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cherryatiny · 3 years

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𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲! 𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐑)

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐

𝐺𝐼𝐹𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠

❁ 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

„Please welcome the world-wide known cellist Ian Park, who will lead today's concert, please applause for him.“ loud sounds of hands clapping resonated in the spacious orchestra hall, when the man in question stood up with a cello in his hands.

Over the time you two were together, it became a tradition for you and your sugar daddy Hongjoong to go to a classical music concert at least once a month. Always get dressed up in new robes he bought for you and walk down the corridors of the historical theatre as the people around you were amazed by how beautiful and a powerful couple you two were.

As the first tones of the symphony came out, your ears felt like melting from the lovely music played by the greatest musicians of the present time. Hongjoong's hand was resting on the part of your thigh exposed by the high slit in your dress. Fingertips drawing figures on your skin and going higher under the velvety material of your dress and reaching the seamless thong you wore underneath. „Don't you dare go any higher.“

„Was that meant to the soprano lady, or me?“ chuckled Hongjoong lowly as his hand went higher, his fingers rubbing up and down the wet patch on your underwear. Instead of an answer, a quiet whimper left your mouth unwillingly. Thank god, you were in one of the balcony booths and covered by dark, too far from the prying eyes.

His hand skillfully pushed your panties to the side, exposing your slit to the fresh air, the sudden chilly feeling and Hongjoong's fervent touches, made goosebumps rise up on your upper thighs.

As soon as his thumb came in a contact with your reddened clit that was desperately in need of his touch, your body started squirming in the seat, his second hand keeping you down from moving too much by gripping your thighs.

Having decided that you seemed to be aroused more than enough by the delicate stimulation of your clitoris he gave you, Hongjoong slipped two of his fingers covered by rings, into your heat, coating them in your slick right away, which made it only easier for him to thrust them into you in an intense speed and hardness, never failing to brush directly against your sweet spot, making the knot tighten in your stomach as you were getting so close to staining the luxurious seats of the national theatre building.

„Fuck, you gonna let it out, princess? You look so classy, yet you're getting off on my fingers like some bitch in heat in the middle of an opera concert, how pathetic. Your cunt couldn't wait any longer? What were you thinking of, that made you wet so easily, even though we are in public, hm? Tell me, my dirty girl.“

❁ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚

„Seong- I mean, Mr. Park, I've organized the papers for you, here.“ you announced as you stepped into his spacious office, the glass-wall behind him allowing you to look at the panorama of the city, but even better sight than that was your sugar daddy Seonghwa focused on the papers in front of him.

The white shirt he had on, which covered the body you knew well, was slightly unbuttoned as Seonghwa ran his hands into his hair out of frustration. The level of stress in his body much more higher than it should be, as he tried to finish the paperwork for launching a sub-corporation of the company he ran.

When you first started working as his secretary, you two were mean to each other, always nitpicking on each other's words and arguing, but it all started when he got you the keys to your new apartment in the building he owned, or when you two fucked after the ball that was part of the business conference in Milan, and over the months you two got closer and closer to each other until he eventually became your sugar daddy.

„Mhm, Y/N, come here baby.“ going over to where he was, you stood in front of him, his arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you down to sit on his lap. „I'm so stressed baby, but I can't leave work until I finish the paperwork, why don't you get on your pretty knees and support me while I'm working?“

„Yes, sir.“ Nodding your head with a sly smirk, you obeyed his request, knowing exactly what he meant, and slipped down from his lap, going under the high desk he worked at, you reached for his pants, your fingers swiftly unbuttoning and tugging them down. Reaching for his briefs, you could hear Seonghwa chuckle at how impatient you were.

Wrapping your hand around his girth, your other hand resting on his thigh, your wet lips neared his tip leaking of pre-cum. Giving the tip kitten licks and teasingly kissing along his shaft, you tried to rile him up as much as possible, but he didn't seem to be having much of it, his hand gripping on your ponytail rather harshly, tugging on it to make you look up.

„Princess, get to work and don't tease, or else I'll have to knock on your apartment door tonight with a collar and a leash. Actually... a whore like you would like that, right? Being a fuck toy for me to use. Look at you right now, on your knees in my office knowing that anyone could walk in right now. Now suck on it like it's a lollipop, my kitten.“

❁ 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨

When Yunho said, „Baby baby, your favourite brand launched their new collection today, why don't we go and see some of it“ you did not expect to spend the next few hours shopping for clothes with him. At first, he wanted to see the brand, then he decided he needs some clothes for the press conference of the drama he was starred as the main character in, and then it ended up with you supposedly needing new dresses, „Yunho I don't need any dress.“

Shutting you with 'quiet baby', his hand tugged you to the shop he had in mind. It was a shop that specialized in gowns and formal clothing for different balls and this type of stuff. „Yuyu, I don't need any dress, I'm not going to any ball, so why would I need them.“

But Yunho wasn't having it, already too engaged with picking dresses for you. Going through the different rich materials and colours, his eyes landed on a beautiful black gown, with exposed shoulders and a high slit on the left leg. „Go try them on baby.“

Rolling your eyes at his request, too tired to do anything, but still agreeing to try them on to make your sugar daddy happy, you took the dress from his hand. Closing the door of the changing booth, you got too bothered with undressing, that you didn't notice Yunho slip in. That was until his soft fingertips started brushing against your collar bones, slipping the bra straps off your body. „Yunho what are you doing he-“

The words got caught in your throat as Yunho pressed his fingers against your wet slit, pressing onto your covered clit hardly, earning a moan from you. „What am I doing here? I think that's pretty obvious, I've noticed how desperately my girl looked, so I deducted I should help her... but she has to be quiet.“

Tugging your panties to the side, he got hold of his already hard shaft, pumping it a few times and lubricating it with his pre-cum. Positioning himself at your entrance, he looked at your reflection in the mirror, smirking at the desperate look on your face.

