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lupinqs · 8 days ago

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paige x reader request!! okay so reader has never dated before (she’s always focused on school and boys around her never seem to “meet up” to her standards….right lol) when she gets to college she meets p and they become really close. they end up falling for each other but reader is conflicted bc she has thought she’s been straight but looking back all the signs were there. she’s never wanted to have sex before (men are scary) but she wants to with p, she trusts her. this could be p talking reader through this realization and/or smut (p being really sweet w her bc it’s her first time yk)!! thank you!!

FIRST TIME ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: your first time is with paige

☆ ━ word count: 5.3K

☆ ━ warnings: smut with plot (honestly just p eating r out)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: my gift to everyone after that hellish lottery… fuck dallas bro 😐😐 also this is not my best work this month has been fucking terrible so my bad

FOR YOU, it’s always been school. School, school, school. By seventh grade, you already knew you wanted to go into medicine. Your parents both work in the field—your mom at the hospital, your dad in his private practice. You grew up hearing their stories over dinner, listening to the ups and downs of their days, feeling that pull towards something important, something that could make a difference. The way they talked about their work, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself there, following in their footsteps.

So, you worked. Hard. From the moment you set your sights on medicine, there was no looking back. High school flew by in a steady cycle of textbooks, flashcards, volunteer shifts, and internships, each one a piece of the puzzle you were putting together. You spent weekends shadowing doctors, hours in study groups, a summer interning at the local hospital where you first learned what a real emergency room felt like. Even then, nothing could shake you from the goal you’d carved out for yourself. You’d known from the start where you wanted to end up: Yale. As a Connecticut native, it felt like a given. You saw yourself there so clearly that the idea of not getting in didn’t even occur to you.

Until it did. And when the rejection letter came, it was like the ground had fallen out beneath you. There was shock, disappointment, embarrassment. You’d done everything right—how had that not been enough? But still, UConn is a good college, and the goal is med school anyway. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter where you get your undergraduate degree, that you’ll just work even harder this time. When it comes to med school applications, there won’t be any mistakes, no missed chances. You won’t let it happen again—you will be going to Yale.

The thing is, school’s been your everything for so long that you don’t have much of a life outside of it. You had a first kiss once, an awkward moment with a boy who you never talked to again. But after that, there hasn’t been anything more. You’ve always been busy, and to be honest, there’s never been anyone who made you want to carve out time. Every relationship around you seemed like a distraction, a place for people to get hurt or get sidetracked, neither of which were part of your plan. Your friends like to tease you about it, saying your standards are too high, that no one will ever live up to the expectations you’ve set. And maybe that was true. Maybe that’s what it is. The boys just don’t meet your standards. You accept that, not caring to pay any mind to them (though they certainly paid mind to you), continuing to stay focused.

But at UConn, things start to feel different. College is strange that way—there’s structure, but there’s also space, a little more breathing room. It’s not like high school, where everyone knew what you were doing all the time, where your schedule was mapped out. Here, people let loose, go out, drink, stay up until all hours for no reason at all. You do it, too, and you realize it’s fun. But you never let it go further, never bother to get any sort of romance or even hook-ups involved in your life—because you’re still who you are. Your studies come first, always. You continuously remind yourself of that. Med school is the goal, and you work towards it every day.

Besides, you’re not even really interested in dating or anything of the sort.

That is, until you meet a certain blonde-haired basketball player.

It happens during the second semester of your freshman year, in a class you’re only taking for the credit. You barely even remember signing up for it—some easy elective with minimal workload to round out your schedule. You don’t care about the subject, don’t even plan on giving it much effort beyond the occasional assignment because you know it’ll be easy anyways. But then she walks in.

Paige Bueckers. You’ve heard the name before, of course. Everyone has. She’s the sophomore basketball phenom, the face of UConn athletics, practically a celebrity on campus. You’ve never paid her much attention—basketball isn’t really your thing—but the buzz around her is impossible to ignore. Still, when she strolls into the classroom, disheveled and running a little late, it takes you a moment to connect the dots. Her hair’s thrown into a low bun, messy strands framing her face. She’s in a gray UConn sweatsuit, the hem of her hoodie slightly frayed, her glasses sitting casually on the bridge of her nose. She scans the room, sees that the only open seat is next to you, and slides into it without hesitation.

“Hey,” she says, flashing you a quick smile before dropping her bag on the floor.

