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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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tonberry-yoda · 1 year

Note

Please could I request the fluff alphabet for Caesar Zeppeli as I love this man so much 💙💙

Caesar Zeppeli Fluff Alphabet

notes: I honestly love doing these fluff alphabets so flippin much dude. I get to expand on characters and just have a ton of fun!! thanks so much for the request and I really hope you enjoy!!! sending lots of love and hoping you stay hydrated <333

based on this post

A CTIVITIES - WHAT DO THEY LIKE TO DO WITH THEIR S/O? HOW DO THEY SPEND THEIR FREE TIME WITH THEM?

kiss you. i mean kiss you. i mean kiss you. i mean kiss you. i mean- No fr tho this man loves to kiss you. Like he would take you on TONS of romantic dates and then just get home and kiss you everywhere

B EAUTY - WHAT DO THEY ADMIRE ABOUT THEIR S/O? WHAT DO THEY THINK IS BEAUTIFUL ABOUT THEM?

Everything. But especially your eyes and lips. Eyes are the window to the soul and that man will never take his eyes off of yours. But like he would also look at your lips all the time lol

C OMFORT - HOW WOULD THEY HELP THEIR S/O WHEN THEY FEEL DOWN/HAVE A PANIC ATTACK ETC.?

He would whisper lovely things in your ear and try to help you as best he can. He would hold you close and just let you take your time. If you need anything, he can help in any way possible <3

D REAMS - HOW DO THEY PICTURE THEIR FUTURE WITH THEIR S/O?

MARRIAGE. Omg he thinks about getting married to you everyday. He honestly can't imagine you two breaking up or separating. He loves how close you are and would do anything to keep that going

E QUAL - ARE THEY THE DOMINANT ONE IN THE RELATIONSHIP, OR RATHER PASSIVE?

He acts like the dominant one, but we all know he's babygirl. That's all I'll put here thanks.

F IGHT - WOULD THEY BE EASY TO FORGIVE THEIR S/O? HOW ARE THEY FIGHTING?

He always tries to avoid fights. He doesn't like to see you upset so he never wants to be the one to cause any of it. So when you do fight, it's SUPER rare and he will always apologize and forgive you immediately. Arguments never last long luckily, so you never have to worry about fighting.

G RATITUDE - HOW GRATEFUL ARE THEY IN GENERAL? ARE THEY AWARE OF WHAT THEIR S/O IS DOING FOR THEM?

THIS MAN CANNOT BELIEVE HOW MUCH YOU DO FOR HIM! Even you existing makes him grateful. He is more than aware and thanks you every day for everything you do and always returns the favor <3

H ONESTY - DO THEY HAVE SECRETS THEY HIDE FROM THEIR S/O? OR DO THEY SHARE EVERYTHING?

He will hide nothing from you. He feels like he would be a bad partner if he did that, so he is super open and honest because he doesnt want shit to be caused because he lied. It's stupid and he would rather just tell you the truth and you be mad for a second then let it brew

I NSPIRATION - DID THEIR S/O CHANGE THEM SOMEHOW, OR THE OTHER WAY AROUND? LIKE TRYING OUT NEW THINGS OR HELPED THEM OVERCOME PERSONAL PROBLEMS?

You made him more open. He was willing to tell you a lot about his past and just talk more about his life without being scared. He made you more romantic lol ;) But you guys have been through a lot so just getting through that together has helped you both be better

J EALOUSY - DO THEY GET JEALOUS EASILY? HOW DO THEY DEAL WITH IT?

YES YES OMFG. Literally he sees you talking to another guy and he loses his mind a little ngl. He will run up to you and just grab your arm either pulling you away from said guy or letting said guy know that you two are dating by either kissing you or just hugging you and nagging you lolol

K ISS - ARE THEY A GOOD KISSER? WHAT WAS THE FIRST KISS LIKE?

O M G. Have you seen how he kisses women in the show???? HM??? HAVE YOU?!?!?? Like I would love a kiss from this romantic Italian man omfg. He always tastes good like mint or wine or something and he kisses you like it's always your last. God, that sounds wonderful. Your first kiss was under the moonlight after dinner and you can never forget how lovely it was <3

L OVE CONFESSION - HOW WOULD THEY CONFESS TO THEIR S/O?

He would walk up to you, kiss your hand, and tell you how beautiful you are. Then he would take you on a date. The rest is history. You really couldn't help but fall in love

M ARRIAGE - DO THEY WANT TO GET MARRIED? HOW DO THEY PROPOSE? WHAT WOULD THE MARRIAGE BE LIKE?

OMG YES. Literally more than anything. To be able to see you all dressed up for the wedding is his literal dream. He would propose to you in a very romantic setting (beach, fancy restaurant, etc.) and then the wedding would be wonderful and just like a dream. He wants it to be perfect and it really is <3

N ICKNAMES - WHAT DO THEY CALL THEIR S/O?

babe, baby, darling, honey, dear, love, my love, cute nicknames in italian

O N CLOUD NINE - WHAT ARE THEY LIKE WHEN THEY ARE IN LOVE? IS IT OBVIOUS FOR OTHERS? HOW DO THEY EXPRESS THEIR FEELINGS?

This man fell for you HARD. He cannot take his eyes or thoughts off of you. You pop into his mind every second causing him to smile at nothing. He would always get you stuff that makes him think of you and always remind you how much he loves you through words <3 It is definitely obvious to others lol

P DA - ARE THEY UPFRONT ABOUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP? DO THEY BRAG WITH THEIR S/O IN FRONT OF OTHERS? OR ARE THEY RATHER SHY TO KISS ETC. WHEN OTHERS ARE WATCHING?

Have you watched JJBA by any chance? Yeah. This man will brag you especially to Joseph and always kiss you or hold your hand right in front of him too just to piss him off and to get another kiss out of you. He really doesnt mind PDA like at all so yeah lol

Q UIRK - SOME RANDOM ABILITY THEY HAVE THAT’S BENEFICIAL IN A RELATIONSHIP.

Kindness and empathy. He will always be able to show you how much he loves you and respect you as well. He will never fail to be this loving boyfriend and make sure he is doing what he can to make you happy

R OMANCE - HOW ROMANTIC ARE THEY? WHAT WOULD THEY DO TO MAKE THEIR S/O HAPPY? CLICHÉ OR RATHER CREATIVE?

Sorry, quick question... HAVE YOU SEEN JJBA!??!?!? LIKE HELLO?!??!?! This man is SUPER DUPER romantic. Always taking you on walks on the beach and getting fancy dinners out. Expect roses all the time and chocolate too lmao. He might be a little... too romantic, but that never hurt anyone before lolol

S UPPORT - ARE THEY HELPING THEIR S/O ACHIEVE THEIR GOALS? DO THEY BELIEVE IN THEM?

