#and there's two crystal sands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dabisbratz · 1 year ago

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — 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 ‘knocked up’ 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, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s 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. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d 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. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s 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. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s 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.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” 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.

“There isn’t any,” 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, you’re 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. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— 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. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s 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 hadn’t packed much— 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.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve 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 outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s 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 dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d 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 scars— 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 iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s 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 black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s 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.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s 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, “son.”

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 they’re passed around— 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.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” 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. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” 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. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s 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. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” 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 don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s 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 you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s 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 you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t 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 it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s 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 you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s 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 sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s 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 night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s 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 it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s 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, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s 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 she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” 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 can’t 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. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s 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.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s 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 you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s 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 he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s 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 ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t 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.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ��that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s 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, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s 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 there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— 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.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

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 you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d 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 dad’s 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, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve 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 friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s 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 friend’s 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. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— 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 he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s 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, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” 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 now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

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 can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” 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. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” 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. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s 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 blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s 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 times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re 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 there’s 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. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s 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 you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s 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.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t 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 leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” 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. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t 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 he’d 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 don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s 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 “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s 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 there’s 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 can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” 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 rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, 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 throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s 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 he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re 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, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s 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. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s 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 can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t 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. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s 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 it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t 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.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” 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.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” 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, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” 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 face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” 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. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t 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 father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t 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.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s 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. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t 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, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

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 there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s 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.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t 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 that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

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 once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

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. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t 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. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t 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, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re 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.

“C’mon, baby.” 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. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” 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 lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— 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 Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t 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 wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s 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, you’d 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.

“You ready to talk yet?” 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 it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” 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. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— 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.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re 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 you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— 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, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

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, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s 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, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s 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 forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— 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 you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s 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. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— 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. You’re 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 you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” 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 feet— it’s 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. It’s 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.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re 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. “C’mere.”

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. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You 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. Fine— 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. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s 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 you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s 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 other— it’s 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 tug— 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, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” 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.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” 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 clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll 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 it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers 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.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re 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.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t 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. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

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, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— 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 amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” 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, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

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 you’re 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 until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” 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. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t 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 you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re 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 position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s 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 can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re 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 you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re 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 he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” 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.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve 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.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s 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. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s 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 can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” 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 boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s 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 time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

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. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s 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. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

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elizaleclerc · 6 months ago

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suddenly, it was everything ✿

lando norris x reader

summary: fem best friend!reader and lando take a beach trip with friends as their relationship slowly turns into something more…(warning! smut & descriptions of blood)

songs: pink + white by frank ocean , the elevator by lizzy mcalpine , lunch by billie eilish (lol)

author’s note: i don’t typically write smut but i got an itch and had to scratch it with this one ; everyone knows about his feelings for you BUT you / hurt comfort / it’s always been you / other drivers playing matchmaker <3

word count: 4.6k

The warm sand tickled your legs as the ocean waves gently lapped at your feet. You had left your group basking in the sun on the beach to cool off in the refreshing water. Your close-knit friend group loved taking vacations during breaks in the intense racing season. This time, you found yourselves on the picturesque coast of France, staying in Alex's luxurious beachfront condo. You were grateful that he graciously offered to let everyone use his space for this trip.

Even as the only girl in the group, you were always welcomed with open arms, especially by Lando, who considered you his best friend. Charles, Lewis, and Oscar had all come to see you as a dear friend as well. They never complained about your company, as they relished in the joy of having you along on their adventures. Together, you formed a tight-knit family, seeking solace and tranquility in each other's company before diving back into the high-stakes world of racing.

You waded deeper into the water, feeling the gentle caress of the waves against your knees. Suddenly, you thought you heard the thump of feet on the sandy shore behind you. Turning your head, you caught a glimpse of Lando running towards you, his feet pounding against the sand with reckless abandon. You let out a playful yelp as you knew he was coming to splash water all over you.

Without hesitation, you raced further into the water, diving head first into the oncoming waves in an attempt to escape him. The cool water enveloped your body, sliding smoothly over your sun-kissed skin that was glistening with oiled sunscreen. Emerging from the water, you looked around and saw Lando swimming a few feet away from you, his bronze muscles rippling as he glided through the water effortlessly.

“How’d you swim away so fast?” He shouted, making his moves closer to you.

“Maybe you’re just too slow.” You let out a hearty laugh. Eventually his body was swimming inches away from you as the two of you moved further out from the shoreline.

“Well, maybe you’re just a fish.” He added, out of breath. You saw the bodies of your friends laying on the sand grow smaller and smaller the further you swam away.

As you and Lando waded in the cool water, you could feel his gaze upon you. You turned to him with a grin, taking in the sight of his tanned face and wet curls. The sunlight danced off his green eyes, making them sparkle like crystalized emeralds. "What?" you asked, noticing a subtle look on his face.

"Nothing, you just...you look very happy," he replied, causing your smile to grow even wider.

You couldn't help but giggle at his observation. "Well, I am happy. I've always loved the ocean," you sighed as you leaned back and let the water support your weight, floating on your back. As parts of your stomach and thighs broke through the surface of the water, you caught Lando's gaze lingering on your body once again.

You hadn’t gotten these looks from him before, or maybe you just never noticed them. You had known Lando since you two were small children, and had followed his side as he made his way through his career, being there with him every step of the way. As his closest friend, of course there was media circulation rumoring a romance between the two of you in the McLaren paddock. But you knew that you would never risk ruining your friendship for a romance. It wasn’t until now as you floated with the movement of the waves that you started to see how people could start those rumors.

On the sand, Charles and Alex watched you and Lando swim out in the distance. “I figured he’d chase after her.” Charles sighed once Lando had jumped up to chase you in the water.

“It’s so interesting, watching them interact,” Alex added, “so close to being a couple yet so far away.”

“And she still doesn’t know he’s obsessed with her?” Lewis asked, perplexed.

“Nope.” Oscar chimed in, “I’m just as ready for them to make it official as anyone else. I’m tired of him coming to me to talk about his feelings.” They were each laying on their own beach towels, sunglasses propped on their noses, gossiping about you and Lando like elderly ladies at teatime.

“You know it’s nice to talk about your feelings, Osc.” Charles laughed and Oscar shook his head.

“Not when it’s the same thing over and over again. ‘Oscar I swear I’m in love with her.’, ‘Oscar did you see what she was wearing today.’, ‘When she hugged me she smelled so good Oscar.’” He mimicked Lando’s voice and accent, earning laughs from all of the boys on the beach.

“I wish there was something we could do to just push them along. Something to really make her see just how whipped he is.” Alex thought out loud,and the group sat in silence thinking for several moments.

“Actually- we might be able to.” Lewis finally spoke, and everyone turned his head towards him. “Lando does so much for her everyday without her actually realizing why he does it. Maybe we can sneakily drop some comments about it. Just to make her think. I’ve always wanted to play matchmaker.”

“That could work,” Oscar hummed, already thinking of how he’d approach things.

“Are we sure that she’s actually going to like him back? I don’t think he’d be able to handle that rejection.” Alex questioned.

Charles scoffed, “Oh, she definitely likes him. It just needs to click in her head.” He turned his head and saw your towel folded up by the bags, and decided to grab it, hiding it under his own towel.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Lewis grinned, and Charles held a smirk on his face.

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

For at least an hour, you and Lando splashed and swam in the crystal clear water, mesmerized by the breathtaking scenery of the French coastline. The sun's warm rays caressed your skin as you lazily floated on your back, gazing up at the cloudless blue sky above. But as your fingertips started to wrinkle and prune from being submerged for so long, you reluctantly decided it was time to bask in the sun's warmth and dry off on the sandy beach.

Lando was behind you as you stepped out of the water, following you back to where everyone was laying out. “You guys should really get in that water, it feels great.” You exclaimed, your body still dripping wet as you stood next to them.

“No thanks, Y/N, the sun and sand is plenty enough for me.” Oscar replied, his inflection filled with sass.

“Fine,” You sighed contently, searching for your towel amidst all of the bags of stuff the group brought down.

“Looking for something?” Charles asked, noticing your confused look.

“Yeah, I don’t know where my towel is. I swear it was right here when I left.” You were so confused as to how you could possibly lose a bright pink towel, but you had done it. You were about to just lay on the sand to dry off, but soon Lando was laying down his own towel.

“Here, just use mine.” He offered, placing it in the spot you were laying earlier.

Your brows furrowed, “But then you won’t have one.”

Lando shrugged, “Eh, I’ll just run back up to the house and grab another one.” Your lips parted in shock. The group had traveled far down the barren coast line, and Alex’s place was at least a mile walk, all through sand, from where they were.

“I don’t want you to have to do that,” You objected, knowing that his body must be tired from swimming for the last hour. You felt the tiredness in your own body as you were more than ready to lay down again.

“Y/N, I’m an athlete, I think I can manage a little walk back to the house. Don’t worry about it.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, motioning for you to lay down on his towel. So you silently obliged, laying down on the warm, dry fabric.

As Lando’s footsteps slowly trudged away, Oscar turned to look at you lying next to him. “That was nice, huh.”

You nodded, as you grabbed your sunglasses and hat. “Yeah, I don’t know why he was so nice about it.”

Charles laughed, “He certainly doesn’t treat any of us like that.”

His words stuck with you for the remainder of the time you guys were on the beach that day. Slowly, you worked your way through your memories with Lando. He was your best friend, the kindest man you knew, and yet he did treat you differently than the other guys. He wouldn’t have given his towel to Alex or Lewis and walked all the way back up to the house. You thought back to the multitude of times Lando had brought both of you lunch on busy days around the paddock, taking the time out of his schedule to eat with you so you wouldn’t have to be alone.

Once Lando came back, he had grabbed some fresh cut fruit, offering you some first before anyone else. He put his new towel down next to you, as the two of you shared orange slices. The sweet citrus flavor flooded your mouth, but you were still stuck on Charles’s words.

You laid on your stomach, head resting on your folded arms as you looked at Lando. He was laying on his back, his eyes closed under his sunglasses. Your eyes traveled all around him, watching his curls slowly dry the longer you guys were in the sun. Your sight moved to his slightly sun kissed cheeks, and admired the way some of his freckles had begun to show with the introduction of the summer season. You observed how the bridge of his nose had a small bump in it, rounding out at the tip of his nose, the curves of his lips leading to his perfectly chiseled jawline.

The image of Lando’s face had been imprinted in your mind since you first met him, but you weren’t sure you had ever really paid attention to the details like you were now.

The group called it quits for the day just before dinner time. You all made the trek back to the house, and everyone showered the coarse sand and sunscreen off of their bodies. With fresh clean and tan skin, the group chatted around the kitchen as everyone pitched in to help make dinner.

You and Lando had been put in charge of chopping up the vegetables that were going into the pasta salad. You had to convince Lando that you could be trusted with the large and sharp knife. He prepped and washed the veggies as you chopped them. The two of you stood inches apart, his arm often grazing yours, sending chills through your body. You had never felt that way before with his slight touch, which sent your mind whirling once again.

Suddenly, as you were going to make another slice into some round baby tomatoes, the sound of broken glass echoed through the room as Lewis dropped a bottle of sauce from the cabinets, your body jolting in shock. With the harsh movement, the blade from the knife cut part of your finger.

You winced as trickles of blood blended into the vibrant red of the tomato juice. Lando’s eyes shot over to you, and immediately noticed your fresh cut. It was deep into your skin, slicing right through the fleshy part of the tip of your index finger.

You stood motionless, staring at the deep gash on your finger as blood ran down your hand. Suddenly, Lando's strong hands grasped your arms and guided you to the sink. The other boys crowded around, their faces etched with worry as they repeatedly asked if you were okay. With Lando's warm body pressed against yours, he turned on the faucet and held your finger under the cold water, which quickly turned pink from the blood.

“Lando, you take her to the bathroom by my bedroom. There’s bandaids and plenty of first aid supplies in there. Hopefully the cut isn’t deep enough to need stitches.” Alex had moved over to the veggies, saving the ones that weren’t ruined from the mess of your finger.

The pain radiated from your finger, searing and intense. You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down your face as Lando calmly guided you to Alex's bathroom. Every step felt like agony, but Lando's strong grip never faltered.

You were still in shock, the burning sensation making it hard to think clearly. But Lando was a natural caregiver, moving confidently to retrieve supplies from the cabinets. You stood there, feeling small and helpless, as he laid everything out on the counter.

With gentle hands, Lando lifted you up onto the counter, giving you a better vantage point for him to clean and dress your wound. Despite your tendency to cry at the slightest injury, Lando remained calm and focused, his protective instincts taking over. As he worked, you couldn't help but marvel at how well he knew what to do in this situation.

As he pressed a cotton pad against the cut, you felt your feet sway slightly in the air. The amount of blood soaking into the white pad made your head spin and your vision blur. His voice was gentle and soothing as he reassured you, “It’s alright, you’re okay”, his hand holding yours with a firm yet delicate grip. You could feel yourself leaning into his touch, seeking comfort and safety from the pain.

With a quick, determined movement, he snatched the bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the bathroom cabinet. The distinct smell of alcohol filled the air as he uncapped it, and you braced yourself for what was about to come. "This is gonna hurt," he warned, his voice full of concern. You felt a chill run down your spine as he poured the liquid over the wound, the intense burning sensation making you grit your teeth and let out a sharp whimper of pain. Your hand trembled uncontrollably as Lando's gentle touch on your thigh provided some comfort in the midst of this agony. "I'm so sorry, my love," he murmured as he continued to clean the cut, his eyes full of worry. "We can't risk an infection.”

You nodded as tears ran down your face again. He cleaned away any dirt and grime and wrapped your finger with a thin layer of gauze to help absorb any further bleeding. He then took a thick bandaid and finished up the job.

Your breathing finally slowed as you sniffled. Lando finally looked into your eyes, his own filled with sympathy for your pain. “See, all better.” He placed his lips delicately on your fingertip, giving it a soft kiss.

You laughed sheepishly, only feeling the pulsating throbs of your wound. He took his thumbs and wiped away the rest of your tears, taking a moment to look into your glossy eyes. You both had paused, entranced in the eyes of the other.

Lando then seemed to snap out of it, “You should head back to the kitchen. I’ll get everything cleaned up in here.” He cleared his throat nervously, and you hopped off the counter and left the room. You weren’t sure if it was the pain in your finger or if you had gotten burned earlier in the beach sun, but your cheeks felt flushed.

Everyone sat at the dinner table chatting between one another, but you kept to yourself, only chiming in rarely. So many things played in the back of your mind. Lando caring for you at the beach, Charles’s comment, him standing against you as he rinsed off your finger, his delicate and generous touch as he bandaged up your wound. His voice echoed in your ear as he flooded you with reassurance, him calling you “love”. He had never adorned you with that nickname before.

“Y/N, you alright? I didn’t fuck up dinner right?” Oscar asked, breaking your train of thought at the table.

You forced a smile, “No, no, it’s delicious. Guess I’m just a little worn out from today.”

“I don’t blame you,” Lewis sighed. “Long day of getting tired out with swimming, coming back to cook dinner only to cut your finger open.” He shook his head, “Thank god you had Lando here to take care of you. I don’t think any of us could’ve handled that much blood.” Lewis rambled on, but his words struck with you too. You felt like you were going crazy.

Had Lando always been this affectionate? Or was there just something about this beach trip that caused you to think and see him in a different light. Everyone went on chatting about various topics, many regarding the next phase of the racing season.

As the night wore on and everyone retired to their rooms, you couldn't help but feel torn. Your body craved rest and the warmth of your bed, but your mind was consumed by thoughts of Lando. You had never questioned your feelings for him before, but now they seemed to swirl in a tangled mess. He was your best friend, and risking everything for romantic desires seemed foolish. Yet, your heart continued to ache for his touch and presence. You were torn between what you wanted and what you knew could potentially destroy your friendship. As you lay in bed, conflicted thoughts kept you awake, unsure of what the right choice was.

You decided to get out of your bed and travel downstairs to the kitchen. Your throat was dry and you longed for an ice cold water. It must have been 2am, so you weren’t expecting anyone to be awake as you were only clad in a revealing tank top and short shorts that clung to your skin.

However, as you turned the corner into the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. Lando, shirtless, dressed only in his boxers, stood around the kitchen island, drinking his own glass of water.

“Oh-“ you muttered in surprise, as his tired eyes met yours.

“Oh, hey.” His voice seemed languid, and you assumed he had not had a wink of sleep either. “What are you doing up?”

“I just um…couldn’t sleep I guess.” You shrugged as you poured yourself a glass, the cool liquid already sweating around the cup.

As you awkwardly drank the water, out of the corner you saw his eyes track up and down your body, further causing your mind to flip and turn.

“How’s the finger?” He asked, and you broke a smile.

“Doing better. I don’t think I ever thanked you earlier.” You spoke softly, resting the side of your hip on the counter next to him. “Lewis was right, I think they might have fainted with how much blood there was.”

Lando smiled, “Don’t mention it. I guess I just went into protector mode.” His words once again caused your heart to pulse. Your breath quickened, and as the seconds passed you were putting all of the pieces together.

“Charles said earlier that you wouldn’t treat the other guys that way.” You blurted out, your mouth and heart seeming to operate separate from your brain.

He furrowed his brows slightly in a smile, “What do you mean?”

“I mean earlier with the beach towel. And the fruit. And healing me, calling me love, wiping my tears away. Why?” As you spoke the smile slowly dropped. You watched his toned, tanned, torso rise and fall with his breath.

You looked into his eyes, there was a moment of connection, of reciprocation. Then he spoke in almost a whisper, like he was scared of anyone else hearing him, “I think you know why.”

