today is the best day of my life. also this took a really long time (2 months) so pls like and reblog if u think its kinda cool as i need validation lol
musk is going to die in a Tesla explosion in 6 months after sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and we will never get a conclusive answer on whether it was a CIA car bomb or just a normal Tesla malfunction
âă ¤ đđđ đđđđđđđ. â â ( ćĺ¨ä˝ 躍ä¸çĺć ă)
đ˘ummary â â. After leaving the city to study high school and college in another country, after several years you decide to return. A breath of fresh air, and with it, a new job, if only you knew what was waiting for you.
â ŘŘâ Genre. â Angst, tension, enemies to lovers.
( đ/đ. )âââNot reviewed, none. (tell me if I'm wrong!)
You knew it was a bad idea the moment you stepped through those glass doors, but your feet kept moving forward, ignoring the warning in your chest. You werenât expecting to see him here.
Not so soon. Not like this.
And yet, there he is. Eric. Sitting behind that imposing desk, with the same arrogant posture that both captivated and infuriated you. His hair, slightly shorter than you remembered, catches the sunlight streaming through the massive windows behind him. The fitted shirt, the expensive watch. Heâs the same, yet different. More mature. More untouchable.
â[...], What a surprise.â
Your name slips from his lips like a bullet. Short, direct, his voice steady, though thereâs something in his eyes⌠something off. He looks at you as if youâre a ghost he never thought heâd see again. And despite your efforts to remain composed, the sound of his voice hits you hard, an echo of nights when he whispered your name in the dark.
âWhat are you doing here?â he asks, as if youâre a stranger, as if nine years havenât passed, as if you werenât everything to him once.
Your throat dries up. You had a speech prepared, rehearsed, but it crumbles into meaningless fragments under his gaze. Still, you manage to force the words out:
âIâm here for the job opening.â
His lips curl into something that isnât quite a smile. Itâs more like a reminder of everything you lost, of everything you took from him when you decided to disappear.
Not even a letter, a last call. You left as fast as a shooting star.
âWork, huh?â he mutters, leaning back in his chair as he looks you up and down. His eyes are cold, calculating, but thereâs something else thereâsomething he canât hide.
And then it hits you. He hates you. But not as much as you hate yourself for realizing that seeing him hurts less than never having seen him at all.
The cubicle they assigned you was small, almost claustrophobic, as if Eric wanted to make sure you remembered your place. A place that wasnât his, though, when you looked at it from your seat, it was hard not to feel the pressure of his gaze.
His office was up front, like an impenetrable fortress from where he watched you, getting closer and yet more distant at the same time. Each passing day, the space between you two felt thicker, heavier.
Your first day at the company was nothing more than a repetition of the same pattern.
He handed you a never-ending stack of papers, reports you could barely process in one glance.
When you sat down to review them, you noticed heâd left clear instructions: "Nothing less than perfect," and though he didnât say it with anger, there was a pressure in his words that made you question everything you knew about work and expectations.
Hours flew by, but never fast enough. There was so much to do, you didnât even realize it was getting dark until the clock hit midnight.
It happened often. Youâd review the same reports over and over, searching for the slightest mistake. The workload felt like an impossible mountain to climb, but you knew if you didnât do it, heâd find any excuse to get rid of you.
His tone wasnât cruel, but the moment he handed something back with even the smallest correction, you felt like he was rejecting you. Heâd look at you mercilessly, expecting you to fix it, to improve, or just leave.
"One more mistake and youâre out," heâd said on the first day, and he repeated it every time he passed your cubicle, his gaze evaluating every move you made, every detail you missed.
Sometimes it felt like the days stretched longer than they should. The hours didnât turn into nights; the nights stretched until dawn found you staring at a blank screen, wishing you could close it and forget everything. There were times when you stayed late, working non-stop, until it felt like the keys on the keyboard fused with your skin.
It was easier to stay there than face the reality that you were trapped. Eric, with his impatience, his extreme perfectionism, had become a constant in your life.
A couple of nights after staying late at the office, while the rest of the staff had gone home, you heard footsteps. You looked up and saw him. Eric, standing in the doorway of his office, holding a cup of coffee.
He watched you, his cold, calculating eyes scanning you, evaluating something more than just the work in front of you. It was impossible not to notice how he lingered just a second longer than necessary. With a slight tilt of his head, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, he walked away without saying a word, leaving you alone in your cubicle with the untouched coffee cup on the desk.
The next day, the employees arrived as usual, unaware of the chaos youâd immersed yourself in, the sleepless nights, the palpable stress that had consumed you. And yet, Eric remained distant, watching you from his office with the same cold stare that seemed like a sentence.
No one asked why youâd stayed so late, but you knew Eric had noticed. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that made the pressure feel even stronger. Sometimes, his corrections, even the smallest ones, left you with a feeling of emptiness. There was a desire to push yourself beyond your limits to meet something that never seemed good enough for him.
The meetings were even harder. Every time you entered his office, the atmosphere charged with an electricity that made you feel vulnerable, exposed.
The critiques were harsh, public, and always came with almost painful precision. You felt like no matter how hard you tried, nothing was ever done well enough. The glances exchanged by the others in the room, the murmurs, all faded away as he pointed out each mistake.
Time, that constant sense of being trapped, was the only thing that kept you sane.
There was one particularly difficult meeting where you were left speechless. As he spoke, you dropped a pen.
You bent down to pick it up, and when you straightened up, your eyes met his. It was a second. A second that felt like an eternity. In his eyes, there was something you couldnât identify, something beyond the cold disapproval. There was anger, yes, but also... something more. Perhaps regret. Perhaps pain. But before you could process it, he looked away and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.
Yet, that look stayed etched in your mind, like an invisible mark that kept burning, day after day.
Sometimes, after those exchanges, you felt like breathing was harder than continuing to work. The days seemed to drain all the energy you had, until you didnât know if you were working for him or for yourself. The line between the two was becoming increasingly blurry, as if everything outside of that office and outside his orders didnât matter.
One night, you fell asleep at your desk. The work kept piling up, but the fatigue was unbearable.
You woke up to the sound of footsteps approaching. You opened your eyes slowly, and there he was. Eric, again, standing in front of you, this time with a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked at you steadily, his expression serious, almost thoughtful. For a moment, the room seemed to stop.
âIf you keep working like this, youâre going to collapse.â he said, his voice softer than youâd heard in weeks.
You were surprised by the warmth in his words, but you couldnât say anything. You stayed silent, watching him as he placed the cup on your desk. He lingered there for a moment, without saying another word. Then, he turned and walked back to his office, leaving the coffee untouched.
The air in the room grew even denser. You knew something had changed, though you didnât understand what. Eric hadnât said another word, but there was something in his gaze that told you the game between you two wasnât over. Whatever was happening between you, it was no longer just about work. There was something personal, something much deeper, that neither of you was willing to admit.
Ashes of a bonfire of love, perhaps? Cliche, but true.
The days went by, and with each one, Eric's attitude toward you began to change. At first, it seemed like a coincidence, just a formality.
He included you more in important meetings, his work expectations eased, and he no longer looked at you with the same critical, distant gaze.
He even started offering you more help than you ever expected. He asked for your opinion on matters that previously wouldnât have concerned him. How kind.
There was a softness in his demeanor, a change you couldnât ignore, but at the same time, it unsettled you. The relationship between you two was transforming, and while the line remained strictly professional, something else lingered in the air.
Or so you thought, I don't know.
One morning, on one of the hottest days of the season, you found yourself in the elevator with Eric, heading to an important meeting. The confined space between you made the atmosphere feel thick, charged with something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.
The only sounds were the elevator ascending and Ericâs faint sigh, breaking the silence. With each floor, the tension grew, as if the world had shrunk to that small metal box.
Suddenly, Eric broke the silence, his voice softer than usual but laced with an intent that sent a chill through you.
âSeriously, you should take a few days off,â he said, his tone firm but carrying a concern you hadnât noticed before. It wasnât merely a suggestion; it was an order disguised as advice. He glanced at you sideways, noting the pallor on your face, the fatigue etched into your features. âYouâre paler than a sheet. I need you looking more⌠alive for the upcoming conferences.â
The words hung in the air between you, as if he were measuring them, savoring each syllable. It was a kind gesture, yet the way he said it made you feel more vulnerable than ever.
âAlive.â
The word echoed in your mind, but you couldnât help but think there was something deeper behind his advice. Something personal, something beyond work. The closeness of his voice, the slight brush of his body against yours in that confined space, made the air feel heavy, almost suffocating.
His words began to make sense, you even thought you were hallucinating when his voice was tender, sometimes he hid smiles while correcting your files or reports. It's as if from the beginning he had enjoyed see youâsuffer, or see you near.
Not for nothing was your cubicle strictly placed in front of his office, with a view where only he could see every corner of you, what you were doing there, if you were really working or falling asleep orâ.
The elevator stopped at the meeting floor, and both of you stepped out, but the tension remained.
The conference was like any other, boring, with old men coughing and harassing the secretary with their tired and blind eyes, your handsome and well-behaved exbâEric, your boss Eric.
The rest of the day followed a similar pattern: Eric included you more in decisions at the end of the meeting, asked questions he usually reserved for senior executives.
Sometimes, it felt like he didnât see you as the same person youâd been beforeâsomeone forgotten by himâbut as something more. And, for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he, too, felt the same attraction, the same desire as you.
But you knew heâd never admit it. Neither would you, damn stubborn.
The afternoon stretched on, and you found yourself back at your cubicle, focused on a report Eric had assigned. So engrossed in the details, you didnât hear the footsteps approaching.
When you finally looked up, there he was, standing before your desk, observing you intently, as if evaluating something far beyond your work performance.
Without a word, Eric pulled a chair from a nearby cubicle and sat right behind you. His gaze lingered on the screen, and your body tensed as his hand rested near yours on the desk.
âThis should have the full name here, and hereâŚâ His voice was calm, but there was something in the air that made you feel as if everything was unraveling, as if the world you knew was shifting around you.
The tension grew, and before you realized it, Ericâs hand grazed your armâa fleeting touch, but it sent an electric current through your skin. His hand continued, sliding gently until it rested over yours, which lay still on the computer mouse.
The proximity was unbearable; the warmth radiating from his body melded with yours, and the air between you became stifling, as though everything was on the brink of exploding.
You could hear your own heartbeat, a roaring in your ears, as you felt the pulse in his fingers, his slightly quickened breath. The intensity of his presence beside you was overwhelming, the weight of his fingers on yours paralyzing.
The room seemed to shrink, as if nothing else existed beyond that moment. The pressure in your chest mounted, and while you knew you should pull away, that you couldnât let this continue, your fingers stayed frozen, caught in the spell of his touch.
But then, Eric lifted his head, as if realizing how close you were, as if the reality of the moment hit him. His breath hitched for a second, and his expression turned stern, though his eyes softened briefly, just for an instant.
Clearly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and stood up quickly. He gave you one last look, as if trying to read your thoughts, then turned and walked back to his office, leaving you alone with the sensation that the world had shifted irrevocably.
The silence he left behind was deafening. The warmth of his presence lingered in the air, on your skin, as you tried to process what had just happened. You knew something had changedâsomething vital.
But you werenât sure you wanted to face it. Perhaps you both wanted the same thing, but neither of you was ready to take the first step.
And. There is always an and and a but.
From that moment on, things began to change between you two. Literally.
Slowly, but undeniably. The professional distance Eric had always maintained started to crumble, and though his actions were subtle, they were impossible to ignore.
In meetings, his eyes lingered on you a little longer than necessary, on your body too. When you shared the elevator, the tense, cold silence was replaced by Eric leaning against the metal walls, arms crossed over his chest, throwing casual remarks your way.
âDid you get any sleep last night?â he told you one afternoon, The ask was suddenly, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed.
It was an innocent gesture, but there was something in his tone, in the way his gaze held yours, that made you question if his concern was purely work-related.
Sometimes, as you talked, Eric would adjust his watch, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It could have been accidental, but you knew it wasnât.
Even his presence in the office shifted. He spent more time near your cubicle, stealing glances at your work or stopping by to ask questions he surely already knew the answers to.
The air between you grew heavy with something unnameable, something that both suffocated and drew you in.
The days continued like this, with Eric looking for excuses to get closer. There were times when you'd find him too close, leaning over your desk to review a report, his arm brushing against yours, his fingers, your shoulders against his chest, his words against your ear.
And particularly everything was when both were alone or there weren't that many people around. It was definitely not by accident or coincidence.
âAre you sure it was like that?â he asked you in a serious but somewhat playful tone. The proximity was suffocating, and even though you tried to focus on his words, all you could feel was the heat of his body against yours.
One night, when the rest of the office had turned off its lights and silence ruled the building, Eric left a towering stack of papers on your desk, reminding you of your earliest days at the company.
You had learned not to complain, but the exhaustion was plain on your face. You were poring over the last page when you heard footsteps approaching. You looked up to find him standing in front of you, his impeccable black suit sharp against the dim light, his expression unreadable.
âCome to my office,â he said, his voice low and firm.
You glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. What could he want at this hour? Shouldn't he have left hours ago?
You hesitated for a moment but stood and followed him.
The air was thick, suffocating in its weight, and you couldnât remember the last time breathing felt natural. Your forehead was slick with cold sweat, each drop a reminder of the tension coiling tighter around your chest.
You forced yourself to take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop its relentless pounding as you walked the long stretch to Eric's office. The sound of his measured footsteps behind you did nothing to calm the storm within. His presence loomedâpowerful, inescapable.
Am I about to lose this job? Did I mess up? Have they found someone better? The questions spiraled as you neared the door, each one heavier than the last.
When you finally stepped inside, the lighting felt⌠different. Softer. Warmer, even. It was a strange contrast to the cold, rigid atmosphere you'd grown used to. The sound of the lock clicking into place behind you sent a shiver racing down your spine.
Eric stood there, imposing as ever, his frame commanding the room with an effortless authority. He leaned casually against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, his sharp gaze pinning you in place. That lookâit always had a way of unraveling you.
âSit down,â he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that left no room for argument.
You sank into the chair in front of his desk, the plush cushions doing little to ease your nerves. Your eyes darted to the massive windows behind him, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. It was a beautiful view, one you might have appreciated if your chest wasnât tight with anxiety.
âDo you know why youâre here?â His voice broke the silence, smooth yet laced with an edge you couldnât quite place.
Your throat felt dry, and all you could do was shake your head. Speaking felt like too monumental a task when his piercing gaze was locked on you, searching, dissecting. The weight of his scrutiny made your pulse race, and you fought to keep your composure.