Oh, 100%! He cares about you and your feelings and always wants everything you do to be validated by him. If you have support for him in his dreams, he will 115% show you that support right back. He also believes in you a lot because he knows you're both talented and capable :)

T HRILL - DO THEY NEED TO TRY OUT NEW THINGS TO SPICE OUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP? OR DO THEY PREFER A CERTAIN ROUTINE?

He really doesn't need a thrill. Sure, he's an adventurous guy always doing something new, but that doesn't mean he wants it in a relationship. He likes the routine you guys have set up and sticking to it makes him have a nice breath and never be scared to try something new

U NDERSTANDING - HOW GOOD DO THEY KNOW THEIR PARTNER? ARE THEY EMPATHETIC?

He probably knows you better than anyone. He can tell how you're feeling just based on body language. As said before, I think he is very empathetic and willing to help you in any way he can <33

V ALUE - HOW IMPORTANT IS THE RELATIONSHIP TO THEM? WHAT IS IT’S WORTH IN COMPARISON TO OTHER THINGS IN THEIR LIFE?

THIS RELATIONSHIP IS EVERYTHING TO HIM. Without you, he feels empty. He cannot simply live without you and he will be willing to help you out with anything that isn't sticking with you if that is the case. He loves you so so much and you truly are one of the only things that makes him feel loved <3

W ILD CARD - A RANDOM FLUFF HEADCANON.

He is really good at braiding hair. If you have long hair he loves playing with it and even if you have shorter hair he just loves playing with it <3

X OXO - ARE THEY VERY AFFECTIONATE? DO THEY LOVE TO KISS AND CUDDLE?

One more time... HAVE YOU SEEN JOJO'S!?!?!?? Ofc he loves kisses and cuddles. Mans needs that from you. He cannot get enough of you kissing all over him and snuggling in his arms and vise versa

Y EARNING - HOW WILL THEY COPE WHEN THEY’RE MISSING THEIR PARTNER?

Pouty. Yeah. He will piss of Jojo saying how much he misses you lol. he really just feels sad and lonely and gets VERY pouty lolol

Z EAL - ARE THEY WILLING TO GO TO GREAT LENGHTS FOR THE RELATIONSHIP? IF SO, WHAT KIND OF?

Oh ofc! He is willing to take a bullet for you and protect you at any cost! He loves you so so so so much and will do ANYTHING for you <3

~~~~~

jjba masterlist (2) (3) | pinned post

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated <3

~~~~~

#i hope you love it <3 #jjba #asks #writing #fanfic #my writing #<3 #fanfiction #tonberry answers #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #jojos bizarre adventure x reader #caesar #caesar zeppeli #caesar x reader #caesar zeppeli x reader #jjba part 2 #battle tendency #battle tendency x reader

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lamnwar · 1 year

Note

Hi hi👋🏾 I love your work very much and I'm not sure if I'm late, I just saw your post about opening requests. I was wondering if I could make a request about Aomine.

It's perfectly fine if you don't want to, but if you do consider doing it could it be about a chubby reader(no specific traits like blushing, because I don't got that ability). Like they both knew each other before had and hurl sarcasm at each other constantly, but they have lowdown time too sometimes (like relaxing on the roof or some activity they both like.

Reader sometimes compares herself to Momoi because she definitely makes herself known when in a room and wonders if she's good enough to catch Aomine's eyes but he thought they were maybe together because of their interactions.

I know that's alot but bare with me please 💀

I hope that your doing well and wish you happiness always💞

Hellooooo 💕 omg I know I took way to long for this but believe me, I loved that request a lot bc I'm such a hoe for friends to lovers with Daiki 😭 I hope you enjoy it!!

It's you, dummy // Aomine Daiki x Fem! Reader

Context: in which you're in complete denial on your feelings for your best friend Daiki.

Warnings: fluff <3, university au!, language I guess?, reader is in denial and it can be a bit unsufferable but bear with it plsss it's worth it, I promise 🤭

“You’re gonna pay me lunch today or what?”

You turn around, unable to restrain the laugh bubbling in your throat.

“Go to hell, Daiki” you reply as you keep on walking in the crowded hallways of your university.

You hear the giant boy grumble, fussing like a spoiled child who for the first time in his life, has been denied something. It’s amusing, how you get him to behave like that, breaking the reputation of cool guy he’s built for himself on the campus. It’s a talent of sorts, you like to pride yourself. For the whole time that you’ve known each other, you know for a fact that any façade he puts up is just a mirror of smoke to you. As hard as he tries, Daiki will always remain your giant dumbass of a friend. And staying in character, he follows you, still not willing to rest his case and take a defeat. You sigh, not bothering from stopping for him – it’s pointless, anyway, because when Daiki has something in mind, it’s hard to get him to change it. And he is adamant in having you invite him for a meal.

“You owe me one, pretty girl” he says as soon as he’s caught up to you.

“Do I now?”

“You absolutely do!”

You roll your eyes, pretty much in disagreement with him. As far as you’re concerned, you don’t owe him anything – not that you’d be stupid enough to owe anything to Aomine Daiki. But he clearly believes in his own truth since he’s still following you.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to your next class anyways?” you ask as you take a quick look at your watch, “I’m done for the day, but you can’t say that much.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my class, I want to have lunch with you.”

Your expression may remain unphased by his words, but you notice the way your heartbeat takes off. It does every time he says this kind of things to you when he’s unknowingly being confusing to your poor little heart. You may be in denial, though you refuse to think about it too much, afraid of what it may reveal of you. But you can’t help the warmth that invades you when these words come out of him. So, you try, as hard as possibly can, to shake these feelings and thoughts away.

“You’re failing most of your classes, dummy, so please” you sigh.

He grunts, trying his hardest to avoid your eyes, knowing that he can’t refuse them anything that they plead for. He resists as long as he’s strong enough to, but by the way his lips fold in a slight pout, you know that he’s admitting defeat.

“Why d’you always get me to do the right thing, huh?” he grumbles as a soft chuckle comes out of your lips.

You raise your shoulders, feigning ignorance; truth be told, you’ve always been his moral compass so if you were to incite him to do anything remotely wrong, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. You come close, giving him a half hug in an attempt to lift his mood.

“Work hard Daiki, I’ll be waiting for you!”

“You’re not getting away with it” you hear above you as his hand lays on your head. “Be ready at 10 tonight, I’ll come to pick you up.”

You step back, a confused look on your face.

“10? Boy, what are you going to do to me so late in the evening?”