“Lan…” Your voice cracked, and all at once everything seemed to make sense. Of course he had treated you this way. Of course you had let him. You wouldn’t want anything else. He was all you needed, all you craved.

He stepped closer, his warm hand finding its way to your hip and gently resting there. The intensity in his voice was palpable as he begged for your approval, “Please tell me this is okay,” his words coming out dry and desperate.

You looked up at him, your heart racing with anticipation. With a slow nod, you gave him the go-ahead, your lips already parting in yearning for his touch. When his lips finally met yours, it was like an electric shock, sending tingles down your spine and igniting a fire within. Your hands instinctively found their way to his neck, fingers tangling in his soft curls as your movements became synchronized with his. His hands traced random patterns on your waist, each touch sending shivers throughout your body as desire coursed through every inch of you.

Your lips trailed down to his neck, sucking and leaving love bites in between kisses. His breathing became heavy, “Easy now, I might not be able to control myself.”

You smirked, meeting his eyes again as you traced his abs muscles, “I wouldn’t be one to stop you.”

The kisses had become intense and passionate, his hands trailing all over your body. This time it was Lando that kissed along your neck and collarbone. His breath was hot against your skin, “Let me please you, I’m begging,” he muttered, and your legs became weak.

“Not here…” You answered, and asked if you could go to his room.

Lando led you to his bedroom. He pressed you against the bed, peppering kisses along your collarbone and leaving love marks in his wake. Gasping for air, you slowly removed your tank top while he couldn't take his eyes off of you. His lips eagerly found their way to your breasts, causing waves of pleasure to shoot through your body. As he continued his journey down your chest and torso, Lando deftly slid off your pajama shorts, revealing more of your bare skin. "You are so beautiful," he murmured between kisses.

You were almost frustrated with how easily he found his way around in the bedroom, knowing he’s had plenty of attention from other girls in the past. His warm lips traced all the way down to your hips, and they arched as he took his time down your body.

“I need you,” you whimpered, annoyed with how long he was taking to start pleasuring you.

“Patience my love, I’m just getting started.” His voice vibrated off of your skin as he kissed your inner thighs. Then, as you were finally adjusting to his teasing, he licked all the way up your entrance, causing you to emit a soft moan. “Don’t get too loud now, Alex’s room is right next door.”

Lando's skilled tongue flicked and sucked against your sensitive core, causing you to squirm and moan uncontrollably. You tried to muffle your sounds with your hand, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. But the pleasure was too intense, each movement of Lando's mouth bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, he pulled away and kissed you deeply. Your taste mingled with his on his lips as you caught your breath. Your fingers tangled in his curly hair, but before you could fully relax, he thrust two fingers inside of you. The sudden intrusion sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you cry out loudly. Lando quickly covered your mouth with his hand, trying not to alert anyone to what was happening between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, “C’mon baby,” trailing kisses down to your collarbone. Your body trembled as he worked his fingers inside you, each movement hitting the perfect spot. His thumb found your clit and began circling, sending electric shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

Your moans turned into incoherent pleas for more as he whispered dirty words in your ear. With one final thrust, he brought you over the edge, your entire body shaking with pleasure. “That’s it,” he held you close, gently kissing your forehead as you came down from your climax. You traced kisses along his jawline, struggling to catch your breath after such an intense release.

As the passion in the room died down, Lando kept planting soft kisses on your neck. Your bodies had cuddled together, tired from the restless night and the intensity between you. You couldn’t believe how the night had unfolded, as things had become a complete 180 from where the day started.

“Y/N?” Lando asked softly. Your eyes met his in his bed, limbs intertwined.

“Hmm?” You hummed tiredly.

“I want you to know, you mean way more to me than what we just did. I’ve waited a long time to really tell you how I feel. You’re the most important person in my life, and I hope everyday I can show you just how much I love you.” He reassured you, bringing a soft smile to your face.

Tears almost came to your eyes, “You love me?”

He grinned, tucking the hair on your face behind your hear and caressing your cheek, “I think I always have.”

You kissed the tip of his nose, “I love you too, Lan.”

After a few hours of much-needed rest, you and Lando slowly emerged from the comfort of your shared bed to start the day. You were in the clothes he had lent you - his boxers hanging loosely on your hips and a baggy t-shirt that was now adorned with small hickeys peeking out from beneath the fabric. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, tempting your senses.

As you tended to the breakfast dishes, Lando came up behind you at the stove and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, burying his head in the crook of your neck. He wore a cozy sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, enveloping you in his warmth as you basked in his embrace. Turning to face him, you cupped his handsome face in your hands and brought your lips to his in a sweet morning kiss.

“Oh shit.” A voice from the other side of the room exclaimed. Startled, you looked to see Lewis and Charles standing across the kitchen island, mouths almost to the floor.

“Fuck, I owe Oscar twenty bucks.” Charles sighed.

You and Lando just looked at each other with a confused expression.

#formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #charles leclerc #f1 #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #oscar piastri #lewis hamilton #alex albon

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obsessivevoidkitten · 11 months ago

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Love Stings

Yandere Male Aqrabuamelu (scorpion man) x Chubby Female Reader (CW: Violent Noncon, oviposition, paralytic venom, reader gets stung, stalking, stalking, scratching, biting, claiming bites, crying, mild scent kink, blood, mild blood kink, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, escape attempt, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 4.7k (This was commissioned at the end of September. It is hard for me to write afab reader. Don't worry though, I do not accept payment until I am done or almost done. The customer wished to remain anon. I hope everyone likes it.)

To most people, the wastelands of Treregar were just that, wastelands. Harsh sunlight, miles of seemingly endless sand, with water sources few and far between. Nothing but the hardiest flora and fauna could survive there for any significant length of time. Let alone thrive indefinitely.

But you were not most people. You were a scientist. And to scientists, the wastes were a gold mine of research potential. Some of the strangest creatures and plants called this place home. And with the country now open to outsiders, researchers wanted to make a breakthrough there. You were in search of biological samples that could have medicinal properties.

But the wilder parts of this country were very dangerous. Especially the desert wastes. There were even reports of explorers and scientists going missing and of large chitinous beasts prowling the sands. But you were not going to be deterred by a few tall tales. The others had probably fallen prey to the harsh environment if anything.

Still... it didn't hurt to have a couple bodyguards. You had arranged an escort of a couple fairly priced and reliable mercenaries, two large men by the names of Mr. Whitley and Mr. Matthews, to accompany you while you procured samples for study.

You also came with fully stocked packs and kept to a region near a small river. You didn't believe in letting stories run your life, but there was no need to take unnecessary risks either.

The first thing you did on your arrival, after setting up a base camp with your escorts, was starting your task by taking samples of the river water and the muck at the bottom. There was a good possibility of finding new microbes that could be of interest.

The water was crystal clear, perhaps the purest you had ever seen, and there were no signs of anything dangerous. The biggest danger was the heat. Despite the water submerging your legs and wetting your arms whenever you collected a sample the heat was still stifling.

But you had known what you were signing up for when you started all this and it would only get harder as you started collecting samples outside of the water.

When you collected plant and insect specimens from the fertile banks of the river you had to keep wiping the sweat from your brow. You kept the samples preserved in a specially cooled container that would allow you to study them at length later when you were back home.

Once you had all that you had gathered that day packed away, you ate alone in your tent, Mr. Whitley and Mr. Matthews were not exactly the best company, but that was okay. It wasn’t their companionship that they were being paid for.

When you had finished your meal, if you could even call one unit of mystery field rations a meal, you decided that it would be a good idea to go to bed early. Tomorrow’s adventure would be deeper into the wastes and you would need all the rest you could manage. It was going to be a bit rough on you. You were used to working in laboratory conditions not out in the field. But you knew what you were getting yourself into.

Whitley and Matthews guarded the camp in shifts, but even under their protection you couldn’t shake the feeling like you were being watched as you settled into an uneasy sleep.

On day two of the expedition, after eating another bland ration for breakfast and refilling your water supplies, you found something before you even set out. Odd tracks outside your camp, a good bit away but they were still close enough to creep you out a bit. Whatever had made them was not small.

But you had protection from any threats and you were handy with the knife you kept in your belt at all times. And whatever had made the tracks was gone now. You put it out of your mind and pushed onward.

As the cooler morning hours passed, you were really suffering as you had to start your trek into the desert proper. The organisms suited to such a brutal environment were what you were really interested in. Far more so than what lived in the relatively cool waters.

The sun beat down upon you with all the heat it could manage but still you trudged on. Miles and miles of sand. Stopping only to diligently take new samples and record field notes any time you encountered something new and promising.

You and your guards were overheated, exhausted, and aching. But it would surely be worth it for the scientific knowledge gained by your collective suffering. You all had finally started the long march back to camp when you could have sworn you felt like you were being watched. Whitley must have noticed something off as well as he stopped your trek home to look around. But the worry was discarded when in the distance a giant wall of sand materialized as if from nowhere, It rushed towards you like a great red tidal wave.

A sudden sandstorm.

It was upon you and your escorts in a thrice, you could see nothing at all in front of you as looking up for even a moment would invite the angry sands to scratch at your delicate eyes. From all your studies on the region in your preparation for this trip you had found sandstorms to be very rare this time of year. Your luck was astoundingly terrible.

All you could do in this situation was stay low to the ground, wait it out, and hope that you and your body guards didn’t get blown away. You also prayed that they both had the good sense to not try to walk in this mess. That would only welcome disaster. Trying to stumble about in this weather was a guaranteed method to find yourself lost and stranded in the desert.

On and on the storm raged, sand scraping and biting into any exposed flesh, until finally the whirling winds gradually declined before subsiding altogether. Leaving no trace of what had just transpired except scratches on your arms and legs and the ebbing adrenaline leaving your system rendering you shaky on your feet.

You were sore and stiff from laying in the same position so long. You took a good look around you only to discover that disaster had indeed been welcomed. Neither Whitley or Matthews were anywhere in your sight. Idiots. They were large men, not easily slipped up by the storm and rolled down a hill as you were. The weather couldn’t have pushed them very far. They clearly decided to keep trying to travel despite the obvious foolishness.

Well… they were not exactly getting paid for their brain power. But they were paid to keep you safe. To guard you. And they couldn’t exactly do that if they were determined to be idiots who wandered away from you!

When you made your report they were certainly getting docked for this.

Assuming that you all met back up. You probably would. Eventually. If they lacked a compass like you did then they could just head east until they hit the river and then travel up until they hit the camp. If they didn’t have one they would have to wait a little while and see what direction the sun headed in.

The direction the sun sets actually changes a bit throughout the year, but the autumn equinox had only just transpired so it would certainly set at the most west that it was possible for it to set.

You hoped those two knew that. Surely they did.

Right then you had to focus on yourself though. Without those two you were far more vulnerable. You were not really worried about the wildlife or anything such as that, but if you became injured or something all alone then you would be screwed. Something as simple as a sprained ankle could mean your death out in this blistering environment if you were left exposed to the elements long enough.

You shouldn’t have ventured so far from camp. Your body was aching with exhaustion. You were a bit on the chubby side and your body was not used to being pushed so hard. You perked up when you saw a large figure of a man standing in the distance walking in the same general direction as you were.

“WHITLEY! HEY, OVER HERE!!”

He evidently heard you as he turned around to face your direction and started walking towards you. As you got closer you could tell that other than a few abrasions from the storm he did not seem to be in bad shape.

“I am glad I found you”

You wanted to tell him he would not have had to worry about finding one another if he had just stayed put but you thought better of it and held your tongue.

“I think something may be watching us, I don’t know. I just have an uneasiness and feel like the air has shifted with a barely noticeable scent. I lost my sword in the storm.”

“Then… we better hurry back to camp… Maybe Matthews will be there…”

“Right.”

You noticed he had undone his dagger from his belt and was holding it close, ready to lash out if something attacked the two of you. He may not have had his longer blade but you knew he was still deadly with that one. He would surely protect yo-

The sand in front of you shifted, and from it sprung a beast of colossal size. Hard black chitinous plating gleamed in the sunlight, covering a monstrous form from top to bottom. It was a hulking beast with a human shaped torso on top of the body of a massive scorpion.

Whitley, to his credit, didn’t hesitate. He dodged the tail that struck at him with terrifying speed. He jumped up high and slammed his combat knife into the chitin covered chest of the beast. His blade was deflected as if by plate armor. The tail struck again at an angle Whitley couldn’t dodge in time and his arm was impaled by a wickedly sharp stinger. He twitched in pain for a moment then went limp before being pushed aside by the clawed arm of the scorpion half of the great beast before you.

Then the thing turned its gaze to you. Unblinking, glossy, entirely black eyes stared you down. If eyes were the windows into one’s soul then those eyes let you look into the soul of a demon.

Hopeless though it may be with the speed of the monstrosity you did the only thing your fear stricken brain could think of. You ran.

You ran and you didn’t look back. Cruel though it may have been, you found yourself thinking that maybe it would let you go since it had already taken down Mr. Whitley. Many predatory beasts did not take down more than what they needed.

But the scorpion hybrid wasn’t after food. Humans were not in his diet. No, he was after something much better than a meal. He was after a mate. A nice wet cunt to stuff full of his eggs.

When Kurnugi first caught your scent in the wind a couple days ago he was instantly intrigued, he had never smelled something quite so enticing before. He had to investigate. Though a few miles away he sniffed out your camp and watched for a while.

He didn’t really like the thought of humans in his territory but he stopped himself from attacking and scaring you all away because of you. Your smell was nice, sure, but now that he had seen you he knew he had to know more. You looked so delightfully fragile and soft. He wanted to watch you a bit longer before deciding what to do with you all.

Kurnugi observed you as you went about your tasks at the river. Delicate hands carefully tending to samples. He did not understand why you were doing it, but he liked the thought of those careful little human hands tending to his dick.

At first the scorpion man thought that perhaps the two large males with you were mates of yours but concluded that wasn’t the case as they never shared your nest, never physically touched you, and hardly verbally communicated with you. They seemed to just guard you and keep a lookout.

But they had been unable to spot Kurnugi given how well he stuck to the shadows, used sand to submerge himself partially, and carefully remained downwind of his quarry.

The longer he watched the more he realized how good a mate you would make. Too weak to ever oppose or escape him and he could tell by the way you collected and analyzed your little samples that you must be very intelligent. And you were just so much softer than anything he had ever encountered in this rugged environment. Surely if you were in a place as brutal as this then you’d need much better and dedicated protection than the ones you seemed to call Whitley and Matthews.

Kurnugi was much larger and stronger than any two humans, of course, no matter how well built they were. But they had long metal blades that may be able to get between his natural armor plates. Better to stalk your group for a while and wait for a moment of weakness.

He discreetly followed your party as you traveled away from your base camp and readied himself to attack when he noticed how tired all of you looked. Then the sandstorm struck.

Even a desert evolved being such as a mighty aqrabuamelu would not travel during a sandstorm.

When it passed he could tell by the scents he detected that your group was split up. This was even better. First he went after Matthews, then incapacitated Whitley before your very eyes. He had made sure not to kill them. No, they would surely be taken and bred by other desert creatures. There were many that loved humans.

And then there was you. It was cute how you thought you could escape from him so easily. He allowed you to try, watching in amusement as your tired chubby legs did their best to carry you away from him.

And then he rushed towards you, he closed the distance in surprisingly few seconds and stabbed your soft rear with the tip of his stinger. He was careful not to stab too deeply, but it was still pretty painful. You thrashed for a few seconds before crumpling to the sand.

The venom had paralyzed you, no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t get your limbs to cooperate at all. You could still feel everything though. The sand on your face, the tears about to burst from your eyes. You were certain death was what awaited you.

Instead the scorpion simply bent over to gently scoop you up in his humanoid arms. He held you close and buried his nose in your neck to revel in the intoxicating smell of his new mate, now finally in his possession.

The amorous aqrabuamelu rushed off to his den, holding you tightly to his hard body as he did so. He was excited to get you acclimated to your new home, and to his cock. He was sure after his displays of strength that he would have you moaning for his eggs in no time. Luckily his home wasn’t too far.

The entire trip he happily talked in a chittery voice to you, though you had absolutely no idea what he was saying. He sounded extremely excited though and rubbed your back soothingly as he spoke.

When he came to the entrance to his abode and scuttled into the cave in such a hurry that he almost tripped over himself. He placed you, all nice and paralyzed for him, on his raised pile of bedding and made short work of your clothing. Every inch of skin from your soft human breasts to your inviting pussy were laid bare under his hungry gaze.

He pulled you to the edge of his nest over to where he was standing. He gripped your thighs with his large hands and slowly spread your legs, as if unwrapping a precious gift. Savoring the moment before it was entirely open.

The venom was still coursing effectively through your veins, offering you no recourse. You could only stare into the terrifying red eyes of this abomination as he looked at you and drooled. His intent with you becoming all the more evident as his engorged cock protruded fully from the genital slit at the meeting of his scorpion and humanoid body segments.

There was no way something like that could enter a human without some degree of pain.

Seeing it you wanted to scream. To kick and fight. But you were a prisoner in your own body. All the struggle you could force out of your body were choked cries and grunts of fear.

The scorpion caressed your sides in a gesture meant to be comforting to his scared little mate, but any touch from him only brought about more terror.

He crouched down at the edge of the bed so that his head was level with your crotch. He inhaled the scent deeply before licking the outer folds of your sex.

"Mmmm~"

You could feel it in your entire body as he hummed loudly in contentment. Your flavor was better than he could have imagined.

Your cunt was wetter than it had ever been before. A fact that made you all the more frustrated and angry at yourself. It was bad enough you couldn't get your body to move.

Kurnugi was making out with your entrance, gripping your hips painfully and drawing blood as he lost himself in thoughts about you carrying his spawn.

He enjoyed every heavenly drop of your juices, mixing in a heavy amount of his saliva into you so that you were as lubricated as possible.

