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we understand how difficult it can be to keep a tidy home. This is why we have developed products that aid in the decluttering and organization of every home. Each item is meticulously crafted with the user and their home in mind. The end product results in items that maximize space, simplify organization, and take the guesswork out of keeping a neat home.
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Invest in your Krisis Flood Bag to keep your home and business assets safe from the next flood. These Australian-made flood bags are made with military-grade watertight material and are fully submersible for up to 4 weeks.
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What type of backpack is best for college?
 For every student, choosing the ideal backpack for college is fundamental. The quick moving universe of college life incorporates different exercises, such as attending lectures, utilizing the library, and participating in extracurriculars. A backpack finds a balance between comfort, style, and utility because it serves as your portable storage unit in addition to being, style, and utility since it fills in as your compact portable storage.
Choosing the finest college backpacks might be difficult, as so many variations are available. This article includes essential considerations and displays some of the most well-liked backpack styles that are ideal for college life.
Types of Backpacks for College Students
Let's examine some of the most well-liked backpack styles that meet the needs of college students while keeping these considerations in mind.
1. Classic Daypack
One of the most attractive choices for a college student is a "daypack." TheseMini Black backpacks come in different shapes and sizes. For instance, they are affordable and can easily be used.
Laptop sleeve â ideally one for a full-sized laptop, several smaller pockets â and two or three larger sections are the norm for a daypack. Daypacks are perfect for an optimal style that is not very technical and does not require many additional functions, which is essential for students.
2. Laptop Backpack
A laptop backpack is made especially to hold a laptop and other electronic devices, as the name would imply. In addition to having extra pockets for tablets, chargers, and other devices, these backpacks have padded sections to protect your laptop. Tech-savvy students who depend on their devices all day long might consider laptop bags because they are typically more organized and safe.
3. Rolling Backpack
An adjustable rolling backpack might be a lifeline for students carrying large loads. You can use a rolling backpack to reduce the pressure on your back that comes with carrying a laptop and bulky textbooks.
These Mini Purple backpacks are ideal for students who need to carry a lot of stuff on a regular basis because they typically include extensible handles. However, they can be less practical and a little bulky on busy campuses with stairs or uneven walkways.
4. Travel Backpack
A travel backpack is the best option for students who require more capacity and adaptability. These backpacks frequently have many compartments and greater capacities (30 liters or more), allowing students to take personal things, outfits, and school necessities.
Additionally made with comfort in mind, travel backpacks include padded straps and sturdy support structures to withstand large weights. They're an ethernet choice if you're a par, a worker, or an off-campus student.
5. Eco-Friendly Backpack
An increasing number of college students are starting to prioritize sustainability. Recycled or sustainable materials, such as organic cotton, recycled plastic, or biodegradable textiles, are used to make eco-friendly backpacks.
These Mini Denim backpacks are frequently produced by companies that value moral manufacturing procedures. If you're concerned about your environmental impact, an environmentally friendly backpack can help you combine sustainability with style and usefulness.
6. Convertible Backpack Tote
For instance, a college backpacks with a separate closure feature is easily convertible into a tote. The straps of these packs may be extended to wear out the backpacks hanging on your back when necessary or rolled up when you want to put them like a bag. This design is perfect for learners who like using a tote bag but must switch to backpack mode as the load overpowers the item.
Conclusion
Your unique needs and style preferences determine which college backpacks suit you. Your perfect college backpack should be sturdy, cosy, and furnished with the appropriate pocketsâwhether you choose a traditional daypack for its ease of use, a laptop backpack for safeguarding technology, or an environmentally friendly one for sustainability.
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Have you ever asked yourself how big ships and submarines can float on water? It is all about how much buoyancy it should have, how much of the water should be displaced, and how many weights are to be put in. The principle of buoyancy-water weights is fundamental to understanding how naval vessels stay afloat. Let us explore the interesting part of naval engineering to discover how these ships work against gravity.
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One time in my early 20s I got really drunk at a party where someone handed me a stein full of what turned out to be moonshine from a barrel in some guy's garage and said "try this it tastes like pie" and a) it DID taste like pie, but b) only on the way down, not on the way back up, given it was something like 120 proof -- so my memories of the next couple hours are very vague but involve a bunch of ex-football players from South Boston walking me around the block in circles handing me bottled water trying to sober me up, and eventually because I was too shitfaced to get home but no longer puking my guts up and dying I crawled into the back of my car to sleep it off in a sleeping bag I kept there; but there was a guy at the party who was also sleeping in his car and this was Boston in the fall so it was like 40ÂşF out at night and anyway this other guy I met at this party who was a middle aged mercenary from liverpool who had served in the french foreign legion or something ended up knocking on my car door asking if he could huddle with me for warmth and I said yeah okay but there's only room for me in the sleeping bag so don't be weird about it, and to his credit he was not weird and we just slept in my car and in the morning he asked if I wanted brekkie and bought me dunkin donuts while I nursed the worst hangover I have ever had in my life then or since and trying to figure out whose heavy metal hoodie I was wearing and how I managed to leave this party with more clothing than I arrived in.
So if someone singing pirate shanties hands you a stein of mysterious liquid and tells you it tastes like pie, probably don't chug that shit.
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Today's List of Nice Things:
Managed to get some writing done.
Slept better than I expected.
Had a nice convo with a tourist at the park
Taking a break from Doctor Who for Pride month (I'm not gonna get to the latest Doctors in time, sadly) and started watching Dead Boy Detectives. Recognized a lot of producers from the Arrowverse, so this should be interesting.
Closing the rifts in DAI is so satisfying.
#who is forlornmelody?#brain hygiene#accidentally got my book wet#do water proof bags exist?#if so send me your recs if you have any
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i'm just waiting for the day that they run out of lighter fluid.
though given the fact that several characters just miss it while doing inventory, paired with how long they've somehow managed to *not* loose it, i'm not fully convinced it's normal
Every time Arthur sparks that goddamn lighter I get scared that there's a gas leak in whatever cave they're in and I brace myself for a potential explosion
#seriously arthur *and* his bag get dunked completely underwater at some point and he hasn't lost that thing#having given it a quick google search; apparently a lot of lighters are water proof or resistant to some degree#but i'm still inpressed it never got lost or smashed while#running; jumping; swimming; fighting; falling a stupidly far distance; the car crash they were in; and/or any of the other nonsense#that those two have gotten into
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proof of donation: feeding people in gaza
last week, you guys helped raise over $800 to help ahmed do relief work in gaza! take a look at what you made possible.
proof of money received:
on the left is the original screenshot of the bank transfer in arabic. in the middle, shimaa has kindly edited the photo with english captions to explain what each section says. after transfer fees and deductions, they were able to receive $899. last of all, on the right is the physical money in israeli shekels that ahmed was able to withdraw.
proof of relief aid in the refugee camp:
here are the pots of food that ahmed cooked and set up! you can see all the families and children who have come to eat. in addition, ahmed bought clean water to distribute around the camp, as well as baby formula (pictured bottom right) for those in need.
the original goal was $800 to feed everyone in the camp a hot meal, buy water, and get juice for the children. the extra $100 raised was used to buy the baby formula.
look at what you all made possible!
additional words from ahmed and his sister shimaa:
how to continue supporting:
per ahmed's requested, i've created another campaign to raise money for his next relief aid initiative. you can help feed someone in gaza TODAY! you can donate here:
as a reminder, $20 can buy a bag of rice, and $50 can buy 1 kg of meat. and every single dollar counts. you truly don't know how much donations can add up.
ahmed would also like to buy curtains in order to shelter tents from the winter rains. due to the changing needs of people in gaza, please be aware that donations may be used for more urgent needs at the time.
in addition, due to personal circumstances, i will be stepping back from organizing new campaigns after october ends.
if you can help take over managing shimaa and ahmed's campaigns, please DM me!
i will offer assistance as best as i can.