And that’s it. Nothing monumental. Just a simple greeting. But there’s something about her—her presence, the casual ease with which she takes up space—that immediately hooks your attention.

At first, you try to keep your head down. She’s just another classmate, someone you’ll probably never see again once the semester’s over. But Paige doesn’t make it easy to ignore her. She leans over to you during class, whispering comments about the lecture or the professor’s awkward hand gestures. She’s funny—unexpectedly so—and you catch yourself smiling at her jokes even when you try not to.

You notice other things, too. Like the sharp line of her jaw, the way her broad shoulders stretch the fabric of her sweatshirt, the subtle curve of muscle beneath her long sleeves. She’s not the type of traditional feminine pretty that you’d expect, not delicate or polished. No makeup, no carefully curated outfits. But there’s something about her—an almost sculptural beauty, like she’s been chiseled from marble by a particularly ambitious artist. It’s distracting. And you don’t get distracted easily.

When your friends convince you to go to your first basketball game of the season, you tell yourself it’s just for the experience. A chance to break out of your usual routine. But then you see her on the court. And suddenly, everything makes sense. Paige doesn’t just play basketball; she owns it. She’s gorgeous out there, all fire and intensity, her movements fluid and commanding. You find yourself watching her more than the game, mesmerized by the way she moves, just her presence in general.

After that, you start looking forward to class in a way you never have before. It’s not the subject, obviously. It’s Paige. The way she smiles at you when she walks in, the way she leans over to whisper something ridiculous during a particularly boring lecture. She’s the best part of your day, and you don’t even try to deny it.

When the two of you get paired up for a group project, it feels like fate. You go to her apartment to work on it, expecting the same easy banter from class, but it’s more than that. The two of you get off track almost immediately, laughing over something stupid, and before you know it, hours have passed and you’ve barely made any progress. You end up staying way later than planned, both of you scrambling to get back on task before you have to call it a night. By the time you leave, you’ve swapped numbers, and from then on, the texts come easily.

It starts with class updates, but soon it’s more. Late night conversations that have nothing to do with school, Facetimes, too. Hanging out becomes natural: grabbing frozen yogurt, wandering around campus, studying together even when you don’t need to. You talk and talk and talk, and somehow, it’s never boring. Paige has this way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight you usually carry around doesn’t exist when you’re with her.

One night, after one of your froyo runs, you’re sitting in her car. The frozen yogurt is long gone, but neither of you seems ready to say goodbye. The conversation slows, dipping into a comfortable silence. You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you. There’s a shift in the air, something unspoken passing between you. And then, suddenly, she’s kissing you.

You freeze. Not because you don’t want it, but because it’s so unexpected. Your brain can’t catch up with what’s happening, and for a moment, you’re completely still. Paige pulls back almost immediately, her face flushing as she stumbles through an apology. “I’m sorry—I thought—God, I must’ve read that wrong. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, shaking your head as you finally find your voice. “I didn’t mind.”

Her eyes search yours, uncertain, and then the silence settles again. Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean back in. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. Her hand cups your jaw, warm and steady, while your fingers find their way to her arm, brushing over the solid muscle of her bicep. The center console is a nuisance, forcing you both into awkward angles, but you don’t care. It’s all soft lips and quiet breaths, a perfect mix of hunger and gentleness.

When she finally pulls away, she drives you back to your dorm, her voice soft as she says, “I had a good time tonight.”

You manage a quiet “Me too,” before slipping out of the car.

Back in your dorm, your roommate is asleep, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart still racing. You just kissed Paige Bueckers. A girl. And you liked it. More than liked it—you want to do it again.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You’ve never thought about girls like that before, never let your mind wander there. You always assumed you were straight, just too busy or too picky to find the right guy. But now, as you think about Paige, about her hands on your face, her lips against yours, it all starts to make sense. You never wanted boys. Not really. That kiss in high school with that random guy had felt wrong, awkward. The idea of being with a man had never appealed to you—except for maybe Drew Starkey, but even that felt more like a joke than anything real.

But this? The thought of Paige, of her smile, her laugh, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the room—that feels real. And it’s terrifying.

Because now you know two things for sure:

You’re gay.

And you really, really like Paige Bueckers.

And it turns out that she really likes you, too.

Because that first kiss turns into another kiss. And another. And now, every time you’re alone together, it happens like clockwork.