He decided you were as ready as you could be and rose up to press his cock against you.

Kurnugi rubbed the tip of his strange inhuman prick against your pussy, grinding against it. He let out a low moan as he plunged into you all at once, unable to hold himself back from doing so any longer. The paralytic you had been drugged with must have started to wear off by that point because as he shoved himself into you you were finally able to scream a bit and grip the bedding beneath you.

The length was insane but the worst part was the thickness. It was like it was trying to rip you open. He gave you time to adjust before he began his thrusting, but there was just no getting adjusted to that type of size in such a short amount of time without a lot more preparation.

You flinched and gasped in pain as he began slowly moving in and out of you.

The scent and sight of the bit of your blood that mixed with your fluids and smeared on his cock only seemed to excite him and he increased the pace, the outline of his cock plainly visible under the skin of your belly. He used one of his hands to rub at the outline as it moved back and forth inside of you, effectively giving himself a handjob while he bred you.

He lowered his head to your chest and ferally bit and licked at your breasts. Instinct demanding he marked and claimed what was, by all laws of the desert, his property.

After what seemed like an eternity you finally had acclimated to the size of the man taking you and began feeling less pain with flashes of pleasure. Chasing those brief flashes, you weakly grinded into each thrust from the scorpion.

Kurnigi’s roaming mouth had found your neck and was sucking and nipping at your soft skin there as if his life depended on it.

The stimulation was only feeling better as the two of you continued, your cries of fear and pain having long since been replaced by weak lusty moans and shivers of delight. You came a couple times and by the third you were completely fucked out. You had never orgasmed so hard in your life and were barely aware of anything other than that nice feeling between your shaky legs.

Kurnugi finally hit his climax as well and bit your neck hard as he did so, injecting something into your neck to leave a permanent claiming mark on you. You flinched in pain but it receded quickly, you were too out of it to really care what he did to you at that point.

Until you felt him cum into you. Your eyes went wide at the sensation as you felt relatively large round masses being pumped deeply into you.

Eggs.

You were shocked and disgusted, but there was nothing to be done about it then. You let the aqrabuamelu lick your various scratches and bite wounds clean before tucking you in with blankets so you could sleep while he made a meal.

He was so jubilant that his pregnant little mate was cozy in his nest while he took care of you. He had a nice home, a large territory, and now a soft mate to dote on and stuff full of his big prick whenever he needed to. Life was perfect.

THREE MONTHS LATER:

It had been around three months since you had been abducted. And it was hours since you had run away from the monstrosity that had kidnapped you. His name was Kurnugi, you had learned, managing very limited communication with the brute. He had finally let his guard down, finally trusted you since you had never been anything but compliant since you had been with him, and he had finally left you alone to go hunt for a longer period of time.

You did not waste the opportunity, it was clear that your bodyguards had not managed to leave the desert, probably succumbing to exposure. Either that or no one had cared to send a search party to look for you thinking you were a lost cause. So it was up to you to rescue yourself.

Once more your legs burned with a familiar exhaustion. Kurnugi was a skilled hunter that moved fast. Once he returned to his den he would begin tracking you immediately. If you were going to succeed then you had to get as much distance between yourself and that cave as you could possibly manage. It didn’t help that you were pregnant with his many eggs. It surely made travel more difficult.

As you made your way up the river you considered walking in it to hide your scent, but you decided against it. The wind was blowing your scent in the direction that you were fleeing from so it wouldn’t help you at all. The slog through the water would only slow you down. And that was the last thing that you needed right then.

The last thing other than suddenly finding yourself laying with your back against the hot sand and looking up with an absolutely outraged Kurnugi looking down at you with a malicious grin on his face.

How had he snuck up on you so silently?

You had expected to be immediately paralyzed by one of his stings, but the scorpion had other things in mind. He wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. You had tried to leave him the first opportunity you had. Had he not proven himself against lesser males to be a strong mate? Had he not provided food and water and shared his home with you? Had he not given you a nice belly full of eggs as any mate would desire?

The aqrabuamelu clearly had to show you your place. He had been too gentle with you. Not done enough to prove that you were, beyond any whisper of a doubt, his property.

And in that vein of thinking he did not bother with his venom, no, he wanted you to have the full ability of movement and still be just as utterly powerless to do anything to avoid him using you as he saw fit.

He pushed you over onto the ground and flipped you so that you were facing the sand with your ass up. Then, right in the middle of the desert, he ripped off the pants he had made for you out of leather and plant fibers.

Kurnugi crouched so that his cock was level with your cunt, his strong hands gripping your hips so hard that they would undoubtedly be bruised. You cried out and struggled just as pathetically as he had predicted that you would.

“Please! Please NO!!! I’ll behave! I-I’ll never leave again. KURNUGI PLEA-”

Your words became a pained shriek as he interrupted them by ramming his entire dick straight into you. No prep at all. He understood your cries for mercy and carried on anyway.

Each thrust into you was slow, powerful, and deliberate, driving your face into the sand as his nails bit into your flesh.

You were right about one thing. You’d never try to leave him again after this. He was going to fuck it into your brain so you’d have no chance of forgetting.

Tears dripped down your face, wicked away by the thirsty air and ground. Your legs shook and you would have collapsed were it not for the strong hands propping you up. Your abused cunt felt like it was being torn apart.

Kurnugi was once more excited by the scent of your blood and began pulling you back and forth over his prick like you were just a cock sleeve built for his pleasure. All you could do was sob and take it and try not to puke.

With a final slam he came in you hard. No eggs this time, since you were already full of them, just fluid that thankfully soothed your insides, if only a bit.

The anger of the aqrabuamelu was finally quelled and he panted with his throbbing cock still twitching and pumping cum into you. He picked you up and renewed the bite mark he had left on you. He did not have to since it was permanent, but he wanted to so you’d remember you were branded property.

Luckily the pain from the bite had been swallowed up by the disorientation and pain from the rape.

A small comfort.

Kurnugi picked you up effortlessly and cradled you close to him.

You couldn’t quite tell what he had said, but you knew it was meant to be soothing. He rubbed your back and chittered sweetly in that foreign language of his. Evidently happy to have that nasty business out of the way and content in the knowledge that you wouldn’t be trying that again.

7 MONTHS LATER:

You couldn’t wait for the eggs inside you to hatch. Kurnugi had assured you that you would be a great parent and since the eggs absorb the DNA of the parent they are deposited in he was confident that they would be the cutest babies in the entire world.

He was so wonderful to you. He doted on you and helped take you for walks when you were restless. He caught or foraged and then prepared all of your meals. He cuddled you close and kissed your swollen belly and made every effort to cheer you up when you were feeling down.

And you were sweet to him too, you learned how to craft things from the leather and fibers he made so you made him little trinkets that he either wore or decorated the den with. And you always greeted him by kissing him softly whenever he came home.

Things were a lot easier now that you could communicate.

And now that you understood that you could never go anywhere without him and to try to do so would be very hurtful for the both of you.

But why would you ever want to do something like that?

#yandere #yandere terato #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #yandere x fem reader #yandere x female reader #male yandere x female reader #female reader #monster boyfriend #yandere scorpion #yandere scorpion man #yandere aqrabuamelu #yandere monster man #monster husband #My OCs #My OC Kurnugi

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lalunanymph · 3 months ago

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MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: fem!reader, reader is a florist in our world, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo, princess!reader, reader is in cerena's body, princess cerena is described to have pink hair and feminine features, isekai-ed reader, mentions of death, mentions of blood, assault, injuries, smoking, mentions of terminal illnesses (cancer), language

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 1: MIRI'S REPRIEVE

It was horrifyingly cold tonight.

Your body seized with bouts of shivers the second you stepped out of your shop, the smell of roses lingering in your hair. The lights are already switched off, the tulips you were shearing just a few seconds ago placed in crystal vases by the shop window to keep them from wilting overnight.

However, as much as you try to distract yourself, there’s a shake in your hands you cannot ignore.

Pulling out a crumpled cigarette from your jacket pocket, you burn the end of the white stick with your cheap convenience store lighter, watching the flickering flames cast shadows across the wet road as you’re suddenly struck by a thought from a long, long time ago.

The great Greek philosopher, Plato, once theorized that humans were born whole.

Each of us, regardless of race, creed, or religion, shared one body, four arms, four legs and two faces fused together on a singular head.

However, the gods—vain as they were—feared the human’s increasing power and Zeus himself devised to split them into two separate parts, forever condemning mortals to search for their other half in a journey filled with despair, longing and loneliness.

The first time you heard this in Philosophy 101, a part of you was intrigued, if not a little terrified at the notion. While you weren’t a particularly huge subscriber to the idea of having a soulmate, it did have a sense of appeal for a girl raised on stories of handsome princes saving dainty princesses from their castles of grief and isolation.

But, tonight, your jumbled mind can’t stay on Plato or distractions for too long. It constantly circles back to your mom.

The scans she took had came back positive, and the doctor’s bleak voice on the other end of the line read like a death knell to your flimsy hopes that the cancer hadn’t spread further than her stomach.

Your eyes weighed heavily, the burden of knowing sanding you to the bare bones till you felt close to breaking down on the cold road, screaming and shaking your fist at the night sky; cursing the gods for tearing the only person in the world who still loved you from your side.

Why they did it, you will never know.

You weren’t exceptionally powerful nor did you pose a threat to the deities above. You were a simple florist in the middle of the city, trying to make ends meet and pay all your bills on time; nothing but a tax-paying citizen and a role model for small business women trying to make it big in a competitive city.

Smoke curls around your figure and you suck on the nicotine, letting it coat the back of your throat and numb the ends of your fingers.

Oblivious to your surroundings, you tread past an alleyway, ignoring the scampering of rats and smell of garbage burning through your nose. You inhale another toxic breath, expelling it out and watching the plume of smoke disappear upwards.

“Hey.”

Nothing could prepare you for what came next.

Turning around to appraise the voice calling you from the shadows, white hot pain cracks through your head, leaving you blind from the sudden assault.

Your cigarette falls somewhere at your feet, and you tumble to the gravelly ground on your hands and knees, skinning your palms as your ragged breaths echo in this dilapidated and abandoned alleyway.

A hand shoots out to grab your purse, and before you can croak a yell or blindly turn to confront your assailant, another blow cracks down your skull, making you collide face first into the dirt-packed ground.

Pain explodes in your face, white-hot and agonizing. Your breathing and the sound of blood rushing through your ears is the only thing you can hear as you breathe in the smell of dirt and blood, your head feeling like a thousand sparks of pain were going off at once.

Cracking open your good eye, you catch a sliver of light in the distance; it washes over you, potent and soothing. The light at the end of the alleyway shimmers, and you think this is it—this is the last thing you will see from this world.

Not your mother’s smile, or your best friend’s laugh. There are no flowers in your hand, no loved ones standing over your sickbed to kiss your cheek one last time before you depart this world.

It’s you, the floor, the blood trickling in your mouth, and your consciousness slowly ebbing away.

The last thing you remember before your world snuffs out like a pathetic candle is seeing the beady eyes of a rat shining in the dark, its long tail curling around its dirty body as it scampers closer and closer to you.

And then, nothing else remains.

“... care to explain yourself?”

The world is too bright, much too loud and you cringe back, a loud ringing clanging in your ears like the high-pitched squeal of a thousand nails on a chalkboard.

What… is this scene?

Your eyes struggle against the bright light and you wince, throwing your hand up to your face to ward off the glare.

When your gaze finally focuses, you’re confronted by a pair of ice cold blue eyes, his sneer tearing through your mind like a bloody gash on white canvas.

“Are you an imbecile?” His chilling tone laced with arrogance and contempt sears through you, leaving you mute and dumbstruck from this stranger’s sudden hostility. “I asked you if you would like to explain the accusations brought against you for hurting Miri.”

A girl with bright red hair and freckles splashed across her cheeks looks up at you with fear in her eyes. You take a step back, assessing her attire and countenance with open horror. Her pale face like the moon, dirt-streaked hands with stubby nails and a uniform splotched with indiscernible stains.

But, that isn’t what draws your attention: it’s the look of contempt secretly masked under her woeful and pitiful expression. Those green eyes burn through you with the force of a thousand deaths, each one more painful than the last.

“Cerena.”

Your eyes grow wider when you realize this strange man is speaking to you—calling you by an unknown name.

As your attention shifts back to him, you’re stunned and breathless. His shock of pure white hair, towering stature and cruel, azure gaze never yields from your expressions, thin lips twisted into a baleful grimace. His attire is one you have never seen before: a regal, embroidered jacket and matching pants in the darkest shade of navy blue. Regalia and military medals drip from the lapels of his jacket like icy tears, each metallic glint striking more fear into your heart as you take in his majestic and imposing demeanor.

“I said, speak, wench!”

Dexterous and pale fingers, like that of a violinist, grasps your jaw painfully as he jerks your face towards him. Instinctively, you tense and push him away, a petrified look on your face.

“Who are you?”

Obviously, it wasn’t a question he was expecting. The princely man gives a dignified scoff, the corners of his lips twisting into a terrifying sneer.

“Oh, so now you're playing the short term memory loss card? Stop begging for attention, Cerena, and own up to your mistakes.” He moves aside and the maid cowering behind him lifts her teary eyes to him, her pitiful state clearly tugging on his heart strings and his protective instincts. “Miri told me you slapped her when she wouldn’t braid your hair fast enough, and you even threw your tea at her. Pray tell, is that a way how a princess acts, Your Highness?”

His words drip with venomous sarcasm. You open your mouth and then close it, unsure of how to respond to him—what you could even say in these circumstances.

But inside of you, welling deeply and painfully, is a surge of anger at being falsely accused for something you did not do. You have no idea who he is, who Miri was to him and who even is this woman called ‘Cerena’ he keeps on referring to you as.

What you do know is that he has slighted you with his openly hostile tone and body language, and if years of being a florist in a cutthroat business has taught you, it’s that you should always stand your ground against unruly customers to safeguard your reputation and dignity.

“I have no idea what you are speaking of,” your words come out frostier than you intended. Your sharp gaze sweeps to the other maids observing the spectacle with stony faces. “I wish to go back to my room.”

Turning on your heel, you take one step forward and realize just how heavy your gown is. Lace and organza with dangling pendants woven through the thick fabric, you move as if walking in a vat of molasses, slow and controlled, when all you want to do is storm off.

“Hey. I am not done speaking to you—”

It’s easy for him to catch up and grab your arm, impeding you from making your swift exit.

“Is this how you are to treat your subjects when we become wedded, Cerena? I would think that the princess of Kraith herself would have better manners and not behave like a barbarian!”

His words snap something tight in your chest, and your nostrils flare. You break free from his grasp and spin around, fists clenched to your sides.

“Do not touch me,” your deathly warning stills the entire room. “Do not speak to me like this and if you wish to protect her reputation—”

Your eyes fall on the maid still cowering on the floor, her eyes turned to the ground, but a shadow of a smirk on her face belies her true intentions.

She was attempting to frame me… or, Cerena. She is trying to get us in trouble with this powerful, spiteful man.

“—next time, choose someone else who doesn’t make it obvious that this is all a ploy to smear my name.”

mtt fun fact: maids are divided into different tiers according to the nobles they serve. miri is at the bottom tier, and her scope of work mainly focuses on cleaning the hallways and stables

dawn says: it's bit of a shorter chapter, but trust, the drama is gonna hit you like thief-kun when he smashed our heads in yayy <33

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

#🦢 writes #gojo satoru #yandere gojo #gojo angst #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk gojo #royalty au #arranged marriage #jujutsu kaisen #isekai #series: marry the traitor

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judebellswife · 2 months ago

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A WORLD AWAY — Jude Bellingham

— pairing • dad!jude bellingham x mom!reader

— requested by anon (18 jan 2023)

— summary • Exhausted from the daily demands of taking care of their children, you feels overwhelmed and drained. Jude notices your fatigue and takes matters into his own hands, whisking you away on a surprise vacation to the other side of the world. In the serenity of a private paradise, you and Jude reconnect as a couple, far from the responsibilities of parenthood, finding comfort in each other’s company and rekindling their romance.

— warnings • Fluff, explicit sexual content (vanilla), mentions of exhaustion, emotional intimacy.

— charlotte’s note: i’m kinda bad at writing smut or like write about have sex in general 🙇🏻‍♀️

Life had become a whirlwind of responsibilities. You hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in months, between managing the house, chasing after your two children, and trying to carve out a moment of peace for yourself. Every morning, you felt like you were running on fumes, moving from one task to the next, just trying to keep everything afloat. Jude had been supportive, as always, but even with his help, the weight of motherhood was starting to overwhelm you.

You loved your children with all your heart, but it felt like you’d lost a part of yourself in the process. The exhaustion was more than just physical; it was emotional. Every day, you gave and gave, until there was nothing left for yourself. The spark in your eyes had dimmed, and Jude noticed.

One night, after the kids were finally asleep, you collapsed on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. Jude sat beside you, gently rubbing your back as you rested your head on his shoulder. You didn’t say much. You didn’t need to. He could feel how tired you were, how much you were struggling, even if you didn’t complain.

“Love,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of concern. “You’re completely drained. I can see it, and I hate seeing you like this. You’re always giving so much. Let me take care of you.”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “I’m just… tired, Jude. The kids, the house, everything. It’s like I haven’t had a second to just breathe.”

Jude pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got an idea. Let me spoil you for a bit, yeah?”

You looked up at him, confused but intrigued. “What do you mean?”

A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Pack a bag. Just the two of us. I’m taking you away.”

“Jude, we can’t. What about the kids?”

“My mum’s already agreed to take care of them for a few days. You need this, and so do I.” He gave you a reassuring grin. “Trust me. You deserve a break, love.”