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Krisis Flood Bags bring you high-quality, military-grade certified flood bags to protect your home and business assets during storms and floods that may hit the US anytime. Having invested in a Krisis Bag will result in perfect protection of your valuables from water damage. It's fully submersible and keeps the content 100% dry.
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sleepy cramps | b.c.
summary: your cramps wake you up but channie is there to help.
wc: 1.1k
warnings: i tried to keep it gender neutral, however!! periods and cramps are mentions so read at your own risk.
a/n: omg ash knows how to post at a normal time when she's not sleep deprived *gasp* crazy right? you guys know the drill not proof read too many pet names blah blah. i have realized that i apparently need alot of comfort in my life because that is all i write LMAO. anyway! i hope you guys enjoy and as always, drink water, eat something, and take ur meds. <3
p.s. pls send me some requests i really wanna try and branch out but i have no ideas, okay love u bye. <3
my library
(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)
âbaby?â you hear a familiar aussie voice call out. âiâm home!â you hear him take off his shoes and set his bag down. âbaby?â he yells once more, keys jingling as he places them on a hook by the door.
you let out a grunt, hoping to signal to him where you were. you were currently bundled up half asleep in your shared bed, facing the door. you were exhausted from the day and your period, and barely keeping your eyes open.Â
the hall light flicks on before a figure appears in the doorway. you lift up your head a bit, giving him a sleepy smile before settling back into your warm cocoon of soft blankets and plushies.
he smiles before making his way to the side of bed, squatting down to eye level with you. he lifts his hand, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. âhi pretty.â your cheeks warm.
âhi bub.â you mumble. âyou sleepy bug?â he asks softly. you nod, a yawn escaping you as if emphasizing your drowsiness.
he smiles, leaning forward to place a soft kiss to your forehead. âalright bub, give me 10 minutes to get ready for bed then iâll come lay down okay?â you nod once more, sleepy smile still present on your face.
he moves, placing a kiss on your lips before standing to his full height. âiâll be right back!â he yelled, running into your en-suite. you giggle before relaxing into your cocoon, sleep welcoming you quickly.
once chan finished in the bathroom, he came out to find you curled up, now facing his side of the bed, soft even breathes escaping you.
he coos before making his way to his side of the bed. he lifted the sheets, sliding under them before gently pulling you to him, body melting into his.
he wraps his arms around you, âgood night my sleepy baby, i love you.â he whispers, placing a kiss on your temple, before relaxing, letting sleep take over.
this didnât last long however, chan lightly awoke maybe an hour later, to you stirring in your sleep, light whimpers escaping you. after hearing the first whimpers leave your mouth, he was very alert. he quickly looks over your body trying to determine whatâs bringing you distress.
he catches a glimpse of your face, which is contorted in discomfort. he places a hand on your cheek once more, trying to gently wake you. âbaby wake up.â he whispers, lightly tapping and stroking your cheek.
after a few seconds you finally wake, only to let out a yelp in pain, curling into the body beside you. âhey hey, baby, whatâs going on?â he said kissing your head, rubbing your back.
âperiod.â you managed to get out, trying to curl further into yourself. one arm wrapped around your lower abdomen, the other one clenched into a fist against your forehead.
you start holding your breath unconsciously, praying the pain will subside. chan notices and gently taking your fist in his.
âbreathe baby, breathe,â he says calmly, opening your fist to slot your fingers through his. you let out a jagged breath leaning your forehead against your joined hands, âsqueeze my hand if you need to jagi but, you gotta breathe baby.â his thumb stroking the back of your hand.
you take a deep breath, trying to focus on anything over than the stabbing pain in your abdomen. âdoing so good bug, just breathe.â his other hand coming up to smooth the crease between your eyebrows.Â
your breathing evens out slightly as the pain lessen a bit. a moment of silence passes before you sit up, hands still entwined. chan follows you, rubbing small circles on your back. âdid you take medicine earlier?â you nod your head. âright before you got home.â he hummed, understanding.
 âiâll be right back, okay?â he whispers, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. you nod slightly, focusing on your breathing. he leans over, placing a kiss to the side of your head before getting up and making his way into the bathroom.
you grab a pillow behind you hugging it as you wait for him to return. a few moments passed before he reemerges with your heating pad in hand. he rounds the bed, plugging in the pad before sitting next to you.
âiâm gonna move this quick, okay?â you nod, moving your arms. he grabs the pillow, placing the heating pad in itâs place. âthank you.â you mumble, leaning on him, placing your head on his shoulder. âyouâre welcome bug.â he kisses the top of your head before placing his there.
you sit there for a moment before you feel the guilt slowly creep up, the lump forming in the back of your throat. you turn your head into his shoulder as tears start to stream down your face.
âhey, hey, do you want more medicine? what can i do?â he asks, placing a hand on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles. you shake your head, before moving to put your hand in your hands.
âiâm sorry channie,â you cried. âi know youâre probably exhausted, and shouldnât have to deal with this.â you feel him move in front of you before placing his hands on your face, lifting it. âi am your boyfriend, it is my job to take care of you when you need me. and right now youâre in pain because of something you canât control.â he pauses, looking into your eyes, gently wiping the tears running down your cheeks.
âi will always take care of you, doesnât matter, time, place, if iâm tired or not, i will always help you. understand?â you nod, moving into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, shoving your face into his neck.
he wraps his arms around your torso pulling you impossibly closer. âi love so much, jagiya. okay?â you nod your head quickly. âi love you too, more than you know.â you say into his neck, placing a kiss on his skin.Â
you both stay like that for a moment before chan pulls away slightly. he wipes your tears once more before placing a kiss on your lips. âletâs get you to sleep, hm?â you agree, moving back into the mattress.
you watch him make his way to his side, getting comfortable under the duvet. once settled, he opens his arms for you to lay down. you giggle before quickly laying on him, making sure your heating pad was still in the correct position.
you place a kiss to his jaw before settling into his chest, duvet pulled to cover both of you. âthank you, i love you so much.â he places one last kiss to your head. â you donât have to thank me, i love you so much, good night my sleepy baby.â you smile, feeling at peace. âgoodnight, channie.â you place a kiss over his heart before both of drift off once more.
do not repost
*feedback is always appreciated as are likes/reblogs!*
#bang chan#bang chan fic#bang chan fluff#bang chan x reader#bang chan imagine#skz#stray kids#stray kids fic#stray kids oneshot#stray kids x reader#stray kids imagine#stray kids fluff#ash's archive â§âËâŠĺ˝Ą
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đŽđ˛đ¸đ¸đŻ đŻđŞđŞđŻđť â shouta aizawa x male reader
w.c: 12.4k
warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin âknocked upâ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, â taboo â
sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! sheâs all done !! ŕťę°ŕžŕ˝˛â¸â¸T Ë Tâ¸â¸ęąŕžŕ˝˛ŕ§§ ⥠mâa lil rusty, forgive me !!