He laughs, pulling you away from his body as he gets himself to go in the direction of the amphitheatre. Something about that cute little confused face of yours is entertaining to him – probably because for once, you are the clueless one. With a last flick on your forehead, he replies:

“Taking you on a night drive. Get the snacks, I’ll handle the drinks.”

And so, you watch him go away before you even get to respond to his invitation – if you can call it that. If anything, he’s imposed a surprise hangout on you, and at a time of the day that isn’t really what you are used to. However, you can’t fool yourself; as tempting as the prospect of lying in bed in your comfiest pj’s with a cup of tea while rewatching your favourite show may be, you know for a fact that you’re looking forward to tonight’s appointment.

It embarrasses you to admit that you’ve never been on a night drive before. For one, you cannot drive, and even if you did, this kind of activity is certainly more enjoyable with some company than alone. And you’ve also figured that people in real life don’t do night drives. It’s a fantasy for coming-of-age stories, certainly one of these things that get overly romanticized, so people can feel less bored by their lives. It’s for teenage love stories, an activity that you may be too old for, so it be ridiculous, right, for you to get excited by the idea of going on a night drive with Daiki?

Yet, here you are, ready to go thirty minutes before. You feel nervous, for a reason you can’t figure. Well, you have a theory, but you simply rather ignore it, for it doesn’t make that much sense, all things considered. It still remains that you are standing here, in the middle of your apartment, checking once again if you’ve packed the boy’s favourite snacks and looking at your reflection in your full-length mirror every time you walk by, wanting to look cute for some obscure reason. It’s not like you’d want him to compliment you tonight, right? Even though he does, every time you meet, without exception. But still, despite the frequency of such occurrence, you doubt that it means anything. It’s his teasing, it’s just the way Daiki is.

Daiki, who always calls you pretty girl, especially in public so he can see you struggle to restrain your reaction to these words. Daiki, who is the first one to notice when you change your hair, your makeup, or your nails. Daiki, who sits you on his laps randomly, shushing you before you give him any of that “but I’m too heavy for you” bullshit.

But it wouldn’t make sense, you repeat to yourself, that his actions could hold more meaning than that. Because Daiki, for as long as you’ve known him, has always been that type of guy that is never seen with a girl like you. Especially when you consider that he’s grown up beside Satsuki – your common friend who, before you, had been the one Daiki was following around and decided to randomly hang out with. You’ve met her a couple of times, when she’s come to visit on breaks, and you’ve quickly bonded around the fact that you both wonder why you keep a guy like Daiki around. It's true, you could have both ditched him at some point in your life; he’s lazy, annoying, sometimes confusing and impulsive, despite putting on the front of a cool guy. The thing is, Satsuki is patient and sweet, she’s always taking her time with a smile on her face, laughing away the times he’s being a dumbass. But you, it’s a completely different dynamic. He’s decided from one day to another that you are his new best friend, and ever since, he hasn’t hesitated once to be unsufferable with you. He laughs when you call him a dumbass, and purposely make PDA when you are screaming on all roofs that you hate his guts. He has a picture of you from that awkward phase you went through as a pre-teen plastered on his wall – one that he’s found by stalking your social media like a creep. Daiki gets on your nerves, making you wonder ever so often why, despite everything, you’d still take a bullet with him.

But here you are, in his car with the windows down, the chill air of the night kissing your face as he pretends to dislike the music you’ve put on, though he’s clearly bopping his head along. At this time, most roads are empty, and you see the slight grin on the blue-haired boy’s face when he seizes the occasion to go over the speed limit by a couple of kilometres.

“So… that’s a night drive, huh?” you ask as your eyes wander out the window.

He huffs, slender fingers landing a flick on the side of your head.

“We gotta get out of town first, unless you appreciate the view of rats running on the sidewalks” he explains.

You hum as a response, too embarrassed to admit to you are clueless as to what this night has in reserve for you. After a while, however, it all makes sense to you as you reach the heights, seeing the lights of the city drawing patterns under your eyes. At some point, you even wonder where the stars start and where the city lights stop. It’s all like a painting, and you are just like a kid, watching with fascinated eyes. Daiki's eyes momentarily deviate from the road to lay on you, a soft smile painting his lips at the sight of you with literal stars in your eyes. And then you turn to look at him, mouth slightly agape when you notice that he’s been looking at you like that.

“Get the snacks, I’m starting to get hungry” he says after giving his attention back to the road.

You nod, reaching to get his favourite snack out of your bag, and trying as hard as you can to get the image of him looking at you so fondly out of your mind. The idea of him being so tender is a new concept, something that you refuse to accept as a truth, because if you do, you’ll also have to accept the way it makes you feel.

“Do you want one?” You ask as you try to distract yourself from the direction your thoughts are going.

“Feed me.”

You raise your eyebrows, ogling at him like he’s spewed the most nonsensical thing ever.

“Give me a rest, Daiki.”

“I literally need my two hands to drive.”

“Oh, fuck off! You’ve been driving with one hand all along.”

“Well, you owe me one, remember?”

“Where did you get that from, anyways?” you sigh, persuaded, once again, that you would never be stupid enough to owe anything to Aomine Daiki.

He doesn’t reply; yet, before you get to hit him with a “I knew it”, he leans in to take a bite at the piece of food you have in hand, a shocked look painting your face when his teeth graze the tip of your fingers.

“Wh- what did you do that for?!” you grumble as he grins.

“It just tastes better when it comes from you.”

You fail to find something to reply, brain deep in a fog of confusing feelings. It hurts your mind, all this confusion, and the way he perpetually puts you in this state, not bothered in the slightest. And in these times, you can just sit in silence, fighting with yourself to stop being like that, like a dumb teenager in love for the first time – overthinking everything, blurring lines that shouldn’t be blurred, unable to stop a blooming heart from beating like crazy. But these blue eyes are seeing you; your unusual silence, and your eyes staring at the distance, in search for answers.

After a while, the car stops. You haven’t noticed that you are uphill, near a viewpoint that gives you an unprecedented sight of the city at night. You’re taken out of your thoughts when Daiki’s voice resonates in the car, telling you to get out. And you do, looking around you like a lost puppy, before noticing the blanket laid in front of his car, the drinks and snacks carefully displayed on it. And it occurs to you, at this very instant, that there is something undeniably romantic with the situation.

“You can stand there all you want, but you’d look less stupid sitting next to me” his deep voice nags at you.

“Do you do that with everyone?” you ask as you sit down.

“Huh? Do you mean the night drives?”

You raise your shoulders. You aren’t sure what you really mean by that question, let alone what answer you’re hoping to hear. But it’s easier for you to go along with the way he’s interpreted the question than making a fool of yourself and admitting that you don’t even know what you are asking.