Before you knew it, you were on a plane, flying halfway across the world to an unknown destination. Jude had kept everything a secret, and despite your initial reservations, excitement started to bubble inside you. The idea of leaving behind the chaos of everyday life — even just for a short while — was exhilarating.

After hours of travel, you finally arrived at your destination. When you stepped out of the plane, the warm ocean breeze hit your face, and you gasped. You were on a private island, the kind you’d only ever seen in travel magazines. The beach stretched out before you, with powdery white sand and crystal-clear waters that shimmered under the sun. A luxurious villa was nestled just a short walk from the shore, secluded and surrounded by lush greenery.

“Jude,” you breathed, unable to believe your eyes. “This… this is amazing.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist as he guided you towards the villa. “I wanted to take you somewhere where we could just be us. No kids, no stress. Just you and me.”

The villa was even more stunning inside, with its open-plan design, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, and a spacious balcony where you could watch the sunset. Everything felt perfect, like a dream.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe. There were no little feet running around, no toys to pick up, no diapers to change. It was just you and Jude, with nothing but time.

The days passed slowly, in the best possible way. You and Jude fell into a rhythm that was all about relaxation. Mornings were spent walking along the beach, the gentle waves lapping at your feet as Jude held your hand, laughing and stealing kisses like you were a pair of teenagers in love. Afternoons were for lounging by the pool, with the sun warming your skin and Jude’s voice softly teasing you as he splashed water playfully. You’d laugh, feeling lighter than you had in months.

But it was the nights that felt the most intimate. After quiet dinners under the stars, you’d retreat to your villa, where the sound of the ocean lulled you into a sense of calm. It was in those moments that you and Jude reconnected, finding each other in the quiet spaces where your lives had been too loud before.

One particular evening, after a long day of exploring the island, you stood on the balcony of your villa, gazing out at the moonlit ocean. The air was warm, and the gentle breeze made the palm trees sway. Jude joined you, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.”

You closed your eyes, leaning back against him, feeling the tension in your body melt away. “I feel like I can finally relax,” you whispered. “Thank you, Jude. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

He turned you around to face him, his hands resting on your hips as his eyes searched yours. “You’ve been incredible with the kids, with everything. But I want to take care of you too. You deserve that.”

You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of love and desire as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. It was the kind of kiss that reminded you of how deeply connected the two of you were, even after all the years and everything you’d been through. Slowly, his hands began to explore your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

Jude pulled you inside, his kisses growing more passionate as he guided you toward the bed. The air between you was thick with desire, but there was no rush. This was about the two of you, taking your time to rediscover each other.

You could feel the soft fabric of your dress falling away as Jude’s hands roamed over your skin. His touch was familiar, yet electric, igniting a fire inside you that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, his gaze full of adoration and love.

As he lowered you onto the bed, his lips never leaving yours, your body responded to his touch with an intensity that surprised you. Each caress, each kiss, was slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every moment with you. The way his hands moved over your body made you feel cherished, desired, and more connected to him than ever before.

When he finally joined you, his weight was a comforting presence above you, grounding you in the moment. The intimacy between you was sweet and slow, a reaffirmation of the love you shared. Every touch, every movement was filled with tenderness, a silent conversation between two people who had been through so much together and come out stronger on the other side.

Afterwards, as you lay in his arms, your head resting on his chest, you felt a deep sense of peace wash over you. The sound of his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, lulled you into a state of complete contentment. For the first time in months, you felt truly relaxed, as if all the weight you’d been carrying had been lifted.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the quiet, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Jude kissed the top of your head, his arm tightening around you protectively. “For what, love?”

“For bringing me here. For taking care of me. For everything.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You take care of everyone else. It’s my turn to take care of you. I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

In that moment, wrapped in his embrace and the tranquility of your surroundings, you felt completely at peace. The exhaustion that had once seemed insurmountable was gone, replaced by a deep sense of love and connection. You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Jude would face them together.

And as you drifted off to sleep, listening to the soothing sound of the waves and the steady beat of Jude’s heart, you knew that you were right where you were meant to be — loved, cherished, and never alone.

#football imagines #football fanfic #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham smau #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you

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neptuneiris · 2 months ago

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Cruel Summer (01/10)

Sunset's Bay

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader

summary: There are two sides to the city of Sunset's Bay, the rich who live in 'Crown's' and the poor who live in 'Black Waves'. What happens when a rich guy and a poor girl meet and inevitably fall in love? In the city where they live and with their status, that can't be possible.

words: 5.8k

series masterlist • next part

I wasn't sure about posting this but if you like the story I will continue with it, it all depends on how you receive it😬

in case you like it, I want to advance that the story will be a kind of forbidden love by the fact of rich and poor hehe and I have a lot prepared, basically everything is already written, I just need to structure it in a better way

this has only been an introduction to the world of Sunset's Bay, so I hope you enjoy it and the warnings will be added as I post the chapters if you like it🤗

so enjoy!

Sunset's Bay.

The hidden but mostly inhabited beach on the California Coast, with golden and white sands that slide into crystal clear waters of such a deep blue that it seems infinite.

According to Google, it is one of the most beautiful beaches in Northern California and where teenagers living in surrounding cities yearn to come every time a new summer begins.

Sunset and sunrise on these waters are beautiful, as they transform the horizon into a palette of vibrant colors, from warm shades of gold and pink to soft purple and the deep blue of night.

Every summer, the beach comes alive with exciting surfing tournaments, as well as Sunset's Pier, the midpoint of the beach where everyone mingles, transforms into charity events with live music, fireworks and lamp shows that illuminate the night with a mesmerizing light show.

Boat and yacht rides add a touch of sophistication to the coastal scene. This allows tourists to explore the waters beyond the beach, visit small islands up close and enjoy the serenity of the open sea.

But on top of all that, everything is meticulously maintained, most of it, like the clean, spacious beaches, adorned by palm trees swaying gently in the sea breeze.

And your favorite section, the volcanic stone cliffs that are distributed in specific locations on the beach, offering rocky walls as you sit on the seashore behind you and all around, emerging as natural guardians of the beach.

And from their heights, you can take in panoramic views of all the beauty of the landscape, encompassing the vast endless ocean and coastline to the endless horizon.

You always looked forward to coming here as a child when a new term at school ended and your mother was always willing to come and spend the vacations with your relatives, the Blackwoods.

They always welcomed you and your mother and together with your cousin Alysanne, you had an amazing summer.

Ever since you were little, you have always been tattooed with the memory of the sand on your feet, the salt air in your nostrils, the water enveloping you completely and the sun in full sunset caressing your whole face as you watched it on the horizon starting to descend on the shore of the beach with the cliffs behind you.

And now, that's all you know, a life in Sunset's and your frequent days at the beach.

Living with your aunt and uncle and Alysanne in a house big enough to also make room for you on the beach shore, this has been your home for exactly a year now.

And now summer has begun.

"Sam has sent a message."

You raise your gaze to Alysanne as you finish cleaning one of the tables.

"He says to meet him at the beach with the others in the evening. Do you want to go?"

You place a small smile on your lips.

"Sure."

"Table nine!"

You both turn your heads toward your boss, who looks at both of you as if he wants to kill you at any moment, and you quickly rush to serve the food, briefly wiping the sweat from your brow to keep working.

"Hurry up, Blackwood," Mr. Frey tells you reluctantly as you begin to pick up the orders on the tray.

You let out a long breath and glance at the clock briefly before going to serve, realizing that you will have to put up with this for four more hours and for the rest of the summer as well.

Unfortunately you and Alysanne have to work, as it has been for some months now at a seafood restaurant where the 'rich' people from this side of the city come to enjoy the delicious food.

And because of the summer, the work has increased. But that doesn't stop them both from having fun now that summer has begun.

So as soon as you and Alysanne finish your shift, you head home as soon as possible and start getting ready to meet your friends at the beach.

Previously going out and having fun was a problem for Alysanne's parents, your aunt and uncle were not the liberal type, but as soon as you both started working and helping them with the household expenses with what you could, they started to be more permissive and understanding.

And this is your home, the less ostentatious side of the city, but still genuine.

Once you join Sam and all the boys on the beach, you head for the small boat floating near the shore.

It is not a luxurious boat, much less can it be compared to a boat or yacht of the latest model, but it is a modest boat that has seen many summer seasons.

And it has taken them all to many spots on the beach and you have shared many anecdotes on it.

And as the boat glides through the calm waters, you and Alysanne enjoy the laughter and stories shared by the boys from the neighborhood, Sam, Daniel and Chase.

The three of them have been childhood friends of Alysanne's and when you came to live with her officially, she introduced you to them and now you all have formed a group of friends where you enjoy afternoons like these with Sam's boat and where you also go swimming and surfing all together.

The sea breeze caresses your faces and the sun slowly begins to descend as it paints the sky in warm golden tones, until the afternoon turns into night.

And on the beach, with a campfire in the center, the starry sky above and all together in a circle, you start burning marshmallows and drinking beer.

"And tell us..." speaks Daniel, watching you both curiously, "How about the slave life for the rich people?"

You and your cousin let out a small laugh.

"Slaves?" you repeat amused.

"Well yeah, come on, you said your boss... what's his name? Grey? Payne?"

"Frey," Alysanne corrects him.

"Yeah, that," he points to her, "He's a jerk or not?"

"And no concept of patience and prudence," you add.

"I imagine the ones who eat there are worse, no?" asks Chase.

Daniel snaps his fingers at him.

"Lannister?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. Jason Lannister has that vibe."

"I put him in the top one of the most hated, along with the Baratheons. And I have a feeling the Arryns do too, I don't know why," Daniel again looks at you both, "Right?"

"You work for them," Alysanne tells him amused, "Don't you know that?"

"Well, it's not like they can tell me much for cleaning their boats and yachts but... no–they're extremely nice, though..." he holds up his finger with a thoughtful expression, "Though I think there must be something wrong with them."

Alysanne lets out a snort.

"They're rich and live at Crown's, practically owning all the establishments on the beach just like the Lannisters, Baratheons, Tyrells and others leaving nothing for us, the poor ones, because they despise us," she says with an ironic but true tone "Of course there must be something wrong with them."

"One time one of them didn't leave me a tip," you say, remembering, "The Tyrell's."

Sam looks at you amused.

"Tips are not obligatory."

"Oh come on," you retort, with a touch of irony, "They're rich, they can have yachts and mansions, but can't they at least give me a five percent tip?"

"Yet it's not obligatory."

Everyone lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, it's not the nicest place to work and the customers aren't necessarily nice but the pay is good, after all," Alysanne says as she shrugs.

And that's true.

Even though it's not a good work environment, the necessity is what makes you not quit and endure as much as you can. Even though your aunt and uncle are taking care of you and taking responsibility for you, you know you can't continue that way forever.

You want to be independent, pay for your own things, especially you want to pay for college, but to do that, you have to work and now this is the job.

Besides it's useless to find work elsewhere when the owners are still the same; rich and arrogant. And you can't find work on your side of the city because the pay won't be much or maybe they won't even hire because they can't afford it.

But right now, being here enjoying the summer with your friends and your cousin, you allow yourself not to think about it and just continue to criticize the rich people.

And after many cans of beer, Chase picks up his guitar and you all together start singing in the most off-key and horrible way possible, laughing amongst everyone with the jokes filling the air, just like the heat of the flames and the aroma of roasting marshmallows.

"You had a party and didn't invite me!?"

Almost everyone together turns their heads unexpectedly toward the approaching outside voice laden with amusement and mild reproach.

And then they all see Cregan Stark with a huge grin and a bottle of beer in hand.

The guys soon start showing off at the mere sight of him, making jokes and greeting him with great enthusiasm, as Cregan greets them.

And you just watch Alysanne with a sly smile, amused by Cregan's sudden appearance, but of course, she quickly hides all traces of whatever her reaction is to seeing him, adjusting her expression to one of neutrality as she tries to appear disinterested.

But you know.

And you're amused at how she acts as if you don't know her.

Cregan Stark is the spoiled son of one of the wealthiest families in Sunset's, living in one of the most exclusive areas on the Crown's side.

His appearance reflects his status; brand name clothes, really expensive accessories, late model car and an attitude that denotes familiarity with luxury. However, despite his wealth, Cregan has proven to be different from other boys in his social environment.

Although he has access to all the luxuries, he does not carry with him the air of superiority and arrogance that many would expect from someone like him and that those of his class usually display.

In fact, Cregan became friends with Chase, who works for his family in the ports.

And it was Chase who introduced him to the group and although at first no one felt confident with him, Cregan instead of imposing his status, imposed a genuine and friendly demeanor that won the friendship of everyone in the circle.

Later everyone understood that he doesn't really enjoy being with people from the same environment as himself. The wealthy teenagers he usually hung out with, for the most part, were overly judgmental and arrogant.

So thanks to Chase, he found company with all of you, the guys from across the city who don't have a mansion and all the money in the world, but who are genuine and free of pretense.

Despite the looks people give Cregan for not understanding his choice of company, he deliberately ignores them. His parents don't say anything to him either, although he says they clearly prefer that he stop interact with you.

"I am deeply, intensely and extremely offended," he says expressing mock indignation, holding a hand to his chest, watching you incredulously but amused.

"Come on, man, don't get dramatic," Chase tells him giving him a friendly tap on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we're just getting warmed up," Sam encourages him.

"Besides..." says Daniel, in an exaggerated tone, "We can't send messages across the beach, us poor people have to use carrier pigeons like the olden days to get anything to you, but guess what... we're so poor we can't even afford pigeons."

Everyone lets out a laugh, enjoying Daniel's humor in implying the differences between the poor and the rich on the beach.

"Stop, seriously, why didn't you guys tell me you were doing this?" Cregan asks, taking a seat on the logs.

"I heard there's a party on your side of the beach and I figured you'd be heading over there," Chase tells him, "Which you did, didn't you?" he points to the beer in his hand.

He lets out a long breath.

"Yeah but it was pretty fucking boring."

"Boring?" you repeat incredulously, "A party with a DJ, champagne and yachts I highly doubt is boring."

"Well, not that it wasn't fun," he says looking around and observing everyone, "But I wanted this, to be with you guys, the atmosphere."

"And how did you know we were here?" asks Alysanne curious.

"I didn't exactly know," he smiles at her, "So I just decided to come and try my luck."

"Oh man, stop it or you'll make me cry," Daniel jokes, holding a hand to his heart.

"He loves us, doesn't he?" asks Sam, with a smirk.

"Yeah, he definitely loves us."

Everyone laughs and you watch discreetly as he and Alysanne start throwing their little looks at each other.

"Party with DJ and yachts? Man, if I were you, I'd be enjoying that," Sam confesses, shaking his head in a gesture of incomprehension.

"It's not big deal and people are hateful, believe me."

No one argues with him about that but you too sometimes wish you could have fun like that, have the experience of going to a beach party like the rich kids in the movies, just once.

But the time will come, someday, there are still many summers left to enjoy.

The conversation flows as the boys settle around the campfire, the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cool night breeze blowing in from the sea.

The atmosphere is filled with laughter and banter, and the relaxed beach setting becomes the perfect backdrop for a night of genuine camaraderie.

Cregan, with his carefree and genuine attitude, seems to fit right in with all fo you and that he values sincere company over superficial luxury.

And you don't know exactly how much more time passes or how many beers that Daniel brings back the theme of the rich party on the other side of the beach.

"Hey, Cregan," he says, leaning forward with a mischievous expression, "Since you're here, why don't you take us to that party? I'm sure it's not as bad as you say."

Cregan raises an eyebrow, amused but surprised.

"What?"

Something about Daniel's words clicks in everyone's head, even yours, so you quickly exchange glances with Alysanne. And Cregan notices how everyone starts to truly consider it.

"Do you guys really want to go to that party?"

"And why not?" asks Alysanne, with an grin, "I'm sure we can have fun, even if we're not part of the rich circle."

"Yeah, and besides..." adds Sam, with a persuasive tone, "It would be interesting to see what the other side of the city is like from the inside. We've never been to a party like this."

Cregan seems to think about it for a moment, looking at the boys with a mixture of doubt and amusement.

"Seriously you guys are telling me this? The rich haters?"

You shrug.

"The rich hate us too."

"And that's precisely why we want to go," Sam says, gesturing animatedly, "We want to try something different. And who knows, maybe we'll give you a good reason to have a little more fun at that party. Right, Chase?"

Everyone looks at Chase, who shrugs.

"I guess that wouldn't be bad."

"But you haven't thought this through," Cregan insists, "As soon as they see you all, they'll know you're not like them."

Everyone looks at themselves and well... he's right.

The rich, especially those who are the same age as you, have a radar to recognize someone who is just like them... or not.

But you don't blame them, since you have them too, the difference is that you don't make disgusted faces or criticize in whispers as soon as you notice.

You notice your two-piece bikini top is wrinkled and is clearly second hand, besides your worn-out sandals. Alysanne is also in the same condition as you and the boys... well, they're worse.

Sam's shirt is torn, Chase's is torn, and the clothes are visibly secondhand.

"We have better clothes at home," you tell Alysanne and she nods.

"And we take our shirts off and stay in shorts," Daniel says, in solution, "Are we at the beach or not?"

"And if something goes wrong, we can always run out and come back here," Alysanne suggests.

Everyone nods and basically watches Cregan with puppy dog eyes, hopeful that he will take you to his kind of people.

"What do you think, Cregan?"

Cregan is silent for a few seconds, his gaze sweeping over the group around him, analyzing and thinking about all the things that could go wrong. And he doesn't pass up the abandoned cat look that Daniel and Sam throw at him.

And finally, he lets out a laugh and a resigned sigh.

"All right, all right. I'll take you. But if we have a bad time, don't say I didn't warn you."