Slipping his length into your heat, he started off with a steady and fast pace, hitting the sweet spot hardly. One of his hands holding you by your waist and the other one shutting you as it was pushed against your mouth. „I don't have that many hands baby, so please rub your clit for me.“

Knowing well as to not anger him by not obeying his instructions, your hand slipped in between your legs, fingers coming to direct contact with the reddened bundle of nerves, desperate for any external stimulation, as the tip of Yunho's cock stimulated it from inside. The work of your fingers on your wet pussy was bringing you closer and closer to your sweet high, which you knew was for sure going to be exquisite.

Letting out incoherent moans as Yunho's pace got faster, his cock twitching signalising that you weren't the only one nearing your high, as your walls clenched around him tightly. „Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ Your mouth wide agape from the unexpected pleasure delivered to you, resulting in your fluids squirting not only on Yunho's well-endowed dick, but also the mirror you were pressed against. „Alright, you got tissues? Cuz I don't think the shop assistants will like to clean it..“

❁ 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

It was Friday, which meant your regular dinner with your sugar daddy Yeosang at the luxurious restaurant you always went to. Dressed up in a comfortable, but pretty and seductive dress, you hopped into the back seat of the black car. Yeosang signalled to the chauffeur that he can get going to the restaurant.

Arriving at the hotel where the restaurant was situated, you went up by an elevator to the highest floor, which secured the impressive panorama. Being greeted by the usual waitress with a bottle of red wine in her hands, you excused yourself to use the restroom, while the cooks prepare food for you two.

Placing your purse down on the limestone sink, you took a look at your reflection in the mirror. Taking out the red lipstick you had with you, you reapplied it, since the previous layer got smudged.

Smudged thanks to Yeosang's hungry lips, because as soon as you sat down on the leather seat of his car, his hand immediately wrapped around your neck to bring you closer, his mouth fervently devouring yours.

Sighing you leaned against the counter, trying to get over the bemusing feeling in your lower parts, because how could he arouse you just with some kisses? Closing your eyes, you breathed out heavily, trying to calm yourself down so you can get back to him, without beseeching him to rail you right there, not noticing that the said man was present in the restroom, standing right behind you... That was until his hands laid themselves on your hips, catching you out of guard as you looked up in the mirror to see his boasting grin.

„What's wrong princess? Did my little actions in the car arouse you that much that you can't get back to me? Did you plan on getting yourself off to get rid of the heat in your panties? Did you think your little fingers could help you? I thought you were smarter than that, you should thank the deity that you have me. I'll free you of the arousal and wetness, all you have to do is beg.“

Weighing your options, you knew he was right..„Sir, please, rub my needy cunt, sir I'm all yours, so please help me release the knot in my stomach.“ Chuckling at the way you begged, knowing well how to do it after Yeosang taught you for months, his hands rolled your dress up to your waist, revealing your cotton panties.

Tugging them down to your knees, Yeosang leaned closer to you, looking at your reflection in the mirror, while whispering into your ear, „Relax, mister will rub your little cunt so well, so lean into his touch and be a good girl for him.“

❁ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐧

As you remember falling asleep in San's car, waking up in your sugar daddy's private jet was quite astounding. Lying on the soft cushions of the seat you were in, you let out a few whimpers as you stretched your sore body.

„Well, good morning baby. Did you get good sleep? I tried to move you to the jet as carefully as possible to not wake you up.“ Smiling at him, you murmured a few words of your thankfulness and how your sleep was.

Unclassping the seat belt, you stood up from your seat and approached San who was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. He placed the bundle of papers on the coffee table in front of him, straightening his arms up, to wrap around your waist and tug you down to his lap.

Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, your wrapped your arms around it tiredly. His hand wrapped around your waist and the second one laid on your thigh, keeping you close to him. You let out a few whimpers, wriggling in his lap, to satisfy the growing heat and rub your core against his muscular thighs. „Is there something wrong baby?“

„Can you help me out?“ you said with a quiet almost unhearable voice, a little pout forming on your lips. „Help you out with what, princess?“ you averted your gaze to the hem of your skirt, fingers playing with it. „I've had a naughty dream about you...“

San chuckled at the way your ears turned red at how embarrassed you were because of the request you had. His hand forgot its place on your knee as it moved up, way under your skirt. Tugging your panties to the side, he could feel just how much the wet dream aroused you. His fingers moved up and down your wet slit, purposely coating them with slick and moving them up to your clit.

Rubbing your clit, pressing on it and occasionally changing the intensity of his actions, you couldn't stop the gasps from spilling out from your mouth, you were so engaged by this, that you did not notice San unbuttoning his shorts in the meanwhile, freeing his hardened dick from the tight garments.

You noticed it only when the movement on your swollen bundle of nerves stopped, right before you neared the sweet release, an unsatisfied cry that was cut in your throat leaving your lips. „Shh, baby. Daddy got hard hearing those blissful moans leave your mouth, so it's only right we help each other out. But you can't forget that we aren't alone, so all you gotta do I hope that the pilot can't hear us...“

❁ 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢

High mountains covered in a white blanket of snow were illuminated by the fierce sun rays as they created a scene straight out of a painting. The sound of champagne glasses clicking was heard, as you and Mingi sat in the hot and bubbling water, located on a balcony of the luxurious mountain resort you were in. Only you, your sugar daddy and maybe a few deers out there, but still possibly visible to others, „Do you like it here, princess?“

Nodding at his questions enthusiastically, you sipped off the champagne as your body melted to the feeling of jacuzzi jets massaging your sore muscles, „Yes, it's amazing here, thank you Mingi, for taking me here, I don't even know how to repay you.“

„You don't have to repay me, anything princess, I'm just happy that you like my present, now come here.“ standing up from your 'seat' on the other side of the jacuzzi, goosebumps immediately rose up on your body as the winter breeze attacked your wet skin. Coming over to his seat, you sat back down rushedly as to not catch a cold, the hot water welcoming you, as you found your comfortable spot in Mingi's lap.