“Not really” he says, opening a bottle for you and himself, “I mean I took Satsuki on a night drive once, but it wasn’t that fun. Girl was snoring after fifteen minutes of driving.”

He scoffs, then takes a gulp. You sit in silence, though your thoughts aren’t so quiet. You feel stupidly jealous, but it’s always Satsuki, isn’t it? She’s been by his side longer, after all.

“I’d imagine you’d enjoy something like that with her, though” you think out loud.

Daiki raises an eyebrow in your direction, not quite sure what you’re implying.

“Satsuki? Eh, she’s cool of course but you know…”

“Why do you always talk about her like that?” you look at him, “she’s literally the best girl out there. She’s pretty, and nice, and she’s so patient with you, it’s sometimes beyond me.”

“Do you expect me to date her?”

The question is so nonchalantly asked, but you can feel your heart tighten in your chest.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did” you reply in all honesty.

You deviate your gaze to the view before you. The lights that you were previously in awe in front of, are now almost blinding.

“What kind of shit is going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

His fingers reach to your chin, turning your face in his direction. His usually bored eyes are incredibly serious, for once; it’s almost in contrast with the softness of his touch.

“I wouldn’t date Satsuki in a million years, because I like you” he bluntly declares.

His words ring in your ears like a weird noise, till you finally make sense of them. And at this moment, all your confusion, all your thoughts, all your feelings take flame, setting your entire body and mind on fire.

“You… do?” you manage to voice out.

“Am I not obvious?”

He chuckles, hand living your chin to grab his bottle from which he takes another sip. Your eyes are big, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I figured you were teasing me” you confessed, suddenly realizing how stupid you may sound now that you know what you know.

“There’s that too, but I thought we had a thing going on” he admits, “it’s fun seeing you get all flustered, regardless.”

“So you like me, for real for real?”

“Yeah, dummy, in what language should I speak for you to understand?”

You reply with a hit on his shoulder, before burying your face in your hands. Daiki is really good at making you feel like that, you reflect as you feel weirdly hot despite the chill breeze blowing in your direction.

“Is this a date, then?” you ask.

“Well…” he sighs. “I thought it was but apparently, you didn’t.”

“It’s just that I was missing circumstantial clues and…”

But before you get to justify yourself, Daiki is quick to shush you, grabbing your face once again but with more force this time.

“Listen, we can debate on this the whole night or you can tell me right now how you feel. It’s up to you.”

There’s something new in his tone, something you aren’t used to. He is not playful like he usually is, or irritatingly nonchalant. It’s almost desperate, like not knowing if you reciprocate his feelings is something that he fears. The lights reflect on his skin, enough to let you see the way he looks at you, in need for an answer. And you figure that it’d be torturous to not give him one, even though saying those words would come to admit that you’ve been in denial all along.

“I do like you, Daiki.”

The following seconds are unbearable. You can only wish for a reaction – anything that will assure you that all of this is real. So you wait in pain for him to do something or say something. It starts with his gaze softening, and his grip on your face becoming more of a caress. And then it’s the familiar heat of his body – the one you feel every time he hugs you. And finally, it’s something new, that deep inside you’ve always wanted to experience, although you’ve tried to deny it under false pretence of “irrational thoughts” and “absurd theories”.

Daiki’s lips, sweet and smooth, against yours. A kiss that makes everything you’ve been unsure of a certainty. A kiss to which you reply with all your heart, finally being honest with yourself and with him. It sweeps you away, and you cling to the boy’s chest like you fear that he’ll disappear. But when your lips separate and your eyes meet his, he’s right here. And he has no intention of going elsewhere or be with anyone else.

“Are you going to still call me a dumbass now?” he asks against your lips.

“Oh come on Daiki, doesn’t matter if you’re the love of my life, you’ll always be a dummy.”

“Says the one who had no idea what a night drive was before.”

#also sorry for taking sm time life has been crazy lately #i really like writing this #bsf!aomine brings me life you can't imagine <3 #i hope you love it <3 #knb #aomine daiki #knb x reader #aomine x reader #knb fluff #aomine fluff #kuroko no basuke

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triona-tribblescore · 11 days

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I WANNA DRAAWW!! RAHHHGG!! Absolutely swamped with college work, im so tired TT (hence whatever tf this is lmao)

#posted this doodle on twitter yesterday but it's still very relevant today #fr cant do anything until I get 12 posters drawn make my homemade paper and finish/publish my 200 page book I'm gonna-#Send help #i miss being active sm :'((#SORRY TO THE 60+ ASKS IN MY INBOX I PROMISE ILL GET TO YOU SOON <333 #anyway I hope everyone else is doing ok #sending love #(also husk please- stay off the internet lmao)#angel dust #angel dust fanart #husk #husk fanart #huskerdust #huskerdust fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #tribbleart #<3

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thekaiserroll · 12 days

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Hug

It's nearly impossible to have a quiet and peaceful day with the crew, like the strawhats. Nami is mostly used to the noise on Going Merry but one day she gets fed up with Zoro and Sanji arguing. Not only are they extremely loud, but they've also already broken way too many things during their fights.

She decides that If they want to act like brats, then she's going to treat them as such. So she makes them apologize and hug each other in silence for an hour. None of them are happy about this punishment, but Nami threatened to raise Zoro's debt, and Sanji couldn't say no to her. It could be worse.

It's awkward enough for them to not incite any fight for a long time and Nami is quite proud of herself. She knows it won't last forever but at least now she knows how to handle them. It inevitably happens again. And again. And again.

Much to her surprise, those fights became more and more frequent. And what's even weirder is that she could see the way both Zoro and Sanji occasionally glanced at her to make sure she was nearby. It's almost as if they wanted someone to make them hug each other. As if they needed an excuse.... these idiots.

Soon, they don't even need Nami's help. When they aren't busy training, cooking or fighting, they cuddle together. Sometimes Luffy or Chopper would join them, but most of the crew knew it was their time.

After two years spent separately, they became extremely clingy. It's no surprise when they start sleeping in the same bed. What is surprising is that despite them behaving like a lovey-dovey couple, those oblivious idiots are STILL unaware of each other's feelings.