"That's what I like to hear!" exclaims Sam, raising his arms in victory.

"We won't regret it."

"We may not but the rich will."

"Thanks, Cregan," says Alysanne, patting him on the back.

You frown as you watch her gesture and also notice Cregan's confused look for a moment, but go back to watching the boys.

"Well, then let's go before I change my mind."

You put out the campfire, pick up the trash and with laughter they all very animatedly walk away from your spot on the beach, heading first towards the trash cans and then towards Cregan's car.

"You do know Cregan likes you, don't you?" you say to Alysanne, walking a little further away from the guys.

She gives you an incredulous look.

"What?"

"Oh come on and you like him too, don't deny it."

"Of course I don't."

"Of course you do."

"You're crazy."

"And you won't stand a chance if you keep treating him like just a dude."

"Oh yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

You let out a laugh, understanding that it will be difficult for her to accept and share it with you, so you give her time. The guys behind you laugh too, with the echo fading into the salty air, leaving the sea breeze and the sound of the waves behind.

The difference in locations is completely noticeable.

You leave behind the small wooden houses, the unkempt streets, the establishments where you and your friends can shop, the bicycles and old cars, to move to large neighborhoods with green grass, trees and bushes on every corner with huge luxurious houses, almost mansions with modern cars and expensive decorations.

The guys are excited and so are you, as you have never explored these sections of the beach before, which are completely exclusive and with access for the rich people.

Obviously there are entrances with booths and security guards, so Cregan's appearance alone proves he's a Stark and he's allowed in without objection.

And soon enough, you arrive at the party.

"Oh my goodness, look at this," exclaims Alysanne, wide-eyed as she takes in the scene.

"That's a Prestige F4?" asks Sam in surprise, eyeing the luxurious yacht in the distance.

"Seriously, how much money do these people have?" mutters Daniel, in shock.

"More than you'll ever have," Alysanne tells him with a smirk as you all walk onto the beach illuminated by the party lights.

"You don't know that," Chase replies to her, pretending to be offended, "Maybe someday I'll get rich and buy one of those," he points to the yachts.

"I'm very offended that you didn't invite us to your parties sooner," Daniel says to Cregan, putting a hand to his chest as if he were badly wounded, "How could you hide all this from us?"

"Don't draw too much attention to yourselves, guys," Cregan asks with a mixture of concern and amusement in his voice.

"We won't," says Sam, "We'll just enjoy ourselves apart from the others but inside, you get it?"

The music starts to get louder and soon enough, we are inside the party.

Blue and purple neon lights illuminate the white sand, creating a dazzling contrast against the night sky. Waves break gently on the shore, almost muted by the music vibrating through the air.

There is indeed a DJ from a raised platform and most of the people here dance in the center to the music, some with cocktails in hand, bottles of champagne or recording the moment on their phones.

Near the dock, several luxurious yachts are docked, all decorated with lights flashing to the rhythm of the music. There are people inside them, enjoying the party from right there.

Some people get off the yachts to join the party on the beach, while others stay on board, enjoying the view and the exclusivity it offers.

If not beer, there is a bar offering a variety of exotic drinks and gourmet appetizers, such as sushi, caviar and canapés.

And throughout the party, groups of people are spread out, chatting animatedly, laughing, toasting and dancing. There are also party games, such as beer pong and spin the bottle.

While others gather around improvised campfires farther away near the sea, where the atmosphere is more relaxed, watching the spectacle around them.

The air is permeated with the smell of sea salt mixed with expensive perfumes and the sound of laughter and music all along the beach.

It is a party that clearly reflects the wealth and status of their hosts, as well as the people present; pure spoiled kids with rich parents.

"Are we going to have fun or what!?" exclaims Sam excitedly, fully entering the party and everyone follows.

Chase convinces Cregan to be worrying since most of the people here are in their own world and he doubts drunkenly checking to see if they have the latest model Iphone or what.

And honestly you relax too as everyone here is having fun and you along with Alysanne look more presentable in nice bikinis.

They are second hand still but they are more cared for than the others you have.

Sam quickly orders drinks, surprised and excited to have gotten a bottle of champagne, then Cregan and the others take him and you and Alysanne to a more secluded spot.

You make a space for yourselves on the sand, a bit secluded from everyone, having the view of the huge luxurious houses, the cliffs in the distance and also the illuminated yachts on the dock behind you.

Pretty soon you have your beer and start enjoying yourselves just like everyone else, not worrying too much and just pretending you are one of them all.

Mingling with the rich at Sunset's pier is one thing, since the pier is the center of the entire beach and there are no prejudices there, but now pretending to be one is completely different.

You find yourself watching everyone around you when Alysanne nudges you slightly and points her gaze to a specific spot.

"Look at that."

You follow her gaze and see a group of girls.

"That bracelet is from Pandora, I saw it on Instagram."

From here you can see how their gold and silver necklaces and bracelets sparkle. Also the bikinis they have on are beautiful, certainly brand name. There is also a girl with a Guess bag and they all have the latest Iphone model in their hand.

And you turn to Alysanne with a shrug.

"Why are we judging when it should be the other way around?"

"We're not judging, we're just noticing the differences between girls like them and girls like us."

You both let out a laugh.

"You definitely want that Pandora bracelet, don't you?" you look at her amused.

"And you don't?"

The two of you continue to observe or rather admire all those rich girls who have fancy accessories when suddenly you hear a specific boast behind you.

You turn your head and see the dock, noticing how some impeccably dressed people are boarding one of the larger yachts docked near the shore.

And there they are.

You think as you make out those distinctive black, red and silver hair.

Of course they couldn't miss a party like this, the sons of the most influential families in the city, the Lannister's, Baratheon's and Targaryen's, practically the elite of Sunset's.

You've seen Cerelle, Tyshara and Loreon Lannister before on the Sunset's Pier, their red hair gives away who they are instantly. They always brag about their luxurious yachts, cars, jewelry stores and everything else they own.

Their father, Jason Lannister, has built an empire based on shipbuilding and port development.

From what you understand, his company designs and manufactures some of the most advanced and exclusive ships for the world's elite.

In addition to this, Lannister also owns a network of ports and shipyards on several coasts, allowing him to maintain a steady flow of wealth through port fees and contracts with global corporations.

This influence has given him a prominent place among the city's powerful and his family has inherited not only his fortune, but also his imposing and domineering character.

So it is no surprise that the Lannister's are typical spoiled children with clearly very wealthy parents, as are the others, especially the Baratheon's, Cassandra, Maris and Floris.

Known as much for their tanned skin and peculiar dark hair as for their arrogant attitude, they always seek to be the center of attention at any such social event.

Cassandra, the eldest, has a dominant bearing and never misses an opportunity to show off her status. She is also the best known of the daughters to go out every now and then with a boy from an important family either from the city or abroad.

Next, there is Maris, the quietest of the three and the most reserved, but still, as you have heard, just as spoiled and boastful as her older sister.

And finally, Floris, Cerelle's best friend and supposedly the most arrogant, capricious, shallow and boastful of the three.

She is the one who seems the sweetest at first glance, but her spoiled nature soon becomes evident when something doesn't go her way.

You also know that there are two other children, a daughter and a son, Ellyn and Royce, but apparently Ellyn prefers to stay at home and Royce does not live here.

Her father, Borros Baratheon, is a most important and influential shipping magnate and merchant in the region, known for his connections with outside businessmen.

He owns one of the largest commercial fleets operating along the entire Pacific coast. You don't know exactly what it's about but the guys have talked about how his company specializes in logistics and shipping goods across the ocean or something like that.

And finally, the sons of the most powerful family in the entire city and the entire country, the Targaryen's.

Viserys Targaryen is known as the most powerful man in the entire country and by extension his entire family as well. He owns one of the largest and most influential corporations in the region.

Your uncle Ben always had a kind of admiration for him, though your aunt always expressed her dislike of him, as well as the other families, for simply being other greedy money-rotters who drive up the costs of the city for all that they invest to elevate their status and leave you poor people increasingly difficult to make a living.

You honestly couldn't agree with her more, but the Targaryen's have been forging their main empire here in Sunset's for a very long time now and there is nothing that can really be done about it.

The Targaryen business empire focuses on multiple sectors, but they are best known for owning a very prestigious bank, where they serve wealthy elites and large corporations, as well as financing large scale projects, such as real estate developments, technology or even public infrastructure.

You understand that he has built and manages shopping malls, corporate skyscrapers and exclusive developments in major cities across the country, as well as high profile tourist destinations like Sunset's.

So basically all of them and him especially have total control over the financial resources of the region, as well as infrastructure and development in the most luxurious sectors.

Although Viserys and his wife Alicent are no longer seen as much at events this side of Crown's and on the pier, their influence still shapes everything that happens here.

"Hey."

Sam snaps you out of your thoughts when you feel him tap you on the shoulder and you turn your head towards him, confused and attentive.

"Hm?"

"What are you looking at?" he asks you amused, sitting down next to you and offering you a new bottle of beer.

"Oh, no, nothing, just..." you shake your head, taking the beer and not paying attention to the son's and daughter's of rich parents.

But Sam had followed your gaze before.

"I know, they're beautiful, aren't they?"

You immediately watch him intently.

"Who?"

"The yachts," he tells you as if it's obvious, "Imagine spending a whole weekend on one, just doing this..." he points to the beer and all the partying, "In the middle of the ocean."

You let out a small laugh.

"That's your biggest dream, isn't it?"

"And for the yacht to be mine, obviously," he says excitedly, turning his gaze back to the dock where they all are, "If I used to see them from afar and feel envious, now it's torture to have them so close."

You look to where he sees and he has a very good point. They could live perfectly well on one of those yachts and there would be no problem, which is also one of your dreams.

"Oh, come on Sam," you give him a friendly smack, looking at him again and you notice the gleam of longing in his eyes, "Surely your charm can make a girl from Crown's fall in love with you and let you enjoy the amazing yachts."

He looks at you incredulously.

"A Crown's girl with someone like me? Are you kidding?"

"It's not impossible," you shrug.

"Oh yeah, here at Sunset's everything is impossible if you don't live on this side of town."

And that's another good point and very true.

Daniel joins you and Sam's little group and you stop paying attention the moment you turn your gaze back towards the yachts and them specifically.

This time you focus on the Targaryen's, Helaena, Aegon and Aemond.

Surprisingly, despite being in the top tier of the wealthiest and most powerful family in the entire city and country, compared to the Lannister's, Baratheon's, Tyrell's, Arryn's, Stark's and Greyjoy's, they are not so smug, superficial and arrogant.

Although, come to think of it, the only exception is Aegon.

The eldest of the brothers, he is characteristic of his carefree and arrogant attitude. His life is summed up in parties, girls and excesses. Everyone knows him, he is the soul of the party and drives all the girls crazy.

For him, life is a game where he always wins. Sometimes he seems like the typical privileged son who has never had to strive for anything, but his power lies precisely in that.

Then there is Helaena, the only sister among the Targaryens who has a pleasant and gentle presence.

Although she is rich, the richest of them all and extremely beautiful, she doesn't abuse it, she doesn't show it off, she's not shallow or arrogant, besides she's always looking out for her siblings.

She is the kind of person who doesn't need to shout to be noticed and with just a quiet smile, she earns the respect and admiration of those around her.

You know a little about her as Chase has a little now not so secret crush on her and honestly you don't blame him, she is absolutely beautiful and even kind, which is rare due to her provenance.

And finally there's Aemond, who of all them, he's always been... different.

Where Aegon is shameless and carefree, Aemond is calculating and serious. Always impeccably dressed, with an expression that doesn't say much and keeps him at a safe distance from most.

From what you've heard, he's extremely intelligent, he's also reserved and quiet, the complete opposite of Aegon.

There is also a rumor about him about his left eye, something about an accident as a child and where he apparently wears a prosthetic.

You don't really know much about it or him but he's always been intriguing and mysterious, in a way.

You focus on him specifically, watching him from a distance, curious, as he takes a seat on the deck with an expression you can't read as it doesn't tell you much.

You watch as his short silver hair moves slightly in the wind and breeze, as well as he watches everything around him intently, to again focus on his siblings and Floris.

Floris is his girlfriend, apparently they have been dating for a few months now and have given a lot to talk about since no one expected Aemond to even date anyone.

But there they are.

You watch as Floris approaches him and takes a seat on his lap, looking radiant in a tight dress and a huge smile on her face, but he, on the other hand, remains expressionless.

Floris murmurs something in his ear, to which he responds with a slight smile, but averts his gaze to the horizon. However, she gently takes him by the jaw and leaves a soft kiss on his lips.

They begin to kiss and you look away, trying to refocus on the party and enjoying yourself here with your friends.

However, being here with all these wealthy people, especially the Targaryen's, you can't help but feel that divide about the rich and the poor at Sunset's.

You feel like you live in two different worlds, where they, the rich, live a life completely oblivious to the concerns of the people on the other side of town, in Crown's.

While you and the others work in the restaurants, clean their yachts, boats, houses and make sure their lives are comfortable.

They float above it all, the Targaryen's, Lannister's, Stark's, Baratheon's and so on, attending parties and making decisions that only benefit their own.

But you, the poor, the ones who live in Black Waters have nothing, you don't have the money, the influence or the power. Even the name of your side of town is a mockery to them, the rich, in despising even more the poor who don't have what they have.

But that's the life in Sunset's Bay.

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #modern hotd #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #modern aemond #modern au #aemond one eye #aemond x oc

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months ago

Text

Injured (Alexia's Version): Future III

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You spend time with Mami

"You know," You say, resting against the bench," Just because I'm now free from my job doesn't mean that I enjoy coming to yours. I'm not six."

Alexia laughs at your teasing, lightly slapping your legs to move so she can sit down too.

You sit up, adjusting your sunglasses on your face as you move.

"You love it really."

You roll your eyes, not that Alexia can tell but you're grinning too and she bumps her shoulders against yours.

Mami's been retired from football for a while now, a player turned manager of Barcelona's women's team. She's on a quest to get as many titles as manager as she did as a player.

Which is why you're here now, at a Champion's League semi-final. It's the second leg with Barcelona already up three nil against Chelsea.

You're not too worried but your Mami is. She knows how quickly a match can change.

It just takes one moment for it all to go to shit.

Mami's a bit intense like that.

It's probably one of the reasons you prefer ballet to sports. There's no competition when you're actually performing. There's some competition for parts behind the scenes but once you're on stage, there is no foul play.

Everyone is trying to do their very best for the crowd.

You couldn't even imagine what it would be like to compete against another ballet company at the same time.

Football has always been a bit too intense for you. It was Mami's passion, even now.

"You're too stressed," You say," Take a day off."

Alexia laughs at you, teasingly ruffling your hair. "Funny," She says," I distinctly remember telling you that a few weeks ago. What was it you said to me? No chance!"

You laugh with her. "Hey! I never said I practiced what I preached!"

"Neither did I!"

It's nice being here with Mami.

Olga's in Madrid with a client and Jaume's on a trip with his school so it's just the two of you in the house right now.

"The girls will be fine," You say dismissively," You're ready. It's only Chelsea."

"Only Chelsea," Alexia repeats with an eye roll," You've not been watching any of their games recently."

You blow her a kiss. "You know I only watch football when you're around, Mami. I'm not Jaume."

Jaume watches football as often as he can, glued to the screen. If he's not watching then he's playing. His dirty football boots lay all over the house.

It's a little annoying, especially when he jumps onto your bed still wearing them.

But you do miss him, annoying as your brother is.

The stadium slowly fills up with fans as you and Alexia sit on the bench together.

You think you and Mami are more similar now that you've grown up. You've always been like her subtly. Her drive and her passion and her ambition.

But you look more like her now.

You've grown into her features, your nose, the curve of your lips, your eyes.

You grin as she pulls you up, grasping your hand tightly as she guides you back inside.

You've got a break for a few weeks before you're back with the company. It's a welcome break, one where you can go back to eating normally and feeling like the world is crushing you.

It's a brutal cycle but one every ballerina goes through.

It's hard and it's horrible but it's what you sacrifice on the altar of ballet.

This break is nice though.

You've got a trip to Mallorca coming up during it where you can just soak up the sun and the sand and whatever fruity drinks you can be bothered to buy.

Just you and the crystal waters.

"Hey," You say to Alexia," I'm going to grab something from the vending machine. Do you want something?"

"I shouldn't..."

You see through her excuses though, waiting her out.

"Just a drink. Sugar free, Bambi!"

"I know!"

You know the stadium like the back of your hand, weaving through the halls to the vending machine you know stocks the best chocolate bars you've ever eaten.

Mami used to buy them for you and Jaume when you were little and the match was over. She used to walk all the way to the rival's end of stadium, still in her kit and boots with you and Jaume following after her like little ducklings.

She didn't even care that the opposing players would stare. She would walk straight up to the vending machine in front of their changing room to get you your favourite chocolate and Jaume his favourite drink.

You could do the walk in your sleep.

Someone's already there though, staring through the glass at it.

It's one of the Chelsea girls.

You vaguely recognise her, one of the older players on the team. You're pretty sure she plays for England too but you're not quite sure because you only watch matches when Mami's around.

"Sorry," You say. You're English is rusty from years of not using it apart from in school. "Are you-?"

"Oh! No, sorry."

You nod in thanks, punching in your choices before paying.

You grab your chocolate and Mami's drink.

She's pretty, this older woman. Exactly your type. If you'd met in the club, you'd probably try to entice her closer but you're at Mami's workplace so you don't.

"I'm not sure what to choose," She says," What do you recommend?"

"The chocolate," You say, waving your choice," The crisps are always stale. Don't get them."

She nods. "Noted."

You go to leave but she still calls after you.

"Hey, can I have your number?"