His large hands rested on your back, pulling you closer to his chest as they twiddled with the knot that kept the top part of your bikini together. „Mingi, I know we're alone, but you never know when someone's watching...“ you spoke nervously. „Don't think about it, relax into my touch, let the water massage your body.“ Untying the top of your swimwear, he let it fall to the water, the piece of cloth floating on the water surface.

His hands reached for your soft breasts, squeezing them softly as to your hurt you, twirling your hardening nipples between his fingers. Mingi leaned closer to your chest, his plump lips latching onto one of your breasts, sucking on it passionately. Your head was thrown back as you let out low moans, your hands going straight into his locks.

While his face was dipped into your chest, sucking on your soft mounds, your hands travelled down to where the hem of his swimsuit was. „It's only fair I repay you by taking care of you my prince, so now, you should be the one to relax to my touch.“

❁ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

„What are you reading?“ Averting your eyes from the flavescent pages of the book in your hands, you looked up at the man who stood in front of you. His skin sunbathed into a caramel tinted tone only added to how attractively his muscular body looked like, abs covered in beads of water as he just finished swimming in the sea, „50 shades of grey. A colleague of mine told me to read, it's kinda vanilla I have to say, nothing compared to what you do to me at nights.“

Smirking at your remark, he laid by your side on the soft cushions of the large beach couchette as soon as he finished drying his body. Keeping himself close to you, he threw a towel over your bodies, covering them completely, „Why are you covering us, Woo? Are you still cold from the water?“

„Let's just say I don't want other people to see that I got horny as fuck seeing my beautiful girl in her bikini and I just can't get my dick down, so try to act like nothing is happening as I stuff you full of my cock.“

Widening your eyes at how straightforward he was being to you in public, your cheeks got heated up as you could feel his fingers tugging your bikini bottoms down to your knees.

You looked around the beach, trying to act like nothing is happening just as he said, but when you locked eye contact with an older couple who were enjoying their time on the private beach and were looking at you awkwardly, you got even more embarrassed, so looking down into the mattress seemed like the best option. Wooyoung did the same with his swimsuit as he did with your, tugging it down to his knees, pulling out his leaking cock.

Without any more protraction, he sank his length into your wet hole. You had to bite on your lips to keep the moans from escaping past your lips. „Fuck, your cunt is taking me so well, you seem to like having a cock balls-deep in you, while we're in the public.“ His arms wrapped around your waist from behind as he pulled your back closer to his chest, his fingers playing with your nipples through the material of your swimsuit as he bottomed himself into you.

„Fuck, I don't think railing you once will be enough to satisfy our needs, should we go to the hotel room after this and recreate some of the book's chapters?“

❁ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨

Sitting bored in the studio, your fingers typing something into your phone, you side-eyed the clock on the wall frequently, as you waited for the end of your partner's song recording. Black headphones on his head as he let out angel-like sounds into the microphone. „Woow, Jongho, good job for today, I think we can finish this up for today.“

Jongho smiled at the producer who sat in his seat in front of the computer screen, coming back from the recording room to where you were. Standing up from your seat on the couch, you went to him, almost jumping at him out of happiness that this boring session was finally over.

„Jongho, can you please keep guard over the studio for about fifteen minutes? I have to go pick up something but I have no idea where I put my keys.“ Looking over to you, to ask whether it was okay, you nodded although you were not very happy about it, and with that Jongho agreed to watch the studio while the producer left.

„How did you like my recording today?“ mischievous smile on his face as he asked you that, knowing very well while he brought you here. „Did you bring me here today on purpose? Who would have thought that the sweet and awkwardly shy Choi Jongho, would record a song with such naughty lyrics? Hmm, tell me, who were you singing about? Who were you imagining fucking, while you were writing those lyrics?“ Taking small steps, you were slowly cornering him, up until he fell on the couch behind him.

Sitting down onto his thick thighs, the material of his jeans coming straight to contact with your core as the skirt you wore covered you two. Leaning closer to him, you attached your lips onto the skin on his neck, nibbling on it softly as to not leave any marks. „We have around ten minutes left, should I give you a preview of what is waiting for you tonight?“

Your cleavage was straight in front of his eyes as you straddled his lap, purposely pressing your breasts against his chest to accentuate it and catch his attention more. Subtly griding against the tent forming in his jeans, your hand caressing his temples innocently. You could feel him shifting underneath you, some incoherent babble stammering out of his lips at your actions. Your hands took hold of his wrists, placing them on your waist,

„Now, do you think you'll be able to cum and get rid of your boner in less than seven minutes, pretty boy?“

❁ tag list : @galaxteez @gyubaby @bobateastay @tinytinyblogs @ateezinmymind @chososchaos @voidednightmares

#ateez #sugar daddy!ateez #ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez sugar daddy au

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rayadraws · 3 years

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“Somehow you must not have heard all the bad things said about me.”“I’ve heard them all twice. But I’ll make my own judgments.” For Zombiemask plz and thank you : )

Ohoo! A first for me to write...

G-rated but canon typical level gore, pre-relationship, maybe mild WC spoilers?

Like herding cats. Uncooperative, mad, possibly-no-likely rabid cats, the lot of them. It seemed a requirement for the S-class heroes to be as awful as humanely possible. Beauto sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. At least the meeting was finally over and he was all alone; a rare if temporary blessing.