Youâre back home for the summer.
Wellâ not entirely. Youâre back at your familyâs summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. Youâve been looking forward to it since youâd graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.
The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. Youâve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But itâs the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .
âYouâre sure youâre taking the right route?â Itâs your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. Youâre sure sheâd smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but sheâs not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.
âIâve been doing this for years,â You haveâ itâs true. Though youâre only twenty-two, youâd driven this distance since youâd left for college. Thereâs a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.
âWhyâs there so much attitude in your voice?â Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.
âThere isnât any,â Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, youâre slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. â. . . attitude, Ma.â
She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood âhome.â Itâs almost exactly like youâd left itâ save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. Thereâs an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but thereâs already so much to take in.
The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadnât packed muchâ there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.
âI know you just got here,â The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. âBut could you bring these out to your father?â Sheâs holding a tray of decorative glassesâ or at least, youâd always thought they wereâ full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipopsâ one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. Itâs almost like sheâs trying to impress someone, with the way sheâs put so much effort into the drinkâs presentation.
Your lips curl to form a playful ânoâ, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffsâ as if she already knows what youâre about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, âLet me change first.â
In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasnât a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectlyâ before your growth spurtâ are now much too short, like theyâve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.
Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.
It all clicks as you walk outsideâ the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone sheâs trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.
Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dadâs ageâ maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. Thereâs age in his face, and worry between his brows as if heâd spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scarsâ forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray irisâ heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. Itâs pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.
His silhouetteâ tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. Heâs standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in blackâ down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His handsâ theyâre big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.
Andâ right, youâre here to help, not gawk. But you canât help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. Heâs like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.
âUh,â You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray youâre holding is weightless. âMa made these. Iâm supposed to help. . . or something. . .â
âOr something.â The man echoes, but itâs quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, âson.â
The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as theyâre passed aroundâ one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.
âMr. Aizawa,â Thereâs a beat of silence, but itâs quickly filled once youâve been introduced. âWorldâs cruelest teacher.â
âShouta Aizawa.â Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where heâd touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that heâs accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.
âAn old friend of mine, we go way back.â Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. âYou met him a few timesâ remember? Heâll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?â His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.
But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. Heâs awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shutâ occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. Itâs obvious youâre staring, maybe a bit too hard, but heâs the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.
And maybe itâs wrong to think this wayâ but heâs hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesnât make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.
âSo youâre staying with us, huh?â You eye the juicy meat heâs been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. Itâs rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding andâ you canât help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?
âDonât make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.â Itâs not entirely clear if heâs serious or not, but heâs certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. Youâd said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesnât seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.
âYouâre not strange.â Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you donât bother to clean, youâre already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentionedâ but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. Thereâs an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid youâd liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though youâre much older now, youâre not afraid to say you miss it.
âBut Iâm old?â Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. Thereâs a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.
âYeah. Old enough.â Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skilletâ just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?
Thereâs a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as youâre upright, Shouta canât stand to look for too longâ youâre a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and roundâ shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that heâs really looking, itâs obvious youâre not wearing anything underneath.
He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, thatâs not right, youâre simply just minding your own.
âUgh!â You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa canât help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once itâs retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, youâre not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. Heâs always known them to be dramatics.
Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since youâd brought out that damned lemonadeâ tugging on the hem of the fabric as if youâd suddenly grown conscious of just how short they wereâ heâd been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friendâs son, his presumed pride and joy.
Heâs fucked.
From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugarâ itâs hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesnât think heâd be able to listen anyway.
Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.
Shouta learns this at dinner, the dayâs hard work shared on plastic platters and glass
bottles in the middle of the beach. Thereâs a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the nightâs welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.
Youâre all sipping on beers, some more than others, but itâs enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. Heâs not incoherent, he never is. If anything heâs observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this eveningâs lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think itâ youâre jealous. Thatâs the second thing.
Even with Shoutaâs knee brushing against your own, you canât help it. Heâs so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner thatâs almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.
You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, âWhat?â
âYou want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?â Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. Itâs tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like sheâd stolen a precious moment away.
âRight,â You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you canât help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. âOh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.â
Youâre not supposed to swear in front of your parentsâ Aizawaâs paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesnât quite get. Either way, your expression. . . itâs sickeningly cute. Itâs cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.
His heart could almost burst.
âYouâre fine, kid.â Shoutaâs voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware youâre not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like theyâre something else. Heâs never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.
And maybe the fact that heâs more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that theyâre your parents proves that.
But theyâre pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. Itâs steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the âoâ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, âHere.â
There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesnât let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.
âI can do it myself.â You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.
âCan you?â His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. Itâs odd, the way youâre so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossipâ âthat boy just doesnât know what to stop,â âwhyâs he such a smartass?â â spoken about you directly by you.
âYeah,â Thereâs a shine in your eye that isnât just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. âI donât break that easily.â
Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. Itâs the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, heâs considering who would win in a brawl because he canât stop staring at his best friendâs son and his pretty, kissable lips.
Theyâre sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterdayâs dirt from the kitchen counter. Itâs a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that thereâs even a stain to clean.
Yep. Heâs fucked.
You suppose he should be focusing on the dishesâ not that thereâs much of those eitherâ but his attention strays.
It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.
âI think you got it.â
âOh, really?â Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. âDouble check for me?â
A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way youâre bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.
Itâd be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dadâs favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.
Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, heâll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until youâre a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Untilâ
Youâve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friendâs son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.
Heâs almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distractionâ youâre a real, honest brat. âYouâre still hungry.â
âIâm a growing man, Sho.â Itâs almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friendâs son as he bends forward at the waist.
Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. Youâd called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) youâre now sinking your teeth into. Youâve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once youâve returned to face him. Itâs obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shortsâ but heâd honestly have preferred to see that.
âI can see that.â
Rough palms press into your jawâ firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems heâs got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you downâ bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.
Thereâs always something in your mouth.
Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, âYouâre hard.â
âYeah,â It earns a dark chuckle, though thereâs not much light humor in it, âSo are you.â His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.
âUsually,â your gaze drops to his lips. âWhen two men,â Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it nowâ thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. âMake eachother. . . hard, theyââ
A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you canât help but suck the seasalt right off.
âBehave.â He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. Itâs not a question, not a suggestionâ itâs a demand.
âYouâre still up,â Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. âBoth of you, huh?â He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man whoâd just stepped away from you.
Shoutaâs eyes narrow.
âDonât tell me Iâm being replaced!â Heâs always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. Itâs just a joke, the both of you know it, but you canât help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. Youâre pulled in by the back of your head, your fatherâs hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, âRather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?â
âThat doesnât sound too bad,â Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. âAre you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?â
Then, his eye twitches, âWhen I want to be.â
Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. Thereâs a lot of things youâd like Mr. Aizawa to beâ rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? Itâs laughable, and couldnât be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but theyâre most definitely not the same. If only he knew.