You lay your cards in the table immediately. "I'm not looking for a relationship," You tell her," I...I'm just not..."

She shrugs. "Can I have your number anyway?"

"You don't mind?"

"I just got out of a relationship. I'm not looking for another one. But you're fit and you give good snack recommendations."

You study her. "I'm y/n."

"Aggie. So...is that a yes?"

"Sure."

When you make your way back to Mami, the Barcelona girls are already warming up.

"You took a while," She says, gratefully taking her drink and pressing a soft kiss to your crown.

"I stopped at the toilets," You reply.

She nods. "Are you still okay with staying down here instead of going to the box?"

"As long as you don't yell at me if it goes wrong then yeah."

"I'd never yell at you," Alexia says," I've been told that having you down here actually makes me calmer."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever." You look down at your phone in your hand. "Hey, remember when you worried about me going to Mallorca by myself?"

Alexia frowns at the change of subject but nods. "Yes. I still am worried, if that's what you're checking."

"You don't need to be," You say," I've got someone coming to stay with me now."

Sun, sand, sea and sex.

The best way for you to spend your break from ballet.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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evie-sturns · 4 months ago

Text

skinny dip - Chris Sturniolo

summary: where a late night beach trip with your boyfriend chris turns into skinny dipping with him.

contains: fluff, swearing, skinny dipping, a bit short cause i’m busy as shit.

————————————-🌊————————————-

8:55pm

i lay a pink striped towel across the cool sand, the entire beach is completely empty except for chris and i.

chris flops down on the towel,

“chris! you’ve put sand all over it!” i groan,

he almost giggles, a stupid grin on his face as he lays back on his elbows.

i huff sarcastically before sitting down beside him,

the sun rests on the horizon, creating a glaring sunset.

“you know, this sunset is almost as beautiful as you.” he smirks,

i burst out laughing, “you are such a cornball oh my god.” i say in between laughs as i clasp a hand over his mouth.

“what!! i thought that was a good one!” he pouts, trying to hold back a smile.

i wrap my arms around his waist and cuddle close to his side, resting my head in the crook of his arm.

a peaceful silence stays between the two of us, the only sounds being the waves crashing on the shoreline, alongside seagulls squawking.

“did i ever tell you about my fear of seagulls?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“no….” i say back, my eyebrow quirking up.

“oh god, well when i was like 6 or something at this beach, matt decided to throw his whoooole lunch into the sand and all the seagulls came down and took over our setup”

“you are JOKING.” i laugh, he shakes his head

“i wish i was.”

i giggle before sitting up,

10:56pm

by now the sun has almost fully set

the water looks crystal clear from what i can see, and the moon is casting light on the water.

the waves are small and clean, and i’m overheating on this towel.

“chris.” i say,

he looks up at me with a small hum,

“i wanna go swimming.” i state, he shakes his head,

“we can go back to the house for swimsuits, but i didn’t bring ‘em.” he replies,

“let’s just skinny dip then i don’t know!” i grin,

he laughs it off as a joke,

“no actually, just think-“ i start but chris cuts me off

“last one in the water is a rotten egg.” he says,

“you are an ACTUAL child.” i reply with,

i look over at him and he’s frantically tugging his shirt off,

i pull mine off, discarding it on the towel, my bra follows shortly after.

i scramble up onto my feet and undo my shorts, letting them fall to my ankles, doing the same with my panties.

just then i see chris charging past me, his feet kicking up sand as he runs down the beach.

i almost fall over the towel as i run after him, catching up to him.

our loud laughs fill the empty beach as he wraps his hands around my waist, picking me up as he keeps running,

“chris!” i squeal, he throws me over his shoulder as he runs into the water with us.

the waves hit his knees forcefully, causing us both to tip over into the sea.

he finally lets me go, i float up to the surface where chris is spluttering out water.

“i think i just drank half the ocean-“ he coughs,

“that wouldn’t of happened if you didn’t snatch me up!” i laugh, looking at chris.

his features are barely lit up from the lack of light, but i can see the outline of him.

the water sloshes around my waist,

chris reaches behind me and grabs my ass, picking me up, i wrap my legs behind his back.

suddenly he launches me two meters in the opposite direction, i scream as i hit the water.

he ducks under the water as swims over to me, grabbing my leg.

i squeal, he comes up to the surface with a wide smile,

“christopher- i swear to god i thought you were a shark i’m gonna kill you.” i breathe heavily, inspecting his face as he holds back a laugh.

“i’m sorry for scaring you sweetheart.” he grins, grabbing my hand.

my teeth chatter together, “are you cold?” he asks,

i nod, he spins around and i jump on his back.

i slide down his bare back as he attempts to take us out of the water,

he finally makes it up onto the sand, and i slide fully off of him, my back hitting the sand

“oh-“ he says, looking back as i lay in the dry sand.

he flops down beside me, the sand sticking to our wet bodies.

he rolls over to me, coating himself fully in sand

“you’ve made it worse!” i smile, he pulls me close to his waist and press a kiss to my lips

“i love you” he pecks kisses all over my face,

“love you to.” i grin, taking handfuls of sand and sprinkling it on his chest

———-

@jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathando-64 esgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 9 @sturnthepot t t @zayyluvz z z @realuvrrr r r r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall l l @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver r @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow w @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney y y @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry y y @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @enxtrees @certifiednatelover r r r @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast t t @yomamaslays4lyfe e @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 9 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc c c @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz z z 0 @ratatioulle @sturnsforlife e v @mattsonly @justalittle47 7 @sunsetsturniolos

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo angst

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sl-vega · 5 months ago

Text

✮⋆｡ MEMORIES OF YOU

pairings: Itoshi Sae, Itoshi Rin, x [FEM!] Reader

genre: fluff, oneshot(s), drabble/imagines, established relationship (for some), implied angst if you squint (?), first love, post-u 20 arc, canon compliant

synopsis: in which their friends stumble across photos of you, their first, and only love

CW/additional tags: mild language, potententially ooc, Google translated Spanish in sae's part, English = Japanese in this, might make more scenarios with other characters if people request it

ITOSHI SAE

Sae was slumped across the cushions of his couch as Shidou rummaged through some of his storage boxes.

The other boy had been rather insistent on coming over to his new appartement, and helping him properly move all his stuff into his new living space.

"So does this mean I can finally move in with you?~"

"Keep dreaming."

Shidou pouted, giving Sae uncharacteristically begging eyes, almost like a sad lost puppy, naturally he didn't fall for this and settled for returning his pathetic look with his signature cold glare.

He simply gave him a sickeningly sweet smile in return, and continued taking objects out of the boxes, among the possessions were a lamp, a few photo frames, and an album.

Ryusei's eyes widened in surprise as his eyes came into contact with the book.

"Oh, what do we have here?"

Shidou said with a slight lilt in his voice clearly intrigued. Sae lifted his head from his phone to see what Shidou was doing, surely if something of his managed to pique the interest of Shidou's filthy mind, it would probably be in his best interests to throw it out-

Is what Sae would've said before he spotted the photo album in the taller boy's hands, Shidou fingers gingerly opening the front cover.

Sae reacted before he could even think.

"Put it down."

His voice is cold and sharp, not threatening, more defensive-scared almost, if he was even capable of fear that is.

Shidou's eyes widened momentarily at Sae's reaction before his face shifted back to his usual shit eating grin.

"Why Itoshi? Got some dirty photos you don't want me seeing? I promise I won't tell y'know."

Sae rolled his eyes and grabbed the album out of the blonde's hands.

"They aren't dirty, for your information."

He paused, as he looked at the cover of the book, dust was collecting on it, and there were a few marker stains that he couldn't get off.

"I'd just rather forget about them..."

He muttered, as he gently stroked the spine of the book with his thumb.

"Why'd you keep it then? You seem awfully attached to it."

Shidou's voice dropped lower and took a momentarily more serious tone before switching back to his flamboyant and teasing demeanor.

"I'm kinda jealous of it~."

Sae rolled his eyes, more playfully this time. He opened the book-making a point to hide the rest of the pages from Shidou's view-and took out a single photograph and handed it to him.

It was a photo of Sae and you. He didn't talk about you much, but he maybe he should change that.

"You clearly won't stop bothering me about it."

He waved the piece of paper before Shidou prompty snatched it and eyed it carefully, his eyes widening.

It was a photo of the two of you by some beach in Spain, hands interlocked, and a rare smile on a younger Sae's face. You were wearing a white sundress with a hat as you ran across the shoreline, taking Sae right along with you as the two of you stumbled across the sand together.

He remembered that day crystal clear, you brought a Polaroid camera with you and you got one of the locals to take the photograph for you. You had forced him to take a break from constant training, and before he knew it. He was far from Madrid in that moment, just you, him, and the ocean.

Shidou's eyes flickered with a brief moment of sincerity, Sae looked genuinely happy in the photo.

"And here I thought I actually had a chance with you."

Sae blushed, yet another look that Shidou wasn't used to seeing on him.

"We aren't-She wasn't-"

He stuttered, unable to express the nature of his relationship with you. Sure he had thoughts, but he never acted on them, which he regretted.

"Aww, so Mr. Itoshi Sae had an unrequited crush back in Spain? How tragic."

Shidou teased as he fidgeted with the sides of the photograph still in his hand.

"It wasn't unrequited."

Sae replied, quicker than he should have.

Shidou quirked a brow in response.

"Care to elaborate?"

Sae sighed, memories of you flooding back into his brain. Repressed feelings that he had long since left for time to slowly erode, yet a single reminder brought them all back.

"We... ran into each other a lot back when I was still in Spain."

He trailed off, recalling when you first interacted.

Sae was around fifteen when he first met you, he was at a cafe in the city, when he was on an annoyingly mandated week long break, issued by the heads of Real Madrid themselves. It just happened to align with the holiday of your school, and the cafe was a pretty popular spot among the locals. It was crowded, with students and several other adults given the day off. From what Sae remembered, you didn't come with the intention of being with a friend, but rather to spend time alone, it was rather difficult though with how many people were currently in the cafe. So before he knew it, a stranger-albeit a very pretty one-had sat right next to him, drink in hand. You only realized you were sitting next to him after you had actually made yourself uncomfortable. "Oh, lo siento, ¿está bien si me siento aquí? Hay mucha gente aquí…" You seemed to have muttered a quick apology in Spanish, while he had lived here for the past two years, he was ashamed to admit that his fluency in this country's native tongue was rather rusty. He had mainly prioritized learning all the needed terminology for soccer and for any interviews, but he could tell that you were apologizing, and probably asked him if you could sit with him. He tried to muster together a coherent response "Está bien... no me importa...?" He trailed off, unsure if what he said was right, or if you could even understand him with his heavy Japanese accent. Your eyes blinked in surprise, maybe he completely butchered that without knowing. Then your eyes widened in surprise for a moment, almost as if you just pieced together something about him. "Ay dios mio! You're Itoshi Sae! I knew you looked familiar!" You responded, in Japanese this time, almost as if it was second nature to you. "You speak Japanese?" It was more of a statement rather than a question, he sounded impressed, it had been a long time since he's actually been able to converse with someone else in his own language. You nodded, eyes sparkling, still clearly hung up on his identity. "I took some classes online, sorry if I'm hard to understand." You weren't hard to understand at all, sure, it was tinged with a slight accent, but if anything that just added to your charm. "I'm (Y/N), huge fan." You extended your hand to him, a bright smile adorning your already beautiful face. He took your hand and shook it. "Sae." He responded, his usual nonchalant tone fading. "You already know that though..." Was he blushing? You giggled at his sudden bashfulness, your laughter was a sweet melodic sound, it was almost embarrassing of how much it affected him. "You know, I'd thought you'd be a lot colder in person, you're actually really sweet huh?" You laughed once more, and this time, Sae actually cracked a grin.

Sae finished his story to Shidou, his friend had listened intently.

"Aww, so you were whipped from the start?~"

Shidou teased, smirking at him.

"Care to share more? I'd love to learn more

He asked, a slightly playful lilt to his voice.

"If you score another hat trick next time I might just tell you."

Sae responded, his playful tone contrasting his nonchalant demeanor. Shidou smirked, clearly pleased by the offer.

"And will you let me move in?~"

"Maybe."

Sae smiled, gentle and hidden. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. After all, it would give him an excuse to talk about you once more.

"If you score another hat trick next time I might just tell you."

Shidou smirked, clearly pleased by the offer.

"And will you let me move in?~"

"Maybe."

Sae smiled, gentle and hidden. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. After all, it would give him an excuse to talk about you once more.

BONUS; TRANSLATIONS (potentially inaccurate)

"Oh, lo siento, ¿está bien si me siento aquí? Hay mucha gente aquí…"

╰┈➤ "Oh, I'm sorry, is it okay if I sit with you? It's super crowded in here..."

"Está bien... no me importa...?"

╰┈➤ "It's okay...I don't mind..?

"Ay dios mio!

╰┈➤ "Oh my God!"

ITOSHI RIN

"Bachira! I swear to God if Rin kills us because of this-"

"Lighten up Isagi! He's not gonna catch us."

It was a miracle that Rin had already agreed to Isagi and Bachira coming over to his place, though it was more because his mom was constantly nagging him about "needing more friends" or "being more social with the rest of the boys from Blue Lock"

Of course Bachira took this as an opportunity to snoop around Rin's room.

"If we find anything too private, we'll just put it right back and pretend we never saw it, simple as that."

Isagi sighed, bemoaning their current actions against their teammate's own personal life.

"You make it sound like Rin of all people would actually have something incriminating to hide."

Bachira shot him an unimpressed look.

"Are we talking about the same Rin? I'm like 90% sure the guy has some kind of criminal record, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a dead body hiding around in here somewhere..."

He continued looking around the room, glancing at crooks and small gaps in-between shelves as if some hidden treasure was stuck in them.

"Bachira you aren't going to find anything-"

Isagi was promptly cut off by Bachira, who in fact, found something.

A photograph taped to the side of Rin's closet, it seemed a little old, and dusty, but it looked well taken care of.

"Rin never striked me as the sentimental type..."

Bachira flipped the photo back and fourth in his hands before actually focusing on what the picture itself was holding.

Of course before he could actually view the photo himself, it was quickly snatched from him.

Rin was back, and he gave Bachira his signature cold glare, that probably translated into "One more wrong move and I'm throwing you off a cliff in your fucking sleep." or some worse same intentioned threat that Rin would probably use.

"What were the two of you doing?"

Rin asked in a condescending, accusing tone, and rightfully so.

"Rin, we're sorry-"

Isagi was about to apologize, but then Bachira fell to the floor, gripped the younger Itoshi's leg and wailed out a far more incoherent apology than his friend.

"I'm sorry Rin-chan! I promise I won't do it again!"

He was wailing at this point, a string of even more whiny apologies coming from him.

Rin shook Bachira off his leg and sighed.

"It's fine..."

He murmured as he trailed off, his attention completely stolen by the photograph he had just took back.

It was a picture of the two of you at the beach, he was around fourteen in this photo, it probably took place during the final months of his last year at middle school. The two of you had gone on a stroll by the ocean earlier before finding a resting spot nearby. You had pulled out a camera out of nowhere and snapped the photo almost without Rin notcing. You were flashing a big smile at the camera, while Rin's face was nuzzled into your neck, clearly camera shy. If you looked closely however, you could spot the blush slowly creeping up his cheeks.

Without noticing, Bachira had gotten a little too close for Rin's comfort. The older boy's head rested on his shoulder as he ogled the picture alongside him.

"Is she your girlfriend or somethin'?"

Rin shoved Bachira off his shoulder, the other boy laughed as he stumbled away.

"Shut up... she's just a friend."

"I dunno, the two of you look awfully cozy in that photo~"

If only you saw the others...

Rin had held on to the photo for longer than he would like to admit, the two of you hadn't talked for a while, especially after graduation.

But now that his annoying lukewarm teammates had decided to scour around his room for no reason, Rin was met with a wave of memories.

All of which were about you.

The most prominent memory he had of you was the day of middle school graduation.

The cherry blossoms were in bloom, and the third years were about to assemble in the auditorium for the farewell ceremony. Several of Rin's classmates were gushing about graduation, and how they would miss each other, some were already planning methods of communication after moving on to high school. Another hot topic of conversation among his classmates (mainly the girls) was the topic of button giving. In Japan, a guy giving the second button of his uniform to a girl on the day of graduation was essentially a love confession, Rin thought that the tradition was rather stupid. For one thing, he had no time for romance when he was trying to become the best in the world, nor did he have any interest in the subject. Or as he would say 'everyone here is way too lukewarm for my tastes' Well, that's what he would have said if he wasn't so preoccupied with you, but here he was, just outside of the auditorium, fidgeting with his uniform trying to get a button off. Normally the girl would have to ask the guy for the button, but Rin was never one for tradition-then again he was already going along with this stupid love confession so there was a first time for everything-and it didn't look like you were going to talk to him anytime soon, you were constantly hanging around with your friends for most of the day, so he never found the right time. So he didn't know what came over him when he dragged you aside in some secluded area of the courtyard, all his courage had been used up in that very moment because of that moment, he had been reduced to a blushing and bashful mess. "What did you need me for RIn?" You asked with curious doe eyes, clearly oblivious to the fact that there was a button missing from his uniform. Rin gave you a blank stare for a few minutes, taking in your appearance. Your hair was adorned with several hair pins, all engraved with special patterns and decorated with pretty charms. You were wearing make up today, not super noticeable, but noticeable enough for it to enhance your natural beauty. "Rin?" You called his name, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh right, he was supposed to give you the buttton "Can I have your hand for a second..?" He asked bashfully, you extended your hand to his, this time, you were blushing as well. You muttered a quick 'sure' as you avoided eye contact with him. He gently dropped the button into your hands. "I-I wanted you to have this." This time, Rin was looking directly into your eyes, the same cold teal that always seemed to have no light behind them, but this time, they were filled with warmth and sincerity. The two of you stood in silence for a few more moments, before you heard the teachers calling you and the rest of the third years over for the ceremony. As Rin walked into the auditorium with the rest of his classmates, one of his teammates from the soccer team leaned down and whispered something in his ear. "So who's the lucky lady Itoshi?" He turned to his friend, noticing that his button was missing too. Rin simply shrugged, feigning nonchalance and muttered; "Wouldn't you like to know?" That graduation photo captured a very rare smile from him.

