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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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emiqip · 2 months ago

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how much would i want to get paid to babysit the young justice core four?

TIM

$50 an hour

- polite in the beginning but gets worse as he gains confidence

- I'll lose him at some point, he probably escaped in the vents

- if he's not hiding he's playing on his ipad and WILL scream if u take it away

- tires himself out at the end of the evening and crashes where he stands

CASSIE

$10 an hour

- will force me to play pretend with her and inevitably changes the rules when she's losing

- lots of movie watching but it gets interrupted constantly by her questions

- asks every time to style my hair (has a big collection of cute hair clips and ties)

- doesn't fuss when it's time for bed and would ask when I'll come back next time

- a sweetheart 100/100 would babysit again

KON

$2 an hour

- sweetest kid ever!!

- very clingy so he'll stay by my side all day (cries if I don't)

- ALSO very outdoorsy kid and wants to show me around the farm (he named every animal by himself)

- will gift me something by the end of the day (drawing, rock or a random thing he found)

- helps around the kitchen during meals cus he wants to show me what ma taught him!!

BART

$200 an hour + insurance

- dear god help me

- he definitely BITES.

- so. much. energy. and no way to keep him calm

- runs away during nap time and hides around the house while pretending to play hide n seek

- pouts when something doesn't go his way and will threaten to leave home

- gets tired of a task very easily and I'll have to find new things to do every five minutes

#dc #tim drake #cassie sandsmark #conner kent #kon el #bart allen #impulse #young justice #young just us

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vscabarca · 4 months ago

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polish love - pablo gavi

summary: gavi and you have been seeing each other for a while, but only now does he realize your not Spanish but Polish!

genre: fluff

a/n: for a dear Polish friend of mine!💗 Hope you like it🌟😘

———

„Mamo, nie teraz! Jestem teraz zajęty…“ („Mom not now! I‘m busy…”) You said quite a bit embarrassed, sitting alone in a coffee shop waiting for Gavi.

The footballer and you had been seeing each other for the past few weeks, going on cute little dates every now and then.

At first, you met Gavi through mutual friends, hanging out in groups at each other’s homes. Over time you felt closer to the number six, sharing glances and little inside jokes while your other friends did not seem to notice how you two grew closer.

Now, on a gloomy Wednesday afternoon, you sat in a quiet corner of a local cafe, waiting for the footballer to arrive.

„Ah! Jesteś na randce z uroczym Hiszpanem! Jak on ma na imię? Paul? -“ („Ah! You’re on a date with that cute Spanish guy! What’s his name again? Paul? -“) Your cheeks grew bright red, your eyes widened when you heard your Mom‘s words. You loved her endlessly but she could be shameless when it came to a boy.

„Ma na imię Pablo. Ale o co właściwie chciałeś mnie zapytać?“ („His name is Pablo. But what did you want to ask me again?“)

You tried to switch the topic, feeling a bit too embarrassed to talk about boys with your mom.

„Potrzebuję dowodu tożsamości, aby zarejestrować się w firmie ubezpieczeniowej.“ („I need your identity card to register you with the insurance company.“)

You furrowed your eyebrows, laughing slightly at the random question. After fumbling around in your bag you found the card, ready to send it to her.

What you didn’t realize, Gavi just walked inside, immediately smiling once he saw you sit there.

Though his smile quickly changed into confusion as he heard you talk (for him) gibberish.

„Wyślę ci zdjęcie.“ („I‘ll send you a picture.“) You felt someone walk up beside you, and when you realized it was the footballer you had a crush on, you gave him a soft smile.

„Porozmawiamy później.“ („I‘ll talk to you later.“) Rushed, you hung up, greeting Gavi with a wide smile. He gave you a warm hug, pecking your checks twice. You felt your face heat up and tried to play it off by putting your phone away.

„What was that?“ He grinned, curious about what you were saying just moments ago.

„Oh I was on a call with my mom.“

Baffled he looked at you, making you feel a bit confused.

„Wait so you’re not Spanish?!“ Gavi asked astonished as you shook your head with a grin.

„No actually. My parents are from Poland but we moved here when I was little.“ You explained. You never actually told him, it just never came to that topic so you understood why he was surprised.

„I didn’t know that! That‘s cool though.“

That’s how you immersed in stories of your childhood from Poland, telling him how beautiful and versatile the country was which you moved away from at the age of eight.

„And at home you still only speak Polish?“ It was cute how much Gavi was interested in your origins, it made your stomach flutter when you just thought about it.

„I try to encourage my parents to speak Spanish with me because they always complain theirs isn’t as good as my Spanish, but they answer me in Polish. It‘s bit of a mix.“ You giggled, remembering the cocktail of different languages spoken at home.

„Teach me something.“ He spoke softly, the afternoon sun shining perfectly onto his face, making it hard for you to stay concentrated and not get lost in his eyes.

„Hmm, what do you want me to say?“ You asked, leaning your chin onto the palm of your hand, tilting your head a bit, giving him a small smile.

„How about… I like spending time with you?“ You laughed at his attempt to flirt, his and your laughter resonated through the small cafe, making curious heads turn around.

The vibe between you two became a bit more flirtatious over the last couple of meetings, but both of you were so awkward sometimes that a laugh slipped through once or twice. But, this just made the situation a lot more wholesome, right?

„Lubię spędzać z tobą czas.“ („I like spending time with you.“)

More laughter resonated through the cafe when Gavi looked at you with wide eyes, but tried nevertheless. It took him quite some time to get the pronounciation right, but with laughter and giggles he made it work.