The two of you have started hanging out in your rooms more often, the need for privacy overtaking any desire to sit in common areas or go out. Paige’s teammates joke that the two of you have become “homebodies,” but they don’t know the half of it. They don’t know how, as soon as the door closes, her lips find yours, soft and insistent, her hands framing your face as if you’re the most delicate thing she’s ever touched.

You’re not dating—at least, not officially. You haven’t talked about it, haven’t dared to address what’s happening between you. It’s easier this way, or so you tell yourself. But a part of you wonders why Paige doesn’t bring it up. Why she hasn’t said anything about what this is or what it could be. And that bothers you, even if you try to push it to the back of your mind. Then again, you’ve never done relationships, so maybe this in between is for the better—at least, for now.

Tonight, her teammates have gone to Ted’s. Paige had asked if you wanted to go, but when you wrinkled your nose and said, “Not really,” she grinned and said, “Me neither.” So, here you are, alone in her dorm room, a movie playing on the small TV mounted to the wall. Neither of you are watching it.

You’re lying on her bed, her weight hovering above you, and there’s no space, no breath between the two of you. Her lips are on yours, insistent and hungry, her body pressing against yours as if she can’t get close enough. There’s an urgency in her kiss tonight, a need that you can feel deep in your chest. You kiss her back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, trying to anchor yourself to her.

Her hands are on your hips, her fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against her mouth. You feel her smile against your lips at the sound and it makes you smile, too.

And, for the first time, you find yourself wanting more. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, your nerves alight with a buzzing energy that you don’t fully understand but don’t want to lose. Paige seems to sense it too because her hands slide up your sides, her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines against your skin.

Her lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down to your neck. The kisses are messy and open-mouthed, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. When her hands slip under your shirt, tracing over your stomach, you shiver.

“Can I take it off?” she asks, her voice soft but tinged with want.

You hesitate for a moment before nodding, lifting your arms to help her pull the shirt over your head. It’s gone in an instant, and you’re left in just your bra. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver again, but it’s nothing compared to the way Paige looks at you.

Her eyes roam over you, but not in a way that makes you feel objectified. It’s more like she’s in awe, like she can’t believe you’re here with her, like she can’t believe she gets to see you like this. It’s overwhelming.

You look away, suddenly self-conscious. It’s nerve-wracking, you’ve never done this before, and you know that Paige has. But Paige also knows that you haven’t, which you suppose makes things easier. You feel her fingers catch your chin, gently turning your head back to face her. Her touch is so tender it nearly makes you cry.

“If you wanna stop, tell me,” she says, her blue eyes locked onto yours, her voice steady and sincere.

You shake your head, your heart pounding. “I don’t wanna stop,” you say quickly, and then, after a pause, you add, your face flushing slightly with embarrassment, “I’m just a little nervous.”

She smiles softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Her hands move to your ribs, tracing slow, soothing lines along your skin. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “You don’t gotta be. I’m right here.”

Her words settle something inside you, easing the tension in your chest. You nod, and she kisses you again, her lips slow and deliberate against yours. The urgency from earlier is still there, but now it’s tempered by something softer, something deeper. You want her closer, impossibly closer.

Her hands slide up your sides once more, stopping just below your chest, and the anticipation alone makes your breath catch. When her palms finally cup your breasts through your bra, her touch is firm yet reverent, and the sensation makes you gasp against her mouth. Your breathing deepens, your chest rising and falling under her hands.

It’s instinctual, the way your hands move to her waist, your fingers slipping underneath the hem of her long-sleeve shirt. Her skin is warm beneath your touch, and you can feel the subtle definition of her abs as your hands explore, your palms smoothing over her sides.

Paige groans softly into your mouth, her body pressing harder against yours as if she’s trying to fuse you together. Then she pulls away just enough to tug her long-sleeve shirt over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it carelessly across the room. The moment it’s gone, she’s back, her lips finding yours again, more insistent than ever.

She’s in just her sports bra now, and you can’t help but let your fingers trail along the edges of it, brushing against the smooth fabric and the warm skin beneath. Paige shivers under your touch, and the knowledge that you’re affecting her this much makes your heart race even faster.

Then you feel her hands move behind your back, her fingers toying with the clasp of your bra. She hesitates, her lips hovering over yours as if she’s waiting for your permission.

You pull back just slightly, your lips still brushing hers as you murmur, “Take it off.”