Bachira accidentally knocking something over promptly snapped Rin out of his nostalgia.

"Oh my God you're actually smiling in this photo?!"

Bachira waved Rin's middle school grad photo in his face, clearly shocked by the notion that the younger Itoshi could actually feel happiness.

Suddenly, Rin's mother came into his room.

"I know, it's one of the few photos I have of him that actually feature him smiling."

She sighed.

"Anyways, I just made dinner in case you boys are hungry."

Mrs. Itoshi smiled at the boys.

"And maybe you could tell them all about (Y/N) hm?"

Rin's face grew very hot all of a sudden.

God, he was in for it now...

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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

Text

you're in the wind, i'm in the water

hyunjin x reader. friends to lovers with a pinch of unrequited love (it's very much requited dw). this is pure brainrot so suggestive at the end. but also fluffy and soft. also reader wears a two piece swimsuit.

a.n: again, sanest response i could have to this hyune. please enjoy my descent to madness :) also the last scene is heavily inspired by my favorite dialogue in the song of achilles!!

pt. 2- orange

The first time you went on a vacation with Hyunjin’s family, you were only seven years old.

You don't clearly remember the island his parents took you to, the details of the travel elusive to your memory's grasp. But you remember Hyunjin- his hair darkening under the touch of the saline sea, akin to a night sky devoid of its stars. You remember the dimple on his left cheek- the sheer pride in you each time you managed to bring it to light. And you remember thinking that Hyunjin was pretty, for the first time in your small existence.

It's a thought that scorched itself indelibly into your brain, and as the years cascaded by, the branches of your love grew, each leave bearing new adjectives to describe Hyunjin- caring, emotional, talented.

But never yours.

You're both older now, and you see him less since his house is no longer right next to yours, the rhythm of life distancing you both. Hyunjin comes in and out of your life as an ephemeral tide, gently brushing your shores. You cling to the sea shells his oceans sometimes throw at your feet- the rare times when your schedules align, when you can see him beyond the confines of your phone, in pixelated video calls late into the night.

And it seems as if you've caught a rare shell this time- one with an ivory pearl hidden within it. Because you're traveling once again with him.

You're all much different, the passage of time marked you in different, but palpable ways. But your presence with Hyunjin's family still felt just as effortless as it did when you were seven. You never had to second guess what you said or how you acted with them. You were just like running water, flowing naturally within the nooks and crannies of his family.

And at night, under the moon's watchful gaze, your hushed conversations with Hyunjin remained. Beneath a shared blanket knitted by his mom, the warm sand melded with your feet, his dimple appearing once again at every word you uttered. He was still as pretty, perhaps even more so with time's gentle sculpting, molding his features into much sharper ones. It seemed only fitting for a soul as beautiful as his.

"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow," he had whispered excitedly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, momentarily leaving you breathless- tongue dissolving in your mouth like ivory seafoam.

"You want to kidnap me?" you playfully asked, nudging him.

"You don't want to come with me?" he pouted, his gaze locked into yours, pupils appearing much darker with the absence of the sun, like a boundless ocean. The water was right beside you and yet your only wish was to swim in his eyes.

"I want to," you admitted.

"Anywhere?" he asked, irises trembling slightly as he sought your response. You were both very different, chemicals binding his molecules, and your love for him binding yours. You stood faraway from one another- you in the water and he in the wind, stirring your waves, submerging you in the seas of your longing.

"Anywhere."

...

Faraway land punctures the ocean you're gazing at, crystal blue water filling the small pool Hyunjin took you to. You admit it's a breathtaking view, only your eyes can't depart from Hyunjin's figure.

He jumped into the pool first, while you went to retrieve your camera from your bag. And now you stand by the door, heart caught in your throat, as you watch him swim around. Hyunjin is graceful, in the way he moves his limbs, bending the water to his will. It doesn't look like he's swimming, rather dancing on liquid ground.

Kkami joyfully barks once he sees you, and Hyunjin finally lifts his eyes, locking them with yours. He is pretty, unattainable, a singular star outshining all the celestial light. Foolish of them to even think they could compare.

And he's still not yours.

"I’ll take a picture of you both," you smile softly, willing yourself to conceal the lump growing in your throat. Hyunjin nods, draping his hand over Kkami's body, softly scratching the spot behind his ear. You take the first pic, capturing the tenderness in Hyunjin’s eyes. This one's for you alone.

"Okay, look at the camera," you call out cheerfully, and they both turn to look at you in unison. Though your bodies did not touch, the intensity of Hyunjin's gaze seemed to sear into your skin, igniting a fire within you. Foolish of you to dream of more.

You set the camera aside, before sitting at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the cool water. Hyunjin swims towards you, positioning himself between your legs, his warm hand wrapping around your ankle. You want to flee, to go back to to the innocence of seven, to never recognize how pretty Hyunjin is, to avoid the heartbreak of dreaming of someone you'll never have.

"Come swim with me," he pouts, palm pressing against your damp skin. You shake your head, a teasing smile on your face, and he pulls you to him, hands holding your waist promptly to prevent you from sinking under.

You free yourself from his intoxicating hold, before diving into the water, a desperate attempt to get away from him. Because when Hyunjin held your waist, a tenderness so earnest in his eyes it made your heart skip a beat, you dared to imagine a future together. For a fleeting moment you became the ocean and he the sky, merging at the faraway horizon.

Hyunjin dives right after you, and then you both swim around one another, giddy smiles on your faces, your laughter echoing around the room. He tries to drown you, hands gliding across the surface of your skin, making goosebumps ripple in you. You attempt to do the same, but you soon regret it. His skin was smooth, taut muscles flexing under your touch; broad shoulders you wrapped your arms around, trying to push him down. Your hand accidentally brushed against his pulse, and you removed it as if it had burned you. There is life beating within him, wildly. But not for you. Never for you.

"Wait, hold on. Your straps are loosening," he notices, reaching for your arm and spinning you around, your back now facing him. "Can I?" he asks, voice dipping to a lower timber. You feel it in the depths of your stomach, depths only he can unravel.

"Yes," you whisper, as he undoes the loose knot of your swimsuit, the one behind your neck still holding up the fabric against your skin. You can feel his cold breath traveling across your bare back, crystalizing the droplets of water trailing on it. His fingers are a stark warmth as they brush against your spine, fingertips gently grazing your skin, like a delicate feather. You imagine your body is molten wax, and he's the seal stamp pressing onto you, molding you whichever way he'd like.

He's tentative as he grabs the undone straps, wrapping them in a knot. Or at least attempting to. You can tell that he's shaking, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. "Im sorry, I didn't tie it well," he giggles sheepishly, undoing the knot once again. You don't reply, unsure of what words will stumble out of your mouth. 'I don't mind you touching me' instead of 'it's okay'.

You turn around once he's done, but he doesn't move back, his body mere centimeters away from yours. You can see the rise and fall of his chest, the slight blush creeping up his neck, coloring him in the prettiest shade of crimson. The droplets cascading down his body, forging a tantalizing path you wish you could undergo. His dampened hair, a shade darker than his usual color. His lips slightly parted, rosy as they've always been. His adam's apple bobbing up and down furiously.

And you suddenly can no longer breathe.

Beneath the water, his hand encircles your wrist, a touch so faint you almost believe that you've imagined it. His fingers trail down, holding your palm and bringing it to his face. He closes his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale, one you inhale right back in. You're cradling his cheek, his hand right on top of yours, holding it in place.

"Hyunjin..." you start, but he shakes his head, eyes still shut.

"Please," he whispers, "just for a little." and the clouds slightly uncover, a singular sun ray piercing through them- one petal of hope unfurling at his words.

"Don't- don't do this," you plead back, tone tinged with panic. You couldn't have him, not even for a second, not even in a dream. That's the way things are. Two parallel lines, traveling down the same path, forever adjacent, but never merging as one.

Hyunjin plants a soft kiss on your wrist, lips barely brushing against your pulse. You've never truly known gentleness until this moment.

"If I told you that this trip with you is the happiest I’ve been in a while, would you believe me?" he whispers against your skin, head slightly tilted.

You shake your head no.

"If I ask you something would you be honest with me? I'm tired, yn," he says, his voice softening as it always did when he uttered your name. As if the syllables were always coated in honey, even in his sadness, in his anger, and now, in his pleading for you.

"I will," you respond with an equally quiet voice, and yet it resounds loudly around the room, amplified by the consequences looming around the corner.

"Do you want me?" he asks simply, expecting you to easily uncover a secret you've buried for years, to dust the weight of your fear in mere seconds.

You remain silent and Hyunjin deflates a bit, shoulders slumping forward, the dimple in his face vanishing completely.

"Because I'm drowning in my want for you."

A water droplet falls from the strands of his hair, landing softly on his mouth. You follow its descent, as he licks his lips nervously, his hold on your wrist faltering. The wind is gliding across the water- he's offering himself to you. Who are you to ever refuse?

Your lips crash on his before you even realize it, years of longing exploding before your eyes, spilling from your mouth to his in the most vibrant colors. His lips are soft as you've always imagined them, and they move against yours perfectly, as if molded from the same dough, created to meet again and again, in a fervor, and then in a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

You're kissing Hyunjin, and you aren't burning, disintegrating under the weight of longing for someone so unattainable. You aren't Icarus- you flew too close to the sun but it hadn't burned you, instead it embraced you, it's now wrapping its hands around your waist, pressing your chest to its warm one. It's a touch you welcome, one that liquefies in your veins like molten amber.

You wrap your legs around Hyunjin’s waist, as he walks backward until your back is against the pool railing. Your hands are tugging his damp strands, fingers threading through his locks the way sunshine weaves between the leaves. He tastes sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever had in your life. And you're greedy, you can't get enough of him, so you part for a second only to meet again, his hands digging into your sides. Chest to chest, skin to skin, heart to heart.

"Say it," Hyunjin whispers against your lips, "say that you want me back."

"I want you. So much, Hyune. You're the only one I’ve ever wanted," your words wash over him, erasing every doubt that was anchored in his heart. How could you not have seen it, all this time? In each photograph you took, his gaze, always on you. The fondness in his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks, only ever coming forth for you.

You lean away, head dipped down to kiss his shoulders. Your lips trail down his collarbones, moving to the mole on his arm. He smells like chlorine, and the sweet scent of your monoi oil. Hyunjin is pretty, Hyunjin is warm, Hyunjin is yours.

Your eyes meet his and you both let out giddy giggles, the flush of your cheeks matching his. His lips are slightly swollen, and he bites the lower one as he glances at Kkami, who was idly watching you both.

"Do you think we traumatized him?" you ask in a hushed whisper.

"I think he's glad this happened and he no longer has to hear my rants about you," Hyunjin smiles sheepishly and you laugh, the sound reverberating through Hyunjin’s heart.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your laugh?" he asks, thumb swiping across your cheek with a tenderness that leaves you dizzy in its trail.

"You have," you whisper, the sound of it getting caught in your throat.

"And this?" he gently grazes your cupid bow. "Have I told you how much I love your lips?"

"You haven't," you say, mouth parting slightly at his words.

"This then," he trails across your neck, skimming your pulse. "Did I tell you how I feel about your blush? How it always always starts up your neck? Always so pretty?"

"No," you are breathless now, shuddering under his touch.

"What about this?" his hands hold your waist, kneading the tender flesh. "Did I ever tell you? About this?" They go over your hips, gliding across the bare skin. "Surely I did."

You shake your head. Skin burning up where he had touched it. He smiles, tongue poking against his cheek, hands going to your back, tracing over your spine, undoing the knots of your swimsuit. "And this? Did I tell you how much I want you?"

You close your eyes, wind meeting water. "Tell me again."

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palmtreesx3 · 1 year ago

Text

Deeper for You

Summary: (5.1 k) It's your annual beach trip with the crew from Hawkins, something you've all been doing together your whole adult life after life forced everyone to part ways. You're all close, but this year, an accidental encounter in the outdoor shower makes you get a little closer with one person in particular.

This is self indulgence at its finest. Fresh off my last week at the beach this summer, I needed a little Beach Steve in my life to tide me over.

Steve x Reader, NSFW 18+ Accidental exposure, friends to lovers, breast play, female oral, fingering, dirty talk encouraged, a little orgasm denial, maybe a spank and unprotected intercourse in the shower.

Crystal water. Crystal skies. Beach chairs circled around umbrellas and coolers. Crisp beers slipped in aging koozies and passed around like old times. You and your friends have been doing this for years. Ever since goals and lives and even some wives have taken the group here and there, Nancy started organizing this annual beach trip for the group from Hawkins. Years and miles have nothing on deep seeded trauma, she said once, in a too cheerful voice despite it's truth.

The heat of the sand between your toes and the smell of suntan lotion have become a comfort to you, just knowing you're back there with your closest friends. As you all creep closer to thirty than you'd like, this week never fails to make you feel nostalgic, youthful and forget all of your problems because it never feels like an ounce of time has passed with any of these people.

This year Nancy had to upgrade the rental - more rooms for yet another married couple in the mix, Eddie adding a wife - a little too sweet but just enough sass for him - into the fold. It was your first time meeting her, really meeting her, because no bride has the time for new friendship on their wedding weekend, and you've had such a nice week spending time with her. Chairs in the sand by the waterline together with a book most afternoons, leaving the raucous energy that comes after some morning beers as background noise to your fantasies.

"What are you two ladies reading over here anyway" Steve pokes at your shoulder on his way down to the water to cool off.

"They're fantasy novels, Steve. Naughty books, if you must know." You tease back, Eddies wife blushing beside you at your brazen honestly.

"Naughty books? Like love stories where they kiss and share a bed?"

"No Steve, like '... And then she felt the tips of his finger circle her clit before toying with her folds and the wetness pooling between her thighs. Edging her, pulling her closer but never giving her cunt what she really wants'" you read in an exaggerated and breathy voice direct from your page, picking up right where you left off. "That, Steve, is Naughty Books. "

"Shit. Okay. Well I'll leave you two to it, then. What the fuck." and he trots off into the waves. Sunkissed skin a perfect contrast to the white, foaming waves he's now floating in.

"So, that… you guys have a thing before or something?" Eddie's wife asks softly. So sweet, you can't even be mad at her for it.

"Steve?" You laugh, "No-no no. Just go way back "

"Oh I'm so sorry" she squeaks out, "I just thought… I mean you guys. Nevermind."

"Don't worry about it. We're all a little too close for comfort sometimes. I get it. We just have always gave each other shit as long as I've known him, that's all."

Later that night, the whole group gathers in the back of the house around a huge built in fire pit, all taking turns sharing, giving updates about life and work and families.

Late nights have been happening all week around this pit, but tonight is cool, and the Sangria Robin and Max mixed up is keeping you chilled.

"Hey, honey. You finally quit or do you want to join us over here?" Steve calls over to you, beckoning to the group of smokers over on the bench seat to the left of the fire.

"Every time I try… someone like you offers me a smoke and here I am again." You shrug as you lean over to snag the pack of cigarettes from Steve's outstretched hand before taking a seat. You slide out a slim cigarette and pull the lighter from it's spot in the back, lighting up and passing it back, kicking your feet out on the coffee table in front.

"Someone like Steve, what's that supposed to mean? You hurling insults again?" Johnathan teases.

"No, no. Byers, shut the fuck up. Lemme enjoy this sweet nicotine with my friends in peace, okay?" You roll your eyes, not actually knowing what you meant either, before shooting a look at Max sitting with the group. "Since when did you sit on the smokers bench? Huh?"

"Don't start with me mom. You've tried to quit four times a year for the past 10 years, so I don't even wanna hear it from you." The redhead sasses back.

Such a beautiful, self assured young women she's grown into, despite having such poor eyesight from…everything that happened…you have always had a soft spot for Max, and she for you. The glasses she wears are thick, despite years of corrective surgeries, but they don't take an ounce away from how lovely she's grown to be.

"Yeah yeah, just shut up and enjoy it. I bet Lucas hates it. Doesn't he? Goodie two shoes." You quip back and Max giggles in agreement, both of you taking a long drag as a follow up.

"You two man-eaters are trouble." Steve jabs.

"Excuse me, man-eaters? The one who has been dating the same guy since middle school and me, who goes on what, maybe 4 dates all year? Yeah total man-eaters, Steve."

After finishing your smokes, you all rejoin the group, playing dollar games of cards and dice, laughing the night away at bad luck and bad jokes. El has been banished to watching over participating and when Eddie's wife asks why, the mutters and mumbling of a wide variety of excuses poured out.

"It's uh - against her religion!" straight from Dustin's mouth won out, mostly because it was the loudest. So now you're all pretending El is Muslim, and that's definitely not going to last the rest of the week.

It's nearing two am as you pad up the stairs, pockets 10 dollars deeper, sand still clinging to your feet just barely and Steve's button up on your shoulders from when he passed it to you to quell your chill. Just like every other night of the trip, you sleep like a baby, tucked in a soft mattress with softer sheets and the blanket of a decent buzz still coursing through your bloodstream.