âIâm sure youâre the best,â He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesnât quite meet your eyesâ but itâs convincing enough. âBetter than your other friends, right Dad?â
Shouta is avoiding you.
You know it, you can tell! Heâs always gone nowadaysâ a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. Youâve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and thereâ he may as well have disappeared. Heâs out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You donât want to say it, but you know youâre the reason why. Youâve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that nightâ even before then, itâd become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.
And, now, heâs grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast theyâve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwaveâ as if youâd want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. Thereâs your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your bloodâ even more so when your first thought is sheâs pushing fifty.
Then thereâs your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old timesâ over, and over, and over again. Even when youâre the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. Youâre right here.
So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But thereâs really only one thing on your mind.
It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. Itâs once youâve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shoreâ that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.
âThereâs my boy!â No oneâs boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shoutaâs face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.
Or at least, you think so. Itâs hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.
It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until youâre submerged in water from your kneesâdown. Thereâs a shout, something akin to a âcatch!â, and you have barely any time to react to the ball thatâs flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.
âWhat the hell?!â Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasnât even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And whatâs so good about that? Of all things to look atâ youâre right here! You donât leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. Youâre a constant, and you know you donât hurt to look at.
So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the legâ right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.
âFuck,â You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. âFuck, okay, shit, my bad!â
And it seems you canât move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if heâd forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you donât register it at first.
Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. Itâs quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. Itâs more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of âYour face!â broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.
âIâm not laughing.â You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.
Thereâs an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your bodyâ boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dockâ Aizawaâs presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.
Youâre left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutesâ his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way youâd only just noticed his prosthetic legâ at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You canât help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.
Itâs only been a month and youâre smitten. Heâd left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.
Thereâs not much you know about the manâ now that you think about it. Thereâs been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though thereâs more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you canât help but feel a bit jealous.
Hmph.
âWhatâre you sulking for?â His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hourâ Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.âThat ball bounce off your head, too?â
âIâm not sulking.â You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps ripplingâ it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle heâs hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of oohâs and ahhâs, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.
Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throatâ heâs staring right at you.
âUh â I wasnât. . anyway. . Whatâre you looking at?â
His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. Heâs slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if heâs talking to a small kitten. âCâmere.â
Youâre frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. âMr. Aizawa,â you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shoutaâs frame stiffenâ the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. Itâs not like you call him that when youâre in a particularly good mood. âYou didnât seem to want me around earlier.â
âQuiet,â He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game youâre playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. âYour parents were always around earlier.â
Oh.
You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skinâ such rough palms that cover your body â but youâre not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, âThey donât have shit to do with me.â
âYouâre, what, twenty-fiveââ
âTwenty three.â You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.
âTwenty three,â He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think itâs the interruptionâ heâll work on it later. Maybe heâs been struck by just how much younger you really are. âThey have everything to do with you. Youâre still their kid, I doubt theyâd be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.â
âBut they did,â You look around, as if to prove your point. Shoutaâs never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. âThey left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..â
âI get it. Weâre alone,â Shoutaâs voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when heâs irritated. âDrop the attitude.â Itâs different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You canât help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. Itâs just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.
Itâs not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heartâs content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throatâ and itâs almost eerie. You canât help but feel
like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.
Then it occurs to you. . . Heâs letting it build up.
âAnd youâre not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.â Obviously youâre softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. Youâre just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smileâ albeit sly. He canât stay mad forever. Itâs not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad itâs starting to hurt.
Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your bodyâ painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. Itâs been a while since heâs felt his skin against your own. Since heâs run his large, calloused hands along your body.
âWhat happened to âDaddyâ?â He asks, absentmindedly.
âWhat?â You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta canât quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. Itâs odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniestâ tightestâ clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.
Thatâs not it. You look smug. Youâre playing him for a damn fool.
âNothing.â Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. Itâs wrongâ itâs clichĂŠ, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friendâs son stupid. The man heâd just shared parenting advice to, the man heâd spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. Itâd been so innocent when heâd visitâ maybe he shouldâve never stopped. Maybe he shouldnât have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.
â âNothing,â â You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shoutaâs voice. If you werenât sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.
âAre you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?â He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.
âLet go, old man!â He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives himâ the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.
âHey,â You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, âHow many times do I have to talk to you?â Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, âWhatâd I say about the attitude?â
âI donât care what you say about it.â Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your faceâ you can barely get the words to sound convincing. Thereâs a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.âYou like it, donât you? Forget strange, youâre dirty!â
Heâs the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, âStop fuckinâ playing with me, little boy.â
âDad never lets me drive the boat,â Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. âDestroyed his last one when I was a kid,â (He doesnât have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your fatherâs fault than your own. âThis oneâs nicer anyway.â
âThatâs wasteful.â Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that itâd be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldnât be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.
âTo you,â You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passengerâs seat with much more force than necessaryâ especially when sitting on a boat. âI did him a favor.â
The cooler did a poor jobâ your ice cream is already melted and soft once itâs unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. Itâs hotâ your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.
If only it were his cock.
Shoutaâs thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, heâs sure youâd feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. Youâd probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongueâ how much itâs stuffing you full when it hasnât even slid down your throat yet. Youâd cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.
âWant some?â You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shoutaâs lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. âYouâre staring pretty hard.â
âSit up,â The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man canât find a reason to look away. âBefore you hurt yourself.â
Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. Theyâre longâ healthy, strong, clipped haphazardlyâ big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his ownâ and though he remains with all five fingers up, heâd be lying if he said he didnât feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, âWant you to hurt me instead.â
âHush,â Thereâs a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. Itâs evident he wants to say moreâ in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. âYou hardly know me.â
Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if thereâs only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like youâve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit itâ itâs cute.
âI know you grew up with my dad,â He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. âI know you have two kidsâ adopted, right?â
âHitoshi and Eri.â He interjects, voice soft and fond. Youâd never noticed it before, but now youâre acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shoutaâs relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.
âLucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,â Aizawa isnât sure which word heâs more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his wordsâ but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaftâ he doesnât like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something thatâd sound better through choking and gaggingâragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. âHow old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .Youâre justââ
âListen to me,â Perhaps itâs not very characteristic of him, but he just canât stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. âFor as long as Iâm here,â he offers a squeeze. âFor as long as your father is here,â then another, âTurn. It. Off.â
Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink onceâ twice, evenâ before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.
âIâll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.â
The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. Itâs so easy for you to say anything around himâ like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesnât miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.
The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawaâs jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You canât help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.
Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shoutaâs throwing away wrappers (theyâre all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.
âCâmon, baby.â You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.
Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. âIâm staying outside.â
âYouâll get heatstroke.â Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lipsâ youâre embarrassed.
He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you uprightâ in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.
You just wonât budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearmâ hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawaâs irises.
You were holding hands.
Itâs been days. You havenât left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesnât worry. He doesnât think twice about it, doesnât question why you donât come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it itâs always the same thingâ âThatâs just how he is when he doesnât get his way,â or âHeâll come around.â The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why heâs so enamored by their sonâ even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.
And that isnât even it.
He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrongâ
He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friendâs son. Itâs wrong and itâs taboo, but so help him, he yearns.
His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, youâd made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.