Eric leaned back slightly, his arms falling to his sides as his fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the desk. He studied you in silence for a moment, the tension between you both growing unbearable.
âThere was an error in your report this afternoon,â he said, finally breaking the silence. His tone was even, almost detached, as he lifted a page from the desk.
Your stomach sank. Of course, it was about the report. You braced yourself for the sharp critique that would undoubtedly follow, but instead, he surprised you.
Setting the page aside, his expression softened, and his voice dipped lower. âBut thatâs not the real reason I called you in.â
Your breath hitched. The silence that followed was deafening. His fingers tapped the desk once more before he leaned forward, his hands resting on the polished wood.
âYouâve come a long way since your first day here,â he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. âWhen I hired you, I wasnât sure you had what it takes.â He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze unrelenting. âBut youâve proven me wrong. Over and over again.â
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, the tension shifted into something else. Something warmer, deeper. It made your chest ache in a way you didnât fully understand.
âI want you to know,â he continued, his voice softening further, âthat your hard work hasnât gone unnoticed. Your dedication⌠your persistence⌠itâs invaluable to this team.â
He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lipsâa rare, almost disarming sight. âWhich is why Iâve decided to offer you a promotion.â
Your heart stopped for a beat, then stuttered back to life. The words seemed surreal, too good to be true.
âStarting next week,â he said, his tone shifting into something more businesslike, âyouâll be taking on more responsibilities. High-level projects. Youâll be working directly with me.â His eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long. âI trust thatâs not going to be a problem.â
You managed a shaky nod, the corners of your lips twitching into something resembling a smile. But beneath the surface, your thoughts churned. This wasnât just a promotion. It was an invitationâa shift in whatever fragile balance existed between you both.
And deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.
Your heart stuttered at Ericâs words, a mix of emotions surging through youâconfusion, apprehension, and something you didnât dare name.
His touch on your shoulder felt heavier than it should, sending an unwelcome warmth coursing through you. Was it the power he held, or was it the man himself? You werenât sure anymore.
Ericâs eyes flicker, catching the brief tension in your face.
He notices everything, doesnât he?
The way your fingers dig into the armrest, the way your throat tightens as you swallow your nerves. His sharp gaze softens, just for a moment, as if heâs weighing how much more he can push you.
He rises from his chair, the sound of his movements crisp and deliberate. Moving around the desk, he stops just in front of you, so close that his presence fills every inch of your personal space. His hand settles firmly on your shoulderânot harsh, but undeniably possessive. His voice is low, steady, and resolute.
"This promotion comes with certain expectations. I expect nothing less than perfection from you, [...]. Youâll have to work harder than before, push yourself further. I need to know you can handle it.â
What was Eric playing at?
Your pulse quickened, and your chest tightened with something between resentment and longing. This wasnât just about workâit never was with him. Not really.
His touch lingers as his words seep into your mind. The weight of his hand burns against your skin, as though itâs not just a gesture but a promiseâand a warning.
"I know you can do it. You've already proven your resilience, your potential. But I need to know youâre committed." His voice dips, pulling you in despite the rising panic in your chest. "Are you ready to show me that youâre not just... a pretty face?"
The way he says itâso casually, yet so laced with meaningâsends a jolt through your system.
A heat climbs up your neck, betraying you. Was that a compliment? A taunt? Or something entirely more dangerous? You barely manage to nod, your throat dry, your pulse thundering in your ears.
Eric leans in slightly, his intense gaze locking onto yours. "I want to hear you say it."
"I-Iâm ready," you stammer, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. "Thank you, sir. Iâll do my best."
"Your best wonât be enough." His words hit like a whip, but before the sting can settle, a faint smirk curves his lips. "But Iâm confident youâll exceed even that."
The tension between you thickened like smoke, choking and impossible to ignore. Every second stretched painfully, and you realized he wasnât moving. Eric stayed close, his presence overwhelming, his eyes dark and unreadable as they traced your face.
The room feels smaller now, suffocating under the weight of his presence. You muster a question, hoping to break the tension that coils between you like a taut wire. "Will I still be in the same cubicle, or�"
Eric arches a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Cubicle? Seriously?" He lets out a low laugh, more to himself than to you, and takes a step back.
For the first time since this conversation started, you can breathe, though the air is still thick with unspoken tension.
He turns toward the large window, his silhouette framed by the city lights. His hands slip into his pockets as he stares out at the sprawling skyline.
"Youâre not just some junior employee anymore, [...]. Youâre my right-hand man. My top assistant. You donât belong in a cubicle."
His voice carries a strange undertoneâpride, perhaps? Or something darker. "Youâll be moving into my old office. Iâve already had it cleared out. Itâs ready for you."
That pulled you out of your haze. âYour old office?â You couldnât mask the surprise in your voice. âI⌠I donât know what to say.â The words tumble out, but they feel hollow, inadequate for the weight of the moment.
Eric turned to face you again, his hands still tucked in his pockets. The smirk returned, but this time it didnât quite reach his eyes. âSay that youâll handle it. That you wonât disappoint me. Itâs as simple as that.â
Your chest tightened, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying something stupid. The promotion didnât feel like a reward. It felt like a test. Or worse, a leash. And yet, a part of youâa traitorous partâdidnât hate that idea.
His steps are slow, deliberate, as he moves closer again. The air between you crackles with an energy you donât dare name. When he stops just inches away, his proximity steals the breath from your lungs.
And then it happens.
His hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek in a touch so light it feels electric. The warmth of his skin sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes bore into yours, an unspoken challenge simmering within their depths.
"Prove to me," he whispers, his voice like velvet over steel, "that I didnât make a mistake. Prove that youâre the oneâto me and to this company." His hand slides downward, skimming your jaw before retreating entirely.
The absence of his touch feels like a loss, though youâd never dare admit it.
You can't stop thinking about Eric's touch, his words, and the way he looked at youâas if you were the only person in the world in that fleeting moment.
The memory lingers, his presence haunting every corner of your mind. You try to convince yourself itâs nothing more than a figment of your imagination. Maybe you're overthinking it. Maybe you're reading too much into it.
But then again⌠could you be wrong?
"I'm worth it, Eric."
The words slip out before you can stop them, unbidden and raw. You had to say something in response to keep his attention.
Your heart leaps into your throat, realizing the weight they carry. You meant to limit it to your workâyour efforts, your contributions to the company. But the truth is undeniable. You are worth it. In every way.
The words hang in the air between you, heavy and full of implication. You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your confidence faltering. "I-I mean⌠my work is worth it. Iâve worked hard for this position, and I believe Iâve shown you that."
You lean forward instinctively, as if to close the growing distance, your eyes locking onto his. âI think youâve noticed that I havenât broken any promises I made when you hired me. Iâve stayed true to everything you asked of me, down to the smallest detail.â
Your voice trembles but doesnât break. The intensity in your gaze speaks volumes, a quiet defiance shining through your vulnerability.
Eric watches you carefully, his eyes darkening with something dangerous and unreadable. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. âOh, believe me,â he murmurs, his voice low, each word carrying weight, âIâve noticed. Iâve noticed everything about you.â
His gaze flickers downward, lingering at your lips for a split second too long before returning to your eyes. âYour dedication. Your persistence. Your...â His voice dips, as if testing the waters of forbidden territory. âstubbornness.â
A brief pause stretches between you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. âBut loyalty can be dangerous, [...]. It can lead people to do things they shouldnâtâthings they wouldnât, under different circumstances.â
His steps are slow but deliberate as he approaches, the distance between your bodies shrinking. The air shifts, crackling with unspoken tension.
âI need to know,â Eric continues, his voice softer now, his words deliberate, âthat this.. loyalty isnât divided. That itâs mine. Mine alone.â
What? Divided? It's just for work, it's just to maintain a good status and have a good place to live. Right?
His hand lifts, his fingers brushing against your jawline. The light touch sends a tremor through your body, the sensation impossibly warm against your skin. His thumb grazes the edge of your cheek, his touch firm yet tender, like a warning wrapped in a promise.
Your breath catches. His proximity is suffocating, overwhelming. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a desperate rhythm that betrays the steady exterior youâre trying so hard to maintain.
You canât help but lean into him, drawn by some magnetic force that neither of you seem willing to acknowledge. His scentâsharp, clean, and distinctly himâclouds your thoughts. You can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, teasing, taunting.
His voice is a whisper now, the words barely brushing past your ear. âTell me, [...], please.. can you give me that? Can you promise me that your loyaltyâyour focusâis entirely mine?â
His other hand rests against the chair beside you, caging you in, his body mere inches from yours. The tension is unbearable, the heat between you palpable. His lips hover, tantalizingly close to your own, and you know neither of you can resist this pull much longer.
The line between professionalism and desire is blurred beyond recognition.
Youâre not sure if youâre breathing or if the pounding in your chest is too loud to tell. Your body aches to close the gap, to feel the press of his skin against yours. But a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that once the line is crossed, there will be no turning back.
His fingers tilt your chin upward slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. âWell?â he murmurs, his voice dangerously low, âI need to hear you say it, [...]. Tell me youâre mine.â
Your lips part, words caught somewhere between your throat and your courage. Heâs waiting, his lips a breath away from yours, the heat between your bodies enough to ignite flames.
But can you give him what heâs asking? Or are you both about to cross a line that could burn everything to the ground?
The air between you sizzles with unspoken passion, the tension almost unbearable. Ericâs words wrap around your senses like chains, dragging you into his orbit, his confession like gasoline poured onto a fire already blazing within you.
His lips hover over yours, a teasing torment that has your breath hitching. His fingers, firm yet reverent, tilt your chin higher as if daring you to defy him, daring you to resist the pull between you two. But you canât. Youâve already surrendered in every way that matters.
"Say something," he murmurs, his voice rough, a plea hidden beneath the command. His dark eyes bore into yours, flickering with desperation, desire, and something deeperâsomething raw.
"Tell me you feel it too, that Iâm not insane for wanting you like this."
Your throat dries, and your words stick to your tongue. You should push him away, assert the boundary thatâs already been obliterated by the sheer weight of your shared history. But instead, your lips part, and a shaky whisper escapes.
"Eric... I-"
You donât get the chance to finish.
His lips crush against yours in a searing kiss, all-consuming and desperate. The world melts away as his mouth claims yours, his kiss a perfect storm of hunger and longing.
He tastes like heat and danger, a flavor youâd forgotten and yet had craved every single day since the two of you fell apart.
Your hands, trembling with hesitation, find their way to his chest, your fingers fisting the fabric of his tailored suit as if anchoring yourself to reality. But reality blurs as his tongue slips past your lips, tangling with yours in a dance thatâs both demanding and impossibly tender.
"Tell me to stop," he growls against your lips, his breath ragged as he pulls back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours.
His thumb strokes over the hollow of your cheek, a gentle contrast to the vice grip his other hand has on your hip. "Tell me Iâm out of line, and Iâll step away. But if you want thisâif you want meâthen donât hold back."
Your chest heaves as you stare at him, his expression open and vulnerable in a way youâve never seen before. The fire in his eyes dares you to give in, to leap into the flames with him and risk everything for just one taste of heaven.
And oh, God, how you want to.
Instead of answering with words, you tug him down into another kiss, your mouth moving against his with a fervor that makes his grip on you tighten. His hands roam now, one sliding up to cup the back of your head, angling your face to deepen the kiss, while the other traces the curve of your waist.
He ended up getting you up from that leather chair, his hands traveling over your body as if he were drawing a map.
He walks you backward until the edge of his desk presses into the small of your back, and he lifts you effortlessly onto the smooth wood. The sound of papers scattering barely registers as he steps between your legs, his body fitting against yours as if molded for this very moment.
"Do you have any idea," he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with restraint, "how many nights Iâve dreamt of this? Of you?"
You shudder, your hands curling around the back of his neck to pull him closer. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your jawline, trailing kisses down your throat, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever his lips touch.
"Eric," you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your resolve crumbles entirely as his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, drawing you impossibly closer to the hard, unyielding heat of his body.
You feel every inch of him, every ounce of his needy cock pressing against yours.
"Say it," he demands, his voice rough and low, his lips finding the pulse point on your neck. His teeth scrape against it, leaving a mark that will scream possession. "Say youâre mine."
Your head tilts back, baring your throat to him as if offering yourself up completely. "Iâm yours," you whisper, your voice trembling but certain. "Iâve always been yours."
The words break something inside him. His restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight, and his kisses grow hungrier, more desperate, as if heâs afraid youâll vanish if he doesnât consume you entirely.
But the heat between you carries a dangerous undercurrent, a silent warning of just how far youâre both willing to go to reclaim what you lost. And deep down, you knowâif you donât stop now, there will be no turning back.
Not for him. Not for you. And not for the fragile line youâve already crossed.
But just then...When your dream was finally about to come true.
â[...].â A voice in the back of your head echoed, but it was faint, distant. â[...]. Are you even listening to me?â
What the fuck? You blinked rapidly, the world around you beginning to blur. For a moment, it felt like the ground beneath you was shifting, like you were floating in an endless sea of confusion.
Butâsuddenly, everything snapped back into place.
The office. The air was cold. Eric was sitting at his desk, his elbows resting on it, staring at you with an unreadable expression.
"Wha⌠w-what?" you asked incredulously, your voice cracking with disbelief. You could feel the dryness in your mouth, your fingers gripping your thighs, your other hand squeezing your neck lightly.
Had it all just been a dream? No⌠it couldnât have been. He was kissing your neck, making you his, returning to where you should never have left...
Ericâs eyes were locked on you, as steady as ever, his calm gaze piercing through you like it always did.
âAs I was saying... Do you know why youâre here?â he asked, his voice still smooth, but there was something underneath it nowâan edge that made your heart skip a beat.
You shook your head, blinking again, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The room seemed so real now. The scent of his cologne, the hum of the air conditioner, the way his eyes bore into you like they always did.
Was it real?
The intensity of his gaze pulled at you, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything that had happened beforeâthe dream, the fantasies, the moments between you twoâwas fading, slipping away as if they had never existed. In your mind.
âWhatâs.. going on?â you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, barely able to hold its ground.
Eric didnât immediately answer. He just kept watching you, leaning back in his chair with that same cool demeanor, as though the entire world had fallen away and there was only the two of you in this moment.
âDo you know why I left you that stack of work today?â he asked, his tone casual, but the question stung like a cold knife.
You stared at him, confusion still clouding your thoughts, but somehow, you felt yourself starting to understand. Slowly, your breathing evened out, the sharp panic fading into a kind of numbness.
âI⌠I donât know,â you replied, your voice hoarse, uncertain. The weight of his words was sinking in, but everything felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.