That didn’t mean his work of the day was done. He had to write and submit the report, he had an´telephone interview in three hours and he’d fallen behind on his fan letters again, he should really spend at least an hour tonight to try to catch up. But at least he could allow himself a few minutes to himself right now. To breathe, to compose himself before reality came crashing back down. To enjoy the semi-darkness in the room. The more he changed, the more he seemed to enjoy the comfort of darkness.

He stood up, eyes closed, taking another deep breath, only to jump at an unexpected rattling cough in the room.

Beauto startled and looked around for the source. There, in the far, darkest corner sat Zombieman, frowning, one of his trademark cigarettes sticking out of his mouth, looking straight at him with those dead eyes. Beauto should reprimand him for smoking inside the Hero Association’s pristine meeting room, but he’d had enough tonight trying to keep Metal Bat and Flashy Flash from ripping into each other over who had the best hair, as if it had anything to do with their job! He just couldn’t muster up the energy to start another argument. Not now.

”Why are you still here?” he just asked, instead.

Zombieman chewed on his cigarette, looking unblinking at him with an unreadable expression.

”You look tired,” was all he said in return.

”So do you, with those dark circles and pallid skin,” Beauto automatically countered.

Zombieman’s expression didn’t waver. ”Yeah, but I always look like this. You don’t.”

He straightened his jacket. ”I’ll be fine.” ’Thanks for worrying’, he didn’t add. He’d accepted his lot in life, even if it meant being disliked by everyone in this place. It was worth it, if it meant they could do what they needed to do.

”Hey,” Zombieman suddenly said. ”Wanna go get a beer?”

Beauto stared at him.

”I feel like shit and you look like shit, we’ll be a perfect pair,” Zombieman continued. He coughed twice, a deep, concerning cough, but at least he had the courtesy to cough into his elbow rather than across the table.

In a moment of weakness? Madness? Beauto agreed to the offer. He must be going insane, to agree to willingly hang out with one of them. But Zombieman waited patiently as he retrieved his coat - the inconspicuous one he used for undercover missions - as he put on his scarf and hat and sunglasses that he always kept in his desk.

”You allergic to sunlight or something?” he said, still chewing on the damn cigarette.

”I can’t be seen drinking in public.”

”Ah, yeah, the idol thing.”

As they started to walk down the lobby and his trenchcoat fell to the side, Beauto realized the probable reason Zombieman had stayed so still for so long, past the meeting even; he was missing a good portion of his torso. It looked almost like something very big had simply taken a large bite out of him.

In their profession, that was actually not unlikely. How he was still standing, nevermind walking, was beyond him.

Noting Beauto’s eyes on him, Zombieman pulled his coat tighter, hiding his horrifying injuries from view.

”I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

”How can you even walk like that? Don’t you feel pain?”

”I feel pain. Don’t worry. It’ll heal.”

Beauto knew it would, but it was still disturbing. He tore his eyes away. ”Lead the way.”

”Aye, cap'n.”

The walk was slow. Zombieman limped with every step, until Beauto had had enough and put his arm around him, helping him walk more steadily. At least this way if someone recognized him, he could use Zombieman as a way to avoid them. Out of the way, this man needs immediate hospital care!

”Such a gentleman,” Zombieman purred.

”You’re too slow, that's all.”

He was taken to a bar not far from the HA, only a couple of blocks away. The way no one paid them any attention, he suspected Zombieman must be a regular here. The suspicion was made even stronger when they were immediately led to a booth in the far back, the darkest corner without as much as a word.

Beauto approved and apparently Zombieman did too, still with the damned cigarette.

”They let you smoke in here?” he asked as they sat down. Zombieman just grinned at him.

”They’re bad for you, you know,” Beauto continued.

Zombieman removed the cigarette from his mouth. Only it… wasn’t. It was a god damn lollipop.

”That’s what the kid tells me too, you know.”

Gingerly he put the lollipop down on the table and flagged the server down for two beers.

It was, despite everything, not that bad. Beauto was trained in pleasant small talk. Almost on auto pilot, he asked Zombieman all the silly little questions. The man was… strange. His hero name was well earned, at least as far as looks went. But Beauto found that beneath it, Zombieman was pleasant enough to talk to. He didn’t seem to have any grand ambitions or plans, beyond being a good role model to Child Emperor, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was doing. As for why he took Beauto to this place? ’You looked like you needed it’, apparently.

”But why would you care?” he asked, too tired to keep up any charades.

”Isn’t that part of being a hero? Caring about everyone. ’Sides, you seem pretty cool.”

”Cool?” Beauto snorted. That didn’t fit with what he usually heard from his colleagues. Arrogant, stuck up, nothing but a pretty boy, jealous, evil…

“Somehow you must not have heard all the bad things said about me,” he replied.

Once again, he felt those red eyes squarely on himself. Unblinking and unwavering.

”I’ve heard them all twice. But I’ll make my own judgments.”

Beauto tried to meet his gaze, failed and looked down. Watched his perfectly manicured fingers resting on the worn wooden table, full of dents and scrapes.

”Thank you,” he muttered.

A small eternity passed.

”Hey,” Zombieman suddenly said. He took a deep swig of his beer and lifted the edge of his coat. Beauto glanced up, not sure he wanted to see that gross injury a second time. But instead his eyes fell on soft skin. It was pale and somewhat sickly-looking, like all of Zombieman’s skin (what he'd seen, anyway), but it was perfectly smooth, not even a visible scar.

Seeing him gawk, Zombieman pulled his coat even more aside, revealing that there was still some healing to happen near the bottom. But it was a flesh wound now, opposed to a large chunk of him just… gone. It was a marvel, quite frankly.

Beauto made an effort to close his open mouth.

”That’s… fascinating, I suppose.”