Her eyes flicker with something intense, something almost vulnerable, as she nods. She unclasps your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your shoulders before pulling it away completely. For a moment, she doesn’t move, her gaze dropping to your bare chest. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low and husky.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” she mutters, her eyes locking with yours for a heartbeat before her lips are on yours again, desperate and consuming.

Her hands return to your breasts, cupping and kneading them in a way that makes your head fall back against the pillows. A quiet whimper escapes your throat, and Paige groans in response, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Her mouth begins to wander, leaving your lips to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, then lower to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your skin before she soothes the slight sting with her tongue. Each kiss feels deliberate, like she’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you react to her touch.

She moves lower, her lips brushing along your collarbone, her breath warm and uneven against your skin. Her hands continue their slow, deliberate exploration of your chest, her thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes your breath hitch.

Her lips trace the edges of your breasts, teasing and deliberate, and it’s almost too much. Your fingers tighten their hold on her sides, your nails digging slightly into her skin as you try to ground yourself.

Paige’s lips move with an unrelenting intensity, open-mouthed kisses peppered across your chest as though she’s determined to worship every inch of you. When her mouth closes over one of your nipples, the heat and pressure of her tongue send a jolt through your body, and you swallow hard, trying to keep yourself steady. The sensation is new, overwhelming in the best way, and you feel a steady, growing thrum between your legs that you can’t ignore.

She doesn’t rush, her lips and tongue moving with precision, her hands anchoring you to the bed as if she doesn’t want you to float away. Her mouth trails from one breast to the other, lavishing attention in a way that makes your breath hitch and your fingers curl into the sheets.

“Paige,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, your chest rising and falling heavily as her lips continue their descent.

She hums softly against your skin, a sound that vibrates through you as her mouth moves lower. She lingers over your stomach, her lips and tongue leaving a warm, wet trail across your skin. When she sucks on a spot just below your navel, you know she’s leaving a mark, but you don’t care. The sensation is intoxicating, her gentle pressure grounding you as your thoughts scatter into nothing but her touch, her presence.

Then, her hands move to the waistband of your sweatpants, pausing just above your hips. Her fingers don’t tug or pull, just hover there, her thumbs brushing lightly against your skin. You glance down at her, heart pounding in your chest, only to find her already looking up at you.

Her eyes are soft, full of a question she hasn’t yet asked, though there’s no mistaking the want clouding her gaze. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, careful, “Do you want me to?”

You swallow thickly, your throat dry. Do you want her to? God, yes. It’s not even a question. You don’t just want her—you think you might need her in this moment, need her to fix that ache that’s been building between your legs since she first kissed you tonight.

But it’s scary. Already, you’ve never been this exposed with anyone before, and this—this is something else entirely. A deeper kind of intimacy, one you thought you’d be ready for but now realize the weight of. Whenever you pictured what your first time might be like, you never really thought it would be too important, but now, here, with Paige above you, it feels monumental.

But who else would it be, if not her? Paige, who makes you feel safe, wanted, adored. You trust her in a way you’ve never trusted anyone. She’s kind, patient, and you like her so much it almost hurts. It only makes sense for it to be her. Even if it’s scary. Even if the thought creeps in—what if you’re not enough for her? What if you’re different from the others she’s been with, and she’s disappointed?

Your thoughts are interrupted as Paige reaches for your hand, her fingers threading through yours in a gentle, grounding gesture. Her eyes stay on yours, searching, concerned. She says your name, softly, once, then again. And then, “Baby…” Her voice cracks just slightly, and it tugs at something deep inside you. “Please don’t feel pressured. It’s okay. We don’t gotta do anything else.”

The way she says it, so sincere and unselfish, almost undoes you. You shake your head quickly, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I don’t feel pressured,” you say, and though your voice wavers, it’s honest. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you continue. “Just… just keep going, please.”

She hesitates, her eyes locked on yours for a long moment, as if she’s searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. When she seems to find nothing but your own need and trust, she nods, her expression softening into something almost reverent.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her lips pressing a kiss to your stomach, this one gentler than the ones before, less insistent but no less meaningful. She kisses you again, and again, her hands moving slowly as her fingers hook around the waistband of your sweatpants.

She pulls them down your legs with care, her eyes flicking back to yours to make sure it’s still okay. You nod, your heart racing but your body completely at ease with her. And as Paige tosses the sweatpants aside, her hands return to your hips, her lips never far from your skin, and you feel nothing but trust, nothing but her.