Eric stood, moving toward you with his usual predatory grace. As he walked closer, the reality of the situation began to settle into your bones.
The heat radiating from his body, the way he filled the space with his presenceâit was all real, and yet it felt like a dream, a surreal moment where everything shifted and fell back into place.
âI wanted to see how far you could go,â he continued, his voice quieter now, almost like he was letting something deeper slip through. âI wanted to see if you still had that⌠resilience Iâve always admired.â
His words made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you found it hard to breathe. The room felt small now, the distance between you two shrinking, but there was a weight behind his words that forced you to listen closely.
Ericâs next words cut through the tension like a blade. âBut I canât help but wonder⌠why are you still here? Why did you take this job knowing I was the one in charge?â
The question hit you like a punch, knocking the wind out of you.
You knew there were reasons, but in this moment, you were lost. What could you say to that? That while he was probably telling you what a great worker you were, you were about to imagine him fucking you against his desk and every corner of his office? No. That would be stupid.
You could feel your mind racing, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts you couldnât grasp.
Eric closed the distance between you, stepping closer still, until there was barely an inch between you. His gaze was unwavering, and this time, the heat between you two was undeniable.
âIs it because of me?â he asked, the words soft but carrying a weight that made your heart race.
You could barely think.
The world had narrowed to just him, just this moment. His face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his eyes so intense they seemed to burn into your soul. Everything else faded away, and in that moment, you were completely caught in his gravity.
But then, as quickly as the moment had come, it started to slip away.
Eric raised a hand, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the entire world had stopped. You thoughtâno, hopedâhe would touch you. That he would pull you close and everything would unravel.
But just as suddenly, his hand fell to his side. He stepped back, breaking the spell.
âGo home,â he said, his voice suddenly colder, more distant. His face lowered, looking at your barely shaking hands. âYou need to rest well.â
And just like that, the warmth between you vanished. Eric turned his back to you, retreating to his desk like nothing had happened. His back was to you, and the room felt hollow, the air heavy with unspoken things.
But something had changed. Something that neither of you could deny.
âYou can go now. You can take the day off tomorrow, you look very... pale.â he said.
You stood there for a long moment, unsure of how to react. How to feel. The world had felt so sharp, so raw for just a momentâand now it was slipping away.
Slowly, reluctantly, you walked out of his office, your heart pounding in your chest.
You knew, without a doubt, that nothing would ever be the same. The dream, the fantasy, had bled into reality.
But was it really over?
â â â â â â â â Ýâ â ŘŘâ â ëŠëި ! 㠤⸝㠤 I still have one more fic to go and then we'll go for something a little softer.ď¸â đ
â đ. â ââ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamaraâ đ
. . . ââ ěě´ëě´ !㠤⸝㠤I'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <â (â ￣â ︜â ￣â )â >â ââ Ö´ÖśÖ¸
Ëâ â Ýâ Šâ ŘŘâ If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!
      đđ BACKYARD BUNNY!  â RORONOA ZORO.
synopsis. it's just your jinxed luck on halloween night to come home to a shattered window and a completely downturned house. well, guess what: surprise, motherfucker. the culprit is a hot guy in your bed with bunny ears and a cute tail, and now it's up to you to fuck him through his heat. wc. 4.9k (!!)
tags. dom top reader, bunny hybrid! zoro. reader has a cock, zoro has a pussy. marathon sex, lactation, squirting, cowgirl, mating press, prone bone, cunnilingus, (bit of somnophilia), cum-eating, creampie(s), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, scent kink, fingering, cockwarming, virgin! reader, zoro's also secretly a virgin lolol.
It wasnât the first time you had seen this bunny before. You had noticed it lurking in your backyard a while ago. Strangely enough, it wasnât eating any of the plants, so you had paid it no mind, even occasionally leaving carrot greens and blueberries for it to eat.Â
You squinted. And frowned.Â
âWhat⌠what are you looking at?â it panted out, cheeks flushed so dark a red youâd thought steam would come out of its ears. It was deeply embarrassed by something, desperately grasping the sheets of your bed as if it wanted to bury itself into the mattress. There was a shiny trail of drool running down the side of its chin, and it gave a low whine as you continued to scrutinise it shamelessly, ears coming down to cover its burning face.Â
But this bunny was different.Â
For one, it was much bigger than the one you saw in your backyard. It also had the face of a human, the body of oneâmostly, save for the ears, the tuft of chest fur, and the cute fluffy tail right perched right above a round, perky butt that pushed itself temptingly in your direction. Presenting itself to you. It was all too invitingâyou couldnât help but follow the crease of its ass, lower and lower⌠until you reached the end of it.Â
Squished between two beefy thighs, was a glistening, fat pussy.Â
And above all⌠it was green.Â
⌠Somewhat. The hair was, anyway.Â
You mustâve made a noise of surprise or something, because the bunnyâmanâpeeked out from behind his ears, letting out a shaky sigh as he followed your gaze. âFuckinâ pervert. Gonna stand there and ogle all day, or what?â He wriggled his hips with a seductive smirk, the pink insides of his soaked cunt clenching purposefully as more slick squeezed out from his hole and dripped down his thighs.Â
God. How was he leaking so much?Â
You shook your head, coughing as you tried your best to avert his gaze. All of these were just distractions, and this was just too far. This manâstrangerâintruder who had broken into your house and was now intruding on your private space, was clearly messing with you. You couldnât believe you had thought this was your backyard bunny. And now that your evaluation had come to an end, you were more than pissed. âIs this some kind of sick joke?âÂ
He arched an eyebrow. âWhat?âÂ
You snapped, âYou. This. Which one of my friends put you up to this? What kinda halloween costume even is that, anyway?âÂ
The bunny looked exasperated, more than anything. âYou think this is a halloween costume. Are you dumb?â He scowled, tail twitching as he shot you a sharp, disapproving glare, his earlier debauched expression and demeanour having completely disappeared. âI came here to take care of my heat. What luck it is, bumping into a fucking virgin.âÂ
How did he even know that? And what did you being a virgin even have to do with anything? He started to get up and leave, but you shoved him back face-first onto the mattress with more strength than necessary, making it bounce.Â
âWhat theââÂ
You climbed on top of him, forcefully restraining his wrists behind his back with one hand as he tried to turn around, the other pinning his shoulder to the bed with all of your weight. âWhere do you think youâre going?â you growled. âYou fucking thief.âÂ
âItâs Zoro,â he gasped out, and you could feel just how hot he was beneath your hands, powerful back muscles rippling beneath your touch. He could easily subdue you. Maybe. But he wasnât trying to, for some reason. âAnd Iâm not a thief.âÂ
âExplain what youâre doing here, then.âÂ
Zoro sighed, almost as though he were explaining things to a child. Which you werenât. âAre you still under the impression that Iâm wearing a halloween costume, of all things?âÂ
You frowned. âWhat else could it be? You some kind of mutant?âÂ
He scowled again, not liking the term that you used. âItâs called âhybridâ. And Iâm not in the mood to explain how our anatomy works to you.âÂ
Swallowing, you stared down at him, at two twin bunny ears peeking out from short green hair, a delicious red flush dusted on his neck and broad, sturdy shoulders, the cute perky tail that you found yourself wanting to squeeze, to see if he would be sensitive there. And that pussy. Fuck, it was practically drooling for you.Â
âYouâre a⌠bunny,â you murmured distractedly, gaze locked onto the cute nub of his clit, peeking at you shyly from behind his sopping folds. You swallowed harshly. Everything about him was beautiful. âA bunny hybrid. Of a sort.âÂ
âYeah,â he breathed. âWhatever you wanna call it. So, now that Iâve explained things. Let me go.âÂ
You gripped his wrists tighter, displeased with his authoritative tone. Like he was in any position to be making demandsâyou were the one who would be calling the shots here. âJust because youâre a bunny hybrid thing doesnât give you permission to break into peopleâs houses. You didnât explain shit.âÂ
âIâm here, like I said, because I need to- need to take care of my heat, okay.â Zoro bit his lip, head turning to the side, the tips of his ears flushed. âCanât do it alone, nâ itâs coming real soon.âÂ
âYour heat? You guys have heats?â You blinked, taken aback. âCouldnât you justââÂ
âGods, if youâre not going to fuck me, stop asking so many questions and let me go.âÂ
âNah,â you retorted. âYou broke into my house, still. You broke my window, and my living room is in a complete mess. What were you even trying to do, if you werenât stealing?âÂ
âI wasâŚâ he paused, ears shielding his face as though to hide from you, a habit you realised he did whenever he was embarrassed or shy about something. âYour scent, it smells really good, okay? I was finding things with your scent on them.âÂ
You scoffed. Scent? What was he on? You were pretty sure you smelt the same as any other normal person did. âFlattery wonât get you out of this. It wouldnât be fair if I just let you go.â You hummed, a wicked idea suddenly invading your mind. âLet me think. The media will have a field day about this if I turn you in...âÂ
The body beneath you tensed, the atmosphere completely changing from somewhat playful to solemn in mere seconds. â...You wouldnât dare.âÂ
âOh, I would.âÂ
âIâll⌠slice your head clean off.âÂ
You crinkled your nose at the strange threat, but continued nonetheless. âIâm sure you can, in this position.â You smirked at his expression, leaning down to mutter hotly into his ear. âStupid Bunny Breaks into House on Halloween Night, Scaring Tenants. And then thereâll be a photo of you riiight under. Wouldnât this just be shocking news? The worldâs first bunny-hybrid, found at my house. Iâll make sure to tell them all about the intricate details of how you tried to defile my eyes with your⌠state of undress.âÂ
Zoro was quietly red with anger, and something more. Humiliation, you thought. It was just fun to watch his reactions to your groundless blackmailing. You stifled a laugh. âYou shouldâve seen your face. Iâm kidding, bunnyââÂ
Before you could get another word out, the world was roughly flipped. You yelped as your back hit the mattress with so much force, a heavy weight now settled onto your lap as a strong hand gripped your throat. There was also something else. A good, tingling sensation down below. There was something warm pressed snugly against your crotch, sending stings of pleasure up your spine, making you moan.Â
The hand on your throat tightened. âPfft. Did you get hard just from watching my cunt?âÂ
âWh- at?â you gasped, struggling to speak. Zoro rocked forward, his front rutting against your very much awake cock, wet folds dragged up the bulge of your pants. âWait. Wait, Zoro, hold onââÂ
He paused at the mention of his name, but paid your words no further attention. He was way too focused on pleasuring his needy cunt, small moans slipping past his lips as he watched the way your girth rubbed against his cavern, the way you were so hard your cock practically threatened to burst out of your tight pants. âHnn. Itâs⌠big enough, I guess.âÂ
âBig enough?â you scoffed. âIâve been told itâs much bigger than average, as far as Iâm concerned.âÂ
That was a lie, but he didnât need to know that.Â
âWeâll see about that,â he breathed. âTake off your pants.âÂ
âWait. You want to go all the wayâ?âÂ
He lightly squeezed your neck, shooting you a glare, which would have been effective in scaring the shit out of you if it werenât for his cunt clenching needily against your length, distracting you. âTake. Them. Off.âÂ
âOkay, geezâŚâÂ
You unzipped your pants, and he got up from your lap for you to tug them off. You stared at him, trying to act unimpressed. âWhat now?âÂ
âBoxers. Take âem off.âÂ
âAt least save me some dignityââÂ
Zoro had enough. You watched as he practically ripped your underwear in two, making your wet, leaking cock spring out. You were about to protest, but then you caught something in his expression that made you pause, eyes widening. Hunger.Â
âFuck. Put it in already,â he muttered, climbing back on top of you as he grabbed your poor cock, already lining it up with his weeping entrance. The blunt head managed to slide out every time despite all the slick, and he whined in frustration, one hand gripping your shoulder for leverage. âWhyâs it notâ whyâs it not going in?âÂ
âLet me.â You slapped his hand away, pumping your cock slowly and getting a wet glossy glide of pre-cum all over it, and Zoro watched, eyes fixated on the way it leaked, the prospect of this going inside him, stuffing him full. Your hand crept up from below, and he shuddered and leaked as a finger brushed against his sensitive slit. âGonna open you up first, stupid.âÂ
He stared at you, lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but then looked away again, giving a small nod. âHurry.âÂ
âDonât rush me.â You continued to toy with the entrance of his slit, starting to slide one finger in. He was so wet that it went in without resistance, sweet-smelling slick dripping all over your hands and thighs, and you put in another one, starting to scissor and stretch him. âItâs really- wet. Is it sâpposed to be so wet?âÂ
âShut up,â he panted, both hands now gripping your shoulders, squeezing. âJust happens when Iâm- really aroused. I told youâmy heatâs coming.âÂ
It made you feel⌠good, knowing that he was so aroused, and somewhat because of you. You hummed, curling your fingers inside, earning you a sharp gasp and a quiet, almost petulant whine. âWhat happens during your⌠heat? Any, uh, precautions, stuff like that?âÂ
Zoro frowned. âHmm. No. J-just⌠fuck me good, and donât stop.âÂ
â... Huh. Sounds easy enough.â Continuing to thrust your fingers in and out of him, you reached a thumb out to play with his swollen clit, but he growled, grabbing your hand and pulling it out all the way. Youâd never heard a bunny growl before. It was kind of hot.Â
âPut it in. Iâm ready.âÂ
âSo needy. Iâm not going anywhere,â you sighed, stroking your cock a few more times, getting his slick all over your shaft. Shuddering at the sensations, you lined it up with his hole, rubbing it over his folds. âGonna make you scream, bunny.âÂ
You yanked his hips down, at the same time thrusting up hard, and he wailed out loudly as you bottomed out, trembling where he was, seated perfectly on your cock. The wet lips of his pussy stretched perfectly around your girth, clenching with a squelch as a creamy, milk-white fluid began to leak out. âOh, f-fuuck.âÂ
âDid you just cum?âÂ
âSh-shut up!â he cried, jerking upwards, the action causing more slick and cum to drip out of his soaked cunt. âItâs just the edge off, come on, fuck me already.âÂ
âThink itâll be better like this,â you murmured, arms wound around his waist as you reversed your position, gently pressing him into the mattress beside you with you still deep inside him. You recalled all the videos that you had watched beforeâthere was something called a mating press that you really wanted to try. It was primal, filthy and powerful, and you really wanted to put this bunny back in his place.Â