„It sounds so cool, are you kidding me.“ He patted his shoulder proudly as if it didn’t take him at least ten minutes to learn.

„Okay hear me out. I‘m serious, lubię spędzać z tobą czas.“ (I like spending time with you.“) Gavi said more serious, his eyes glistening with affection.

Your cheeks heat up for the nth time this afternoon, but you didn’t hide it this time.

„ja też.“ („Me too.“) You smiled, tucking your hair behind your ears.

Gavi and you decided to slowly head back home as both of you had a tight schedule the next day.

„I go to the bathroom real quick.“ He announced once you two stood up and gave your temple a quick kiss before disappearing in the bathroom. You bit your lip, not believing any of this was real. You hoped in the end everything would work out as you really started to like the midfielder.

The sun was already setting outside once Gavi came back. You two started walking in comfortable silence, enjoying the mild breeze coming from the sea.

It already happened once or twice, your finger brushing against Gavi‘s, your eyes shyly meeting when it happened. The third time it happened, Gavi finally decided to interlock his fingers with yours, giving you a quick glance to see if you were okay with it.

With fingers intertwined, he walked you back home while exchanged quick little anecdotes and already planning the next date.

„That was a really nice cafe you chose for today. I loved it.“ You said once you stood opposite him in front of your porch.

„You choose the next place, okay?“

It felt like time slowed down, Gavi standing there with his hand in yours looking into your eyes while you felt your heart beating in your chest .

Gavi came closer, his hand moving some hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear and cupped your cheek.

„Czy mogę cię pocałować?“ („Can I kiss you?“) He spoke not above a whisper, eyes moving from your yours to your lips.

Without answering you grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in for a tender kiss.

Everything in that moment was perfect, the sunset, the kiss and Gavi.

You two broke apart with a smile, him still holding your waist.

„How did you learn Polish so fast?“ You laughed, hiding your face in his shoulder.

„I may or may not have gone to the bathroom to learn this sentence by heart?“ He said with a smile, making you laugh even more.

„How do you say I really like you and want to kiss you again?“ Gavi asked, still having both of his arms around your body, his thumb gently stroking your skin.

„Kiss me first, then I‘ll tell you.“ You grinned slyly, already feeling his lips on yours again.

#fc barcelona #pablo gavi #barça #football one shot #pablo gavi x reader #gavi x reader #gavi #football x reader #gavi one shot #vscabarca requests!

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no-see-um-incorrect · 10 months ago

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Cinnamon sugar

another BitterSweet Trio poly Fic!!! 🩷🍪🧡 Just in time for Valentine’s Day

Hope you enjoy

No TW this time (unless there’s something I missed then please tell me)

“…Al are you sure about this?” Seth‘s voice was filled with concern as he watches his boyfriend balancing precariously on a step ladder and a few books “almost…got it..HAHA!-WHOW!” Alphonse loses his footing and falls backwards into Seth’s arms much to the smaller man’s irritation “I got it~” Al waves a fairly large, seemingly handmade book in Seth’s face before hopping out of his arms

“holy shit! is that your pops old recipe book?” Al slides into the kitchen and tosses the recipe book on the counter and Seth hops on the stool “hell yeah it is! and I’m lucky my dad made these recipes dumbass proof” “why? He knew how to cook” “HE did. me and my Ma? Nah. Better have home insurance” seth laughed and Alphones fliped the pages. Each page felt sturdy, like they got stronger with age. “He practically drilled them in my head. said “your gonna need to make food for your loved ones one day”” seth smiled down at the book of recipes “....little did he know I’d still be feeding you” Al leant over the counter to kiss his forehead, seth's face turned bright red still not quite used to that….from either of them and i don't think he ever will. “Um i *ahem* why ya getting this stuff out?” al snickers at his reaction “bet he'd have never guessed id have two people to care for~” Al attempts to lean in for a kiss but seth pushes his face away “aw come on! No kiss for ya Boi!?” “you'll get a kiss when you can stay on task” al sighs and continues reading the recipe “french toast bake plus strawberries”

“so you wanna make breakfast as a surprise for sugar?” “I need some help....and you take direction well-OW!” Seth smacks Al’s shoulder then gestures to the book “okok!..there's a list of stuff here. You get that i'll get the bowls and shit”

“And in the oven it goes. see~ i told you we could cook without catching the house on fire” “hold on now theres still time during baking” they both laugh ending in a comfortable silence.

“I'm honestly surprised sugar aint’ up yet” “well that just means we have a little more time..got any ideas?” seth thinks for a moment a devious grin appearing across his face “...yea i got one” Al slides onto the counter in front of seth “oh yea and what's tha-HM” Seth pulls him into a kiss by the collar of his sweater. The kiss lasted a few seconds when seth pulls away “how's that as a kiss for “Ya Boi” sufficient enough?” a few seconds of silence and adoring eye contact before Al speaks up “......Your gay” “THIS is why i don't try” seth attempts to walk away but gets trapped by Al’s legs “Get back here cowboy~” Al wraps his arms around seth's neck “hey~ i love you” “i love you too ya goof” “im serious. Your the cinnamon to my cinnamon sugar toast OH and Boo’s the bread cause they bake And without them…we wouldn't be together” “aw Al….that’s really sweet” they press their foreheads together basking in the soft embrace of each other

“OK who turned off my alarm!”