âYou ready to talk yet?â He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe itâs unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldnât think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, thereâs nothing thereâ heâs only ever competing with himself. He just canât help it.
Maybe heâs a bit spoiled too.
âI donât like being ignored.â Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.
Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. Thereâs tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabiliaâ but itâs all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. Thereâs a few scattered photosâ awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naiveâ but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.
âNone of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe âToshi would.â You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. Thereâs something left unsaid between the small string of wordsâ and itâs sour. Twists on Shoutaâs tongue, like heâs bitten into old bread, and itâs not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, thatâs not exactly what heâd call this. . . relationship, but itâs not like itâd feel wrong. And heâd certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. âGuess my sheets werenât silky enough. Can tell you what was, thââ
âI like it.â Itâs simple. The admissionâ simple and sweet, like itâs obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when youâre caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what youâre doingâ redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, heâll admit it)â and it makes you seem softer, almost.
He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, âThat's it? You just â like â it?â
Heâll give it to you, you never give up. Heâd been warned, he was skeptical, and heâs been proven wrong. And, in the brunetteâs head, youâd tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.
âWhat else would I say?â
âThat itâs nice,â You cock your head to the side. âThat youâve never seen a room so nice. Which mâsure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I canât imagine what itâs like being a single father of twoâ or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.â
The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, âYou spoke to him.â
âYou ignored me,â You say it as if itâs obvious, simple, that if you canât have Shouta youâll have to settle for the next best thing. And though itâs not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you donât think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawaâs chest. âWanted your attention, Daddy.â
Thereâs a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, âYou donât know what you do to me.â
âShow me.â
âShh, sh, sh,â Shoutaâs cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forthâ like you canât tell whether itâs too much or too little. Thereâs a slight burnâ the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throatâ but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but youâre too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.
He mustâve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. Thereâs a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. Heâs quick to correct himselfâ you only ever seem to behave when youâre stuffed with his dick, and he canât have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gagâ tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.
You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. Youâre starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what youâve been wanting for the past month.
âStop fuckinâ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,â The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.
You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feetâ itâs all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. Itâs so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.
Itâs hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. Youâre getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. âCâmere.â
And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. Itâs as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, âYou can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.
Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fineâ you can show him better. You can break him first.
You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. âWhat, need help gettinâ it up? Fuck you, can do it mââ
Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.
ââ I wasnât asking.â You really fucked up now, eyes wide as youâre lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shoutaâs strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and youâre sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard âHey! I wasnât done!â, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.
Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, youâd expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, thereâs nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the otherâ itâs just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tugâ he will.
Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, âSâit too much? Daddyâs poor baby.â
It shouldnât sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when itâs condescending and rough, even when heâs cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.
But it does.
âDaâddy. . !â your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.
âQuiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,â Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenchingâ but itâs just so hard. Being a brat is easyâ itâs funâ youâll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you wonât break and give him what he wants. Heâll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.
Delayed gratification.
Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but itâs reduced to a wet moan. You feel itâfingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.
âOh, god,â You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds andâ oh, a finger slips inside. âFingersâ thatâs, oh god..â Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick youâre beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.
âFuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddyâs fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?â If you could see his face youâre sure heâd be smilingâ an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. âCâmon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.â
You canât help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. âFuck me already, câmon, old man.â
âThat what your little âboyfriendsâ do?â Your lip quiversâ he hadn't even flinched at the sassâ and instead used your own words against you. âOh, baby. They didnât give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?â
Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, âThatâs it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.â
Itâs ironicâ he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amountâ you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?
âWhat am I gonna do with you.â He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.
Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, âSuck,â He murmurs, but itâs forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, âDaddy?â
âItâs okay, Iâm here,â He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, thereâs no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. âKeep sucking, atta boy.â
His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and youâre incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls untilâ
He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. âYou can take it,â He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. âThatâs it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it tâme. Let Daddy have it..â
He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that heâs popping back into his mouth, thereâs the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole andâ
Oh.
âSweet.â
You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shoutaâs cock as itâs worked inch by inch into you andâ you canât fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything youâve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.
âYouâreâ fuck, youâre so gross, Daddy,â Shouta grits his teeth, âOhh, havinâ your best friendâs son on your fat cock, fuckinâ my pussy so full. . !â Youâre straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this positionâ knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to moveâ but itâs cute to watch you try anyway.
âShut up and take it,â He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. âDonât want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?â
âDaddyâ Daddy, my pussyââ Youâre babbling, itâs all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You canât stop twitchingâ your legs, your hole, your cock.
âThis is Daddyâs pussy,â He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot youâve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall youâve got wrapped around him. âJust like that,â Youâre gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but youâre a damn good slut.
âUh-huh, uh-huh. . .â Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, youâd scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest â stickiness shooting out your spent cock until youâre twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all heâs got.
âDumb sluts love cock, baby. Sâthat what you are?â His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.
âYeah, mhmm,â You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. Youâre desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. âDaddyâs slut, sâme!â For a minute you think youâve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.
âGood sluts take Daddyâs cum,â Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. âTake it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.â Itâs messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shoutaâs cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nervesâ fuck, itâs so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you canât move.
He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when youâre limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.
âDaâ Daâddy,â You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boyâs afterglow.
âDaddyâs here. Iâm here, I got you.â He whispers into your shoulder, and thatâs all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts awayâ youâre more than that. Youâre not just his best friendâs son. . .
Youâre Shoutaâs boy.
Summer is coming to an end.
Thereâs a seasonal chill in the air and itâs getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole timeâ shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, âI donât wanna leave.â
âSpring break,â Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, âI donât want you to, either.â
Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. âWill you call me?â
âWhenever you want,â He says, as if itâs the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. âYou know I will.â
And thatâs all you need to hear.
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Hello hope your doing well. Could I request maybe the housewardens receiving a love letter from the reader accidentally. Like the reader accidentally left it somewhere or sent it to them without realizing it.
I got Lilia's General Vanrouge card, so I'm doing very well right now!
Housewardens accidentally receive your love letter
Riddle:
-He gives you a smile as you leave his dorm after an afternoon study session. You'd desperately needed his help, and he had been more than willing to teach you. As Riddle returns, he notices a piece of paper on the floor where you were sitting. As he moves to pick it up, he spies his name on the page, and he begins to read what you have written.
-Riddle's face turns the loveliest shade of red as the letter states your feelings for him, and his heart races. The letter is unfinished, and it's rather clear that you didn't mean for Riddle to read it, but it's proof that you feel the same way about him. And to Riddle, that's all that matters.
-Once he's done, Riddle picks up his pen, and writes his very own letter to you, inviting you to a private tea party. As the pen flows over the page, Riddle's face flushes again. He plans on reciprocating your feelings over tea, telling you just how much he's grown to care about you. In his mind, he's confident and collected. However, when he actually confesses to you, all you see is a sweet boy with a blushing face and eager eyes as he declares his affections.
Leona:
-You certainly didn't mean to leave that love letter, but you did, and Leona found it. His tail lazily sways as he picks up the paper you dropped on his floor. He was actually going to throw it away, until he saw his name. Seeing it captures his interest, and he begins to read through what you wrote.
-Once he finishes, he flops back down onto his bed, still holding your letter. He loves you too, so a part of him is extremely pleased. However, there's a tiny part of him that wonders if you truly understand what a relationship with him would mean.