#It's almost 3 am and I'm a little tired #I really hope that what I wrote here is somewhat coherent #It's another idea that's been stuck in my head #I wanted to make a comic about this but I never have the time #so for now all I can give you are these notes and a quick sketch #and as always if there's already a fic like that please let me know I would love to check it out #sanji x zoro #sanji #roronoa zoro #zosan #one piece

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bluegiragi · 1 month

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negotiations.

early access + nsfw on patreon

#dragons get so tunnel visioned when it comes to their hoard. often to their own detriment #y'all wanted to see price in action...you better savour it while you can #also i've not been intentionally neglecting laswell since i love her as much as the average joe #but i guess it just happened...#for the record she's still a human in this au but she keeps up with the best of them #ALSO also i had a ton of fun drawing this section #i hope it shows <3 #monster 141 au #captain john price #manuel roba #simon ghost riley #giragi art

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the-phantom-peach · 3 months

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“for her”

-🍃

the burden of failure and fear of disappointment. sometimes ya just gotta keep it to yourself

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knifearo · 5 months

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being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

#aromantic people are just sexy i'm not making the decisions here it's just facts #course ur hot as fuck. it came free with the aromanticism #being sexy is just default settings for aromantic people 👍#hope this all helps. anyway i'm on my 'i hope i die alone <3 i can't wait to die alone <3' kick rn #i think the existential fear that people have of Not Partnering specifically is so. well.#obviously that shit is strong and it is SO awesome to be free of it.#realizing you're aro and you don't Want a partner can be such a hit to the solar plexus #cause society says that's the only thing that'll make you happy. so either you go without that thing or you force yourself #into doing something you don't want which would make you unhappy anyway.#so you think it's a lose lose situation and you have to come to terms with what amatonormativity presents as the worst possible situation #but then! whoa! turns out personhood is inherently valuable in and of itself and romantic partnering is just a construct!#and that nightmare is now your life to do with as you please... define as you will... structure as you want...#best case scenario. is what i'm saying.#every day i wake up ready to spit all that amatonormative rhetoric back in life's teeth by being alone and being happy #and it's so fucking satisfying. every day.#fucking JUBILANT being by myself. and i love being a living breathing 'fuck you' to the romantic system #you need a partner to be happy? oh that's sooo fucking crazy guess i'll go be miserable then. in my perfect fucking dream life lmao #yeah obviously it's the worst possible outcome on earth to die without a partner. so terrible. can't wait for it :)#aromantic #aromanticism #aro positivity #aroace #arospec #sorry to bitches who are sad about not having a partner. i could not give a fuck though get better soon #you couldn't EVER pay me enough to go back to a mindset in which my inherent value wasn't enough by myself.#FUCK that shit. absolutely miserable and a bad life outlook in general. like genuinely do the work w/ amatonormativity and get better #life is something that can be so fulfilling whether someone wants to kiss you or whatever or not #i'm on antidepressants and i have people i care deeply about. what the fuck would i need a partner for lmao

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gotchibam · 4 months

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May this lil chunky-chu bring joy & more blessings upon you this holiday! ✨

#artists on tumblr #pokemon #pikachu #gotchibam arts #merry christmas & happy holidays!!#hope y'all are having a good time w/ your loved ones!#and if not I hope this doodle can bring even just a lil sense of comfort #*tucks this lil chunky-chu beside you*#<3

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dandylion-s · 11 months

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Ok ok ok I'm getting emotional. Lemme be corny for a minute..they had an Indian spiderman. A whole superhero who is INDIAN. Not a sidekick. Not a tech guy. A hero. Who does hero things!!! And is unabashedly, whole heartedly desi. His world is desi without being tragedy porn. Like yes show us Bombay traffic! Show us ads for zomato!!! And aunty ke saath shaam ki chai! Show us people pilled on a scooter with no regard for safety!!! Pavitr Prabhakar is amazing and I love him with my entire little desi heart.

#not to be like patriotic or whatever #but fuck that was incredible #HE HAS A GF NAMED GAYATRI!#you know how many gayatris I know? 3!!! irl!!!#it's just insane to see a gayatri and a pavitr onscreen in a marvel movie #i love u spiderverse #i hope he's in beyond the spiderverse too #pavitr prabhakar #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse

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mienar · 8 months

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stillness in these waking hours

instagram | shop | commission info

#artists on tumblr #animated illustration #2d animation #backgrounds #digital art #animated gif #environment illustration #myillust #cozy #office #workspace #rain #gifs #this was inspired by how i've been having to stay up all night to get some stuff done and one day #i was just looking out the window and watched the sunrise through the grey rainy clouds c':#everything felt so quiet and still - it took a lot out of me to not animate more things in this one heh #i love how it turned out - the serene-ness and stillness of it all really captured the feeling i wanted to recreate :')#(also this isn't my irl workspace lol maybe the blinds and as usual this is just my character not me)#but i nonetheless hope you'll like this! <3 wishing you a lovely day or night ahead!

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lamnwar · 1 year

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dhfjgj ok so i have never done an ask before but your writing is just*chef’s kiss* and idk i’m sitting in the depths of my affections for kagami rn and basically can you give us a kagami x fem! reader fluffy smut scenario?

i was honestly obsessed with your sfw piece “it just makes sense” esp the way you described him looking up at the sky in the beginning and thenbROUGHT IT BACK at the end was just agdjfshkfg poetry

kinda just want to have a pwp moment with a first meeting context.

bUT if this is too big an ask, i’m kinda craving that vibe, even if you could bless us with some shmexy crumbs following “it just makes sense” i’d be elated.

HIIII OMG SO SO SORRY I TOOK WAY TOO LONG FOR THIS ONE, I HAVE NO EXCUSE 😭 I was really excited to write this one, so I hope you're still looking for some love for Kagami bc I lowkey unlocked my affection for him writing this lmaooo anyways I hope you enjoy it <33 it's kinda accidental but I'm trynna make up for the tardiness by publishing on Valentine's Day so yeah 💕

Till The Rain Stops // Kagami Taiga x Fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

Context: in which the heavy rains get you to meet a beautiful stranger. All characters are 18+ for plot purposes.

Warnings: LISTEN it's kinda fluffy till I got feral so yeah, some fondling, nipple play, slight manhandling, oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected sex (never have sex unprotected with a stranger irl please 😭), Kagami's big 🧎🏾‍♀️, he cums on reader's chest 🤭

“Shit” you swear under your breath, as you are greeted by an unexpected deluge just minutes after leaving your building.

You look up, startled by the millions of drops falling on you, drenching your entire body while you ponder how you’ve never figured that it was going to rain today. Maybe it’s because you’ve been out of touch with reality lately – it happens sometimes when things get overwhelming. So here you are, cursing yourself for not bringing an umbrella with you, and realizing that you don’t have many options but to find shelter somewhere dry. You run, protecting the content of your bag by holding it close to your chest. The sounds of your shoes in the puddles is barely heard over the violent thudding of the rain on all solid surfaces around. Evidently, at the sight of the first building on your path, you rush to enter it.