”It does come in handy. Most people do heal, though. Just slower than this.”

”’Most people’ can’t re-grow missing tissue.”

”True.” Zombieman looked thoughtful as he put the lollipop back into his mouth.

”What about you?”

For a brief moment, Beauto went cold.

”What about me?” Had he let his facade slip? Was Zombieman on to him?

”You done here?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. ”Yes. Sure.”

He offered to pay, but Zombieman insisted on paying for them both.

”Almost sounds like you took me out on a date,” Beauto joked as they left. Zombieman was walking normally again, now. It was good to see.

He chuckled. ”Me, ask Sweet Mask out on a date? As if I’d dare.”

”Well. It wasn’t… it wasn’t terrible.”

”Really? In that case, it was a carefully planned date, carried out to perfection.”

Despite himself, Beauto laughed. Somehow, he felt lighter than before. ”Fine. It’s a date. Under one condition.”

”What’s that?”

”Next time, you let me pay.”

The red eyes sparkled, looking more alive than he’d ever seen them.

”Deal.”

#zombiemask #amazomb #amai mask x zombieman #zombieman x amai mask #ficlet

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digitalstowaway · 3 years

Text

No Winners: Chapter Three (Mia & Miles AU)

Read on AO3 | After failing to win a guilty verdict at his first trial, Edgeworth is denounced as von Karma's protege. Mia finds him, alone and traumatized, and decides that befriending him is like picking up a lost, wounded puppy on the side of the road. But it turns out they're connected in more ways than Terry Fawles' death.

It was Friday afternoon by the time Lana knocked on Miles’ front door, holding a thermos of soup and smiling.

Miles stood in his doorway, squinting at her. He wore his pajamas still—a comfortable set of flannel bottoms and a large t-shirt that hung off of his scrawny frame—and his hair was ruffled and messy. Lana could see how it stuck up in the back while the fringe had become frizzy and laid flat against his face.

“I thought I’d check up on you,” Lana said. “And bring you soup.”

“That was… thoughtful.” His voice was hoarse, and it sounded like he strained to get the few words out.

He would have looked adorable if there wasn’t a worrying flush to his face and glassiness over his eyes. But he did look younger than Lana had ever seen him. And smaller. If Lana didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was a teenager taking a day off school.

She just had to take care of him. She couldn’t leave a sick child home alone.

“Mind if I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lana pushed past him and was walking into the house. His home was cute but definitely belonged to a 20-year-old boy. There was hardly any decor, and all of the curtains were drawn shut—though, the latter could have been due to the poor thing looking like he had just crawled out of bed—leaving the rooms to be dark and stuffy. The kitchen was bare, most notably. The only items on the countertops were an electric kettle and decorative containers that Lana suspected held nothing in them.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Miles asked, standing behind her as she unscrewed the top of the thermos.

“If you don’t eat the soup now, it’ll get cold.”

If I don’t watch you eat right now, I don’t think you’ll eat at all.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you’re capable of it or not, it’s just nice to have someone with you.”

She began rifling through his cabinets. She was happy to see full sets of plates and bowls and cups. She wasn’t very happy to see, though, the lack of food on his shelves.

She motioned for him to sit at his island. He did, looking like he was obeying the command of a superior.

“I can make you tea as well,” Lana said, pouring out the soup in front of him.

“Are you always in the habit of inviting yourself into people’s homes and invading their kitchens?”

“I’ve been known to do so on occasion. But usually, people are more accepting of it than you because I’m also known to be a good cook.”

Miles looked down at his soup. He stirred it, mixing up the vegetables and noodles in a whirlpool, and then set his spoon down.

He was tucked into himself, arms discreetly wrapped around his middle. Lana recognized the position as someone who couldn’t stomach the thought of food.

And all of her forged maternal instincts that came from taking care of Ema rushed forward. Really, a 12-year-old girl and Miles Edgeworth couldn’t be too different to look after.

Lana pressed her hand to his forehead. He allowed it, closing his eyes.

“You’re really warm,” she sighed. “Do you have a thermometer?”

Miles shook his head. Lana tutted.

“Do you have cold medicine? Or any medicine?”

“I have aspirin.”

He was barely old enough to take aspirin. Lana prided herself on her knowledge of over-the-counter meds, and she clearly remembered the warning label on the back of the aspirin bottles to not give any to a person under 20. And god, the kid was just old enough to take such a simple drug? He was just entering the final stages of his coming of age?

Lana had had a thought or two upon first meeting Miles that he was truly too young to be in a prosecutor’s office. Not for the uptight, snooty reasons her colleagues had. But because she couldn’t bear to think of the toll it would take on someone so young—so bent on perfection.

“Do you have anything else?” she asked.

Miles shook his head. His eyebrows raised as if he was in trouble and scared of being scolded. It was always the subtle things that made Lana worry.

“Well, lucky for you, I carry everything in my purse.”

As she dug through her purse for her trusty bottle of acetaminophen, he coughed harshly into his elbow. It sounded worse than the night before. Like his lungs were trying to come up his throat. He winced and grimaced and struggled to breathe through it. Lana forgot about the pills and pulled out her phone.

“I’m going to have Mia pick up a few things for you,” she said.

“No—”

“Miles, you’re not going to get better like this. I’ll have her drop off something for your cough and a thermometer at some point today, okay?”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure you finish your soup.”

—

By the time Mia arrived with a little bag from the pharmacy, Lana was waiting in the doorway with her phone in hand. She tried to smile when Mia met her, but she looked tired and worried.

“Is he okay?” Mia asked.

She tried not to care. People got the flu. People lived through the flu. Miles was going to be fine in a week.