-In the end, Leona reaches the conclusion that there's no need to avoid getting into a relationship with you since your feelings are mutual. He saunters towards you, with a lazy grin on his face. He shoves your letter in your face, and he laughs when you realize what it is. Just as you open your mouth to speak, Leona yanks you close and kisses you, silently reciprocating your love.
Azul:
-Azul pushes his glasses up as Floyd careens into his office, with Jade trailing in behind him. Any questions die in his throat as Floyd shoves a piece of paper at him with a sharp grin and an insistence that Azul read the letter immediately. Azul sighs, and begins to read, only to gape like a fish out of water.
-He initially has a hard time believing that you actually wrote those lovely things about him, of all people. Old insecurities bubble up to the surface, and they nearly choke out the warmth of his feelings. But as he pores over the letter again and again, your words start to reach him. Hope begins to blossom, and Azul sucks in a shaky breath as he deliberates over how to respond.
-Despite his nervousness, it doesn't take long for him to invite you to a private dinner at Mostro Lounge. When you arrive, you're greeted by the sight of a candlelit dinner. The table is perfectly arranged with all of your favorites, and Azul is a perfect gentleman. But you can tell he's nervous. He keeps fidgeting, and there's a crease in his brow. As you finish eating, Azul clears his throat, and confesses to you. He tells you about the letter, and softly tells you that he loves you too.
Kalim:
-When Kalim spots a piece of paper fall out of your bag, his immediate thought is to return it to you. However, you're gone by the time he picks it up. And he knows it's wrong to look at people's things without permission, but he's curious. His eyes start to sparkle as he reads, and he has to refrain from cheering out of joy.
-You love him back! Kalim practically swoons as he reads the letter again, a bright smile spreading across his face. Already, visions of a happy future with you are playing in his mind. He picks up his phone to call you, but he stops himself. He wants things to be perfect, and so, he calls Jamil instead.
-Kalim is always throwing parties for one reason or another, so you're not surprised by his seemingly impromptu invitation. You enjoy the party, and you happily accept a ride on Kalim's magic carpet. As the stars twinkle above you, Kalim tells you everything. As the two of you embrace, Kalim's eyes fill with overjoyed tears.
Vil:
-Vil's delicate brows pinch in confusion when he sees a letter on his vanity. The confusion only grows when he sees a note from Rook sitting neatly on top of the letter, proclaiming that he'd "found something rather interesting." Vil sighs, and picks up the letter, only for his lips to part in a silent gasp as he reads.
-This is clearly just a rough draft, with crossed out words and notes in the margins, but your feelings come through loud and clear. With every clumsy phrase and every bit of awkward wording, you tell him that you love him. Vil lets out a delighted sigh as he sets the letter down, gently tucking it away for safekeeping.
-It takes Vil a while to decide on the best method for telling you about his own feelings, ultimately deciding that you deserve nothing less than his best. And so, he pulls out all the stops. Throughout the course of a day, he takes you out shopping, books massages, and takes you to all of the best places on the island. It culminates in a wonderful dinner, where he confesses his true feelings for you.
Idia:
-A ping on his monitor catches Idia's attention, and he clicks on the notification. It's an email from you, and he internally groans a bit. He's really hoping that you're not trying to invite him out to something. However, his grumbles turn into a high pitched shriek as he actually reads what's on his screen.
-The email was clearly sent by accident, as it's an unfinished draft, but Idia's poor heart still leaps into his throat as he reads. You love him? Idia scrambles away, muttering to himself as he runs his hands through his pink hair, trying to process what he just saw. Sure, he loves you too, but he never actually thought that his crush would be reciprocated. After a long while of pacing, Idia decides to respond. Well, he tries to. Seeing your letter again just makes him feel all anxious.
-It took a bit of help from Ortho, but Idia eventually manages to hatch a plan to confess to you. He invites you over to binge watch some anime with him. Idia makes sure to have your favorite snacks, and he sits beside you as the episodes start to play. It turns out to be a romance series about a shy man who keeps trying, and failing, to get his crush to notice his feelings. As the characters confess to each other, Idia clears his throat, and awkwardly compares the two of you to the couple on the screen. Luckily, you get the hint, and Idia gets to experience the same happy ending.
Malleus:
-Malleus didn't mean to pry, but his curiosity was piqued when he spied a folded piece of paper lodged in the branches of a bush outside of Ramshackle. Malleus figures that the wind must have blown it there. A quick glance reveals that it's your handwriting on the page, but he doesn't think much about it until he sees the word, "love." He frowns, and reads the letter from start to finish.
-The letter proclaims your amorous feelings for someone who's name isn't stated. The edges of the paper crinkle in his grip as jealousy begins to burn in heart. However, the flames of envy are quickly snuffed out when he arrives at the final line of the letter, a simple, "I love you, Malleus." Oh. Malleus cradles the letter to his chest, a smile spreading across his face.
-Malleus doesn't hesitate to let you know just how he feels, even though it's late. He teleports into your bedroom, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. As you're roused from your slumber, you find him towering over you with a broad grin and your letter still clutched in his hands. He tells you that he feels the same way, making grand declarations of everlasting love. It would be romantic, if you weren't in your pajamas and it wasn't 2 am.
#riddle rosehearts#riddle x reader#leona kingscholar#leona x reader#azul ashengrotto#azul x reader#kalim al asim#kalim x reader#vil schoenheit#vil x reader#idia shroud#idia x reader#malleus draconia#malleus x reader#twisted wonderland#twst reader insert#twst x reader#twst
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â˘Sounds of Satisfactionâ˘
Eric (AQPDO) x Fem! Reader
Warnings: mentions of the end of the world. Smut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, light oral (f receiving)
I know it just came out. I know itâs new. But damnitâŚI needed smut with this watery eyed man let me tell you-
Authors Warnings: this was not proof read
Word Count: 1.7k
Ericâs body ached terribly. The impact from the water, swimming one handed. Running on empty for days as he carefully curled up with Frodo. Legs shaking and mouth flapping like a fish out of water, trying to form any thought as he sleepily looked around.
Theyâd been adrift for about six hours now, on open water and swaying with the waves. His empty stomach queasy from poorly digested stale pizza, bourbon, and fear. Looking around quietly before Frodo wriggled from his arms. Running off as Eric followed. Clamoring desperately as he weaved through bunches of people. âExcuseâŚexcuse meâŚclear the way. My uhâŚmy cat!â He squealed. Making his way through to a sight strangely comforting.
There you were, eating from your rucksack and carefully feeding Frodo pieces of beef jerky as his paws held your fingers expectantly. Eric blushing in shame as he walked over.
âIâm terribly sorry for hisâŚbehavior. Heâs very curious, a risk taker.â He laughed nervously as you hummed softly in understanding. Pressing a cheese cracker to your tongue as you looked him over. âYouâre from EnglandâŚâ you murmured as he nervously nodded. Sitting beside you and grunting as a massive bag of trail mix hit him in the chest. Gratefully opening and picking through it.