And that is when you see him. The squeak of his shoes on the wooden floor of the gymnasium follows each of his quick movements, till he jumps, time stopping momentarily as he reaches the hoop. You stare, stars in your eyes, like he is some weird invention of your imagination. But when he lands, you are brought back to reality. You silently watch as he dribbles around, swiping away the sweat of his face. He eventually stops, removing his shirt and throwing it to the side court. Except that the drench fabric lands at your feet and you both let out a gasp when your eyes meet. For what seems like an eternity, he stares at you, thick eyebrows torn at the sight of a complete stranger, wet from head to toes, standing here with these startled eyes.

“Do you need something?” his voice resonates in the empty gymnasium.

You can hear the rain drumming against the metallic roof, and you figure that you should say something.

“I uh… ran here, got caught in the rain” you explain.

His eyes don’t leave you for a second; you’re curious as to why at first, before looking down to see how your clothes cling to your body, exposing your figure to the gaze of a man you have yet to know the name of. Embarrassment gains you immediately, even more so when you realize that you have nothing to hide behind. He steps forward, and you realize just how big he is. As he stands a mere metre away from you, you are faced directly with his bare chest on which drops of sweat glimmer like he’s covered in glitter. As awkward as the situation is, you can’t ignore the sight before you; he is sculpted like a Greek god, the define lines of his muscles hypnotizing. Around his neck hangs a silver ring, and you ashamedly imagine tugging on it to pull his face closer to yours.

“God, you’re fucking wet” he remarks.

And upon hearing his voice again, your attention deviates to his face. You know that you have no idea who he is – there is no way you’d forget a face like his. His traits are of such finesse, a perfect mix of sharp angles and soft highlights, a raw beauty that makes you wonder, once again, if you are not hallucinating.

“I’m sorry to bother” you finally speak, “I just didn’t expect the rain so… can I stay here till I dry a bit and the situation calms down outside?”

“That ain’t my gymnasium, do as you please.”

His casual tone takes you aback. You haven’t really focused on his words ever since he’s opened his mouth, but you now take note of his tone; he talks like you’re acquainted and while this would have usually annoyed you, it just feels so natural coming from him. And you cannot hold yourself in any position to judge, not when you look like you do and more importantly, when you’ve been gawking at his shirtless torso all along instead of holding a conversation with him.

“Would you know where I can dry myself off?” you ask, looking down at the puddle forming at your feet.

“Oh yeah, you better do that” he raises his eyebrows.

From a gesture of the hand, he invites you to follow him, and you do so silently. You watch his back as he guides you, the size of it making you feel a bit bothered. You can feel some thoughts marching in your head, and knowing their nature, you chase them away. What kind of creep would you be, thinking about marking this gorgeous back with your nails while he thrusts into you? You cough, feeling terrible for being so ridiculously desperate for a man you barely know.

“I’m Kagami Taiga, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Taiga. His name echoes in your head, sounding pretty. It fits him, you ponder, matching the energy you get from him.

“We haven’t met no, but it’s nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself back, small talk issuing from your introduction till he opens the door of what you figure to be the lockers. His back stands in the middle of the room, and he invites you in.

“Got a towel hanged there” he points at the hangers, “and I don’t know about your clothes, but I think I might have an extra t-shirt for you.”

“You- you don’t have to!”

“Up to you girl, but…” he gets a black shirt out of his bag “if you want something warm and dry.”

He stands in front of you, a big hand holding out the piece of clothing to you. The proximity makes you gulp; he’s intimidating, yet incredibly attractive. And when your fingers graze his as you take his t-shirt, you get a whiff of his perfume – a mix of his natural scent and his deodorant. It doesn’t help your case: he smells heavenly. These thoughts rush in again: what would you do to get his scent on you? what would you do to be encased under his perfect body? Once again, you chase them away the best as you can, refocusing on the present moment.

“Thank you then, Taiga.”

“Taiga? Are we on first name basis already?” he smirks at you.

“Oh! Where are my manners…”

“Hey chill, I couldn’t care less. Call me what you want. Anyway, my name sounds good coming out of your mouth.”

On these words, he leaves the lockers and closes the door behind him, leaving you totally flustered. Come to think of it, he certainly doesn’t mean much by what he’s said – not only does he seem casual in his language, he’s also straightforward. But you can’t help the way you feel; having a hot guy saying that he likes the way you call his name isn’t a common occurrence (well, not as much as you’d like it to be). But again, you figure that you should keep your calm. It isn’t really like you now, is it? Maybe it’s the rain making you think and feel like a hormonal teenager, who knows.

So, you stand there in your underwear, patting your body dry. Your mind cannot get off your new encounter, not when it looks like it comes right off a rom-com. The only thing missing was the rose petals falling around Kagami when you first saw him, although you’d argue it felt like it. At the mere thought of him, you notice a heat in your chest, and you wonder if that may be a love at first sight situation. The thought is crazy – you are more of a realist, and as little as you understand of love, the idea of falling in love upon seeing someone for the first time is fairly crazy. So maybe it’s not love per se, but rather a deep state of infatuation, where the single fact that you are wearing his t-shirt makes you giddy, and you wonder how it’d feel to wake up in his clothes every morning, a piece of him always with you. It’s all crazy daydreams, making you feel out of yourself but at the same time, you’d argue that you can’t be blamed, because you deeply believe that the man you’ve met only minutes ago is objectively the kind to sweep anyone off their feet.

It doesn’t help your case, when you leave the lockers and see him practice his shooting, his form capturing your eyes. His movements are precise and elegant, in complete contrast with his force and the strong muscles that activate as he makes his shots. You are in awe, witness of something great, and questions flood your mind as you stand on the side court, hypnotized by him.

Who the hell is Kagami Taiga?

He goes to catch the ball under the nest after perfectly putting it in, strong hand dribbling it on the polished wooden floor, the sound echoing the beat of your own heart. It’s intriguing that you’ve never met him before. The gymnasium is just minutes away from your place, on your way to most places – whether it be the convenience store or the nearest bus station. You’re used to seeing people walk in and out of it, local teams coming for practice, or neighbours going in for their daily dose of physical activity. But not once have you seen him, and it can’t be that you’ve never noticed, because he’s definitely not the kind to go unnoticed. His fiery aura alone forces you to look his way, capturing all your senses and getting you to pay attention to nothing but him. And now that you see him practice, you note that he is not an amateur like most people coming to play here. With such abilities, he’s either a professional or just a pure genius.

“D’you ever play?” his voice resonates in the empty gymnasium.

It takes you out of your trance, and you look at him, meeting his raised eyebrows.

“I did real quick in P.E. but that’s just how far my history with basketball goes” you reply in all honesty.

He smiles, eyes deviating to the windows for a second. The rain hasn’t stopped, nor has it calmed down. You sigh at this vision, although some part of you wishes it never stops so you get to stay longer with Kagami.