Zoro shuddered as you grabbed his thighs and folded them towards his chest, whining as it slid in even deeper. âFuck me,â he repeated.Â
You started to move, shallowly thrusting into him, the glide thick and easy. And Lord, did it feel good. He was looking at you with bedroom eyes, lewd moans bursting out of his parted lips, grinding back against your cock as his pussy swallowed you up whole. He clenched around you every time your cock grazed something that made him see stars, so wet you could feel his slick smear onto your balls every time they slapped against the curve of his ass.Â
âYes, fuuuck, yes,â he whined out as you started to pick up the pace, the pleasure almost cathartic. âHnngh, fuck me, fuck meââÂ
And that plump, muscled chest. It practically jiggled with every hard thrust, erect nipples peeking out from soft fur, practically calling out for you to suck and bite and ruin. And you did just that, diving down to take his pec into your mouth, suckling hard enough to leave a bruise as he let out a shocked whine, shuddering in your grasp. So he was sensitive⌠there. Fuck, you wouldâve never thought you would be so into pecs until you met him. He was bloody irresistible.Â
Zoro fisted the sheets next to his head, desperately holding on as you fucked him brutally into the mattress, plundering his insides in the most pleasurable way possible. âClose,â he panted, squeezing your bicep to get your attention. âT- touch me.âÂ
âI am,â you replied, looking up where you were, latched onto his now red and swollen nipple. You gave it another hard suck for good measure, and he arched his back with a cry, shaking his head.Â
âNot there. My- my clit.âÂ
You considered it. He was still leaking, and you were preeetty sure from the way your cock was pounding into him, his clit would be stimulated as well. He wasnât asking nicely, either.Â
âNo.â You retreated, thrusting into him with renewed vigour, aiming at the spot inside him you knew would make him tense up with pleasure, with the single purpose of giving him the best hands-free orgasm of his life. âCum on my cock, or donât cum at all.âÂ
âM-mean,â he protested, but his eyes rolled back the moment you went back to sucking on his nipple, shaky whines spilling, hands clawing down your back and leaving scratches that you were sure would scar. One final powerful thrust and then he was crying out, legs trembling and cumming all over you and the bedding. Something flavourful burst on your tongue, and you latched harder onto the perky nub and sucking hard, like you were trying to pull something dirty from the depths of this bunny.Â
You paused, reeling back.Â
âWhat the⌠fuck.âÂ
Zoro was doing the thing where his ears came down to cover his blushing face. â... âS just milk, donât worry.âÂ
âMilk? You lactate?âÂ
âNot really⌠only during my heats, sometimes.â He sighed shakily, plain relief written all over his face as he rubbed and smeared milk over his nipples. âItâll go away if you stop touching my chest, if youâre not⌠into it.âÂ
âYou kidding?â You stared at him, incredulous. âYou lactate, and you forgot to mention it to me before we, you knowâŚ? And of course Iâm into it. Donât stop- donât stop making milk.âÂ
Zoro looked positively embarrassed. The way you worded things was just downright ridiculousâyou didnât fuck like a virgin, but you sure talked like one.Â
âDoesnâtâ d-doesnâtâhngh, work like that,â he moaned as you took his nipple between two of your fingers, rolling the nub in between as more milk squeezed out, dribbling over your fingers. You brought it up to your lips to taste it, and it was too sweet, too divine. Was this even milk? You wanted more.Â
âHow else would it work, then? Never mind that, you taste really goodâŚâ you murmured, kneading one pec as you sucked on the other, warm milk entering your mouth like ecstasy. Zoro was letting out high-pitched whimpers, writhing in your grip as you attempted on sucking him dry, one hand gripping your hair as the other dug its nails into your back, teetering on the edge of pleasure and too much.Â
âS-stopâŚâ he sobbed, âIâll give you more later, so stop, okay?âÂ
His cunt squeezed around you, warm and wet, begging for your attention.Â
âFiine,â you relented, giving a wet parting kiss to his swollen nipple before drawing back. âYou better make it up to me, bunny.âÂ
âItâs Zoro,â he growled, and you shivered at the memory of him choking you, earlier. âNot bunny. If youâre going to fuck me, âleast call me by the right name.âÂ
You sighed, starting to thrust into tight heat again, dragging your cock against his tight walls, relishing in the feeling of them gripping onto your shaft, as though reluctant to let go. âYouâre so strict. Itâs no fun at all, bunny. And donât get the facts wrongâyou were the one begging me to fuck you earlier.âÂ
âFuck me,â he simply repeated, pants slipping out.Â
âSure, Iâll fuck your needy cunt.â You pulled out, lazily stroking yourself above his suddenly empty pussy. Pre-cum dribbled onto his slick folds, sliding into his cunt, and you watched his frustration contort into confusion as he furrowed his brows, because you were doing the opposite of what you promised. âTurn around, bunny.âÂ
âDonât want to.âÂ
âYou want to get fucked,â you said, âbut you donât want to listen.âÂ
He levelled a wary look at you. âWhat do I get if I do as you say?âÂ
âYour heat,â you muttered. âIâll fuck you for as long as you like.âÂ
Zoroâs eyes snapped to yours, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lip. âFor as long as I like, you say?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âIt goes on for days, sometimes. I wonât even let you leave this room.âÂ
âWhatever you want.âÂ
He nodded, finally satisfied. âOkay. Itâs a deal.âÂ
Zoro shuffled, reluctantly turning around, laying on the mattress on his stomach as he watched you cautiously from the corner of his eye. You swallowed at the sight of his cute, fluffy tail, and it twitched at you. The folded lips of his pussy peeping at you, squished together under a perfect round ass. âGet on with it,â he gritted out, and you were glad to obey.Â
Zoro woke up to burning heat.Â
He was still lying on his stomach, sweating and trembling with his joints aching, a low heat stirring in his abdomen. Fuck. Was it his heat already? He had anticipated it would be coming, but not this soon. He propped himself up on his elbows the best he could in his groggy state, only to cry out as something wet and filthy swiped past his slit.Â
âYouâre awake, bunny,â a voice muttered, and shit, Zoro must really be hearing things. The thingâa tongue, licked up the slick at his entrance lazily, smearing saliva all over him. âYou can go back to sleep, yâknow. This is a secret thing between me and your pussy.âÂ
âWhatâare you talking about?â he moaned, burying his face into the sheets as he allowed himself to be consumed by pleasure. âWhat secret thingââÂ
It hit him.Â
A blurry figure holding him down by the neck, yanking meanly at his sensitive ears, pounding his sore pussy from behind, the wet clapping of skin against skin, the arousing blend of degradation and praise, spanking his tail whenever he tried to snark back, pumping him full of cum until it dribbled messily out of his cuntâfucking him so brutally he thought he had died and went to heaven.Â
It all came back to him within a matter of seconds, and then so did you. Â
You were eating cum out of his pussy.Â
Zoro whimpered as your tongue breached him again, and he pushed his ass back eagerly, slick leaking out. There was a pillow placed comfortably under his crotch, it seemed, for easier access.Â
â... I passed out,â he stated.Â
You hummed into his folds in affirmation, the vibrations making him shudder into the mattress.Â
âMore,â he murmured, grinding his clit against the pillow, whining as you gripped his ass, tongue digging into the tender parts of his cunt. âWant you inside, my heatâs started.âÂ
Your eyes widened, and you pulled back slightly to gaze at him, licking your lips. âHas it? Doesnât feel any different.âÂ
âYouâre not the one in heat,â he sighed, hips continuing to rut down on the soft pillow, mindlessly chasing any sort of pleasure he could get his hands on. âBut- I think it started earlier. When we were fuckinâ. Hurry up and put it in.âÂ
You gripped his hips tightly to make him stay still, knees caging his thighs and already complying. The bulbous head of your cock pushed against his pussyâs lips before sliding in with ease, the overwhelming warmth making you shiver. âOh, fuck,â you groaned, bottoming out as he enveloped you whole, sucking you in deep like a greedy vacuum. Zoro whined in response, hands trembling where they clutched the sheets. âBunny, shit, relax.âÂ
âI-I am relaxed.â
You were both overstimulated, as it hadnât been that long since the last time you had fucked him. Every drag of your shaft against him burned, but it would never compare to the fire lit by his heat, insatiable and all-consuming. You reached forward, towering over him as you grasped his hand, pressing it into the mattress. Offering him⌠comfort. It was the least you could do.Â
Zoro was leaking again.Â
Milk dribbled down his chest and onto the bed, and you flipped him over to taste him again. He whined but didnât make any further protests as you leaned down to suck at his nipples, playing with the sensitive, leaking buds. You didnât stop moving, not until he came twice, cream oozing out from between his throbbing folds, overloaded. Staring down at him, you frowned, dissatisfied.Â
âGonna make you squirt, bunny,â you told him.Â
âY-yeah? âs gonna be hard.âÂ
âIâm gonna make you squirt,â you repeated.Â
âOkay,â he whispered, closing his eyes. He was already accustomed to how stubborn you could be.Â
You rolled your hips, loving the feeling of pussy wrapped around your girth. He was so tight, clenching around you with every thrust, drenching your cock with cum and slick and it was all too good. You wanted to make him feel even better. You wanted him to sing. Pressing a thumb to the top of his pussy, you started to stroke him in circular motions, stimulating his clit while you fucked him.Â
âFuck,â he panted, because you were finally giving him what he wanted after making him cum untouched for hours. âHarder, pleaseââÂ
You did just that, rubbing growing frantic, and his lips parted to let out a plethora of moans and whines, too fucked-out to form actual words. His cunt only tightened around you, a thick, creamy ring gathered at the base of your cock with just how much slick it was leaking.
Zoro was drooling openly now, and his expression looked exactly like the one he used when he had been trying to seduce you on your bed, just a tad more lewd, with his eyes half-lidded and his tongue lolling out. Cockdrunk. Satisfaction rolled through you like a violent convulsion, because this one wasnât at all an act.Â
You had reduced him to this stateâan animal in heat, no more no less. A pretty, slutty bunny, drunk on big cock.
âZoro,â you moaned, head falling onto the mattress next to his shoulder as you took him. You were drunk on pleasure at this point, hips rocking back and forth while you played with his cunt relentlessly. âMy pretty boy.âÂ
He choked, a shocked moan bursting out of his lips as you pinched his clit with little care, but that wasn't allâthe moment âZoro, my pretty boyâ registered in his head, he threw his head back with a loud cry, because his pussy decided that she loved your words.Â
âHnnngghh!â he sobbed out, ears stiffening and jaw slackening as he clenches around you with a vice-like grip, something like a waterjet shooting out of his gaping cunt, squirting all over you and your cock. âFuckfuckfuck, Iâm cummingââÂ
He was crying, legs jerking as they wrapped around your waist, only to squirt again as the action forced your shaft against his clitâand the sight was almost enough to send you over the edge. You plunged your cock deep into his overstimulated pussy, burying yourself to the hilt before cumming inside, shaking and groaning.Â
You were sure he had screamed.Â
âZoro,â you murmured, and watched as he fought down a smile.Â
Zoro. Not bunny. Zoro.Â
Thinking back, it was quite funny that this was what made him squirt in the end.Â
He looked down at where your hands encircled his waist, firm and protective, seating him on your cock. You smelt of sex and him, coupled with the musk that he became absolutely obsessed with after catching a whiff of it in your backyard, and all of it was driving him crazy. He sighed, burying his face into your neck.Â
Fuck. He was going to fall in love with you before he knew it, and you were just his heat partner. A human. It didnât make sense for a human and a hybrid to get together.Â
âZoro?â you tried again, and he hummed. âYou okay? Is your heat gone yet?âÂ
âNo. I told you, it lasts for days.âÂ
âOh.â You shuffled a bit from under him, the warm heat that stretched around you making you shiver. You bit your lip, staring at himâthe side of his jaw, his muscled body, the scar on his left eyeâand then his less human-like features, from his bunny tail to the fluffy fur on his chest to his long ears.Â
âWhatâre you thinking?â he grumbles, blinking an eye open to look at you.Â
âYour ears. Can I touch them?âÂ
âYou sure didnât ask when you yanked on them earlier. Bastard.âÂ
âSorry,â you said, grinning. âYou seemed to really enjoy it, though.âÂ
He punched your shoulder, and you pretended to yowl in pain.Â
â... Touch them all you want.â Iâll have to leave after this ends, anyway. And then weâll never see each other again. At least... not in this way. Â Â
Containing a smile, you carefully took them into your hands, and he shivered, a flush coming up on his face. They really were pretty. And sensitive. You noted that for future reference as you brushed a finger up its side and heard him whimper, clenching around you.Â
âThank you,â you murmured, and you meant it. He was lending you a part of him that he probably spent years building walls around, keeping himself safe from being perceived only by his appearance. You hoped it wasnât just because of his heat that he was doing this. But you could only hope.Â
âStay,â you told him, but it came out more like a question, uncertain and wavering.Â
âWhat?â Zoro looked at you confusedly. âIâm not leaving until the end of my heat.âÂ
âAfter that,â you breathed. âStay.âÂ
âI canât,â he sighed, shuddering at your firm gaze. âNot for too long. People will start to notice, nâ then those headlines will really exist.âÂ
âThen come visit,â you said, softly, taking his hands into your own and squeezing. Like usual, you didnât say, because at the end of the day, he was your backyard bunny.Â
He looked at you, feeling like a crater had been dug out from his chest. He squeezed back. âOkay.âÂ
You kissed him, loving the feeling of him under your touch, the strength, the sureness. His sturdy hands, one on your shoulder and the other on the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His heart was beating steadily against yours, and you found yourself loving its rhythm, too.Â
On the day Zoroâs heat ended, you woke up to an empty bed.Â
1. BOYCOTT - Starbucks and McDonaldâs have both said boycotts hurt them. Boycotting literally costs no money. Find some local alternatives and make things at home!
2. DO YOUR DAILY CLICK! This is literally free and still gives money to help Palestine! It resets every day (maybe even every 2 hours) so click away!
3. EDUCATE YOURSELF! This can help because youâre more aware of whatâs happening, and that means you can also educate others by knowing more about whatâs going on!
4. BOOST PALESTINIAN POSTS. Palestinian people have said that sharing their voices about Palestine is helping. Post and share everything you see. Especially verified accounts because they make money off of it! Itâs like donating without spending money. In the same light, DO NOT GIVE PLATFORMS TO ZIONISTS! Follow Palestinian accounts. Boost them, share them, give them a big platform. Tell others to follow them. Interact with them! Give them a voice!
5. SIGN PETITIONS! it takes less than a minute per petition, itâs free, and you can do it on your phone while watching TV (which Palestinians canât do). And it helps.