They both chuckle hearing their partner from the other room “Good morning Boo!” “mornin’ sugar”

I hear sugarboo’s footsteps. Alphonse hops off the counter to avoid getting scolded “oOoO something smells good in here!” “Al got the bright idea to turn your alarm off and wake me up to make breakfast” “well I don’t see the fire extinguisher anywhere, so I’m assuming everything went smoothly” Sugarboo gives them both well-deserved kisses. and sits on the barstool. The timer went off, and Alphonse is very careful taking the dish out of the oven “happy Valentine’s Day Boo!” “holy shit! That looks really fucking good! Whose recipe did you use?!” “my dad’s. he used to keep a book of all of um’ and I wanted to cook some breakfast for my two favorite people” Seth wraps his arm around Alphonse’s waist. Boo smiles with adoration in their eyes looking at their boys

“you know I’m really proud of you two. Not just for cooking, but for making it this far. You make me feel so fucking lucky” they push themselves up and wrap their arms around Alphonse and Seth

“Happy Valentine’s Day boys” they hold each other tightly and contently

“aright now let’s eat I’m fucking starving”

——————————————————————

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone🫶

I hope you all are having a great day rather celebrating alone or with someone else

Hope you enjoyed this little thing with the boys

#yuurivoice #writing #yuurivoice seth #yuurivoice fic #yuurivoice alphonse #yuurivoice sugarboo #bittersweet trio #fluff and only fluff #happy Valentine’s Day

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fuutakaijyama · 1 year ago

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SICK DAYS?! ft BAJI KEISUKE (✮)

synopsis: Baji comes to your place so you can patch him up after a big fight, only to find out you're sick.

wc: 698

warning: mentions of sickness, mentions of death, mentions of fighting

alo’s notes: more self indulgence for me

contains: sick comfort, cuddling, caretaker!baji, feeding, fem!reader, hurt/comfort, injury care, nicknames (mami, ma, kitty, amor)

Baji was always getting into fights, hell. You’d known him since elementary school and he would always come over either to pester you or to get patched up by you.

This week you just so happened to be sick, rotting in your bed after your mother let you stay home for the week, the sound of Baji’s loud voice booming through the halls of your room as he finally came in.

You’d seen him in worse conditions, turning over to look at him as he gazed down at you with a sympathetic smile. “Kitty! Patch up my wounds! Please?” He’d look down at you with that dumb smile he had plastered on his face, that stupid grin that always made you swoon.

You nodded, a small smile on your face as you sat up, walking to your bathroom and grabbing some medical supplies. “Come, lay down right here.” You patted your lap, holding out your hand for him to take so he could lay down properly.

That's Baji's weak point. It seems like he's really into girls who show a sense of care and affection towards him. Baji just smiled, blushing, and immediately went to sit down on your lap.

You started tending to his wounds, wrapping the open cuts, scrapes, and bruises properly to insure they wouldn't get worse, putting a little ointment on them. “There, is that better Keisuke?”

He nods, pecking you on the forehead as he pushes you onto your bed, holding you close and tight as he kicks off his shoes. “You alright Ma? You look really sick..” He asks as he lays on top of you pressing the back of his hand onto your hot skin.

You grumble, adjusting to the weight which sat on top of your chest playing with his hair gingerly as you blinked slowly. “I’m fine, I’m just kinda sick so I-” “What?! And you didn't tell me?!” His expression was one of almost betrayal and concern.

He lifted himself off of you, sitting up and walking to the kitchen, grabbing you a bottle of ginger ale and crackers, sitting you up and patting your hair “Amor, why didn't you tell me sooner? Is that why you haven't been in school?”

You nodded, sitting with your back against your window as he frowned, patting your head as he pulled out a packet of crackers, handing them to you as he cracked the bottle of ginger ale open with a small grunt before pouring you a small glass and holding it to your plush lips

“Drink,” He said sternly as you grabbed the lip of the cup with your teeth slowly pulling it back into your mouth while Baji’s hand rested on your collarbone and the bottom of the glass.

“Did that help Ma?” He asked as he pulled the glass away from your lips, carefully pulling the glass down onto the table as he moved around the heavy blankets and sheets on your bed to insulate you like a cocoon, “A little.. my throat still hurts..” You complained quietly as Baji laid down beside you, grabbing the remote from the table as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“That's normal Mami you're still sick so you just need to rest and relax,” He said in a low tone while his hands moved to your cocooned body, unwrapping you as he scooted into you, his head on your chest as you looked at him like he was fucking crazy. “Keisuke, what the fuck are you doing?” You almost scowled at him as he moved even closer to your sick frame, encapsulating the two of you together stuck between your blankets.

He looked at you with the same dumb smile he had when he came into your room “Cuddling you.” He chuckled before playing with your hair, smiling against the delicate skin of your collarbone while your straids caught themselves between his fingers, your back against his chest as you laid there in a sweet silence (mostly just you trying to process wtf just happened) as he moved to flick on the TV in your room, turning back to you with a smile.

“I’ll take care of you, okay?"

#fuutaskajiyamas #fanfic #fanfiction #baji keisuke #baji x reader #tokyo revengers baji #tokrev baji #tr baji #baji smut #keisuke baji #keisuke baji x reader #keisuke baji smut #keisuke baji tokrev #bajitrio

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ohmygawdyoufoundnemo · 4 months ago

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She Plays Bass

Bangchan x reader

•Part 1•

(Brief mention of 'noona', which means older female sibling or older sister in Korean, only because I am a couple of years older than Chan. If you're not a noona, don't worry too much. I just hope you enjoy this read while you're chilling🙏🏻)

EDIT: I made a few changes to this part, especially when I messed up with the whole start of the DominATE tour thing.