She places feather-light kisses along your inner thighs, moving slowly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. Her hands rest on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles that feel both soothing and electrifying. When her lips press against the edge of your underwear, your heart races so fast it’s all you can hear.

And then, without breaking her rhythm, she tilts her head slightly and presses a soft, lingering kiss right over your clothed clit. The sensation is light, almost teasing, but it sends a shiver coursing through you. You take a shaky breath through your nose, swallowing hard, because she’s barely touched you, and already your body feels like it’s on fire.

When her fingers slide to the waistband of your underwear, she pauses, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. The unspoken question is there again, and this time, you don’t even need to think about it. “Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, nodding as your chest rises and falls a little faster.

Paige nods back, her expression soft but full of intent, and she hooks her fingers around the elastic, sliding your underwear down slowly, carefully, as if she’s unwrapping something fragile. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver, and when her gaze lowers, taking you in fully for the first time, you feel your face heat up, a mixture of anticipation and self-consciousness twisting in your chest.

Instinctively, your legs start to close, but Paige catches them gently, her hands warm and steady as she presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t hide,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. When you don’t immediately relax, she looks up at you, sincerity written all over her face. “You’re so pretty, baby,” she says, her words soft but firm, like a promise.

Her reassurance eases some of the tension, and when she presses another kiss to your thigh—this one closer to where you want her—you let your legs fall open again, trusting her. Paige doesn’t rush. She kisses along your thigh again, then again, each one inching closer to where your body feels like it’s burning.

And then she’s there, her breath warm against your clit as she places the softest kiss there. The contact has you gasping quietly, your hips shifting involuntarily. She pauses, letting her lips linger, as if testing your response. When you let out a quiet, broken sound, she pulls back just slightly, her eyes lifting to yours as if checking one last time.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she whispers, her hands smoothing up and down your thighs. You nod quickly, a whispered, “Okay,” tumbling out, though it feels like an understatement.

And then, without wasting any more time, Paige’s tongue slides along your core. That alone is enough to make your whole body flex, your stomach shuddering. Before you even get to process that foreign feeling of her tongue running up your slit, Paige presses her mouth against your clit completely, rolling her tongue right to the collection of nerves.

Her tongue alternates between soft, sweeping strokes and precise flicks that have you gasping for breath. It’s almost too much, and yet, not enough all at once. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a moan finally escapes when her tongue moves a certain way, hitting a spot that has your whole body tightening. The sound you make is desperate, unrestrained, and your face flushes in embarrassment. But Paige doesn’t seem to mind—if anything, she doubles down, a soft moan escaping her lips, vibrating against you that sends a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

Jesus Christ, she’s good at this. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it makes you wonder how many people she’s been with, how much practice she’s had to make you feel like this. But then her tongue slips inside you, making you forget any and all of your thoughts, before it slides back out and smoothes back along your clit.

“Mmm, P,” you manage to gasp, your voice shaky and uneven. She glances up at you, her gaze meeting yours, and the sight of her—eyes dark with want, lips glistening—sends heat flooding through you. When she holds your gaze and tilts her head just slightly, her tongue hitting that same perfect spot again, your head falls back against the pillow, a breathless cry slipping out.

“Right there?” she murmurs, her voice low and muffled against you. The vibrations of her words are enough to make you tremble, and all you can do is nod, your fingers tightening in her hair as you whisper a choked, “Yeah—yes, shit.”

Paige doesn’t let up for a second, her lips and tongue working in seamless harmony to drive you closer and closer to the edge. It’s overwhelming, how good she is at this. Every flick of her tongue, every deliberate motion feels impossibly intentional, like she knows exactly what to do to unravel you piece by piece. Your thighs tense around her, hands tangling into her blonde hair as you press her closer, hips shifting instinctively to meet her movements.