The next day is the last on the shore and after a late start and breakfast cooked up by Nancy and Johnathan to sop up the hangovers the day goes on much like the rest before it. Relaxing in beach chairs and blankets, music softly humming from a boom box in the shade of the umbrella, balls being tossed in a friendly game of touch football in the loose sand by the dunes.

The tide was rough today and swept you and Eddie's girl away on your chairs once before you slipped your books back in your beach bag and decided if you can't beat it, join it. Frolicking in the waves together, the rest of the group is shortly behind you joining in.

It's not five minutes until Eddie is tackling his wife into the crashing waves, rolling her dramatically in the lapping waves and sand. Max and El are jumping through crashing waves, hand in hand trying to make it past the crest and to where it is calm. Some of the boys are sitting in the sand watching and enjoying the cool breeze you catch when you're closer to the sea.

You, well, you were enjoying yourself wholeheartedly. That is until you're making your way back to shore and a huge wave creeps up behind you and slams you to the ground. Water currents tossing you around a bit like a ragdoll, it's a moment before strong arms pull you up and out, wiping your hair out of your face and brushing the wet globs of sand off you as you regroup. It's Steve who's got you and brings you back to shore, where you flop down on the sand together and burst out in laughter after you're both sure that you're alright, making it even harder to catch your breath.

The day at the beach was way more sandy than usual because of it all, sitting in the sand, being thrown around by gritty waves and soupy sand finding it's way intermingling with your bathing suit. You just can't wait till the end of the day to shower and hose off, so you dip away to hop in the rinse shower along the side of the property. Door swung shut, you run the water cold so it's as refreshing as it is a welcome rinse to your body where the sand is sticking and scratches.

Hair slicked back by the cool droplets, you're realizing quickly that a simple rinse won't rid your swimsuit of all of the caked in sand. Maneuvering your emerald green one piece to shake free the grit of the ocean, you're making progress as you drop your wide set straps off your shoulders and start working out the sand from your upper half.

It's just then that Steve must have had the same idea, and he's traipsing through the door of the shower himself, only to find you, strap down, left breast fully exposed, tan lines of your right crisp and leaving nothing to the imagination the way the suit is bunching down, and your hands coaxing the water over them from the low pressure showerhead to work off the sand.

"Holy fuck!" You both yell at the same time.

Yours an exclamation. A "Holy FUCK!" A barked out reaction to the surprise. The admonishment of your friend who doesn't seem to pay a goddamn mind to anything going on around him or he would have heard the shower tap on and running when he approached.

But his… Well, his was a statement. A "Holy. Fuck." Drawn out. A deep and gravely comment made to acknowledge the surprise he's found. More of an interest than an intrusion.

So when you reached to cover yourself and hide from embarrassment as a knee jerk reaction, he didn't make quite as quick a move to leave you be. He lingered, just enough for you to notice and under his breath whispered out again "Holy fuck."

Adequately covered, or at least enough that you can feel functional at this point, you look at him to quip "Are you just gonna stare or what?" And you expect him to snap out of his titty haze and leave you be to shake out the rest of your sand trap, but he doesn't.

Instead he asks, "Well, is that an invitation?"

Your eyes narrow at him, and he shrugs in reaction. "You can't be serious, Steve. Get outta here."

"I save you, and this is the thanks I get?" He teases, and you can't help but see how his eyes, blown out and black, don't move from your body when he says it.

"Steve." You say, quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I can thank you later." comes out just above a whisper.

"I think I'd rather you thanked me now."

When you don't argue back, or say anything for that matter, he takes that as enough of an answer as he needs. He knows you, and he knows that you have no problem telling someone to take a hike, so if you're not yelling at him like he's a small boy who got his hand caught in the cookie jar, he knows you're inviting him to take a bite.

So he's inside the shower quicker than your mind can even catch up to what's happening. He's crowding your space and reaching backwards to do the one thing you forgot to do yourself, hook the damn lock. You're pretty sure this man hasn't moved his eyes from you since the moment the door opened and at this point, you're meeting his gaze.

A sweeping hand, under your ear and landing on the nape of your neck is what shakes you out of your daze and before you know it his lips are on yours. It's a bruising thing, the way he presses them into yours, pulling you closer still by where his hand is cupping your head with his broad hand. You come up for air just a second before he backs off and you find yourself, open mouthed and smiling into his lips, still pressing into you. "Fuck. Honey. I- you okay? With this? I don't wanna… "

"I know I tell you this all the time, but this is different. Steve, you fuckin talk too much. Shut. Up." You say, emphasizing your words with two little tugs to his own hair where your hands have snaked around, too.

And he takes this welcome advance as an opportunity to wrap his other hand around you, up and under your arm, resting at the center of your back. Pressing together, you're so close. Impossibly so, and every little tick of the hip or twitch of the lips can be felt by the other instantaneously. He's testing you out but getting bolder by the second when he experimentally rolls his hips just a bit before coaxing your legs a bit wider to slot his knee in between. You gasp out at the feeling of him against you and involuntarily find yourself rolling your cunt against his thigh.

"Ah-oh fuck. Shit. Steve." You squeak out, as you look down to see that he's tucked up his swim shorts high enough that your grinding on his exposed thigh. Bristly hair on his legs commingling with the scratch of the sand and sea salt on your own thighs.

"C'mon, honey. You came in here to get clean. Me too. Lemme help you, yeah? '

Nodding your permission, he gently slips his fingers under the still loose straps of your suit, coaxing them down further, fingers ghosting over your arms as he works them down.

You've been doing this trip for years, and you swear the last thing you ever thought would happen was having Steve fucking Harrington peeling off your wet swimsuit in the shower. "You sandy all over, huh? Me too. Gotta rinse you off." he says, as he's reaching up for the shower head, detaching it from its base and bringing it down in between the two of your chests. Holding it there for a moment, he seems to consider this whole thing for the first time. "You-your good, right? I mean, I trust you. Do you trust me? "

"Yeah Steve, I do." You say, pressing your forehead to his and blinking away droplets gathering on your eyelashes.

He pulls the rest of your swimsuit away from where it's suctioned on your tummy and works it down your body, dropping heavy and wet on the shower floor. Once it's out of his way, he's back on your lips, sucking in your bottom lip just as you feel the cool water hitting your clit. Steve moves the shower head gently but purposely around your whole cunt, paying attention to your sensitive bud between passes through your folds. "Gotta get you cleaned up, huh? Need you clean for me. For what I'm gonna do next." He teases and you moan at his words.

Not exactly sure what he has planned just yet, you let him keep working your pussy clean and with every second of the pulsing jets of water hitting your clit rhythmically. "Yeah, baby I think you're all set." He states, replacing the shower head where it belongs and reaching his free hand down to rub through your folds, checking to be sure you're comfortable and free of that pesky sand.

When he's met with yet another whimper he's immediately dropping to his knees on the wet planks of the shower floor "Can I please, please taste you. Please."

"I didn't take you as one to beg, Harrington." You whisper out the tease.

"I will for this - for you. God, would you just answer me?"

You look down at him and nod but he wants your words instead, commanding you to speak up. And so you do, you gasp out confirmation just as his lips latch on to your already sensitive clit. He suckles there a little bit, before moving to make his tongue wide and flat coaxing noises from you that he doesn't want to forget the sound of.

He throws your thigh over his shoulder, giving him deeper, more angled access to your cunt, working you, moving it in and left to right. You cry out as his nose nudges at your clit while he slips a finger in up to his second knuckle and the cry turns silent as he keeps up his ministrations. Droplets of water are tickling down your chest and stomach, soaking his hair and face where he stays tucked in between your thighs. He shakes his head back and forth tapping at your clit with his movement and making you see stars.

Adding in another finger, he keeps lapping at your pussy, taking breaks to nip at the place where your thighs meet your sex and back again. He licks off a trail of water along the seam of your leg before making his way back to your center. Scissoring his fingers, he groans right into you and the vibration of it all drives you wild. "God, you fuckin taste like heaven. So good." And he dives back in, running his wide tongue along your entrance, drawing it front and upward toward your clit.

This time he pauses and presses his tongue up into the base of your clit, holding it there just as he presses both long fingers up and into your spongy spot, freeing the most wanton sound yet from deep within your throat. It spurs him on to keep going, pulsing that tongue and stroking that spot within. You're tensing and shaking under his strong grip and soft tongue, leg still hiked high over him, water cascading around the both of you. You're tumbling over the edge quickly after that.

In a bit of a daze and with wobbly knees, you swing your leg back down off his shoulder and bring him up towards you by his ears, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue in ways you never have before, and he looks beautiful like that. Eyes wide and wanton, hair dripping wet down his hair spattered chest, jaw slack in his own lust and pleasure, lips a deep pink and swollen from working you up down there. You bring him up fully to meet your lips and groan into his mouth, your taste heady and salty and beachy.

"I think you're clean" he laughs out as he pulls back just slightly and you can't help but bark out a laugh back. He takes the opportunity to latch on to your neck and bites at the skin under your ear.

In that moment you decide you're not done with him.

Tugging at the ties of his swim trunks, Steve pulls back to look at you. "N-no, we don't have to."

You hear his words but you also feel the hardness underneath those trunks, "Steve, it's - it's no big deal. You started this. Let me… let's finish, yeah?" You eye him teasingly, eyebrows raised, "Something tells me you want to."

"You're a menace, you know that right? Always have been."

"Yeah, but you're into it, apparently." you stand on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear.

"Fuck. Fuck. Yeah." He gets out as you lick the water droplets up "Seeing you here every year. Highlight of my trip. Swear to God."

And as his soaked trunks hit the floor, the pair of you are both fully exposed standing under the running water together. Running your hand along his chest, playing with the tufts of hair there, you hook your finger though the thin chain hanging from his neck and pull him closer. "Steve." You whisper into his mouth.

"Yeah, whaddya need, honey?"

"You. God just, please fuck me. Okay?"

Clutching you close by the waist, he hikes your leg up and around his hip, reaching down along your ass to rub at your pussy from behind, working you up again. Almost teasing. The rock hard length of him is pressed up between your two tummies, begging to be paid attention to, so you break your bodies apart for just a second to angle him down, slipping if wetly between your lower lips - a mix of water and your hot dripping slick letting him slip through your folds.

A whimper slips out of your lips as his head catches your clit and he takes the opportunity to press into you, sounds something like a growl falling from his own lips at the feeling. Your mind is going blank, but the one thing you're sure of is that Steve Harrington's dick is huge. "Ohmigod, you're, bi- oh" you moan as he adds another few inches, moving slowly for you. "Fuck, you're huge. Jesus, Steve."

"Yeah? Biggest you ever had? God, tell me it's the biggest you've ever took."

"Shit" you hiss, as he bottoms out inside you, yelping out as you both finally meet at the base. "Yeah, shit. No one's ever been that fuckin deep, Steve. Holy shit."

"Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna move now, okay? You're good, right?" And you nod, enthusiastically. Almost too enthusiastically.

You've known Steve almost your whole life. You've played on playground swing sets growing up, rolled your eyes at his antics at your friends' parties in high school, cheered him on at basketball games and worked alongside him as lifeguards at the country club pool. You give him shit, he gives it back to you. You share comfortable silences and close friends. He's had your back in the face of monsters and raging fires… But right now, all that's on your mind is how he's pounding into your pussy in this shower and why this has never ever happened before in all these years. Because Jesus Christ, it's feeling euphoric.

The slapping of skin echoes loudly in the wooden and metal enclosure of the shower, bodies slick with water , hands gliding along your back and along your ass, keeping that knee hiked high for him, yours clutching the front of his shoulders and digging crescent moons into his skin. He's making noises, has he thrusts up into you at a bruising pace, hitting your cervix and making you cry out��but he's holding back all the same and all you want is him to let go a little more.

"Fuck, wait. Holy shit. Lemme just… " you drop your leg down and hear his small whine as he slips out of you, but you're quick to flip your body around, leaning forward and bracing yourself on the beams of the wooden door frame, shaking your ass at him in an invitation to get close to you again. "Wait. Wait… " you gasp out as you feel his tip nudge against your entrance from behind.

"What's wrong? Are you .. are you okay? I can stop." He gets out through heaving breaths.

"No. I'm good… but if you wanna finish me off, you gotta do one thing for me." Looking over your shoulder, giving him a playful but serious look.

"What'dya need. Honey. Anything. What do you want?" He holds his cock, pulsing and screaming to be let back inside your warm and velvety walls, dots of precome rinsed off by the droplets of water as fast as they emerge.

"Don't hold back. Just… .let me hear you. I wanna hear you. Talk to me. Don't shut up. And fuck - fuck me harder" you hiccup out.

"Yeah, yeah okay. I'll … I'll - fuck" he pushes in fully in one slide, no resistance from you in the least. "You wanna hear how good you make me feel huh? Always so cocky. Jesus."

His fingers are pressing into the tops of your thighs, purple mottled marks already blooming there under his fingertips as he pulls you backwards, spearing you on his cock, meeting him thrust for thrust. His other hand is wrapped around your waist, reaching for the soft of your belly, snaking up your chest until he finds your tits, nipples peaked with the chill of the air now that you're not directly under the stream of water. He runs his thumb along your nipples, giving them a playful flick back and forth before massaging them and pulling you up to meet him, back to chest.

In this position, you can drop yourself down as you meet his upward thrusts, bouncing on his cock and you feel his tip nudging a particular spot inside you that makes your walls constrict. "Oh honey, yeah? That's it. That's the spot isn't it?" And you can tell that has Steve's mind going off the deep end, making good on his promises to let you hear him, he's babbling, water splashing and raining down on you both, his grunts getting louder, and your name slipping off his lips in a whisper, like it belongs there.

Reaching back and around his neck, you turn so that you can see him and tilt his down to meet your gaze. Mouths both open, panting into one another, lips touching but never connecting because you can't quite sync up with the way you're both grinding on each other. "Jesus Christ, hnng fuck, I'm gonna… honey. Where do you want me? C'mon. Tell me."

You hear his sharp intake of a breath and feel his lips latch on to your throat, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking a bruise into it that you know you'll have to explain to your friends later. "Nnn-no. No. Not yet. I told you, lemme hear you. You're holding back I can tell."

"Oh-okay yeah. Gimme a sec. " He breathes through his nose taking in the scent of whatever vanilla soap you were using before he barreled in, maybe a little coconut still left over from your sunscreen, too. He exhales as his hand drifts down your front, settling over your mound and expertly finding your clit once again. He's rubbing figure eights, before sliding it between his two fingers, giving it pressure and pull from the sides as he continues to thrust into you from behind, bouncing you with very little effort because of how wet and slick you are from the shower.

"You're a fuckin' piece of work, you know that. Shit - taking me like this… fuck. " He growls out as he bends you forward fully now, holding you up by your chest as he rams into you. Leaning over just enough to get close to your ear he whispers in "Ya gonna let me come now? Fuck - ya gonna let me put it on your back? Huh? Your tits? Where do you wanna have it, honey?" He hisses as you grind your hips backwards and clench down hard on his shaft, squeezing on him and making his thrusts slow down, become more meticulous, more purposeful.

You're gasping in air and squeaking out noises of all kinds in time with his thrusts, telling him just how good he's making you feel between breaths. Just how deep he is hitting you. Just how much you wanna hear him when he comes. He's huffing out breaths and promising you things like next time as he's incoherently babbling praises at you as you ride back on his dick.

"You like when I talk about coming for you? You wanna have it, yeah?"

"Y-yeah I wanna. Inside. Do it inside, fuck!" You shout out, water from the showerhead beating on your back as his thrusts are jolting you forward where you're braced against the door. The janky little rusted metal latch holding on for dear life as he continues his pace, chasing his high and praying to God you let go with him.

He's feeling bold now that his brain is only chasing your orgasms. He groans the loudest moan you've heard from him this whole time as you feel him tense behind you, keeping up his movements but, just barely. His hips are stuttering and his hand falls down on your ass in a loud smack. "Ohhh shit. Honey. Yeah. That's what I'm talking about."

Your walls give him one last squeeze and you grip him tight, legs shaking under you as your orgasms rushes over your whole body. He has to hold you up as it rolls through your body, flashes going off behind your eyes as you cry out with pleasure. The pain from the smack to your ass being washed away with the cool of the water trickling over you.

It takes him only three firm thrusts more to fill you up, stuttering sounds falling from his lips. Incoherent blabbers and praises and gasps of your name spurting out along with his come.

You're both absolutely breathless, heaving chests and deep sighs filling the air while still connected to one another. Steve pulls you up slowly as he slips out of you, and spins you around. Still cradling your body and wrapping you into him, he pulls you both under the water to rinse off and come back down from wherever you both are floating off to right now. As you stand there swaying under the cascade, he brings his lips to your temple with a kiss as he mutters "I did mean it. I love seeing you here every year."

You hum along with him, because you do love seeing him too. You just never thought about it like this before. And now that you have, you're pretty sure it's the only way you can from here on out.

"We should probably get back down to the beach. I'm sure at least one of those nosey dipshits have noticed were both missing by now." Steve says against your skin.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But you are the one explaining these marks you left on me. I'm not saying a peep."

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart. You had a lot to say when I was in-"

"Stop that right now. If you wanna even think about doing this again, you're gonna stop right now." You roll your eyes at him while wrapping yourself with a towel and unlatching the door. As you back out and start up towards the house to grab a new swimsuit, he sees the grin on your face.

"Yeah, okay honey. Shutting my mouth now...so I'll definitely see ya later, then." He says with a wink, just as the door shuts and your left naked, wrapped up in Steve Harrington's towel with all your friends gathered round the grill out back making lunch watching you as you make your way around the path.

Eddie snarls a wide grin at you as he brings both thumbs up, his wife slapping his chest when she notices. "Hey Nance!" He yells out. "I think Harrington's got himself a new roommate for next trip!"

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