“He’s in rough shape,” Lana said with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Mia passed her the bag with the highly specific requested items inside. Two types of cough syrup—antitussives and expectorants. Whatever those were. Lana had said a balance of both was necessary. A bottle of acetaminophen and another of ibuprofen. There was something about alternating between the two that wasn’t explained well over text. And cough drops (of which Mia had bought three kinds), acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and a thermometer. Any thermometer, Lana told Mia.

The shopping list had been followed by a notification that Lana had sent Mia more than enough money to cover it all. There was a note in the money-sharing app that said and buy yourself something nice ;) xo Lana

It had been a nice break from her anxiety-ridden text messages. Mia had bought herself a pack of gum and two lollipops.

“That’s for you,” Mia said when Lana pulled out the second lollipop.

“How sweet,” Lana said.

“Can I see him? I want to look at the scary prodigy all sick.”

“Yeah, but be quiet. He just fell asleep.” Lana led her in. “Why do you want to see him like this?”

“Blackmail. In case he ever tries pulling something, I’ll have a picture of him all snotty and gross.”

“Mia, don’t take a picture of him.”

“Why not?”

“It’s mean. And isn’t your whole thing being anti-blackmail?”

This was different. There would be no one to truly show the picture to. And Miles would catch on to that. The threat would be superficial and empty.

The living room was dark and quiet, and Mia nearly missed Miles on the couch. He was curled up under a blanket, blending into the upholstery. But looking closer, Mia could see how pale his face was and the light layer of sweat covering his forehead.

Lana unpacked the pharmacy bag on the coffee table, careful to not make a sound to disturb Miles. But he woke himself up anyway, his uneasy breathing turning into a coughing fit. A hand emerged from the blanket, and a crumpled tissue in his fist was pressed to his mouth. His cough sounded awful. Mia nearly gagged in sympathy when she heard something deep in his lungs get stirred up.

“Miles, Mia brought you some stuff,” Lana said. “Can you take your temperature real quick?”

She assembled the thermometer. Mia had picked one up with multiple tips in hopes that the fancier it looked, the better it would work.

Lana handed the thermometer over, and Miles laid it under his tongue. Mia was surprised by the lack of fuss he made, and he did close his eyes immediately and seemed close to sleep by the time the thermometer beeped.

Lana slid it out of his mouth for him as a mother would.

“103.5,” she read.

Mia grimaced. That wasn’t good at all.

Miles’ eyes opened, but they didn’t react to what Lana had said. Instead, they fell on Mia with a glare nastier than what he usually served.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I delivered you half of a pharmacy,” Mia said, gesturing to the table. “Be grateful.”

Lana interrupted them. “Miles, if your fever gets much higher, I think I’m going to take you to a hospital.”

And the glare towards Mia immediately changed to a scared look to Lana. He shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“But if you get any worse, I think you’ll need help and there’s no clinics open at this hour. It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing very well, either.”

It didn’t. Every other intake of breath was raspy.

Miles shook his head again. Lana sat next to him on the couch and brushed his hair back from his face. It was absolutely out of character to allow himself to be coddled in such a way.

How childish he looked, Mia thought. He certainly always carried the air of a brat, but he had never looked so small. So helpless. So in need of a person like Lana Skye.

“Only if you get worse, okay?” Lana said. “And Mia brought you a lot of medicine, so hopefully you start feeling better by tonight.”

But Miles still looked scared, and Mia wondered what his damage was with hospitals. Not that anyone particularly liked having to go into hospitals. They were genuinely acknowledged as places no one ever wanted to be.

“Let’s try to get this cough under control first,” Lana said and reached for one of the bottles of cough syrup.

Hours passed, and Mia stayed. She felt bad about leaving Lana alone with the possibility of Miles needing to be taken to a hospital hanging in the air.

It was also nice to see Lana mother Miles, waking him so often to take a different pill or to press the thermometer into his mouth one more time. When she wasn’t doting on the prosecutor, they snuck into the kitchen to talk like children.

“He really needs a doctor,” Lana said. “But it’ll be best if I can get him to a clinic tomorrow instead of putting him through the emergency room tonight.”

“You’d go with him?”

“Do you think he could drive himself?”

Mia rocked against the countertop. “No.”

“Then, I’d have to go with him. Or someone would have to go with him, and I don’t really see anyone else lining up to escort him.”

Lana picked up her phone and, looking over her shoulder, Mia could see her texting Ema and then Damon Gant. One a reassuring conversation and the other a semi-desperate beg to ask anyone at all if they could do her a favor.

“You know,” Mia said, “if someone needs to watch Ema tonight, I can do it.”

Lana looked up, perhaps embarrassed that she had been caught in such weakness. “Would you?”

“Unless you need someone to wrangle Miles to the hospital.”

Lana smiled. “We’ll see which child needs the most supervision. But if I did ask you to watch Ema tonight, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not. I have nothing better to do.”

“And if I asked you to help me get Miles to a hospital?”

Mia tilted her head back. She had little reason to say no. “Sure.”

—

As the sun was finally setting, coughing turned to choking.

Miles struggled to pull himself up. He rested on his elbows, his head bowed, coughing too hard to take in any fulfilling breaths.

Lana tugged him up so that he was sitting against her. His shoulders heaved and with his coughs, small strings of bile spilled from his mouth.

“Can you get towels please?” Lana asked Mia.

Mia ran down the halls until she found a closet and stacks of towels. It was an unnecessarily large house for one kid. Mia had a one-bedroom apartment with barely enough room to accommodate Maya when she visited. And there was Miles living in a house with, if Mia counted right as she passed them, two bathrooms and a bedroom on the first floor alone.

But she couldn’t be mad at him if his sleazy mentor gave him the money to buy the house. If anything, it was good for Miles to keep whatever that man had already given him.