Her hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you steady as she focuses all of her attention on you. You can feel the intensity in every motion she makes—each swirl of her tongue, every press of her lips against you is filled with purpose. She’s completely locked in, as if nothing else in the world exists but you. The tension in your stomach coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

The noises slipping from your lips are no longer something you can control. You’ve never felt anything like this before, never imagined something could feel this good. Your hips move against her instinctively, searching for more, for everything she can give you. And Paige? Paige meets you exactly where you are, matching your every movement with a rhythm that drives you absolutely wild. As your legs begin to shake, she seems to sense your need for something more, and she slides her hands beneath your thighs, lifting your legs and placing them over her shoulders to get ever closer to your wet, dripping cunt.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice trembling as the pressure builds higher and higher. You’re teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. Paige doesn’t stop, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration as her her mouth becomes more precise and focused, tongue swiping so quickly against your wetness that you can tell she’s determined to push you over. “Paige, I think I’m gonna—”

You feel her nod against you, her tongue chasing the movement, and, between her kitten-licks and sucks, she gasps, breathless herself, “I know, I know. I gotchu, ma.”

And when she dives back in, taking your clit into her mouth and sucking it, her teeth scraping against you, her head shaking with the effort, that seems to do it. Your body tenses, toes curling as you gasp her name again, louder this time. The dam finally breaks, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you so intensely that it leaves you trembling. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as your hand grips Paige’s hair tightly, holding her to you as your orgasm overtakes you, your pussy dripping.

Fuck.

Paige doesn’t pull away, her hands steady on your thighs as she guides you through it, her tongue slowing its movements but not stopping, easing you gently down from your peak. Your body shudders with aftershocks, and you’re left breathless, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

When Paige finally pulls back, her lips are swollen and glistening, a soft, almost smug smile on her face. She crawls up your body, pressing a kiss to your hip, then your stomach, before finally reaching your lips again. Her kiss is soft, tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what just happened.

“Hey,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice gentle as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You good?”

You nod, still catching your breath, and manage to whisper, “That was… fuck, P.”

Paige grins, her fingers lightly tracing circles along your side. “Did so good for me,” she murmurs, her voice warm and affectionate. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Her words make your heart flutter, and you bury your face in her neck, a shy smile spreading across your lips. Paige wraps her arms around you, pulling you close as you both settle into the bed. The steady rhythm of her breathing against you is soothing, grounding you after all of… that.

“I’m really glad it was you,” you murmur softly, your fingers idly tracing patterns on her shoulder.

Paige presses a kiss to the top of your head, her voice low and full of sincerity as she replies, “Me too.”

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i-mean-y-not · 3 months ago

Text

The Boy Next Door

Armin is the quintessential boy next door. No, quite literally, his family moved in when he was thirteen and you were twelve.

He was always reserved.

You watched each other grow up. From a distance, of course, seeing as you never spoke to each other outside of neighborly dinners.

While you ran in different social circles, you swear he was always in your peripheral. You tended to stick with the crowd that tolerated school but was prepared to skip a class at a moments notice.

His group of friends, however didn’t really… suit him. Onyankopon was this calm yet smoldering guy, but remained casual in his social settings. You’d never seen him utter a word but his eyes spoke volumes. Connie was the definition of hyper. With his expressive and colorful wardrobe and the almost manic way he approached everything. Eren was one of the most nonchalant people you’ve ever seen. His hair was always in a half up – half down style, and his eyes pierced through even the thinnest of gazes.

Then, there was Armin.

The one that wore a collared shirt and a pullover with the name of a prestigious university on it almost daily. Armin screamed teenage dream. With his signature floppy blonde hair, and quiet laugh that he never showcased more than twice in your presence.

Armin had lofty dreams. Claiming since he was all the fourteen that he was going to Yale. And despite his friend group, he was determined to do just that. While he’s getting acceptance letters, no doubt and planning to move halfway across the world, you were stuck. Confused, without a clue, aspiration, or goal that you truly wanted to pursue.

You’ve been accepted to your local college and plan on taking your general studies there, but after that? It’s all up in the air. Graduation comes and goes and the finality sinks in.

You toss and turn in your bed the week after and find yourself sneaking out of the house to sit on the beach adjacent to your home. The ocean waves lull you into a peaceful slumber and before you know it, you’re being gently shaken awake. Groggily, you pop an eye open and you’re immediately met with blue.

The ocean has nothing on this blue, though. This blue is a mixture between the sky on its clearest day and hues that streak the sky on the darkest night. This blue stares at you in worry as you hurriedly sit up despite your obvious fatigue.

“The hell is wrong with you?” you murmur, slapping at Armin’s hands. He responds by throwing them up in quiet surrender. He sits on the sand next to you and this is the closest you’ve been in about a year.

“Been a minute.”

And yeah that voice is still the same.

It’s the perfect blend of soothing and gruff and you’re tempted to fall right back asleep again after a three measly words.