Y/N has hit the jackpot when passing her audition and joins Stray Kids on their world tour. But what happens when the leader meets the new girl?

✨

With the adrenaline still pumping through my veins from this whole morning, my leg starts to jiggle up and down waiting impatiently for my mum to pick up her phone. I could scream right now.

“Hello, darling. Are you on your way home?”

“Hi. Yeah I’m on the bus now.”

“Well, how did it go? Did they like you? Did you get it? Actually, tell me when you get back, ok? I’m just shopping at the moment.” I honestly feel like I could burst into tears, one: because I’ve just been running, which I never do, and two: the best news I could get after trying so hard to discover myself and where I want to be. I’m going on tour! Little old me is going to be playing to thousands of people worldwide!

“Ok. I’ll be home soon. Love you ma.”

“Love you too sweetheart.” We hang up and I could literally scream the roof of the bus apart. It seems too surreal to be true. After stressing so much this whole week about this audition, not being able to sleep and wondering what to play, it’s finally come fruition and a weight has just been lifted from my shoulders. The company came to London from South Korea for the auditions for new touring musicians for their groups, and now I’m going to be one of them! But the thing is, I have no idea what band I’ll be playing for or even when.

Later on that night over dinner, I tell mum of the events and some mishaps of everything that happened. She almost broke a rib or two pulling me into a hug when I told her that I would be officially touring with a band once I hear back from my agent.

“That is so exciting! My baby going into the world. I’m so happy for you!” She gives another big squeeze, swaying us from side to side just as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. “Oh! Who is it?” she asks before pulling away and cleaning up the dining table.

“I think it’s them. I’ll be right back. Hello?”

"Hello Y/N, it's Anna." My agent’s voice rang through the phone, easing the butterflies in my stomach for a moment.

“Hi Anna, how are you?”

“I’m very good! I also wanted to congratulate you on your audition today, they absolutely loved you! And we have a position lined up for you.”

“That’s great!” Already? That was quick!

“I just want to give you some more information about the success of your audition and going forward, within the company all travel and accommodation expenses are paid for so you don’t have to worry about anything. And, of course, if you have any insurance with your equipment we can help with that as well.“ This really is too good to be true! “With that being said, we would like to join us in Seoul for the start of the tour.”

Wait. What? SEOUL?!

“When? Is there a date when I would have to be there for rehearsals? Sorry, I’m a bit jittery.”

“That is ok. Rehearsals will be on the twenty-third of this month but we would like you to spend some time with us and the rest of the band around the fifteenth.” My feet instantly carry me to my room where they stop in front of my calendar. That’s in six days! “You will have time to explore a little bit of Seoul with one of our guides, you will also have your own hotel room set up, you will of course have the choice to explore the city on your own but in regards to security it would be...” I think I blanked out everything else Anna was saying. My ears were ringing, I was getting light headed looking around at all of my stuff in my bedroom. I’m going to South Korea to start a world tour with a band I don’t even know. Six days. Six days until I leave my home to bed hop in hotel rooms around the world for god knows how long! “So, what do you say?”

Before I can even think about my answer, my mouth opens, “Absolutely!” Shit! How much stuff should I pack?!

“That’s great news! Before I go, do you have any questions you would like to ask?”

“Is it alright to ask, the band that I’ll be playing with or for...”

“Ah, yes! I thought you’d might ask. Usually we don’t disclose this information until closer to the time but since you signed a contract with the company and will be joining us very soon there are no issues. So you will be rehearsing and being a touring musician for Stray Kids.”

Six days came and went so quickly that I could barely focus on anything. I nearly forgot my carry-on luggage, headphones and even my iPad which has all the bass and synthesiser recordings on it. Luckily my mum helped me with the checklist, knowing very well that I will forget something, before leaving me at the airport with Anna. Speaking of whom, after a very long journey, we are on our way to the hotel. Each part of this experience is so fast-paced with no time to take in the huge shift this has made to my life that I almost cocoon myself in my hoodie in the backseat of the car, yet the sight of the KSPO Dome won’t allow me to stay slumped for too long as Anna points out the venue from where we’ve stopped at the traffic lights.

“It’s huge!” I say to her in Korean, turning to Anna like an excited child seeing Christmas lights for the first time. She laughs at me. The thing about Anna is she’s also my agent as I was struggling to find any gigs in the past three years. The audition was like a big break for me to finally do something I love. She had also been the one to encourage me to learn Korean, when we first started talking while I attended college she had only learned the basics in English not too long before. So to save her more hardship and to learn something new, I took up a side quest to learn her language and she’s just embraced me and shares her culture with me.

“Wait until we get inside in a couple of days.” She says just as she goes to answer her phone. As we get closer, I pull on my Dr. Martens trying my best not to get dirt on the seat as well as getting concussed by the front passenger seat.

The butterflies are throwing up in my stomach.

I couldn’t close my mouth as I gawked out the window overlooking the city lights of Seoul. Every day since I’ve been here, I’ve done the same thing, wake up early to gawk at the sunrise, have breakfast, message my mum for a little while, stare out the window whilst getting dressed or brushing my teeth for my scheduled day with Anna, taking picture after picture of the tourist attractions. My legs hurt so much but it’s so worth it!