Mia grabbed all the hand towels and wash clothes she could, wetting a few down, and ran back to the sitting room where Lana was trying to keep Miles up.

“It’s okay,” she was repeating, and Mia could hear Miles mumbling apologies as she handed over the towels.

Lana got to work cleaning up his face and then his clothes. Miles’ thin hands were limp on his lap, only being moved by Lana to scrub at the bile that hand landed on his sweatpants.

“Do you want to change?” Lana asked.

Miles shook his head. He was usually so pristine, Mia was surprised he didn’t want a fresh pair of clothes.

“Okay. We can lay back down for now.” Lana helped him shuffle around until he was lying back down.

She covered him with his blanket again and left one of the damp cloths over his forehead. Mia stood awkwardly off to the side.

“It’s getting kinda late,” Lana said.

“If you want me to watch Ema now, I can,” she said.

“I don’t know. I think I should really get Miles to a hospital, but I think it’ll take at least the two of us to get him anywhere.”

“Is there anyone else who can watch Ema?”

Lana didn’t say anything. Mia didn’t know many people who could really be left alone with a child. Not any that could be called at the last minute.

“What about Diego?” she asked.

“Ema’s never met Diego before. I’ve barely met Diego.”

“Yeah, but he’d probably be willing to stay with her for the night. He mentioned to me once that he likes kids.”

“Miles is a kid, and he doesn’t seem to like him.”

“Miles is 20.”

“I’m 20,” Miles agreed sleepily.

“And Ema isn’t Miles,” Mia said. “She’s… less difficult.”

“Okay,” Lana said. “If he doesn’t mind, tell him I can give him our house key if he meets us here and helps us get Miles into my car.”

Mia didn’t hesitate to grab her phone and begin texting Diego, her newest message harshly juxtaposing her previous, half-flirty ones. Miles whined next to her, telling Lana that he would be okay. That he didn’t need to go anywhere. And Lana gently cooed to him that it would be alright. He needed more help than she could give him, and she and Mia would stay with him.

Mia didn’t remember when she volunteered to stay with Miles in the hospital. She thought that she would be there long enough to get him inside and moved on from the waiting room before going back to her own apartment. She watched Miles cough into his pillow and Lana brush his damp hair back from his forehead and knew that she was well past the point of any further negotiations.

#mia & miles au #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #mia fey #lana skye #my fics #no winners #finally chapter three!!!

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lunarliza · 4 years

Text

JJ Maybank Must Die | Chapter 1: Popsicles

fuckboy!JJ x Reader

series masterlist

JJ Maybank is the island’s most infamous fuckboy- not that you ever cared. But when a group of tourist girls come to your surf shop crying to you about him, you agree to help them plot revenge. Sabotage is all fun and games, until you find that the playboy you were sworn to ruin happens to be falling head over heels for you.

Yes, this is based on John Tucker Must Die lol

note: so this is my second JJ fic! I’m so excited for ya’ll to read it. it’ll be more light-hearted and shorter than DLS :)

“Come on... come on! This one right here let’s go!” you yelped. The crowd behind you was practically chattering on their fingernails.

The seven year old boy in the water paddled as hard as his lanky arms could take him towards the daunting wave.

“Now Gavin now! Stand up!” you shrieked as the boy hurriedly went through your instructed steps, tucking his knee, and thrusting upwards as the wave got close. Then, before he even realized, he glided rigidly along the wave as the board carried him across the water.

“Hooray! Awesome job Gavin!” The flock cheered and rushed to pat the boy on the back, his dad lifting him up in his arms.

The child scuttled towards you and threw his arms around your neck. You chuckled delightedly. “Alright everyone! That’s it for our surf lesson today. Be sure to check out the gift shop on your way out!”

You waved bye to the guests as they made way to return their boards to the hut, some handing you rolled up cash, with thankful smiles.

Once the coast was clear, you jogged back to the hut only to find Sophia, your best friend and lazy co-worker, lounging with her legs stretched on the checkout counter of the tiny surf shack. She hung a lollipop in her mouth while her eyes glued to her phone screen.

“You know, when you asked me to find you a job, I actually thought you meant one where you actually work.”

Sophia popped out the sucker and threw you a glare. “I did work! See!” she pointed her hand at the sign hanging beside the door that read ‘OBX Surf and Sports’, “I put that sign up this morning.”

“It’s crooked.”

“Bleh, bleh, bleh,” she mocked, “Nothing I ever do is good enough.” You chuckled and shook your head at her.

You peered out the giant window at the front of the store, surveying the empty beach. This was going to be the rest of your summer. At sixteen years old, you were one of the Outer Banks’ surfing all-stars and spent your days working as an instructor for the second year in a row.

Customers loved you and your ability to work with all ages rendering you the title of ‘Top Instructor’ at the shack- which didn’t mean much seeing as 90% of the employees were amateur teenagers.

Nevertheless, you were determined to keep that title, as whoever brought in the most satisfied customers by the end of the summer wins a $5,000 scholarship. And you needed that money bad in order to attend your dream school: UVA.

Along the beach, you caught a glimpse of your competition, Cody, and instinctly groaned.

On any other occasion, you really didn’t care about what people did with their lives, but something about your arrogant, sleazy, five-foot-seven co-worker grinded your gears.

He was always man-splaining to you and the other girls at the shack or kissing ass to your boss. And you knew well he was after the scholarship too- your scholarship.

“Look at him,” you sneered to Sophia as she joined you at the window to death-glare the boy. He was prepping his group on the sand for their session and looked absolutely despicable in his shorts that were inches away from exposing his little one. Emphasis on the little.

“Ugh, he’s making them do jumping jacks again,” Sophia pointed out, crinkling her nose, “God that poor old lady. Can he be any more extra?”

“I need to look away, I think I might vomit if he ever flashed me.”