âI just got back from umâŚmy trip across Europe. A study abroad programâŚdidnât expect thisâŚâ you murmured. âI was in my cabâŚand my parents were waiting for meâŚand then what looked like stars fell from the skyâŚthen uh,â you mimicked the sound of an explosion while bubbling out your hands. âParents gone, my little apartment in tatters and my life in shamblesâŚâ you murmured as he pursed his lips. Eyes filled with pity as he carefully placed a hand on your knee.
The two of you got to talking. Sharing names and experiences, Eric giving you the cashews from the trail mix as he frowned to himself. Carefully leaning his sleepy head on your shoulder as he hummed in thought.
âWhere do you think weâre going?âŚâ he whispered as you rubbed his scalp lightly. âProbably some sort of island or compoundâŚsomewhere safe.â You mumbled as you carefully stood. Ericâs big, wet brown eyes boring into you as you gestured for him to follow you as you entered the bottom of the ferry. Finding a storage closet as he eagerly trailed behind with Frodo in step. Watching as you piled up blankets and softer clothes from your bag into a pallet to sleep on.
âIs this umâŚwhere youâll be sleeping?â He asked nervously as you hummed. âYes. Yes it isâŚ? WhyâŚ?â You murmured as he frowned to himself.
âCanâŚcan I lie with youâŚ?â Eric was clingy, terribly so. Thousands of miles from home. Nobody to stick by. He needed someone to keep him grounded in some way. His eyes watching you as you pushed air through your pursed lips.
âYes but you have to take off the slacks and shoes. I donâtâŚI donât think I can fathom sleeping next to someone dressed like a lawyer.â You muttered as he smiled wide. Removing his tie and kicking off his sneakers. Wriggling off his terribly stained slacks as you sighed.
Stripping of your layers, you stood in your thin tank top and your leggings. His face pink in flustered confusion as he shivered. âI umâŚI can see yourâŚyour umâŚâ he gestured to your chest as you looked down.
âMyâŚmy what? Oh my nipples. I am a woman and it is cold Eric.â You insisted as he frowned. âYouâre acting like youâve never seen a naked woman before~â you teased as he looked away. âIâve seen magazines, and pornos! Iâm notâŚim not completely unaware.â He insisted to himself.
He hadnâtâŚseen a naked woman before, or even likeâŚa barely clothed one in real life it seemed. Pursing your lips as you sighed. âIâll gladly put on a sweater if itâs botheringâŚyouâŚâ your eyes travelled downward to a very nervous, very stressed, and very hard Eric as he bit his lip harshly.
âEricâŚyouâre telling me you nearly died a virgin?â You whispered as he whimpered in embarrassment. âI hadnât had time, to do things like that? For fear of likeâŚlosing my way. I came here for one reason. Law school.â He insisted. Picking at his fingers anxiously as you gently took his hands and pulled them apart.
âWellâŚweâre relatively safe nowâŚand youâre not terrible looking~â you teased him lightly as he scoffed in gentle frustration. âWould you likeâŚfor me to be your first time?â You murmured softly as he bit his lip. Thinking about it as he nodded slowly. You were the only person he knew in America with the current situation. Plus you were pretty. With full lips and big batting lashes and a dusting of pink on your cheeks from the cold and-âŚhis thoughts kept spinning in his head as he whined. He felt perverted, to acknowledge how heâd been thinking of you.
âYes pleaseâŚâ he murmured as he let you lead him to sit on the soft pallet youâd made. His eyes watching you tentatively as you carefully took his hands and placed them on your hips. âYou can touch me EricâŚjust be gentleâŚcanât be too loudâŚitâs the end of the world after all,â you teased as he carefully nodded in agreement.
âCan we umâŚcan we have you lying downâŚand me on top? If thatâs okay?â He whispered. Thumbs rubbing idle circles on your hips as he waited for your approval.
âYes we can do it in missionaryâŚand thank you for asking itâs very sweet,â you assured as you slowly lied down. Eric following as he straddled your lap and tenderly moved up to cup your face. âMay I kiss youâŚ?â He whispered as you laughed lightly. Pulling him down to kiss you.
It was clumsy and messy, his body relaxing against you as he held your face between his clammy palms. Tongue swiping across your bottom lip as you allowed him in. His whimpers desperate as he rutted against your thigh. He was *big*.
He whimpered in need as his kisses trailed along your jaw, down your throat. Slowly working up your tank top as he audibly whined at the sight of your breasts. Nipples pebbling from the cold as he continued to kiss down your collarbone. Warm hands slowly working up your sides as he shuddered.
âYouâre really fit, you know?â He whispered. Left hand lightly taking hold of one of your pert breasts. Gently kneading it between his wanton fingers and panting lightly to himself. His mouth wandering lower till it lightly nipped the soft skin of your chest. His knee slotted between your plush thighs. Hands slowly working their way down as you sucked air between your teeth. His mouth needy as he left hickeys across your full chest.
âI umâŚim going to try somethingâŚâ he whispered nervously as he carefully backed up. Pressing his nose against your soft stomach as he clumsily took the elastic of your underwear between his teeth. Pulling it down with a bit of a struggle. Getting them off as his eyes widened.
âWowâŚumâŚyouâreâŚyouâre beautifulâŚâ he complimented as he lifted your left leg just a bit. Pressing warm and wet kisses along your inner thigh before ending at your clit. Placing a firm and warm peck as his fingers delicately traced your lips.
âThank youâŚEric-â youâd been holding your breath. His passionate and gentle ministrations were addictive as you watched his face dip between your legs. Moaning lightly as his fingers pressed into you. Looking up at your face to make sure he hadnât hurt you.
His fingers were thick, and careful. Lightly pumping and curling as he fingered you. Not wanting to cause any harm as he bit his lip gently. Drawing a moan from you as he covered your mouth. âMmmmâŚshhh~, we donât want to get caught.â He insisted lightly as he gently rubbed your clit with his thumb.
His motions were calculated, eyes never leaving your face to make sure you were okay. The soft and wet sounds of your cunt the only real noise besides your muffled breathing. His big brown eyes blown up in need as he whimpered loudly.
âWhen we getâŚwherever weâre meant to be, youâll stay with meâŚâ he was asking, though it came out as more of a gentle demand as he wriggled his fingers a bit deeper. Starting to increase the speed of his motions as you gripped the fabric beneath you.
âFuck-â it barely came past his mouth as he shuddered aggressively. âI need youâŚâ he retracted his fingers. Your body clenching around nothing as he worked himself out of his boxers.
He was thick, a nice vein along the underside of his shaft as he pumped himself with his soaked hand. Watching you desperately as he pushed between your thighs and eased himself into you.
His grip on your mouth tightened as your lashes fluttered and back arched. Groaning softly to himself as he eased each inch till heâd fully hilted himself inside you. Twitching lightly. Heâd cum soon. Inexperienced and desperate.
He slowly rolled his hips. A testing motion to see if it felt as good for you as it did him. Tears pricking your eyes from overstimulated need. His lips lightly kissing them away as he began to thrust.
âSo good for meâŚso prettyâŚâ he whined lightly as he held you close. His thrusts short and deep as he rocked into you. The space a bit cramped as he hissed through his teeth. âOh your cunt was made for meâŚâ he murmured as he rocked his weight to make sure he could get as much friction as possible. âSuch a pretty girlâŚâ he crooned as he held your gaze.