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Betrothed ~ Alpha FireLord Zuko x Omega male reader
Male reader fluff + a little smut! Mdni
Even after his father had been overruled, Zuko couldn't experience true freedom; bound by his duty as firelord
Part of that duty was of course, as an Alpha, to find a mate and continue the lineage of the fire nation
But when the firelord is brought a familiar face by the royal matchmaker, he's put at ease
This is really long for me so I hope u guys enjoy! Icl I don't think it turned out that great T~T
Zuko felt uncomfortable - both physically and emotionally. Physically, the firelord was uncomfortable from the head to toe firelord get-up; his advisors insisting he wears traditional Alphan fire lord clothing to his matchmaking appointment. He was deemed one of the luckiest men in the world, an Alpha born into not only wealth but royalty, but those blessings came with their own limitations. Zuko wanted to choose his partner, he wouldn't care of their secondary gender or status, the alpha just wanted the real love he had been deprived of all his life - and that was the root of his emotional discomfort. But nonetheless, as FireLord, he had a duty to his people and his honor, so Zuko was willing to go through with whatever was about to come.
As the matchmaker walks into the arranged meeting room, Zuko's nerves turn 10 fold - but he, of course, doesn't let that show, a simple chill running up his spine instead. He watches as the evidently Beta woman places down her folder and a packet of scent patches, sneaking a peak at her notes when she opens her folder; many graphs of scent compatibility catch Zuko's eyes along with his profile, clearly this woman takes her job seriously. After the matchmaker introduces herself, she hands out scent patches to any Alphas or Omegas in the room, allowing for Zuko to only be able to smell his soon-to-be mate and as to not overwhelm the Omega - afterwards, the woman starts to give a brief rundown of what will occur. Zuko listens attentively as he fidgets with his fingers beneath the table: the omega will walk in, she will read his brief information, the two will greet and scent each others wrists, if Zuko accepts the Omega then any advisors and herself will leave the room for the two to talk. It felt like the woman was talking forever, the FireLord's heart beating quicker and quicker by the second, but once she finally stopped, Zuko's head snapped to look at the door as the matchmaker stood up to let his future mate into the room. The last thing Zuko expected to see was his childhood friend - you, (y/n) (l/n).
"(Y/n)?!" Zuko stutters out, going to stand up but his advisors easing him to sit back down
"Ah! Zuk-..." you stopped yourself when you saw the matchmakers face, procedures had to be followed to a tee according to her. You make you way to the table Zuko was sat at and bow with grace
"FireLord Zuko, it's an honor"
Holy shit, your voice had such an immense effect on Zuko, the title of FireLord rolling off of your tongue perfectly. You were dressed in traditional clothing, ridiculously adorned with fire nation accessories, the sleeves of your clothing long enough to cover your hands as you nod and bow - you looked enthralling. Zuko had never seen you in this light, his contact with you having been cut before your secondary gender had shown itself, but man, did you really grow into a full Omega. Your scent was surprisingly the last thing the Alpha had noticed, but once he took a note of it, it was all the man could think of; a soft smell of flowers and cotton, it reminded Zuko of the happy portion of his childhood, but most of all it made his inner Alpha flare up like mad. The matchmaker starts to read off your information as you sit down in front of the royal, the both if you fighting smiles.
"(Y/n) of the affluent fire nation family of (L/n). Overall healthy with a blood type and astrological match with the FireLord. Most importantly, a 98% match between their pheromones. His fire bending is passable, but he passed top of his class in fire-healing. He has etiquette training, cooking, cleaning, and even medicinal skills as well as a fertility of 0.7 - one of the highest in the nation."
You cringed at all of your personal, embarrassing details were read off and watched as Zuko's advisors checked off on their little clipboards - but all of your negative emotions vanish when you catch Zuko's eyes, the warm smile on his face putting yoh at ease immediately. His scent was not only calming and anything but overwhelming, but it also felt like it was perfect for you, it was like gold was running through your veins every time you took a breath. The two of you snapped out of your infatuated dazes from the matchmaker coughing to draw attention. Zuko's advisors mumbled amongst themselves and then one whispered to Zuko, which resulted in a smile from the handsome Alpha which was followed by a nod - then, the next thing you knew, Zuko was holding out his wrist.
"May I scent you, (y/n)?" Zuko asked, initiating the scenting with his voice smooth like silk. You immediately agree and rub the scent gland on your wrist against Zuko's, your muscles instantly fully relaxing as his scent sticks to your gland. The two of you watch as all surrounding people leave the two of you alone and sit in a brief silence; that is until Zuko softly breaks it. Usual small talk turns into friendly catching up, Zuko interested in your life after the two of you were forced apart by life - you'd both talked about missing and thinking about each other and how you'd even witnessed Zuko's Agni-kai with his father. Over the half an hour that the two of you talked, your hands slowly crept closer together until Zuko's strong hand had its slender fingers intertwined with yours. Just before his advisors interrupted the two of you, Zuko had asked a question that shocked you
"Do you want to be my mate?"
Zuko knew the two of you had no choice in the matter, but because of his history with you, his previous and current soft-spot for you, he would want anything but to keep you in a forced relationship for his own benefit. After a short silence, a soft nod from you put Zuko's heart at ease; but that peace was only shortly lived until his advisors walked in and had you two follow along, the life of royalty barely giving the Alpha a chance to breathe. The two of you walked behind Zuko's head advisor, his other few trailing behind you both - and even they couldn't help but notice how right you two looked walking next to one another. After being escorted to your new shared bedroom, Zuko's advisors planned to take Zuko away to further discuss your relationship; however a wrench had been thrown into their plans when Zuko immediately disagreed, demanding that a discuss that surrounds you should include you. The way that the Alpha stood up for you made you beam internally, a small smile making its way onto your face, and with no room for argument, you left the room with Zuko and his advisors towards the meeting room. Passing by the throne room, the two of you notice some workers build you a throne as they did for Zuko - those advisors work really quick it seems - the both of you take into account how Zuko's is taller and positioned just a little higher than yous...
"We propose that the wedding happens by the end of the month" the lead advisor begins the discussion. The scene isn't necessarily foreign to you, your father having you sit in on meeting with the previous FireLord in this very room, a large table sits in the middle of the room, Zuko is positioned at the head with you next to him (kneeling in the floor) as his advisors sit at the opposite end.
"Isn't that a little too soon? Can't we have it by the end of the year?" Zuko argues, clearly not wanting to rush a delicate process
"One month is quite generous already, Lord Zuko... You must pull your nation together, a royal wedding is the type of celebration you need - the sooner the better, ten months is far too long" another advisor pops up
"One month isn't even enough time for me to properly court (y/n)" Zuko fights back, a calm demeanor on his face as he looks towards you and smiles
"My Lord, the Omega isn't the priority at this point in time, keep in mind you also need to provide an heir" the main advisor explains
"An heir? I understand the wedding, but the throne will receive an heir when the two of us so wish!" Zuko's tone shifts, clearly offended at the suggestion that your purpose in this marriage is to pop out pups
"Why don't we compromise to five months?" You pipe up, fidgeting with your sleeves as you look at the advisors
A short silence fills the room
"Don't speak during meeting, Omega" one of Zuko's advisors says to break the silence. All of then were thinking it, he was just stupid enough to say it
"I beg your pardon? Leave" Zuko demands, his tone devoid of emotion, and when the advisor protests, one look towards his guards has them remove the advisor from Zuko's meeting room.
"U-Uhm- Five months is acceptable, thank you" the lead advisor acknowledges your point, the first time you'd even been looked in the eyes by one of Zuko's trusted men
After the awkward meeting that surrounded your near and far future, the rest of your day reflected the whirlwind prior, sorting out royal duties and meeting Palace staff. But as the sun began to set and you made your way back to your room, Zuko stopped you
"Yes, my Lord?" You ask, looking up into Zuko's eyes with soft, tired eyes
"Y'know you can just call me Zuko..." the alpha blushes, the title really affecting him only when it came from your soft lips
"Haha... sorry, guess my training really did work" you chuckle
"Hmhm... was it really that intense?" Zuko asks as he starts to walk with you to the royal bedroom
"I mean... if you'd say 4 hours of etiquette training and 3 hours of learning how to please an Alpha a day is intense then yeah" you say with a sly smirk, the sarcasm in your voice evident
"Wow... I didn't even know... I've only ever had the regular royalty lessons" Zuko mumbles, closing the door behind you
"Yeah... even if I come from an affluent family, my secondary gender makes me get treated like a mutt" you say with a smile
"Well I promise you... I won't let that happen around here if I can help it." Zuko says sincerely, holding your hand in his firmly. The sweet gesture makes you blush, your words failing to come out of your mouth; your scent glands running rampant from receiving basic respect for once in your life! After a few minuets of silence, looking into each others eyes while blushing and breathing in each other's scents, Zuko suggests the two of you get to bed. You have to rip your eyes away from the Alpha as he let's his hair down, stripping off his heavy attire to his bare chest.
"Ah! Sorry! I'll step into the bathroom if you need" Zuko says with a worried look on his face as your insane scent snaps him out of his thoughts; your blushed face and eyes fixed on his toned body really giving away that your instincts were taking over.
"No! Sorry! Oh my, I'm so sorry!" You shout, tearing your eyes away and turning around embarrassed. Zuko chuckles and continues to change, but the same ordeal repeats when you begin to change - however, it was even more intense as the Alpha was practically drooling at the sight of your bare skin.
Sleep was very needed after such a chaotic day, and after a chaotic week, and a chaotic month. At some point, Zuko asked for your permission to court you, proposing with the crown given to the FireLord's mate; and of course, you agreed. Life started to seem less chaotic after that. Zuko would shower you with gifts every day and ensure to spend at least 4 hours a day with you, taking you out on dates to prestigious restaurants and on smaller dates in the Palace Gardens; it was enjoyable, it was the secondary school experience the two of you never had, having either been in private tutoring or single gender private school. It was also very evident that the two of you had never had your firsts in everything, of course, because of valid reasons; Zuko had been exiled near the time his secondary gender had come through! And you were under strict orders to stay untouched until you were mated, being collared for most of your life. But still, it was very evident that you two were massive virgins.
Point A: When Zuko proposed to court you with the priceless, beautiful artifact of the Royal family, you hugged him. The way that the Alpha turned red within seconds, his pheromones suffocating you, Zuko desperate to keep you in his touch as he scented you. It was clear that the young FireLord had never had even physical contact with an Omega.
Point B: The first kiss that the two of you shared. On a small picnic date in the gardens of the Palace under the moonlight a month into the alpha courting you, Zuko asked to kiss you. And holy shit when he did, the two of you were inseparable. Your lips were stuck to Zuko's for an entire half an hour, his tongue devouring your mouth as Zuko was taken over by his inner Alpha, pushing you gently to the ground and hovering above you. Your pheromones and his were running rampant, mixing in the air to make a stunning aroma, your moans were music to the Alpha's ears as your stomach did flips just from kissing Zuko. You could feel how hard Zuko was as he was grinding against you, desperate to feel you, desperate to have whatever he's been craving since he presented. Luckily, some guards stopped the two of you from doing anything that would get you into trouble.
Point C: Zuko is only 20, jealously is understandable. So when Sokka paid a visit to the Palace and required you healing after doing something stupid, Zuko had never felt what he felt in those few minutes. You, seeing another Alpha naked, touching his body to heal him with your fire, you'd never done that for Zuko! His pheromones were sour and his chest hurt, and once Sokka made his way to the guest room and you and Zuko to your own room, the Alpha demanded to know if you were infatuated by his water tribe friend. It was so evident that even seeing someone else's naked body was a high level of intimacy to Zuko, and even to you, it was at the time. But after kissing for the whole night, the Alpha's hands roaming your body gently, his jealousy faded away.
Eventually, the two of you made it official, Zuko's advisors already scheduling the wedding for the end of that week. The nation was ecstatic, hundreds of thousands of people either showed up or read about your wedding and mating to the FireLord. And that night, after finally getting permission from his advisors, Zuko set his eyes on marking you...
That night was intense, and it went on for ages, so here's a brief recap:
Once the two of you were basically locked in your bedroom by your advisors, Zuko decided to initiate
He held you against the door, and after gaining permission from you, looked down into your fucking sexy eyes, held your chin up to him and quickly started to kiss you
The Alpha held your waist and you chin, his tongue dominating you along with his insanely powerful and attractive scent
The two of you made your way to the king-sized bed without breaking the kiss once - Zuko on top of you as he undresses you
Once the two of you were naked, all hell broke loose
Your legs were placed onto the Alpha's broad shoulders, his two slender fingers immediately going to your slick-leaking hole
Moans filled the grand room along with a rich aroma of your scent mixed with Zuko's
You had cum already just from Zuko's fingers, and once he had licked up all of your sweet, sterile cum, Zuko aimed his huge Alphan cock at the entrance of your hole
The two of you went at it for what felt like hours, your bodies covered in sweat and scent glands releasing so many pheromones that they were beginning to liquefy and pool by your glands
Your hole had been stretched long ago, taking the shape of Zuko's huge, veiny dick
Eventually, Zuko couldn't hold back anymore, knotting you and cumming in unison with his Omega - the two of you taking the opportunity to fulfill your duty and mark each other
With that out of the way, the two of you spent the rest of the night making passionate love to one another, pleasuring each other in so many ways that your combined orgasm count for the night was 17! Luckily you two are literally built to have shit tons of sex!
And after that night, the two of you couldn't get enough of each other after finally tasting what you had been missing
For now, you were on the most expensive birth control - pills made in the earth kingdom using natural herbs and minerals that are almost 99% effective at keeping you and Zuko from providing an heir a little too early
So with the worries of pups out of the way, you two would go at it like... well... Alpha and Omega
Heats were insane but well spent with Zuko, the Alpha eating you out and fingering you for and hour minimum, making you orgasm plenty of times before satisfying the burn in your stomach with his huge cock
Zuko's ruts were when shit really hit the fan, his advisors would have to leave the palace and have it guarded for the week it lasted - luckily they were more rare than your heats
In summary, your Chambers walls have seen many things: from you worshiping the Alphan firelords body to Zuko letting you, the light of his life his Omega, ride him like a toy without permission to touch you
And in the future, once you two are ready for pups, Zuko can't wait to be the father he never had - and he knows that seeing you as a dad and care for his pups will further awaken something within him he never knew he had before meeting you
content : 1k words, fluff, established relationship, baby jaehyun agenda, uni au, baby/babe petnames, showering together ( sfw )
jaehyun bit the inside of his cheek as he continued to stare off into the distance, scanning the different faces that passed. his boyfriend was late. well, later than he usually was. jaehyun hadn't even agreed to meet him at a certain time, he just knew y/n's schedule, and he knew that y/n took this way back to his dorm after his class. he totally wasn't borderline obsessed.
