physical proximity.

( >ᵥ_ᵥ< ) ༉‧₊˚ The weather in San Jose had cooled down, but the air inside the empty arena felt even colder, silence fell over the SAP Center. The atmosphere after the evening practice was heavy, saturated with the smell of melting ice and sweat. As an intern on the marketing team, your job usually involved gathering content for social media, but today, at the communications director's request, you needed to deliver a last-minute interview schedule for Macklin.

The hallway was silent. Most of the players had already left, but the light from the locker room still glowed beneath the door. You knew it was Macklin, he seemed to prefer the night shift, away from any ray of sunlight. You knocked softly before entering.

Macklin was sitting on the bench, still in his uniform pants but shirtless. What struck you first wasn't his athletic physique, although that was impossible to ignore, but rather the sheer intensity of his posture. He seemed distant, with an expression that was hauntingly dual, something predatory lurked in his focus, a tension that contrasted with a deep, almost palpable melancholy that seemed to emanate from his silence.

"Mack?" His name escaped in a whisper, your voice coming out more shaky and low than you intended. When his eyes finally met yours, you felt the air leave your lungs.

"You shouldn't be here at this hour." His voice sounded huskier than usual, carrying that Canadian accent that now felt deeper; a rugged, low-pitched draw. "I just... I needed to give you this." you replied, your voice faltering slightly. "The schedule for tomorrow." You stepped closer, extending the paper toward him. The moment he reached out to take it, his fingertips, cold as a winter frost, brushed against yours. The thermal shock was instant, but it wasn't the cold that made you shiver, it was the jolt of electricity that surged straight down your spine.

Macklin didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he gave a firm tug, forcing you to breach his personal space. At this range, his scent enveloped you, a blend of oak and the biting chill of winter. There was also a lingering metallic edge to him, something that wavered dangerously between the scent of the arena’s ice and the copper tang of fresh blood.

"You’re nervous," he observed. His lips curled into a restrained smile, revealing the glint of canines subtly sharper than any human's. "I can hear your heart. The rhythm is racing... I can hear it hammering against your chest."

He stood up with deliberate slowness. Macklin smoothly pinned you against the lockers. His free hand glided up your arm, leaving a trail of chilling heat in its wake, stopping only when his fingers cradled your face. His thumb traced the contour of your lower lip with sheer possessiveness, his eyes watched your lips with raw need.

( >ᵥ_ᵥ< ) ༉‧₊˚ "It's becoming impossible to stay focused on hockey when your perfume is the only thing that awakens my... thirst." Macklin leaned in with a predatory slowness, the tip of his nose brushing your earlobe before tracing a deliberate path along the curve of your neck. The moment his tongue met your skin, the contrast was striking, your living warmth against the ice-cold caress of his touch. "You smell so divine." he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the exact spot that made your knees go weak.

He pressed his body against yours, and you felt the superhuman strength coiled within his muscles. For an instant, the pressure of his lips on your neck grew firmer, almost a suction, and an involuntary moan escaped you. Macklin stopped, taking a deep breath against your skin, fighting the primal instinct to sink his teeth in. He pulled back just enough to look deep into your eyes, his pupils blown wide.

Your body went soft as you molded yourself against his, your hands sliding up Macklin’s bare chest, feeling the rigid muscle beneath skin that seemed to burn under your touch. He let out a low growl, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest, and pinned you harder against the metal. His hips locked into yours with a possessive firmness that stole the breath from your lungs, eliminating any remaining space and making it dangerously clear just how much his appetite was consuming him.

He leaned in, sealing the distance between your lips in a kiss that was the opposite of what you expected. It wasn’t cold; it was an explosion of pure need. There was a desperate urgency in the way he took you, the taste of metal flooded your senses, and your hands shot up instinctively to his shoulders, gripping his bare, cool skin in a frantic search for balance. His tongue explored yours with a famished hunger, and for a fleeting second, you felt the sharp edge of his fangs graze against your tongue.

His hands, large and steady, slid down from your back to your waist, squeezing the flesh there with force. Macklin lifted you effortlessly, your feet losing contact with the ground, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. The sudden contact between the thin fabric of your clothes and his bare skin pulled a shaky sigh from your lips.

Macklin returned to your neck, and you felt the pressure of his fangs scraping your sensitive skin. Your pulse throbbed frantically there, his lips and tongue worked with a voracity that made you arch your back. As he sucked the soft skin just below, one of his hands slid up under your shirt. "Mack..." the plea escaped your lips.

You buried your fingers in his damp hair, pulling him closer as you felt the weight and heat of his body against yours. The silence of the locker room was now filled only by the heavy breathing of you both and the muffled creak of metal under pressure. Macklin let out a low growl against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck, without quite breaking the flesh. "The schedule will have to wait." he murmured, his voice husky, before seeking your mouth again with hunger.

Thank you gorgeous!! Of course love, right away!

Your relationship with Will is like how all things are with him: fast, bright, and never enough.

He doesn’t wait for you to make space for him in your life. He takes it, regardless of what you want. Calls in the middle of the night, leaving his shampoo in your bathroom the first night he stays over, keeping you home from your friends because he has a night off and he wants to spend it with you.

He'll leave jerseys on the side of your bed before slipping out right after you fall asleep. He comes straight to your apartment after games, all sweaty and flushed. He uses the game as foreplay, telling you about the goal he scored or the check he made, anything to get you to praise him while he bends you over in bed. Anything to believe in him. Anything to be loved.

He won't give you the love back, though. He won't let you go to his games or apartment. Won't introduce you to Mack. He'll bite you and scratch you, getting himself off and leaving you without because he's the important one in the relationship. He's the hockey star. He's the one that needs the attention. Not you. You're just greedy.

If you ever run into each other outside of those sacred spaces, he acts cold and distant. Like you're nothing more than a fan. He'll give a halfhearted smile, more effort than emotion. Maybe a wave if no one he knows is with him. It's harsh in a way that feels like falling on concrete, he's been sleeping in your bed and using your body yet can't give you the time of day when it's not convenient for him.

The only time he's soft is right after sex. Those fleeting moments before he runs off are sweeter than honey. He turns into a puddle of love, coating everything he can touch and absorbing it. He's soft then, smiling into a kiss, rolling over to hold you. Just soft enough to keep you hooked. To make sure that you're going to open your door again and let him satiate whatever needs he has that night.

You know what you're doing every time you let him in again. You're just making the maze of emotions harder and harder to leave. 'You're doing it to yourself' Will tells you one day, 'If you didn't let me in then you wouldn't feel so shitty.' He's right, because he always is.

Every few months, you try to break it off. To turn him away and let him go find a new victim. But then your bed gets cold, and you start to wonder if he ever thinks about you. It always starts up again with a call. He'll wait until you start to hate yourself, then pick up the phone and tell you he's coming over. It's a sick game of his, watching you destroy yourself over him.

But when he's not watching it hurts worse. When he's laying in your bed, scrolling on his phone and ignoring you. You feel like you're being tested, like God wants to see just how much he can mess with you before you learn your lesson.

All you've ever wanted was for Will to keep his eyes on you. For him to pay as much attention to you as you do him. It feels like you're being chipped away at, a chunk gone when you open the door and a chunk gone when he closes it. Like you're a bath bomb in a tub, being surrounded by something that's destroying you, fizzling out and being absorbed for all your worth.