“It has,” you respond.

“You okay?” he counters. Just then the breeze flies between the two of you and you inhale the eucalyptus scent that flows off him.

“Fine.” you reply.

That’s all you have and with an awkward yet self assured stumble, you get up, shake the sand off, and start the trek back to your house.

It’s not that you dislike Armin.

No, that was the farthest from the truth. You liked him, a little too much. A crush would be an understatement. You yearned for him. Looked out for him at school, at parties, even through your second story window.

You don’t really know when it started. Somewhere between the mandatory dinners and being semi-friends in middle school.

But he’s never seen you that way and that’s okay.

So, you steer clear. You always have and you fear that you always will. But he has other plans, it seems. Because as the summer approaches its end he’s everywhere.

He’s at the beach when you can’t sleep. He’s at the convenience store when you run in for a ginger ale. He’s even at the pool that you barely frequent because you can’t swim.

And now he’s at your local diner sitting right next to you at the dine-in counter.

You don’t notice that it’s him at first. Content to enjoy your greasy cheeseburger and cookies and cream milkshake, you feel someone take the seat next to you while you munch happily on a fry.

The twenty something waitress bats her eyes and asks for the order of the patron. They pause and respond, “Can I have a vanilla milkshake with a large fry, heavy on the seasoning?”

Your head snaps to the right at that oddly specific order. And there he was. You don’t greet him, too flummoxed by the intense way he’s already staring at you.

You’re content to swivel back around in your seat and sip at your milkshake once more. He doesn’t stay silent for long, however.

“Hi,” he greets.

And the sigh you give is more like a seventy mile an hour gust of wind in a hurricane. “Can I help you?”

His eyes don’t waver for even a millisecond. He hums to himself, a quiet, raspy sound that tapers off before he replies. “You can actually.”

Your eyes blink owlishly at him as the waitress sits his order down in front of him. Instead of answering, your eyebrows almost meet in the middle of your forehead. “Go out with me.”

And you almost fall backwards onto the unsterile floor. The fry that was meant for your mouth now hangs limply in your hand.

What is going on?

“Check please!” You exclaim.

Now his head slams back as if he’s been physically assaulted. The waitress scurries over, check in hand. You take it from her, and almost instantly, a gentle hand covers yours.

“I got it,” Armin murmurs with a smile that graces just the corner of his lips.

“No,” you adamantly refuse. You already felt hot at the mere thought of going a date with him and if you stay any longer, you’ll cry from the need to shout an affirmative for everyone to hear. So, instead of reading the amount due, you slam down two twenty dollar bills and book it.

It’s two weeks later when there’s a small gathering at Armin’s home. A going away dinner, as one would put it, and you pretend to be sick in order to stay home.

There’s no need to rub elbows with a guy that just acknowledged your existence two Wednesdays ago. So, you sit this one out. You’re more than happy to pass the time under your blanket and streaming a show you’ve seen a thousand times.

You’re fading into an almost slumber when there’s a quiet knock at your door. Your eyes blink open blearily and you hum an almost silent, “Come in.”

A blonde head peeps in and cerulean eyes peer at you from your doorway. You fold your lips in and sit up slightly as an invitation and he’s opening the door so he’ll fit. The slight tilt of your head must give away your confusion so he holds up a paper bag and your head dips even further.

“I heard you were sick,” he offers by way of explanation. The way you have to physically restrain yourself from jumping on him is ridiculous, because what?

Why is he making it so hard for you?

You just wanted him to go off to school and let you have your sad girl hours in peace.

“You can leave it, thanks.” You offer with a small nod.

“You don’t even know what it is, though?” Biting the inside of your cheek you decide to swallow this ridiculous pill of faux friendliness. “Ramen,” he answers before you get a syllable out of your mouth.

And you’re surprised that you don’t have a raging headache because of all the odd movements you’ve forces your cranium into. Ramen is your favorite food, especially on days when you were feeling sick. Ramen was your favorite food when you were feeling…anything. So, the fact that it’s here, steaming in his hand confuses you.

“I went to that place you like,” he says. Which makes you think that this is making less and less sense.

Upon looking at the logo on the bag, you realize that it is in fact from your favorite shop which is perplexing. Thirty minutes each way for one bowl of ramen for a neighbor that you barely speak to just doesn’t add up.