"jaehyun? you coming?"
jaehyun looked over at doyoung and the rest of his friends, who were on their way back home after a long study group session. he quickly shook his head before turning his attention back to finding y/n.
doyoung let out a small scoff, unsurprised. jaehyun always seemed to put his boyfriend first, but his friends didn't necessarily mind. everyone knew y/n was jaehyun's world, and seeing their friend happy was enough.
"okay, we're heading to the party after we drop our stuff off at the dorms, so see you later." doyoung smiled while waving. jaehyun only nodded again as doyoung turned with the others and left him alone.
jaehyun sighed lowly. maybe y/n went a different way today? he pulled out his phone and rushed to hit the call button next to y/n's name.
after it a rang a few times, jaehyun finally heard his boyfriend's sweet voice coming through.
"hi, love."
"y/n!!"
y/n laughed softly at jaehyun's enthusiasm, "what's up?"
"are you done with your class? i'm waiting for you by the benches."
"oh, i agreed to get dinner with my friend tonight remember? i took a different way to go with her," y/n explained.
"oh, right.."
y/n could practically hear jaehyun's pout through the phone. he smiled to himself and quickly came up with a solution.
"tell you what, i'll come straight to your dorm after dinner and we can spend all night together. sound good?" he offered instead.
"mm, i guess."
"and i'll give you as many kisses as you want."
"alright, deal," jaehyun accepted, unable to keep his smile at bay.
"okay, see you soon!"
"bye, baby," jaehyun replied before ending their call.
jaehyun sighed and lowered his headset around his neck. he was trying to kill time by playing video games. it worked for the first couple hours, but now all he could think of was what time y/n would arrive.
just as he got up to go grab a drink, a knock finally sounded at his door. his eyes widened in hope while he skipped over to answer it.
"hi!" y/n chimed. he knew jaehyun was just about the most impatient man there was, so he tried his best to rush over to his room.
"y/nn," jaehyun hummed while pulling him inside. "missed you."
y/n smiled as his boyfriend held his face and placed small kisses all over him. y/n's hands lifted around jaehyun's waist, happy to accept the affection.
"how's my boy?" jaehyun asked once he finally stopped kissing. y/n blushed at those words.
"i'm alright. kinda tired.. you?"
"i'm good now that you're here," jaehyun answered quickly. "are you physically tired or mentally tired?"
"both."
jaehyun frowned. "wanna sleep?"
y/n shook his head, securing his arms tightly around the other in a warm hug. "no, i wanna be with you for a while."
jaehyun smiled. he was hoping for that answer. he cupped y/n's face again, kissing his lips this time.
"can i take a quick shower in your bathroom?" y/n asked.
"only if i can join."
y/n rolled his eyes and stepped away from jaehyun, his arms falling.
"we both know where that would go. i just want a quick wash."
jaehyun's lower lip poked out, grasping at the hem of y/n's shirt. "i promise no funny business! i just wanna be with you."
y/n stared at him with narrow eyes for a second. he sighed and nodded, "fine."
jaehyun instantly perked up. he gave y/n one more kiss on the cheek.
"thank you, babe."
y/n watched jaehyun skip into the bathroom happily, starting the water in his shower.
"i am dating a literal baby," y/n mumbled to himself before following after him.
jaehyun was already undressed and in the shower before y/n could blink. he found it amusing how jaehyun's demeanor always changed once they were alone. jaehyun needed a lot of attention and physical touch, but he hated being clingy around his friends. y/n didn't mind it though. if anything, he just found it adorable.
jaehyun watched as y/n slipped his shirt and bottoms off before he stepped into the shower with him. y/n was quick to duck his head under the water and rub his face in exhaustion. jaehyun reached up to help soak y/n's hair, his large hands gently threading through the other's locks.
a few moments passed in comfortable silence. y/n closed his eyes and let the water continue to run over him, while jaehyun watched with a content smile.
"long day?"
y/n only nodded at the question.
"can i do anything to help?" jaehyun asked.
y/n moved away from the water and wiped his face. he smiled and gave his boyfriend a light kiss on his lips.
"you already help so much, baby."
jaehyun couldn't help but grin at that reply. his dimples and pretty smiling eyes were y/n's favorite view.
"just keep being my jaehyun, okay?"
jaehyun quickly nodded before cupping y/n's face and kissing him again.
"i love you," jaehyun mumbled against his lips. he began moving down y/n's neck, trailing light open mouth kisses against his skin. y/n felt heat instantly rush to his cheeks.
"i love you too, jae.. let's not get carried away though."
jaehyun pulled away, still with his beaming smile, and nodded.
PAIRING: đđđ§đđđŤđ! đđŽđ đđŤ đđđđđ˛ x reader (gender not mentioned/implied/specified);
SYNOPSIS: Your first meeting with him was anthing but charming. Especially when he cornered you to the point, where you know you'll have no choice but to submit.
TW. implied age gap, manipulation, threatening (?), red flag, power imbalance;
đŚđđŹđđđŤđĽđ˘đŹđ
"How can I help you, sir?"
"Be my sugar baby."
You blinked owlishly, trying to process what this customer said and if it was on the menu. When in fact it turned out that it isn't and you connected the words and their meaning, you were ready to burst out laughing.
He can't be serious.
Just by looking at him, you can tell he occupies a high position in some fancy corporation. You were even ready to bet that he was a CEO! It was a mystery itself why he was here, in a food chain restaurant in the first place. An enigma why he even said something like that to you, a plain worker who is pretty much opposite in every aspect one could think of.
He is handsome, you give him that. Probably older than you, since his face was more defined and mature. His suit, which you imagned to be tailor-made, colonge that was so strong you could smell it from behind the counter and all the expensive accesories (I mean look at his watch! Worth univesity tuition installment or two!) he had on were probably worth more than what you owned now.
But no, you aren't stupid. Sleep deprived, yes. Hungry, yes. Broke, also unfortunately, yes. But not stupid.
This man must be high then. No other sane and sober and filthy rich man would propose something like that to the (broke) food chain worker during the first meeting.
You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to be calm. He is still your client and you are fighting to be this employee of the month. You can already envision your photo hanging by the cashier and feel the additional money in your bank account. You won't lose your cool now.
Instead, you plastered your best fake smile.
"I'm afraid that's not on our menu sir. Do you fancy something else?"
The man chuckled, as if you told the best and poshest joke known to mankind. Your eyebrow twitched, yet your smile didn't budget.
Calm down...he is high...let him laugh...employee of the month...additional money...!
"You're more amusing than I thought." đđđ§đđđŤđ! đđŽđ đđŤ đđđđđ˛ wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Trust me sweetie, I love how you call me 'sir' but that doesn't change the fact that my request still stays. I want you to be my sugar baby."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir."
"Ho ho, everything is possible." đđđ§đđđŤđ! đđŽđ đđŤ đđđđđ˛ hid his hands in the pocket of his pants. He was staring down at you, like you were the most interesting thing he saw in a long while. You began to feel uneasy and slightly curled into yourself. You didn't like how mischievous his smirk looked.
A beat of tense silence passed, before he spoke again.
"I won't back down, sweetie. You know, I've learned that when you really want something, you should fight for it till you'll achieve it. This situation is no different than a business. I provide you safety and money, while you agree to be mine and fulfill my (every) requests." He finished his speech with a smile worth a million dollars, showing off his pearly white and straight teeth.
"Sir -- "
"After all, you wouldn't want your current life to crumble, hm?" You froze when his expression became sinister and his voice lowered to the point of mocking. In your gut you began to feel dread. You knew this feeling bery well. It appears whenever you sense danger. Currently, this man in front of you was a person who you should be afraid of. One thing for sure, he wasn't lying when he said he can destroy you in a matter of one call.
Money rules the world.
"Your measly, little thing, who believes something will change. That it is just a stepping stone. But what if I make it your prison? Force you to be stuck here until you break under pressure? In the end, you'll still agree to be mine, sweetie. It depends on you if you want to suffer or not."
And destroy those who are too weak and gets crushed under its ruthless rule.
"This choice is yours." đđđ§đđđŤđ! đđŽđ đđŤ đđđđđ˛ straightened his back and only now you realized he was holding a sheet of paper. "All you have to do is to sign this..."
You knew you have no choice.
"So pick carefully, sweetie."
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đŽđ˛đ¸đ¸đŻ đŻđŞđŞđŻđť â shouta aizawa x male reader
w.c: 12.4k
warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin âknocked upâ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, â taboo â
sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! sheâs all done !! ŕťę°ŕžŕ˝˛â¸â¸T Ë Tâ¸â¸ęąŕžŕ˝˛ŕ§§ ⥠mâa lil rusty, forgive me !!
Youâre back home for the summer.
Wellâ not entirely. Youâre back at your familyâs summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. Youâve been looking forward to it since youâd graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.
The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. Youâve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But itâs the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .
âYouâre sure youâre taking the right route?â Itâs your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. Youâre sure sheâd smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but sheâs not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.
âIâve been doing this for years,â You haveâ itâs true. Though youâre only twenty-two, youâd driven this distance since youâd left for college. Thereâs a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.
âWhyâs there so much attitude in your voice?â Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.
âThere isnât any,â Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, youâre slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. â. . . attitude, Ma.â
She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood âhome.â Itâs almost exactly like youâd left itâ save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. Thereâs an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but thereâs already so much to take in.
The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadnât packed muchâ there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.
âI know you just got here,â The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. âBut could you bring these out to your father?â Sheâs holding a tray of decorative glassesâ or at least, youâd always thought they wereâ full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipopsâ one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. Itâs almost like sheâs trying to impress someone, with the way sheâs put so much effort into the drinkâs presentation.
Your lips curl to form a playful ânoâ, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffsâ as if she already knows what youâre about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, âLet me change first.â
In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasnât a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectlyâ before your growth spurtâ are now much too short, like theyâve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.
Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.
It all clicks as you walk outsideâ the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone sheâs trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.
Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dadâs ageâ maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. Thereâs age in his face, and worry between his brows as if heâd spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scarsâ forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray irisâ heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. Itâs pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.
His silhouetteâ tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. Heâs standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in blackâ down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His handsâ theyâre big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.
Andâ right, youâre here to help, not gawk. But you canât help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. Heâs like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.
âUh,â You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray youâre holding is weightless. âMa made these. Iâm supposed to help. . . or something. . .â
âOr something.â The man echoes, but itâs quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, âson.â
The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as theyâre passed aroundâ one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.
âMr. Aizawa,â Thereâs a beat of silence, but itâs quickly filled once youâve been introduced. âWorldâs cruelest teacher.â
âShouta Aizawa.â Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where heâd touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that heâs accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.
âAn old friend of mine, we go way back.â Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. âYou met him a few timesâ remember? Heâll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?â His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.
But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. Heâs awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shutâ occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. Itâs obvious youâre staring, maybe a bit too hard, but heâs the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.
And maybe itâs wrong to think this wayâ but heâs hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesnât make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.
âSo youâre staying with us, huh?â You eye the juicy meat heâs been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. Itâs rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding andâ you canât help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?
âDonât make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.â Itâs not entirely clear if heâs serious or not, but heâs certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. Youâd said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesnât seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.
âYouâre not strange.â Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you donât bother to clean, youâre already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentionedâ but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. Thereâs an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid youâd liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though youâre much older now, youâre not afraid to say you miss it.
âBut Iâm old?â Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. Thereâs a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.
âYeah. Old enough.â Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skilletâ just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?
Thereâs a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as youâre upright, Shouta canât stand to look for too longâ youâre a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and roundâ shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that heâs really looking, itâs obvious youâre not wearing anything underneath.
He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, thatâs not right, youâre simply just minding your own.
âUgh!â You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa canât help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once itâs retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, youâre not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. Heâs always known them to be dramatics.
Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since youâd brought out that damned lemonadeâ tugging on the hem of the fabric as if youâd suddenly grown conscious of just how short they wereâ heâd been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friendâs son, his presumed pride and joy.
Heâs fucked.
From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugarâ itâs hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesnât think heâd be able to listen anyway.
Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.
Shouta learns this at dinner, the dayâs hard work shared on plastic platters and glass
bottles in the middle of the beach. Thereâs a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the nightâs welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.
Youâre all sipping on beers, some more than others, but itâs enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. Heâs not incoherent, he never is. If anything heâs observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this eveningâs lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think itâ youâre jealous. Thatâs the second thing.
Even with Shoutaâs knee brushing against your own, you canât help it. Heâs so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner thatâs almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.
You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, âWhat?â
âYou want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?â Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. Itâs tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like sheâd stolen a precious moment away.
âRight,â You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you canât help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. âOh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.â
Youâre not supposed to swear in front of your parentsâ Aizawaâs paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesnât quite get. Either way, your expression. . . itâs sickeningly cute. Itâs cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.
His heart could almost burst.
âYouâre fine, kid.â Shoutaâs voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware youâre not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like theyâre something else. Heâs never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.
And maybe the fact that heâs more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that theyâre your parents proves that.
But theyâre pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. Itâs steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the âoâ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, âHere.â
There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesnât let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.
âI can do it myself.â You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.
âCan you?â His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. Itâs odd, the way youâre so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossipâ âthat boy just doesnât know what to stop,â âwhyâs he such a smartass?â â spoken about you directly by you.
âYeah,â Thereâs a shine in your eye that isnât just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. âI donât break that easily.â
Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. Itâs the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, heâs considering who would win in a brawl because he canât stop staring at his best friendâs son and his pretty, kissable lips.
Theyâre sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterdayâs dirt from the kitchen counter. Itâs a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that thereâs even a stain to clean.
Yep. Heâs fucked.
You suppose he should be focusing on the dishesâ not that thereâs much of those eitherâ but his attention strays.
It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.
âI think you got it.â
âOh, really?â Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. âDouble check for me?â
A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way youâre bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.
Itâd be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dadâs favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.
Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, heâll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until youâre a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Untilâ
Youâve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friendâs son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.
Heâs almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distractionâ youâre a real, honest brat. âYouâre still hungry.â
âIâm a growing man, Sho.â Itâs almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friendâs son as he bends forward at the waist.
Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. Youâd called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) youâre now sinking your teeth into. Youâve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once youâve returned to face him. Itâs obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shortsâ but heâd honestly have preferred to see that.
âI can see that.â
Rough palms press into your jawâ firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems heâs got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you downâ bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.
Thereâs always something in your mouth.
Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, âYouâre hard.â
âYeah,â It earns a dark chuckle, though thereâs not much light humor in it, âSo are you.â His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.