How am I here? Well, I know how but it’s like an out-of-body experience standing here in a hotel room, in a dream, on the same floor as Stray Kids. Rehearsals are tomorrow and my stomach is doing somersaults.

I’m still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my body is too tired from the adventures I've had so far in the past three days to lug around my bass guitar on my back. I’m being lead through the maze of a hallway in the arena by a member of staff. Plus I hadn’t slept too well last night, I miss my mum, my cat, now I miss Anna but she’s a busy woman but I’m now left to my own sleepy devises at rehearsals and meeting everyone. I had already met the rest of my band the other night over dinner. They’re so cool and so welcoming! I also met the stylists for tonight which woke me up a little bit more after seeing my outfits for the next week. Chef’s kiss!

The engineers help me with setting up my equipment and my ear pieces that there's no time to really take in the gargantuan size of the dome. I hear the drums, guitar and keyboard echoing throughout the stadium, the sound of the music reverberating against the walls finally made the realisation hit me. I am but one small person which by tonight will be playing to thousands of people.

As reality sinks in, the cluster of instruments being tested in my ear pieces seems soothing the moment I lock them in.

The members were getting ready to go to the stage, the stylists getting everything prepared for later on tonight, their manager rushing about making sure everything is all good to go for rehearsals, Bangchan was writing little messages to STAYS on Bubble with some comments making him smile and blush when out of nowhere, Han makes a noise in surprise which causes the others to look up at what he’s pointing to. Chan looks up to see Han gesturing to the TV that was switched on for background noise, it was filming live footage from the stage. Chan gulped down some saliva when he saw a new band member setting up, which didn't go unnoticed by other members of staff either.

Is it warm in here?

“Who’s that? Is that a new bass player NMixx?” I.N. asks while glancing between his phone and the TV. Chan knew the question was to no one in particular but he was taken back to respond. She was pretty, really pretty. The breeze flowing through her hair pushes some strands over her shoulder as the band plays a random tune, the boys stare in wonder only for a few seconds before the camera shot changes to a scope of the venue.

“She was pretty!” Han exclaims as he’s being set up with equipment for soundcheck and being handed a microphone.

“Stop staring!" Minho gently swats at Han, "You’re getting drool all over the carpet!” scuffing up Han’s bed hair, the member of staff helping Han adjust his monitor waiting patiently for them to stop slapping each other.

“Hyung,” Chan finally looks away from the TV too to see Felix holding his spare t-shirt. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Who was she? He asks himself just as she comes up on the screen again. She looks over at the cameraman, shyly waving and smiling. Chan couldn’t help but notice the colour of her big round eyes. Uh oh.

“Wow! Never seen Chan-hyung with big heart eyes before.” Changbin says getting the boys attention, pumping his chest at his leader. Chan just glares at him, trying to keep him at arms length but ends up breaking into a red-faced laugh while chasing him around the room.

“If you need help with anything, give us a signal.” He says, making the gestures of signals but I get distracted when I feel eyes on me. I glance over the soundman’s shoulder to see the group of guy’s looking over at me. Through my ear piece just as one speaks into their microphone, I hear, “Hey! Hello.” One waves at me, followed by the others. I wave back as he walks closer with a huge smile. “I’m Han." They each wave again. "What’s your name?” I introduce myself in Korean which surprises them and makes me laugh. “WOW! Oh, are you our new bass player?”

I nod, just as a song starts he jogs away.

"Let's get it!" We start with S-Class and go into Superbowl. The flow is so good! Me and the boys are really happy with it. I sort out my bass synthesiser for the next song just as another member comes into my peripheral.

“Hi.” I feel my cheeks grow warm as he smiles at me.

“Hello.”

“That was really good but I can’t hear the bass so well in my ...”

“Oh, yeah. They said they’ve been having minor technical issues with it but it should be better for tonight.”

“Cool! Err.... I’m Chris, by the way.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” Is it really that warm out here?

“Hyung! Stop flirting with our new girl and get back here!” Minho yells away from the microphone causing Chan to shy away but ultimately wave at me with a ‘see you later’. Bangchan tackles Lee Know into a back hug with much retaliation.

This is going to be fun!

It’s been a couple of weeks since starting tour and it’s been amazing! Crazy busy with non-stop moving and airport travels and hotel bed hopping but other than that I can’t knock this experience. Especially since Stray Kids have taken me in. Almost every night we play, either Changbin, Han or mainly Felix come over and rock out with the band, hyping us up and wordlessly letting us know we were doing a great job.

Almost a month ago, I never would have thought I would be hanging with any of them, but usually Han comes over to play guitar with me playing songs before or after rehearsals. The chaos is real and it’s heart-warming to have so many people around who are so supportive and bring out the best chaos in you.

“Y/N noona?!” I glance up from my iPad taking out one of my airpods, I’m sat on the carpeted floor adjusting bass tones for the songs for the set to see Changbin sitting across from me, all dressed up for later on, which only reminds me that it’ll be my turn soon. Restless, full of bounding energy which he’s been told to save for tonight.

“Dwaeki?”

“Noona! I’m bored.”

“Where are the others?” I’ve only just noticed it’s just me, Changbin, I.N. and a couple of stylists in here. “How long have I been working?”

“Too long! Pay attention!” his whining makes me chuckle, I try to hide it to not upset him but he notices and starts getting irritable. “Stop laughing at me. I’m serious.” He starts smiling, not taking himself seriously.

“What do you want from me? What do you want to do?” he ponders for a moment.