“Wanna play? To pass time, you know” he proposes.

A heat gains your cheeks; it’s cute, you think, and you’d be dumb to not take the opportunity. You nod, trotting to join him on the court. You smile looking up at him.

“You’ll have to show me, sir.”

“Sir?”

“I ought to show you respect if you are to instruct me the ways of basketball.”

He raises an eyebrow before chuckling. The ball under his arm bounces to you, and you catch it in both your hands. You look at it, thinking about how it was looking smaller in his hand. You dribble a bit, getting use to the ball and they you look back at him, nicely waiting for instructions.

“Shoot” he says.

He stands in the sideline, hands on his hips as you suddenly feel nervous. Something about him observing your every move is scary, the thought of is judgement being cast on you, making your heartbeat faster. But you shake the feeling away as best as you can, getting into position and letting the ball fly to the basket. It bounces on the hoop before falling right in his hand.

“Are you going to correct my form?” you ask as he walks back to you.

“Do you want me to?”

“I… wouldn’t mind.”

You swear you see him blush, though it might just be the physical activity that makes the blood rush all over his body. Regardless, you feel his warm body as he comes closer, placing the ball in your hand and then standing behind you. It takes all of you in, your mind uncapable of focusing on anything else but the proximity between you. And when his fingers reach your arms, placing them as they should, you can hardly breathe.

“Now, I need you to bend your knees a bit” he speaks near your ear.

“Fuck.”

Your eyes open wide upon the realization that you’ve spoken out loud. You can’t get yourself to face him, or move a single bit, petrified that he’s heard you. Yeah, it could have been worse – you’ve certainly thought of worse ever seen you got here. But still, the way that word came out of your mouth, like a desperate whimper, is enough to translate the way you’ve been feeling about him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

His candidness surprises you – is he totally unaware of his charms? You can seize the opportunity to act like nothing happened, or… or you can get something more fun out of it.

“You’re cute Taiga, do you know that?”

You’ve never been so bold, and it feels thrilling to speak your mind rather than internally struggling with whatever goes on in your head.

“Cute? I’ve been told I’m a lot of things… but never cute” he reflects. “How am I cute?”

“Well,” you breath, “it’s cute that you can’t tell why being near you makes me swear out loud.”

Your fingers tighten around the ball, anticipating his answer.

“Oh?” he takes a moment, and feel him stand straight behind you before another, “oh” comes out, this one sounding more like a sound of realization.

He reaches behind you, taking you in an embrace for a quick second that feels like eternity before his hands catch yours on the ball.

“You’re a weird one” he remarks, “gawking at me and acting shy one time, and telling me I’m cute and making a move the other.”

“Listen” you try to justify yourself, “I have to make myself memorable, for the next time we meet.”

“Is that so?”

You gulp; his voice sounds so close to you that simply imagining the little space between your bodies makes you weak to the knees. You try to keep a semblance of composure, just for your own dignity, but it’s hard when he’s pressing at your back, bare skin emitting so much heat that you feel it through the fabric of the t-shirt you’re wearing.

“Well, I’m glad that you like me that much” he continues, “my weird one.”

“Should I take it as compliment? That I’m your weird one?”

“I imply that you’re mine. Isn’t it enough?”

You drop the ball, turning around to face him; and that is when it strikes you how close he is. Just centimetres away, his tall body towering over you as he stares, wondering what your next move is.

“I don’t know, I could be yours, yeah, but you should make me first.”

“Sure thing, how d’you want me to proceed?”

He glances at the window – the rain is nowhere near to stop, if anything, it’s pouring even more. The two of you are bound to stay in this gymnasium alone for an unpredictable amount of time. Sure, he has an umbrella, and the two of you could venture outside, confronting the ruthless drops till you both get home. But in comparison to the warmth you’re currently experiencing, it’d be foolish to break the moment, for you don’t know when another occasion as such will ever come.

“Start by giving me a kiss” you finally say, gathering all your confidence in that simple request.

He raises an eyebrow, a glimpse of something appearing in his red irises before he lets a short, cheeky smirk cross his lips as he comes closer. As the distance between you reduces, your mind runs at a thousand kilometres per hour. All of the sudden, you realize what is going on, how you’ve asked for something that you truly want and you’re about to get it. It has never occurred to you before that it can be that simple – you’ve seen him, you’ve immediately taken a liking to him, and now here you are.

His lips are soft against yours as his hands go to pull you closer by the waist. You reach for his face, fingers taking in every inch of his skin, and you can’t help but smile. The way he holds you and kisses you is heavenly – dreamlike, just like him. And it takes your eyes opening again for you to realize, once again, that you aren’t hallucinating. Under the sound of the rain, you kiss him again, more and more hungry for him, figuring that you shouldn’t try to rationalize what is happening. Sure, you are not a believer of love at first sight, but you can’t deny that everything about Kagami Taiga keeps pulling you in, like you want to be made for him, and him only.

“Now what?” he says against your lips.

You look at him, in search of an answer yourself. You could stop everything at this very instant, which would be the sensical thing to do all things considered – you barely know the guy, and a public gymnasium isn’t the most romantic place ever. But at the same time, the tension between you is unbearable, and not listening to your deepest instincts feels wrong.

“Have you ever had sex in the locker room, Taiga?”

The basketball player does not expect you to reply to his question by another one, much less one like that. But this time, he doesn’t take long to connect the dots and understand your intentions.

“I’m about to” he replies, fingers intertwining with yours as he takes you to the locker room.

You laugh as you follow him, feeling like two teenagers about to make a silly mistake, and in some ways, maybe this is what it is. But you couldn’t care less, not when his lips find yours again as he pulls you up, legs wrapping around his waist. You make a mess of his hair, fingers tracing down to the silver chain around his neck before you get to the ring, pulling on it. He gasps, surprised by how you tug him closer and you feel his grip on your bottom get stronger. He almost stumbles, landing on the bench.

“Do I sweep you off your feet, big boy?” an amused smile painted on your face.

“You fucking do” he retorts.

You laugh softly, enjoying the way he looks at you. It is so warm, so humane. The man that you’ve thought to be a miracle upon first entering this gymnasium is right here, so close to you that it is impossible to doubt his existence. You can’t deny it, not when he lifts his t-shirt off your body to leave kisses on your neck and chest. Not when he removes your bra and swears under his breath at the sight of your gorgeous tits. Not when his big hands fondle your breasts, and he goes to suck on your harden nipples to get the sweetest moans out of your lips.

“Fuck, Taiga” you breathe out.

“What is it, my pretty one?”

The name he calls you by makes you waver, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“I’m your pretty one now, huh? No longer weird?”