âUsually,â your gaze drops to his lips. âWhen two men,â Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it nowâ thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. âMake eachother. . . hard, theyââ
A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you canât help but suck the seasalt right off.
âBehave.â He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. Itâs not a question, not a suggestionâ itâs a demand.
âYouâre still up,â Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. âBoth of you, huh?â He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man whoâd just stepped away from you.
Shoutaâs eyes narrow.
âDonât tell me Iâm being replaced!â Heâs always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. Itâs just a joke, the both of you know it, but you canât help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. Youâre pulled in by the back of your head, your fatherâs hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, âRather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?â
âThat doesnât sound too bad,â Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. âAre you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?â
Then, his eye twitches, âWhen I want to be.â
Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. Thereâs a lot of things youâd like Mr. Aizawa to beâ rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? Itâs laughable, and couldnât be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but theyâre most definitely not the same. If only he knew.
âIâm sure youâre the best,â He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesnât quite meet your eyesâ but itâs convincing enough. âBetter than your other friends, right Dad?â
Shouta is avoiding you.
You know it, you can tell! Heâs always gone nowadaysâ a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. Youâve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and thereâ he may as well have disappeared. Heâs out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You donât want to say it, but you know youâre the reason why. Youâve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that nightâ even before then, itâd become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.
And, now, heâs grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast theyâve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwaveâ as if youâd want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. Thereâs your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your bloodâ even more so when your first thought is sheâs pushing fifty.
Then thereâs your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old timesâ over, and over, and over again. Even when youâre the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. Youâre right here.
So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But thereâs really only one thing on your mind.
It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. Itâs once youâve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shoreâ that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.
âThereâs my boy!â No oneâs boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shoutaâs face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.
Or at least, you think so. Itâs hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.
It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until youâre submerged in water from your kneesâdown. Thereâs a shout, something akin to a âcatch!â, and you have barely any time to react to the ball thatâs flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.
âWhat the hell?!â Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasnât even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And whatâs so good about that? Of all things to look atâ youâre right here! You donât leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. Youâre a constant, and you know you donât hurt to look at.
So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the legâ right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.
âFuck,â You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. âFuck, okay, shit, my bad!â
And it seems you canât move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if heâd forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you donât register it at first.
Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. Itâs quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. Itâs more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of âYour face!â broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.
âIâm not laughing.â You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.
Thereâs an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your bodyâ boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dockâ Aizawaâs presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.
Youâre left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutesâ his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way youâd only just noticed his prosthetic legâ at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You canât help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.
Itâs only been a month and youâre smitten. Heâd left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.
Thereâs not much you know about the manâ now that you think about it. Thereâs been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though thereâs more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you canât help but feel a bit jealous.
Hmph.
âWhatâre you sulking for?â His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hourâ Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.âThat ball bounce off your head, too?â
âIâm not sulking.â You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps ripplingâ it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle heâs hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of oohâs and ahhâs, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.
Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throatâ heâs staring right at you.
âUh â I wasnât. . anyway. . Whatâre you looking at?â
His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. Heâs slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if heâs talking to a small kitten. âCâmere.â
Youâre frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. âMr. Aizawa,â you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shoutaâs frame stiffenâ the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. Itâs not like you call him that when youâre in a particularly good mood. âYou didnât seem to want me around earlier.â
âQuiet,â He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game youâre playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. âYour parents were always around earlier.â
Oh.
You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skinâ such rough palms that cover your body â but youâre not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, âThey donât have shit to do with me.â
âYouâre, what, twenty-fiveââ
âTwenty three.â You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.
âTwenty three,â He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think itâs the interruptionâ heâll work on it later. Maybe heâs been struck by just how much younger you really are. âThey have everything to do with you. Youâre still their kid, I doubt theyâd be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.â
âBut they did,â You look around, as if to prove your point. Shoutaâs never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. âThey left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..â
âI get it. Weâre alone,â Shoutaâs voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when heâs irritated. âDrop the attitude.â Itâs different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You canât help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. Itâs just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.
Itâs not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heartâs content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throatâ and itâs almost eerie. You canât help but feel
like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.
Then it occurs to you. . . Heâs letting it build up.
âAnd youâre not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.â Obviously youâre softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. Youâre just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smileâ albeit sly. He canât stay mad forever. Itâs not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad itâs starting to hurt.
Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your bodyâ painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. Itâs been a while since heâs felt his skin against your own. Since heâs run his large, calloused hands along your body.
âWhat happened to âDaddyâ?â He asks, absentmindedly.
âWhat?â You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta canât quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. Itâs odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniestâ tightestâ clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.
Thatâs not it. You look smug. Youâre playing him for a damn fool.
âNothing.â Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. Itâs wrongâ itâs clichĂŠ, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friendâs son stupid. The man heâd just shared parenting advice to, the man heâd spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. Itâd been so innocent when heâd visitâ maybe he shouldâve never stopped. Maybe he shouldnât have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.
â âNothing,â â You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shoutaâs voice. If you werenât sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.
âAre you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?â He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.
âLet go, old man!â He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives himâ the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.
âHey,â You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, âHow many times do I have to talk to you?â Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, âWhatâd I say about the attitude?â
âI donât care what you say about it.â Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your faceâ you can barely get the words to sound convincing. Thereâs a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.âYou like it, donât you? Forget strange, youâre dirty!â
Heâs the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, âStop fuckinâ playing with me, little boy.â
âDad never lets me drive the boat,â Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. âDestroyed his last one when I was a kid,â (He doesnât have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your fatherâs fault than your own. âThis oneâs nicer anyway.â
âThatâs wasteful.â Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that itâd be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldnât be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.
âTo you,â You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passengerâs seat with much more force than necessaryâ especially when sitting on a boat. âI did him a favor.â
The cooler did a poor jobâ your ice cream is already melted and soft once itâs unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. Itâs hotâ your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.
If only it were his cock.
Shoutaâs thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, heâs sure youâd feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. Youâd probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongueâ how much itâs stuffing you full when it hasnât even slid down your throat yet. Youâd cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.
âWant some?â You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shoutaâs lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. âYouâre staring pretty hard.â
âSit up,â The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man canât find a reason to look away. âBefore you hurt yourself.â
Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. Theyâre longâ healthy, strong, clipped haphazardlyâ big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his ownâ and though he remains with all five fingers up, heâd be lying if he said he didnât feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, âWant you to hurt me instead.â
âHush,â Thereâs a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. Itâs evident he wants to say moreâ in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. âYou hardly know me.â
Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if thereâs only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like youâve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit itâ itâs cute.
âI know you grew up with my dad,â He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. âI know you have two kidsâ adopted, right?â
âHitoshi and Eri.â He interjects, voice soft and fond. Youâd never noticed it before, but now youâre acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shoutaâs relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.
âLucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,â Aizawa isnât sure which word heâs more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his wordsâ but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaftâ he doesnât like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something thatâd sound better through choking and gaggingâragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. âHow old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .Youâre justââ
âListen to me,â Perhaps itâs not very characteristic of him, but he just canât stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. âFor as long as Iâm here,â he offers a squeeze. âFor as long as your father is here,â then another, âTurn. It. Off.â
Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink onceâ twice, evenâ before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.
âIâll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.â
The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. Itâs so easy for you to say anything around himâ like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesnât miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.
The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawaâs jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You canât help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.
Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shoutaâs throwing away wrappers (theyâre all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.
âCâmon, baby.â You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.
Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. âIâm staying outside.â
âYouâll get heatstroke.â Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lipsâ youâre embarrassed.
He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you uprightâ in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.
You just wonât budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearmâ hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawaâs irises.
You were holding hands.
Itâs been days. You havenât left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesnât worry. He doesnât think twice about it, doesnât question why you donât come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it itâs always the same thingâ âThatâs just how he is when he doesnât get his way,â or âHeâll come around.â The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why heâs so enamored by their sonâ even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.
And that isnât even it.
He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrongâ
He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friendâs son. Itâs wrong and itâs taboo, but so help him, he yearns.
His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, youâd made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.
âYou ready to talk yet?â He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe itâs unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldnât think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, thereâs nothing thereâ heâs only ever competing with himself. He just canât help it.
Maybe heâs a bit spoiled too.
âI donât like being ignored.â Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.
Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. Thereâs tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabiliaâ but itâs all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. Thereâs a few scattered photosâ awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naiveâ but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.
âNone of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe âToshi would.â You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. Thereâs something left unsaid between the small string of wordsâ and itâs sour. Twists on Shoutaâs tongue, like heâs bitten into old bread, and itâs not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, thatâs not exactly what heâd call this. . . relationship, but itâs not like itâd feel wrong. And heâd certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. âGuess my sheets werenât silky enough. Can tell you what was, thââ
âI like it.â Itâs simple. The admissionâ simple and sweet, like itâs obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when youâre caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what youâre doingâ redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, heâll admit it)â and it makes you seem softer, almost.
He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, âThat's it? You just â like â it?â
Heâll give it to you, you never give up. Heâd been warned, he was skeptical, and heâs been proven wrong. And, in the brunetteâs head, youâd tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.
âWhat else would I say?â
âThat itâs nice,â You cock your head to the side. âThat youâve never seen a room so nice. Which mâsure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I canât imagine what itâs like being a single father of twoâ or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.â
The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, âYou spoke to him.â
âYou ignored me,â You say it as if itâs obvious, simple, that if you canât have Shouta youâll have to settle for the next best thing. And though itâs not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you donât think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawaâs chest. âWanted your attention, Daddy.â
Thereâs a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, âYou donât know what you do to me.â
âShow me.â
âShh, sh, sh,â Shoutaâs cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forthâ like you canât tell whether itâs too much or too little. Thereâs a slight burnâ the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throatâ but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but youâre too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.
He mustâve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. Thereâs a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. Heâs quick to correct himselfâ you only ever seem to behave when youâre stuffed with his dick, and he canât have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gagâ tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.
You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. Youâre starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what youâve been wanting for the past month.
âStop fuckinâ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,â The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.
You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feetâ itâs all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. Itâs so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.
Itâs hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. Youâre getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. âCâmere.â
And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. Itâs as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, âYou can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.
Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fineâ you can show him better. You can break him first.
You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. âWhat, need help gettinâ it up? Fuck you, can do it mââ
Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.
ââ I wasnât asking.â You really fucked up now, eyes wide as youâre lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shoutaâs strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and youâre sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard âHey! I wasnât done!â, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.
Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, youâd expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, thereâs nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the otherâ itâs just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tugâ he will.
Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, âSâit too much? Daddyâs poor baby.â
It shouldnât sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when itâs condescending and rough, even when heâs cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.
But it does.
âDaâddy. . !â your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.
âQuiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,â Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenchingâ but itâs just so hard. Being a brat is easyâ itâs funâ youâll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you wonât break and give him what he wants. Heâll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.
Delayed gratification.
Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but itâs reduced to a wet moan. You feel itâfingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.
âOh, god,â You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds andâ oh, a finger slips inside. âFingersâ thatâs, oh god..â Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick youâre beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.
âFuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddyâs fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?â If you could see his face youâre sure heâd be smilingâ an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. âCâmon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.â
You canât help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. âFuck me already, câmon, old man.â
âThat what your little âboyfriendsâ do?â Your lip quiversâ he hadn't even flinched at the sassâ and instead used your own words against you. âOh, baby. They didnât give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?â
Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, âThatâs it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.â
Itâs ironicâ he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amountâ you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?
âWhat am I gonna do with you.â He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.
Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, âSuck,â He murmurs, but itâs forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, âDaddy?â
âItâs okay, Iâm here,â He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, thereâs no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. âKeep sucking, atta boy.â
His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and youâre incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls untilâ
He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. âYou can take it,â He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. âThatâs it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it tâme. Let Daddy have it..â
He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that heâs popping back into his mouth, thereâs the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole andâ
Oh.
âSweet.â
You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shoutaâs cock as itâs worked inch by inch into you andâ you canât fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything youâve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.
âYouâreâ fuck, youâre so gross, Daddy,â Shouta grits his teeth, âOhh, havinâ your best friendâs son on your fat cock, fuckinâ my pussy so full. . !â Youâre straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this positionâ knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to moveâ but itâs cute to watch you try anyway.
âShut up and take it,â He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. âDonât want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?â
âDaddyâ Daddy, my pussyââ Youâre babbling, itâs all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You canât stop twitchingâ your legs, your hole, your cock.
âThis is Daddyâs pussy,â He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot youâve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall youâve got wrapped around him. âJust like that,â Youâre gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but youâre a damn good slut.
âUh-huh, uh-huh. . .â Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, youâd scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest â stickiness shooting out your spent cock until youâre twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all heâs got.
âDumb sluts love cock, baby. Sâthat what you are?â His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.
âYeah, mhmm,â You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. Youâre desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. âDaddyâs slut, sâme!â For a minute you think youâve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.
âGood sluts take Daddyâs cum,â Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. âTake it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.â Itâs messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shoutaâs cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nervesâ fuck, itâs so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you canât move.
He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when youâre limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.
âDaâ Daâddy,â You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boyâs afterglow.
âDaddyâs here. Iâm here, I got you.â He whispers into your shoulder, and thatâs all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts awayâ youâre more than that. Youâre not just his best friendâs son. . .
Youâre Shoutaâs boy.
Summer is coming to an end.
Thereâs a seasonal chill in the air and itâs getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole timeâ shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, âI donât wanna leave.â
âSpring break,â Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, âI donât want you to, either.â
Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. âWill you call me?â
âWhenever you want,â He says, as if itâs the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. âYou know I will.â
âž featuring: gym bro! sungchan x m! artist! reader
âž synopsis: sungchan gets to...sleep with his crush !!
âž content: (3.3k words), smut (18+ mdni or i will kick you), the sex is protected in this one (gotta be responsible), consensual photo taking, honestly this is just standard smut, nothing special
âž notes: PART TWO BABYYY, this is a special collab with kyu !!!! @luvkyu this is where the nasty, filthy magic happens
âž jaemmphilia, 2024. plagiarism of any kind is forbidden.
part one (in case you missed it)
y/n stands at the edge of his bed, his hand holding his chin as he stares at the two sets of clothes laid out so nicely on his bed. his socked feet scratch his bare legs as he hums softly to himself.
y/n is aware that no one at the bonfire is going to care about what he's wearing, too occupied with cuddling close to the fire with their partners or crushes. and y/n is also aware that it's just an outfit, but he doesn't want to turn up to the function looking like hot garbage.
he considers the outfit on his left, but he realizes how much he likes the shirt on the right, it just doesn't go well with the pants on the left. he also considers going to seunghan's dorm and raiding the younger male's closet (seunghan has the best hoodies that smell amazing).
but then y/n's mind wanders to the reason why he's going to the bonfire in the first place.
sungchan.
he feels his face warm up at the thought of possibly snuggling close to sungchan as the light from the fire illuminates his strong features. sungchan's muscular arm wrapped around his shoulders as they whisper about whatever is on their minds.
y/n thinks about the way sungchan had given him a pat on the head just a hours ago, and it makes him chuckle. he doesn't know why sungchan went with a head pat, when there were plenty of other dismissal options in the entire world (a kiss on the cheek would've been less odd).
y/n just shakes his head and checks his phone. he has a few messages form seunghan, the other male announcing he would be barging into y/n's dorm in 5 minutes. y/n prepares himself for his best friend's presence, he quickly gets dressed and fixes his hair how it typically looks on a normal day.