“I don’t know. Help me!” while slumping his head on the table, he quickly retracts it with a small yet dramatic yelp in pain. I reach over to rub his forehead. He slaps the table as if offended which makes me laugh harder.

“Be careful Changbin! You want to be able to remember lyrics tonight.”

“Ah!” he pulls away with a sneaky look on his face. “NMixx.” He points to the live footage of NMixx on stage.

“What?” I ask as he quickly gets up and dances to the start of ‘Love Me Like This’. “I saw the video. You know it. Come on!”

“Absolutely not.” How did he know about that video?

“Noona! Noona! Noona!" I.N. starts chanting. Changbin pulls me up and before I know it, he’s filming us both dancing to the song, all while I.N. sits and watches. The others walk in just as me and Changbin finally finish. I must have gone red in the face when I saw Han and Bangchan just grinning.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks as I quickly go back to what I was doing before.

Changbin shows them the video of him and Y/N dancing along to NMixx. Bangchan sneaks a glance over at Y/N who’s too caught up in the new bass system that she’s been obsessed with for days now.

There’s a niggling feeling he just can’t shake off when he’s around her. He likes her a lot! She’s cool, amazing bass player and has a great flow with the band, she gets along really well the Kid's too. It’s like they just clicked, she takes care of them when he's too busy which gives him time to work or gives him a breather even just for a moment. She has a cool sense of style, right now she’s wearing her classic pink beanie, crop hoodie and black denim shorts and barefoot while sitting cross-legged at the table bobbing her head along to what she’s listening to whilst taking notes, there’s just something warm and natural about her. Even when she’s playing to thousands of STAYS, he’s always noticed that glow in her eyes while looking out at them, and her personality never changes. He recently saw a video shared around on TikTok of fans who had been watching our opening acts in quite an unbearable heat and while our set was being put together, she handed out extra water bottles for STAYS.

“Hyung?” Chan pulls his gaze away, not realising he’s probably been gawking at her for a bit, hoping that she didn't catch him doing it. He helps Felix adjust his necklace. “Hyung.” Chan hums in response to Felix as Y/N brings Seungmin his water bottle as he does his vocal warm-up just as Hyunjin tackles her in a side hug. “You’ve been quiet all day. Everything good?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

“You sure?” Felix asks peering over his shoulder with a little smirk, Chan couldn’t help but glance over at Y/N again to see her taking selfies with Hyunjin and Changbin. His heart flutters a little as she smiles at whatever Lee Know said about their poses which gets more of a response out of Changbin. “Why don’t you just tell her you like her?”

This brings Chan back to reality like a smack in the face.

“What are you talking about?” Felix gives him a knowing look. “I can’t just...do that. It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated." Felix turns around to see Y/N giggling at Changbin and Lee Know bickering, nearly breaking out into a play fight. "She won’t break your heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Of course Felix would say that. The Kids practically adore her.

Lee Know keeps her at arms length but respects her and is fond of her, and her comebacks to his playful insults catch him off guard most of the time, they're not mean but just as good. Changbin see’s her like a sibling, and now a dance partner or someone he challenges when he tries to tease her because she’s our noona which sometimes makes her feel bad yet they have a special bond. Hyunjin has shown her more of his artwork, he even made her a picture for her birthday which she adores and she’s shown him how to create his own music. Han adores her because she works hard to help us sound better on stage and how caring she is to us. Felix, well he isn’t shy to the fact that they’ve become close friends and dotes on her. Seungmin, like Lee Know, shows a lot of respect for noona. And I.N., if any one of them follows her like a lost puppy, apart from Felix or Changbin when he’s in the mood to bother her or simply wants her attention, it’s him.

But where does that leave him? Chan breathes out a sigh. They get along really well but something feels stagnant. He isn’t worried about her breaking his heart though, he’s more worried he’ll explode with professions of adoration and scare her away.

“Where are you going?!” Chan calls out as Y/N hurriedly takes out her earpieces and takes off her equipment. The Kid’s keeping a distance from the firing line.

“Out for a walk! Is that ok with you?! God!” Y/N storms off stage, snatching her jacket from it's place on the bass holder on the way out. The others stare cautiously between the two, seven pairs of eyes following Y/N as she disappears around the side stage, then over to their leader who is almost red in the face. Rehearsals just finished but throughout the set, things just kept going wrong which ended up with the soundcheck taking longer than usual. If Chan were to name a few, the boys were more chaotic as usual but for some reason it just got to him today, then the sound system kept messing up which messed up their queues and they had to restart the song, Han and Seungmin’s microphones kept glitching, then Y/N said she had forgotten her iPad backstage which has all pre-adjusted bass tones on it, that was the final straw in the span of the two hours since the minor late start to rehearsals, that’s when Chan snapped. Not at everyone or anything, but at Y/N.

This confused the Kid’s so much after the new revelation they had witnessed over the past few months between their leader and their new bassist.

The air was thick with tension and it wasn’t great to be around. The members were silent, waiting for Chan to make the first move. He took a few breaths before turning around as he removed his ear piece from under his beanie.

“Sorry hyung.” Some of them mumble as he takes off as well.

✨

*So that was Part 1, I hope you enjoyed it! I know it's looooong but I haven't written anything like this in 3 years so I may have gotten a little excited or enthusiastic to get this out of my system*

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bangchan x reader #chan x reader #bangchan skz #jeongin #changbin #lee know #seungmin #i.n.#hyunjin #felix #bang chan

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beom-pyu · 1 year ago

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my wips! ★⋆⁺˚⋆｡ °₊*️

see what's coming soon:

(more under the cut!)