His breathy moans came from between his plush lips. Nervous and needy as he grit his teeth lightly. Legs trembling as he panted loudly to himself. âSo fucking goodâŚâ his words were simply repeating. Brain fried from lust and exhaustion.
âFuck fuck fuck-â his hips stuttered as he pressed himself deep into you. Letting himself cum as you moaned into his hand. Holding his wrist as he slowly lied on top of you. Exhausted pants leaving you both as his hand slipped from your mouth.
âThank youâŚâ he whispered, eyes closing. Finally able to rest.
#addie writes#joseph quinn#eric a quiet place day one#eric x reader#eric a quiet place day one x reader
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HIS DARK SIDE | â¤ď¸âđĽ
Paring: Dom!Hoon X m!reader
Genre:Heavy Smut. [MDNI 18+]
CW: Gym sex, sweatpants, belly bulge, friends with benefits, cumming inside, nsfw.
Summary: Your eyes are stuck on Sunghoon grey sweatpants.
A/N: This was my first time writing explicit scenes so please bare with me >< (update note on 080824)
Sunghoon being a college student who also engages in skating as a hobby, and takes great pride in his job, asks you to come along and support him at competitions. Despite your lack of direct contribution, your presence is more than enough for him.
On a regular day, Sunghoon requests your presence at the gym, where he has rented the entire facility just for the two of you. The fact that he is wealthy and somewhat famous contributes to this arrangement.
As you open the door to your dorm room, Sunghoon stands before you, towering over you in his gym attire and a gym bag hanging from his shoulder. He appears particularly appealing in his gray sweatpants, immediately catching your attention. Embarrassed and feeling your face heat up, you can't help but silently gulp, anticipating the inevitable outcome of this sight. Sunghoon, noticing your stunned silence, inquires about your reaction.
When Sunghoon questions your silence, wondering if his outfit is unattractive, you quickly reassure him that it's not the case. He explains that he sent a message the night before, but you didn't see it. He then shows you the message as proof. Despite your busy college schedule and reliance on a computer for work, Sunghoon offers you $50 for attending the gym with him.
"Take it or not" hearing the word money, you agree without hesitation and rush to change into your gym clothes.
As you enter the rented gym alongside Sunghoon, he begins his workout routine, leaving you to explore on your own. Being new to the gym experience, you looking for a relatively less strenuous activity like a treadmill and low-weight dumbbells.
Initially, it proves challenging, but eventually, you find yourself adjusting to the routine and breaking a sweat. Wearing a black top, you're fortunate that it doesn't reveal the sweat as much. Meanwhile, Sunghoon efficiently goes through half the gym's equipment, revealing his toned biceps and visible veins. Despite his slim build, his unique physique captivates your attention.
You take a break from your workout, feeling exhausted and with sweat soaking your head. You approach Sunghoon, who's lifting weights in a lying position. The sight of his muscles flexing under his tight compression tank top captivates you. However, feeling self-conscious about being a "creep," you try to look away. Unbeknownst to you, Sunghoon is well aware of your gaze, even with his headphones on, making your attempt to look away a bit pointless.
Watching Sunghoon exercise, you noticed his crotch area becoming more obvious under the tight grey sweatpants.
His growing erection strained against the fabric, clearly visible as he lifted weights.
The sight stirred feelings of excitement and nervousness within you.
"Did he get... Hard by just lifting weights?" You couldn't believe it, but the evidence was right in front of you.
His erection strained against the tight fabric, causing a throbbing sensation within your own body.
Despite the discomfort, you knew this was a rare opportunity - something his fans would kill for. So, you sat still and endured the pain, determined not to miss a single second of the show.
Once Sunghoon completed his workout, you attempted to nonchalantly divert your gaze, feigning that you hadn't been intently observing him the entire time. He took off his headphones, catching his breath as he chugged down the water.
"Enjoy the view?" A smirk played on his lips, indicating that he knew exactly what had caught your attention.
"Shut up", you protested half-heartedly, folding your arms across your chest. It was just once!
"Just admit it, you want me" he murmured seductively into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he is leaning down. Not only was his body radiating heat, but the raw sexual energy he exuded made you dizzy with desire.
"But..." you hesitated, unsure how to respond to this new side of Sunghoon. You always thought of him as a friendly guy who occasionally asked for favors and invited you to his skating competitions. Yet here he was, dominating and undeniably horny.
"Explore as you please m/n or I'll make you instead" Sunghoon urged with a mischievous smile
Taking advantage of the situation, you hesitantly reached out and felt his size through his pants. The shape of his impressive length sent a thrill coursing through your fingers. He responded with a soft moan, evidently relishing your touch. As you continued stroking him, he couldn't hold back any longer and lowered his pants, revealing his long, pale cock - already wet with pre-cum. Watching it stand tall ignited an intense desire within you to push him over the edge completely. Without warning, Sunghoon's darker side surfaced suddenly.
Unable to resist any longer, Sunghoon picked you up and placed you on his abs, wrapping your legs around his waist while holding onto his shoulder. In a flash, he asked for permission to enter you. His eyes were half lidded and needy, revealing just how much he desired you. You nodded enthusiastically in agreement.He grinned wickedly and lowered you onto his hardness, causing your body to shake as soon as the tip touched you. Both of you found yourselves lost in the moment - not in a private room but among the gym's equipment.
With a casual smirk, Sunghoon began thrusting into you with increasing force, mimicking the rhythm of his workout. The combination of exercise and sex proved to be exhilarating, belly bulge on you. You cried out in ecstasy as he continued to drive himself deeper inside you, while Sunghoon threw his head back, thoroughly enjoying every moment.
As Sunghoon continued to thrust into you with increasing pushing, the sensation of his hardness filling you sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.
"Shi-shit i feel it coming m/n"
The sound of skin meeting skin echoed throughout the gym. His grip on your hips tightened as he drove himself deeper inside you, eliciting soft gasps from your lips that mingled with his own ragged breaths. You could feel every inch of him within you, stretching and claiming you in equal measure.
You were too embarrassed to say anything, all you do was moaning and cried in this sensitive moment. Your nails digging on his back, your dick began to feel the sensation, feeling like soon to be coming.
"It's coming m/n l- let's cum together oo?"
As the climax approached, Sunghoon felt a surge of pleasure coursing through their veins, his cock grow hard as a rock. With one final push, both of you released the intense orgasm together.
He trembled slightly, as Sunghoon filled you with warmth and intimacy. Breathing heavily like puppies. Your hole is now stretching wide open, then he pull his throbbing out of you.
"It's feel like heaven like they said m/n,i- i want more!"
Usually man's glans get very sensitive after cumming but Sunghoon didn't care. His tip is still dripping with orgasm, however he drive inside you once again!
"FUCK NO! MY HOLE"
đŁď¸ please mind my English! ><
đŁď¸ Reblog and like is much appreciated âĽ
đŁď¸ crd to dividers!
đŁď¸ I KNOW THIS IS NOT HOW SH ACT BUT IMAGINE HE'S WILD LIKE THIS?
#enhypen#enha x male reader#enha x you#park sunghoon#enha imagines#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enha smut#sunghoon smut#sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon x reader#kpop x male reader#divider by thetaey#enhypen scenarios#enha scenarios#enha sunghoon#enhypen x male reader
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