yayo [g.d] √

yayo ⚡️

Warnings: age gap, sexual content, mentions of suicide & substance abuse

Fuck him. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him to all hell.

You cursed at yourself and wiped at your wet arms when you reached Leo's front porch, shivering as you brushed your drenched hair back and rubbed at your burning eyes. You were seething; smoke heaving out of your ears was the understatement of the century.

No matter how many times you had tried calling his number, he never answered, because not only had he ditched you back at school for something he most likely lied about, but he also hadn't warned you that it was going to pour.

Sure, the neighborhood he lived in wasn't far from school property, but the rain was too heavy for you to run anywhere for safety as it was so sudden.

"Fucking... asshole," you let out in a mumble as you threw your phone back into your tote bag, pressing the doorbell on the fancy door while wishing that your waterproof mascara had worked in your favor. You probably couldn't say the same about your lipstick, and with that in mind, you kissed at your hand to see it mark you in red.

Huffing, you pressed the doorbell again, again, again. You just wanted somebody to answer, it didn't even have to be Leo, maybe it could be his maid, his crazy mother or his gorgeous totally-not-DILF father so that you could go off on how they had raised such an obnoxious motherfucker.

Though, you couldn't lie. That thought alone made you nervous when brushing past your anger. Hell, the name Mr. Dolan or Grayson — whatever he had wanted you to call him — made your stomach churn in the most pleasant way. You hadn't realized that you wore such revealing clothes consisting of jean shorts that wrapped nicely around your ass and a V-neck that showed off your tits until he opened the door and practically eye-fucked you.

Red clouded your vision, it was like being punched in the face with such beauty.

No, it was just his shirt. It was a red button-up. And you bit your lip to taste red as well because you should've gotten rid of these thoughts when you first came over. Leo's father had been working out and you could hardly concentrate on the lessons with the sounds of his groaning and grunting. Later that night, you had put your vibrator to use for the very first time since your best friend had given it to you as a joking 18th birthday gift.

Still, the man standing in front of you made your entire body flush. Your head rotated, your heart snapped, and your veins rushed with pure lust. He resembled Leo a lot, but there was much more to him. Much more muscle, much more extravagance, much more power.

He looked like a song that pulled at your heartstrings.

He looked like the sun.

He looked like a million dollar man.

His hair was nearly black, messy and pushed back, with a trimmed beard decorating his gorgeously flawless face. No skin had ever been clearer on another soul, he was a skyscraper — a bulletproof man — and his eyes screamed hazel and brown and green at you. You weren't even sure if you were looking into a human being or into the stars.

Normally, faces came and went.

Not this one.

You noticed that the first buttons of his shirt were undone to show off his chest and a sparkling silver chain. He was also tucked into black pants and wore nothing on his feet.

"Hi," you greeted the man and hoped to God that you weren't trembling so profusely. He gave you a once-over and you tried everything in your being to breathe properly, but it was like when he opened the door — you forgot the very meaning of air. He was just something else... dark aura, dark ensembles, dark everything. And you stuttered as you spoke again, pressing your hands on your bare thighs to run them down your jeans.