I CAN'T SWIM, IDIOT (choi beomgyu x fem!reader) POSTED.

SYNOPSIS:

your best friend just so happens to enter you both into a married-couple-greece-resort-stay-all-expenses-paid giveaway hosted by some random insurance company he found on twitter. but those things are always scams—there's no way you'd end up having to pretend to be beomgyu's wife for one week in a foreign country. and there's absolutely no way you'd end up seeing your childhood best friend in a different light after your stay. nope—not a chance.

RESET (kang taehyun x fem!reader)

coworkers to lovers, rivals to lovers, fluff, comedy, smut

SYNOPSIS:

working as a game developer has been your dream for years. you fought long and hard to work your way up to the top, and you've finally secured a stable, well-paying position at one of the lead gaming companies in the country. things are going well—until your head hires a new programmer to work alongside you for a new campaign. while you are excited to see fresh faces in the office, a problem quickly arises—you can't seem to get along with your counterpart. his know-it-all attitude rubs you the wrong way from the very beginning, and each day, you find it harder and harder to get anything done when he's over your shoulder, critiquing your every move. you don't know how much longer you can put up with his nagging until you downright lose your mind... and maybe your job as well.

(current word count: 3.24k)

TEASER:

“um, hello! nice to meet you. i’m y/n y/l/n, lead character designer,” you introduce yourself with a small bow, looking up to see taehyun smiling at you with those pretty wide eyes.

“i specialize in character design as well. i guess we’ll be working side by side this year,” taehyun shoots you with a blinding grin. your heart stutters a bit at his unwavering eye contact, nodding with a small smile.

“i guess so. you sure you can keep up, though?” you playfully flirt towards him, a low and quiet ‘ooooo’ coming from soobin and yeonjun on either side of you. taehyun remains unfazed at your comment, shrugging slightly at your words with raised brows.

“i’d like to believe so. i’m looking forward to seeing what you got, y/l/n.”

you smile a bit, your gaze unbreaking with his cat eyes.

“likewise, kang.”

END CREDITS (choi yeonjun x fem!reader)

underground boxer au, exes to lovers, heavy angst, fluff, smut

SYNOPSIS:

yeonjun feels as if he's stuck in a loop. every day is the same, boring, painful drag—work, fight club, dinner for ma, and repeat. he's completely numb to everyone and everything around him. why shouldn't he be? the only person he's staying alive for is his mother—if he were to die today, earth would continue to spin without a second thought. that is, until you pop back up into his life—and now everything he knows is flipped onto its head. you left him because of the way he is... so why are you staying this time?

(current word count: 4.6k)

TEASER:

“i think i’m just gonna head home. ma is probably waiting for me.” yeonjun forces a small, strained smile towards beomgyu, watching as the younger’s shoulders droop in disappointment.

“you are so lame,” beomgyu huffs, pushing yeonjun’s shoulder lightly. “dude, just come celebrate with us tonight. i swear i won’t ever ask you again.”

yeonjun shakes his head, shrugging on his gray zip-up before turning back around to walk out of the locker room, beomgyu still hot on his heels. “don’t feel like it, beomgyu. just drop it.”

beomgyu chases after yeonjun as he walks back into the crowded arena, shoving his way through all of the sweaty bodies as another fight starts up.

“you’re the most boring person i’ve ever met,” beomgyu shouts.

“and you’re the most annoying person i’ve ever met,” yeonjun shouts back, not even bothering to turn around and face the younger.

to be added:

rockstar!yeonjun x lead singer!reader - exes to lovers

farm boy!taehyun x city girl!reader - strangers to lovers

soon-to-be-married!soobin x wedding planner!reader - exes to lovers

#beom-pyu #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt angst #txt smut #txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader #yeonjun imagines #soobin imagines #beomgyu imagines #taehyun imagines #hueningkai imagines

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gaudetteinsurancehelpswithquotes · 16 minutes ago

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pandorxxx · 2 years ago

Text

Let’s enjoy this moment

Jake x omatikayan fem reader

Warnings: just fluff, mentions of nudity.

You are walking back to your shared tent with your mate. You were done early with your tsahik duties, so you decided to surprise Jake. You walk to the entrance of the tent, as you notice jakes back turned, writing things down on the dry erase board he borrowed from the lab. You chuckle silently to yourself as you watch your hard working mate make sure that the I’s are dotted and the T’s are crossed. You loved how attentive to detail he was, because any wrong move, and people could die.

You tiptoe behind him slowly, not making a sound until you reach his back. His broad shoulders, and his small waist. You go to wrap your arms around his waist, and he jumps. You laugh out loud.

“Calm down, my love. Tis just me.” You say as you rub his hard abs.

“I’m sorry, you scared me alittle.” He laughs as he realizes the familiar touch. He is still writing on his board as he squeezes your hand.

“What is this , ma Jake?” You ask as you sneak your head between his arm and his waist. He laughs at the new position.

“These are the new war plans. I need to get these out to the war party soon. I just had to tighten some things up, Insure everyone’s safety.” He says as he continues to write on his board. He quickly noticed the lack of attention he was showing you at the moment. He puts the market down and turns to you slowly, looking you in your eyes before wrapping his arms around your tiny waist. You melt into his touch with a loud sigh. You shut your eyes tightly as you breath in his familiar scent. Without trying, you lean all your weight into him, making him stumble alittle as he wasn’t prepared for that.