“You’re both, how about that?”

“I’ll take that, but can your pretty one get some love down there now? I’m growing impatient here!”

He laughs at your straightforwardness, while you yourself are still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’ve actually spoken these words without hesitation. It amazes you, how he manages to put you at such ease, like you’ve always known each other. Yet, you sit here on his lap, curious as ever to discover everything about him because despite the way you feel, you are still strangers. It’s a sort of excitement that takes over you when he grabs you again like you weight nothing, then lays you on the bench. The cold surface against your hot skin gives you goosebumps, but you cannot care less – your attention is entirely focused on the man removing your pants, followed by your underwear, an ecstatic look painting his face at the sight of your cunt.

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot” he outright remarks, hands roaming on your thighs.

You feel blood rush to your face, part of you embarrassed to be examined by the eyes of the handsome stranger, part of you extremely aroused by the prospect of what is to come.

“Can I taste you?”

“Please” you nod eagerly.

He doesn’t waste a minute, spreading your legs further apart and getting a comfortable place in between them. Half-lidded eyes look up to you while he marks your skin of his lips, hot breath fanning on your erected clitoris. You bite your lips, keeping in the sounds that menace to come out; he’s barely done anything yet, but you are already melting, the simple sight of him between your legs being its own aphrodisiac. However, you cannot keep your silence when he takes a first laps, separating your lips to have access to your clitoris. He reaches the bundle of nerves, sucking on it languidly, though you feel that he is holding back his true hunger. Something almost animalistic animates the red-haired boy, each stroke of his skilled tongue leaving you speechless – only moans and incoherent mumbles leave your throat.

“Taste so fucking good” he groans as he feists on you.

You can’t even voice out an answer, hips desperately bucking forward to communicate your needs. He is, there again, quick to understand, and his strong arms wrap around your legs as he pulls you closer, keeping his hold as he buries himself in the heavenly warmth of your pussy. He’s messy, hungry, insatiable. You whine – it feels like too much already, and you are just seconds away from your orgasm. Your thighs clench, the knot in your stomach unravelling as you bend against the surface of the bench.

He barely has the time to get out of the embrace of your legs that you pull his face towards yours, desperately kissing him, getting the bittersweet taste of you on your tongue. You’re in a state that is unknown to you, wanting – needing – everything of him. Kagami Taiga has you so desperately in need for him, that your hands rush to the band of his basketball shorts, big doe eyes looking up at him as you beg:

“I want to suck your dick, please!”

This time, Taiga looks surprised by your eagerness. Though he’s appreciated the honesty you’ve demonstrated lately, seeing you so hungry for him takes him aback. The surprise, however, isn’t unwelcomed. As a matter of fact, he looks at you with stars in his eyes – elated that a girl like you, can want him so much. A simple stranger, yet one that has already turned his life around in the few hours you’ve got to spend together.

“Fuck, I can’t refuse shit to my pretty one” he smiles, fingers caressing your cheeks.

You are quick to free his hard cock of all fabric, taking an instant to admire it. Its size is impressive – though proportional, considering how tall and large he is; and from the way it looks, proud and beautiful, you can only crave it more. Your hands wrap at the base and give a few slow strokes, fingers exploring his length curiously. His tip calls for the warmth of your mouth, and you yield; your tongue licks gently, descending to the shaft before you leave a soft kiss to the tip. You look up, the sight of his immense body folding under your delicate touches. And the second you take him in, welcoming his cock in the tender embrace of your cheeks, he is nothing but a mess, big hands pushing your head closer as you choke a bit on his length.

“You can take me in, can’t you?”

You whine a response with a mouth full, proving him just right as he reaches the back of your throat. Tears gather at the corner of your eyes, making them look like celestial skies, and you ravish at the way you make him feel. His heavy panting and the occasional swearing leave you more wet than you already are, and it takes everything in you to keep going instead of stopping and fuck yourself on his dick. However, patience has never been one of your virtues, and you let him go in a sloppy “pop”. His hand comes to your face, forcing you to look at him as he looks for an answer.

“I’m sorry Taiga, but I can’t wait any longer” you confess.

He helps you up, leaving a chaste kiss on your lips, which startles you. You couldn’t expect such response to what you just did and said, but the more you get to know him, the more you understand that he isn’t your average guy. No, where another man would be impatient and apathic, Kagami is surprisingly kind, perfectly understanding you and your body and indulging into you without thinking twice. He is genuine in a way that makes your heart flutter, so you really can’t blame yourself for wanting him so deep in you, that he forever leaves his mark.

“How does my pretty one want me, hm?”

“I don’t fucking care, I just want you.”

He laughs taking you by the hips before laying you back on the bench. As he spreads your legs wide for him, you look at his figure hovering over you. He is incredibly beautiful; you reflect at the sight. Beside his divine body, his face is one that you wish to always see, one that you’d paint the portrait of.

And it just strikes you at this moment, that you might actually be in love with his face.

Maybe it is truly love at first sight, as absurd as it sounds, maybe it just was a destined encounter. How else can you explain that you feel just right for each other? That he knows how to please your body without you having to say anything? How else can you explain the absolute bliss you feel hearing him groan in your ear? Or the way his hips buck harder when you chant his name like a prayer?

“So fucking good” he grunts as his fingers find your clit.

Your eyes barely stay open, but in a last moment of control over your blissed out body, your finger hook the ring around his neck, pulling him towards your face. Your lips find his in yet another of these heated, needy kisses. Your moans get lost in his mouth and you shake, feeling your orgasm approaching.

“Taiga…” you try to warn him.

“Fuck, are you cumming, yeah? Are you gonna milk me, pretty one?”

You fail to word out an answer, instead whining like the needy girl you are. So needy, for him, for all of him. His thrusts keep going till you finally reach your climax, his name leaving your lips as you feel your insides explode. He keeps going, your clenching walls taking him to the edge. Just as he feels himself on the verge of his own orgasm, he pulls out, stroking his cock till you hear your name in a moan, hot strings of white painting your chest. And everything that you’ve imagined since first meeting him, all these thoughts you were ashamed of and try to repress, they all suddenly take a taste of reality.

Because in Taiga’s attempt of making you his, you’ve ended up making him yours.

“It’s still raining outside” he remarks as he pulls your tired body towards his.

He strokes your hair while you listen carefully to the drops falling on the roof. It sounds like the rain has calmed down, but it is not your intention to leave anytime soon.

“I just kinda want to stay with you till the rain stops, and maybe even after.”

#sorry again for taking so long #i hope you love it <3 #i really loved that request :)#knb #kuroko no basuke #kagami taiga #knb x reader #kagami x reader #knb smut #kagami smut

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