You sit up abruptly. So fast that he flinches back slightly at the unanticipated movement. Your mouth opens slightly in quiet awe and your eyes have to be as wide as they can possibly get. By the blush on his cheeks that you can barely see, you’re informed of something you’d never suspected.

“Shit,” he mumbles, “This isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

And it’s all clicking now.

Slowly, the past seven years are seen through a different lens. He was always in your peripheral because he was looking for you too. But no matter how much you wish it, you don’t want to assume.

So in the most quiet voice you’ve ever spoken you whisper, “Armin do you…like me?”

He laughs; like full on laughs. He laughs so hard you suck your teeth in annoyance and shake your head in slight disappointment. He finally calms down and offers the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen grace a human being.

“Is that not obvious?”

Your jaw gapes in surprise. All this time the person you’ve been pining after wanted you too? Shock is the first emotion, then comes confusion and finally there’s anger.

You sigh. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He rubs his lips together in quiet consternation. “Why didn’t you?”

The small smile that tugs at your lips is proof that this is already having a toe curling, stomach lurching effect on you.

With a smile that touches your very marrow, you whisper, “All this time?”

He simply nods, grin stretching his face and echoes your sentiment. “Yeah, all this time.”

And because you wanna put up a fight and for your own curiosity you ask, “What did you order me?”

At the same time he inquires, “Can I kiss you?” Your nod is almost immediate. His movements are the same and your eyes flutter closed with the first press of his lips onto yours. His mouth works seamlessly against your own and his hands begin to roam. His lips claim yours so fervently that you have no room to even breathe.

You grab his hair roughly as a way to ground the both of you and he groans desperately. Your toes curl from the sound alone and with a small whimper he’s murmuring against your lips. “Please.”

“Yes,” you answer the question that wasn’t even spoken.

His mouth slowly detaches from yours and his eyes flutter open and the blue is long gone. His eyes are now an almost iridescent shade of indigo. And you have to gulp to control what might come tumbling out of your mouth.

Before you utter a word, his mouth is back on you. This time it’s on your throat, then your neck, and he’s traveling further and oh…

“Wait, Arm-”

He doesn’t really give you much of an option. Your body is dragged down until your legs have no choice but to butterfly open for you to be comfortable.

“ I just wanna see you.”

And you slowly realize, that is the problem. That whole quiet and mysterious illusion he gave off was a cover that you’re beginning to see right through. But his voice is as slow and sweet as molasses when he reassures softly, “Just a peek, gorgeous.”

You can’t really refuse that, can you? So you gulp and your inexperience shows when your hands hover in the air awkwardly.

“Here,” he declares, and places your hand atop the mop of curls that is his hair. The ramen he brought is cast aside as he settles on the floor so he’s in a sort of crouch. Like a leopard waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting gazelle. The analogy, you realize, is fitting for the situation you come to understand when he slides your panties down and peeks up at you. Your eyes widen and snap shut almost violently and with a small chuckle he hums.

“That won’t do.” Your eyes blow right back open as soon as you feel his tongue lick its way inside you. A breath whooshes out of you in guilty pleasure and his eyes haven’t left yours yet.

He licks long and thick stripes everywhere and you almost cry in fascination.

You’re not a shy person.

Not at all, but you’re afraid that the sounds you’ll make will be less than sexy. So you stay quiet and that’s the only mistake you’ll make tonight.

He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders and that’s when the sounds force their way out of you. Every noise you make is either a gasp, cry, or whimper and the encouragement he gives makes you gush. The way he slurps at you should be embarrassing but you can’t find a breath to take let alone a care to give.

His name is on your lips and as your stomach starts to knot and your abdominal muscles cave in, you can’t help but smile.

Then it comes. Your toes curl so hard they crack and your mouth opens on a silent scream. Who knew? The boy next door was now a man who gave you the best—the first—orgasm of your life.

Your eyes blink slowly down at him and the moistness around his mouth should bother you, but you chuckle to yourself in delight.

Ever the gentlemen, he slides your panties back and places a kiss square on your clit and you twitch without giving your body permission to. He gets up and brushes off his khakis and you pretend not to see the very obvious stain that resides there. You fade out slowly after that, body becoming disconnected from the world and slowly fading into unconsciousness.

“Thank you,” you almost slur.

You see the whites of his teeth in response. “It was my pleasure.”

You nod, trying your best to hold onto this moment and right before you slip off into dreamland you murmur, “I love you.”

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