“Woah woah y/n, you ok?” He asks concerned as he pulls you back to look into your eyes. With your eyes still closed, you nod your head with a slight grin. You reach out for him again, as he obliged.

“I’m just happy to see you, ma Jake. I can’t seem to let you go.” She purrs into his chest. He chuckles as he rubs your head.

“I’m here, I’m here, you don’t have to worry. I will always be here.” He whispers in your ear. A moment goes by, and he decides to let you go. You look up at him with desperate eyes.

“I know,baby, I know… but let’s get you out of this armor, ok?” He lightly grabs your neck, as you nod your head. He picks you up, and places you on the wooden table he made a while back. He starts to take all of your cloths off. You are now completely naked, as he just takes in all of your beauty. He swiftly picks you up again, and lays you on the ground of the tent. He slowly lays down next to you, not breaking eye contact.

“So, babygirl, what is really going on?” He says as he interlocks his fingers with yours. You look into his eyes, trying to hold back tears.

“I’m glad you are here, safe. I just missed you. You have a great responsibility to the people, and you handle it so well, but I don’t know what I would do if we couldn’t have these moments together anymore. If you left me….” You say as tears fall down your face onto the ground.

He pulls you in closer, skin to skin. He wraps his arms tighter around you, as he starts to rub your back gently.

“I took on this responsibility because I wanted to, not because I had to. I don’t want you to worry your pretty little head about a thing. I will always be here for you, be here with you. I love you so much y/n. You are my reason for fighting to come home every night. For making sure that these plans are locked and loaded so that I can see you another day. Nothing can keep me from you, not even death.” He says in your ear, as he continues to draw circles on your back.

You loved when he reassured you that everything was going to be fine. As long as you two were together, you would be content.

“So let’s not worry about the future ok? Let’s enjoy the moment we are having right now. I wouldn’t trade this moment for the world” he says as he kisses your ear.

“I love you, ma Jake” you say as you kiss his cheek.

“I love you too, y/n” he says in between yawns as he drifts off to sleep.

Ok so I actually underestimate myself a lot, and I really didn’t think I would finish this story that quickly, but here it is. I enjoyed writing this story so much❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️. Send me more suggestions!!!!!! See you soon.

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theambitiouswoman · 1 year ago

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Hi!

Thanking for answering my ask,

If you don’t mind I would love it if you could get into the tax part, I just want to know as much as I can. 😆

Ok this is fun, prepare to have your mind blown.

I have to disclose that I am not a financial advisor or an accountant <3

Trusts: You want to consider purchasing the properties under a trust. Tax implications can vary under trusts. Revocable living trust will allow you to be treated as the owner, but in an irrevocable trust, it is a separate entity. In some structures, you would only pain capital gains, which can also be transferred to a separate trust, and you do not end up paying capital gains on the property. You do this with a charitable remainder trust. Generally, if a property is held in a trust, rental income generated from that property is typically subject to income tax. The trust itself may be responsible for paying those taxes, or the tax liability might pass through to the beneficiaries, depending on the type of trust and its specific provisions. This will change the amount you would pay in taxes. If the property was purchased as a primary home, there could also be capital gain exceptions depending on the trust. Your income affects the rates you pay on specific trusts. Before I continue, I want to suggest speaking to an actual attorney, not an accountant. Most are not knowledgable or equipped to properly guide you here. Same as with traditional, in a trust you can deduct property related expenses like mortgage interest, property taxes, maintenance costs, and depreciation, from the rental income. This can help reduce the taxable income generated by the property.

IRA's: You can use a self directed IRA or other retirement accounts to invest in real estate. The gain from these investments grow tax deferred within your account. This is something you should also consider doing.

Depreciating assets: Real estate can depreciate overtime. This doesn't include land. But when it depreciates, you can deduct the properties cost. This would offset the income you would pat taxes on.

1031 Exchange: Filing a 1031 will allow you to defer paying capital gains on an investment property when it's sold, as long as another "like kind" property is purchased with the profit gained from the sale.

Mortgage Interest Deduction: Interest paid on mortgages for investment properties can be deducted.

Carry Forward: If your expenses exceed your rental income, you could have a net loss. Some of these losses can be used to offset other taxable income, while others might be carried forward to future years.

Living in the property: If you live in the property for 2 years. you can exclude a portion of the capital gains from your taxable income when you sell.

Opportunity Zones: Opportunity zones offer tax incentives, including deferring and potentially reducing capital gains taxes.

Expenses: All repair expenses can be deducted.

Installments: You can structure your sale to receive payments over time. This spreads out the capital gains and reduces tax impact.

Tax Credits: There are a ton of tax credits for investors. Would research in your state.

More deductions: Interest on a mortgage for an investment property is typically tax deductible, as are property taxes and many other expenses related to the property like Insurance premiums.

Cost segregations: You can hire someone to reclassify certain areas of your property to accelerate depreciation. This will give you a significant upfront tax deduction.

Pass throughs: Certain pass through entities (like LLCs, S Corporations, and partnerships) may be eligible for a deduction of up to 20% of their business income from rental properties.

I can keep going on this, but strongly recommend you read these books:

Loopholes of the Rich: How the Rich Legally Make More Money and Pay Less Tax

Tax-Free Wealth: How to Build Massive Wealth by Permanently Lowering Your Taxes

#real estate #investment #real estate investing #investors #finance #money #property investing #homebuyers

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