--
when the two males arrive at the beach, bag of drinks in hand, they search around to see if there are any open seats for them to sit in.
"y/n! over here!"
y/n turns his head toward the voice calling his name and he sees shotaro, waving his hands and motioning for him to come over. y/n also notices eunseok and sungchan sitting next to him along with two empty chairs.
y/n smiles and walks over to the trio, seunghan right behind him. y/n picks the chair that's right next to sungchan, forcing seunghan to sit next to eunseok. y/n can see the pout on seunghan's face from his peripherals, but his eyes are on sungchan.
"we brought you guys some drinks," y/n says once he realizes he may have been staring for too long, "we didn't know if drinks would be provided, so we stopped at a 7-11 on our way here."
"y/n, ever the sweetheart. always thinking about others and not himself," shotaro says, bringing his clasped fits up under his chin and wiggling his body from side to side.
y/n stifles a laugh and shakes his head at his friend, "be quiet, taro," y/n chides his friend, reaching into the bag and passing a drink to sungchan to pass to shotaro.
as sungchan takes the can from y/n (he isn't looking at y/n, he's too busy listening to what eunseok is saying about some game), he feels his hand come in contact with something warm. he whips his head to look at the male beside him, his eyes staring intently into y/n's own pair.
sungchan just stares, his chilly fingertips laid gently on top of y/n's much warmer fingertips. shotaro snickers along with eunseok and he can faintly hear the shutter of a camera. he blinks and snaps out his lovestruck trance. he clears his throat and passes the drink down to shotaro who is still giggling like a schoolgirl. sungchan mutters a soft, 'shut up..' which only makes shotaro's giggles turn into full on cackles.
"i'm saving those pictures for a later day, b-t-w," shotaro says once his laughter dies down, and sungchan wishes he could just press the mute button on a remote and shut his friend up and save him from anymore embarrassment.
y/n just snickers and keeps passing the drinks around until there are no more. the group of five open their drinks and enjoy each others' company with light chatter and silly stories.
--
as the night goes on, there are laughs and happy energy shared between the five newfound friends. y/n checks his phone for the first time since they arrived a the bonfire, and he feels the color drain from his face. he gets up quickly, causing the other four guys to look at him with surprise and confusion.
"what's going on, babe?" shotaro asks, his brows furrowed at his friend's sudden frenzy.
y/n doesn't even acknowledge the pet name shotato insists on using. he's too busy digging his fingers into his eyes, a stressed groan falling past his lips.
"my roommate just texted that he was going to be bringing his long-distance boyfriend back to our dorm. so i can't go there tonight," y/n explains, leaning back in his chair, his head tipped back, exposing his neck muscles straining from the movement.
sungchan stares at the exposed skin of y/n's neck. he can't help but let his mind wander what the expanse of skin would look like with dozens of purple and red blotches littering the once clear skin.
sungchan is snapped out of his thoughts when he feels a pinch on his upper arm. he jerks his arm away and rubs at the sore spot as he looks at shotaro pointedly.
shotaro nods toward y/n, silently urging sungchan to offer his dorm and company to his crush. sungchan doesn't say anything for a second, his mind running a mile a minute at the thought of being with y/n in such a small place. he feels his stomach turn and he swallows the lump in his throat.
"you-" sungchan starts, his voice cracking but clears his voice before speaking again, "you can crash at my dorm tonight, my roommate is out of town for a few days."
y/n ponders the offer for a second. does he really want to be alone with his crush in a smaller space than he's used to? he weighs his options; he could either stay with seunghan, who tends to kick in his sleep and oftentimes talks in his sleep, or he could stay with sungchan and possibly get to know the muscular male better in the process.
after a moment of pondering, he replies:
"sure, it would probably be better than sleeping with seunghan, anyways."
"hey, that's mean, y/n!" seunghan defends, pointing a finger at the male who insulted him.
"i wasn't trying to be nice, hannie."
--
sungchan enters his dorm, y/n right behind him. he flips the light switch on, allowing y/n to get a good look at the room. y/n takes in his surroundings, taking note of the posters littering the walls. he sees a lot of sports posters and a few posters of musicians. as y/n's eyes look around, his eyes land on a little photo collage on the wall next to sungchan's bed.
he steps toward the bed to get a better look. he sees some landscape photos and some polaroid photos of shotaro and eunseok. a smile creeps onto his lips as he realizes that sungchan was the one to take the photos.
"i didn't know you did photography," y/n points out, making sungchan turn to the other male, "you're really good."
sungchan's cheeks grow pink at the compliment. not a lot of people are aware of his hobby, only his close friends and some of his family members.
"thanks. it's really just a hobby that i indulge in when i'm not in the gym or in class," sungchan explains, "i have more pictures. if you want to see them, that is."
"i would love to see them! besides, you've seen my art, i think it's only fair i get to see yours."
sungchan just chuckles and get his camera out of its bag. he powers the device on and waits for it to boot up. y/n marvels at the camera.
"woah, i didn't expect you to have a high quality camera. i figured you took them on your phone." y/n says, his eyes wide as he looks at the expensive camera.
"i mean, i like taking pics on my phone for portability reasons, but i like the outcome of the pictures way more when they're taken with this camera." sungchan explains, y/n letting out a soft 'oh' in understanding.
"i know how you feel. i have cheaper supplies available to me, but i like the outcome of the more expensive supplies better."
sungchan nods in agreement and he shows y/n the various pictures he's taken with his camera, the two of them sitting on sungchan's bed, their arms touching. neither of them seem to mind that their arms are touching because of how close they are.
once they get to the end of the photos, they look at each other and finally take in the proximity. sungchan stares into y/n eyes before his eyes automatically flit to the male's lips.
y/n takes notice of this and decides to lick his lips while sungchan stares. sungchan sucks in a breath, his eyes wide.
"is something wrong, channie?" y/n teases, and typically the nickname wouldn't turn him on, but the way y/n says it has sungchan's cock twitching in his pants.
"can i kiss you, y/n? i don't know if i can hold back any longer."
y/n just simply nods, and sungchan gathers up as much courage as he can, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips.
sungchan scoots closer and leans in to connect his lips with y/n's. the kiss starts out soft, their lips molding together for a moment before sungchan's hand comes up to cup y/n's jaw gently. sungchan's tongue swipes against y/n's plush bottom lip, the other male allowing him to slide the wet muscle inside his mouth.
the kiss only escalates from there, the male swapping spit and moaning into each other's mouths. sungchan pulls away and attaches his lips to y/n's neck, kissing the skin lightly. y/n just sighs, tipping his head to the side to give sungchan more room to work with. y/n slides his hands around to sungchan's back and he slides them under sungchan's hoodie, discovering that the male doesn't have a shirt on.
y/n lets his hands rub and grip at sungchan's muscular back. he feels the male nibble at the side of his neck and he moans softly at the feeling. it stings, but in a good way.
sungchan ends up lightly pushing y/n down to lay on the bed. sungchan is grateful that he and his roommate decided against putting their beds atop each other to make bunkbeds. if they had done that, sungchan would have definitely hit his head and possibly concussed himself before he was even able to touch his crush.
sungchan climbs over y/n and sits back on his heels. he quickly pulls off his hoodie, allowing y/n to see the one thing he dreamt about seeing. y/n takes in sungchan's bare torso, his skin the perfect honey color. y/n takes in the way sungchan's muscles ripple with every single movement he makes and y/n feels like he's drooling.
sungchan connects his lips with y/n's again, his arms on either side of the smaller male.
as they continue to make out on sungchan's bed, they take turns ridding each other of their clothes until the both of them are fully naked in front of each other.
as sungchan takes in y/n's naked form laid out on his bed, his eyes glance at his camera sitting on his bedside table. y/n notices that sungchan is looking at his camera and he already knows where sungchan's mind is going.
"i'll let you take one picture," y/n says, his hand reaching up to lightly pull sungchan's head to look at him, "if you keep it in a secret folder where no one can ever see it but you."
sungchan nods with out hesitation. he would hate to betray y/n's trust, especially before the two of them even had the chance to talk about their very obvious feelings for each other.
"yes, of course. i wouldn't dare show anyone something as intimate as this," sungchan says, reaching over to grab his camera and fiddle with the settings.
once he gets his settings exactly how he wants them, he holds his camera up to his eye to see what kind of angle he's looking for. sungchan gets into his photographer mode, his brows furrowed and his tongue poking out from between his lips.
y/n just giggles at the male, a soft smile painting his pretty face. sungchan quickly snaps a few pictures, capturing y/n's gentle smile and his eyes that are closed. y/n's wasn't posing purposely, he was just laying there on the bed, his body language comfortable, with this hardening length covered by his plush thigh.
sungchan removes the camera from his face and he takes a look at the results. his breath hitches and a warm feeling pools in his stomach. his cock stands at full hardness, which doesn't go unnoticed by y/n.
y/n sits up and reaches out to stroke sungchan's length. his hand wraps around the males cock, his up and down movements very slow, but his grip is snug.
sungchan almost doubles over, nearly dropping his camera. y/n apologizes with a laugh, his movements pausing while sungchan carefully puts his camera away.
once the camera is safe and sound, y/n begins to stroke the cock in his hand. he adjusts his position so he is able to wrap his lips around sungchan's cock. y/n bobs his head up and down, his tongue licking around the underside of sungchan's cock. his hands stroke whatever he can't fit in his mouth, and sungchan knows he isn't going to last if y/n keeps going.
sungchan shudders, a telltale sign that he's close to his release. sungchan places his hand on y/n's head and lightly grips at the male's strands of hair at his crown.
"y/n, baby," he sighs out, his head lolling backward, "baby, you have to stop before i bust."
y/n looks up at sungchan through his long lashes and detaches himself from sungchan's cock with a wet pop.
sungchan regains his composure and looks down at the male in front of him. y/n has drool mixed with precum gathered at the corners of his mouth and on his lips. sungchan gets the two of them back in their laying position, his hand snaking toward y/n's behind.
sungchan kisses y/n while his hand slips between the male's cheeks, his fingers gliding along y/n's rim. this action draws a shiver and a whine out of y/n, the male's eyes closing.
sungchan slips a finger passed the puckered muscle, taking note of how easy it was to do so. had y/n touched himself before the bonfire in hopes of getting fucked by him?
"my finger just slid right in," sungchan says after he stops kissing y/n, "did you prep yourself beforehand?"
y/n's face and neck gets warm at sungchan's question, he takes a second to answer, his mind clouded with sungchan, sungchan, and sungchan.
"i did, but not before the bonfire," y/n says, his voice shaky from the amount of pleasure he's under.
sungchan nods, slipping in another finger and spreading his digits to stretch the male (although he's stretched pretty good, what did he use?).
"you stretched yourself pretty good, baby. think you can take me?" sungchan teases, chuckling at how y/n writhes under him.
"channie, please," y/n begs.
"please what, baby? you gotta use your words."
"please fuck me, i can take it," y/n continues to beg and whine, his back arching off of the bed as his cock spurts precum from the tip.
sungchan wastes no more time, reaching over to dig in his bedside table's drawer to fetch his condoms and lube. once he retrieves the items, he tears the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolls the rubber onto his cock.
he shuffles his way in between y/n's spread legs and guides his slick cock into y/n's entrance. the two of them let out moans in unison, sungchan's being deep and guttural, while y/n's was more whiny.
sungchan bottoms out and allows himself to really gauge his current situation. he's buried deep inside his crush, something he never thought he would ever get to experience. sungchan allows y/n to adjust to his length and once he notices the male begin to rut his hips, he starts to rock his hips forward.
sungchan hovers over y/n, his arms once again caging the male in. sungchan sets a normal pace, not too fast, but not slow either. sungchan is aware that y/n isn't a virgin and that he's fairly experienced in the sex department, but he doesn't want to overwhelm the male under him. this is their first time together and he doesn't want to ruin it by being greedy.
"you can pick up the pace, please," y/n says, his face twisted up with pleasure, but sungchan can tell that he wants more.
sungchan replies by rutting his hips at a quicker pace, his entire length disappearing inside y/n, making the two of them moan and groan together.
after a handful of thrusts, y/n starts to get even whinier and his grip on sungchan's bicep tightens. the male arches his back and his cock starts leaking, the whiteish liquid dribbling down the sides of his cock.
sungchan picks up the pace once again, his hips beginning to stutter as he feels that familiar band in his lower stomach stretching and finally snapping, spilling his load into the condom. y/n follows right after, his load splattering against his stomach, some of it landing on sungchan's lower stomach.
--
the sun beats into the window, the bright light shining right into sungchan's eyes, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he stirs. his body feels spent as he remembers what happened last night.
his arms also feel full and as he adjusts to the light, he sees y/n laying there in his arms, the male scrolling on his phone. sungchan can't quite see what the male is looking at, but he guesses it is either social media or pinterest.
"morning," y/n says as he feels sungchan stirring and waking up, "did the sun wake you up?"
sungchan hums an affirmative, his hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, his body stretching, muscles flexing. the early morning glow warms up the natural honey color of sungchan's skin, the shadows of the blinds making him look like a painting made by leonardo da vinci himself. he hears a camera shutter and he opens his eyes.
y/n is no longer in his arms, but he's laying across from him, his phone in front of his face as he wears a cheeky smile on his face. sungchan gives him a puzzled look and y/n just giggles.
"what? i needed a drawing reference," y/n explains himself, squealing when sungchan pulls him flush against his chest, his hands lightly grazing the male's skin and tickling him.
"i guess it's only fair because i took pictures of you last night," sungchan says, resting his chin on top of y/n's head.
y/n just nuzzles his face in sungchan's neck, his nose lightly rubbing the skin, making goosebumps form on the male's skin.
the two of them spend the morning cuddled up in bed, choosing to ignore their friends texts asking if they're both alive and if they're sore.
2087
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