Your best friend snickered at your hatred as you waxed down your board for your next lesson. “Did the group of girls check in yet?” you asked.

“Yeah, they’re sitting and waiting at Eye Sickles,” she informed, referring to the popsicle food-truck next door. “I can’t believe they really signed up for the month-long surfing program. I didn’t know people actually paid for that.”

“You’d be surprised. These tourists will buy into anything, trust me,” you said before heading out the door.

You walked up to three tourist girls lounging on the fold-out tables and chairs at the food-truck. They were mindlessly typing away on their phones, looking as bored as ever.

“Alright, do I have Annalise, Maia, and Arabella?” you announced with your work-smile on. They peered up from their phones and nodded with blank faces.

“Awesome,” you continued, trying to maintain your enthusiasm, “I’m y/n, I’ll be your instructor! I see you guys signed up for the month-long pro-boarding program which is great. Have you guys ever surfed before?”

“Nope,” a blonde girl replied, “Our parents found this online and said it’d be good for us to learn while we’re here. We’re from Richmond, Virginia.”

“Oh cool!” you jeered, the fake zeal was oozing at that point. “Well, I’m happy to be spending the summer with you guys. I’m going to have you guys grab a board and we’ll head down to the sand to go over the basic motions.”

The trio followed you into the hut and picked out a board from the beginners section. You noticed the blonde one giggling with Sophia at the stand for a bit before joining you on the sand. She had a leader-like quality to her while the two other remained quiet but friendly.

“Alright so, just for formalities, who’s who? That way I can identify you better,” you asked as the girls situated their boards along the shore.

Not shockingly, the blonde extended her hand to you first. “I’m Annalise,” she greeted a little sullenly. You shrugged off her attitude, attributing it to her being a bougie tourist.

“I’m Maia,” a tall, jet-black haired girl said next. She had a very athletic body and came off as the quietest one of the group.

“And I’m Arabella,” the last one chimed in. Her hair was a fiery orange and she had piercings run along her ears and nose.

“Alright cool! So now, we’ll start off with the movements you’ll go through once you hit the water. You want to start off flat on your stomach and paddle towards the waves. Make sure you have full control of your board at all times,” you began as the girls copied your demonstration on their own boards.

You heard sniffles come from the group, but ignored it to continue your spiel. You could hardly read any of their expressions through their giant, bug-eyed sunglasses.

Just as you were about to explain the importance of balance- you favorite part of the lesson- you saw the blonde sit up on her board in irritation and start sobbing through her glasses.

“Annalise come on, it’s not worth it,” the tall one, Maia, reasoned as the Annalise shook her head furiously.

“I can’t do this right now,” she cried before bolting back towards the shack.

You watched her in utter confusion. “Was it something I said?” you asked the remaining two.

The orange one shook her head and gave you a sincere look through her glasses. “No, she’s just really upset about this guy,” she turned to her friend, “Come on, let’s go check on her.”

At that point, you had no choice but to follow the group towards their distressed friend. This was definitely coming out of their session time.

The three of you plowed up the sand to find the girl, Annalise, sprawled on Sophia’s shoulder at the tables as she cooed her like a baby. You wanted to cringe.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. He’s a piece of shit anyways! Trust me, he did the same to me too,” your best friend comforted and petted the stranger’s yellow hair.

“What’s going on?” you questioned at the scene. Sophia glanced up at you with a pleading look.

“It’s JJ.”

Oh brother. This dude again. JJ Maybank was the Outer Bank’s most infamous fuck boy. Him and his friends threw parties all the time at the Boneyard- ones you have yet to attend- and he effortlessly earned his reputation by sleeping with any girl he could get his grubby hands on.

By this point, he’s broken half the hearts on the island with girls moaning and groaning about him left and right- Sophia included. You remembered her wailing the day he ghosted her after they did the nasty. It wasn’t a pretty day... or week for the matter.

You didn’t understand what the big deal was with the guy. You’d gone to school with him since the first grade and he’d always been that guy that rolls in the mud during playtime in elementary school. And he still was that guy to this day.

You heard all the cringey lines he’d pull on girls at school that would get them swooning and you swore he was running a voodoo business because no one in their right mind could fall for that.

But everyone did. Except for you.

“What? Did he ghost you too?” you gestured towards the wrecked weeping girl.

She nodded and blew her boogers into the tissues Sophia brought out.

“I-I, well, we met him at a party this weekend and he took me to this little hideout on the beach. He told me that he never met anyone like me before and said all this other shit. Then we had sex there, which I never do in public, and he said he couldn’t wait to see me again. And he never called me after!”

Though you thought her public display was a little too... public, you did feel sorry for her. The guy was a tool, and these tourist girls, especially, didn’t know any better.

“Don’t worry,” Sophia assured, resting a hand atop hers, “he did it to me and everyone at school. We all fell for the trap.”

Maia and Arabella joined the sitting girls in a piled group hug as the ones in the center sputtered in tears together. You couldn’t bear to watch, but for Sophia, you awkwardly joined in anyways.

The rest of the surfing session consisted of the girls pulling up their own chairs and bad-mouthing JJ, along with all other men, as everyone licked their popsicles.

You sucked on your mango one, not minding the little break as it was the easiest $150 you ever made. The girls weren’t as hoity-toity as you first thought. They apologized for wasting your time and promised to leave five-star reviews about you. Even better.

As evening rolled in, you found yourself laughing and joking around with your new-found friends. They told you wild stories of their private school shenanigans back in Richmond while you and Sophia filled them in on life at the OBX.

“This day was incredible,” Annalise beamed, dazed after her fourth popsicle. “Can’t believe we all bonded like this over a guy,” she chuckled, “I just... gah, I wish we could get him back somehow. Make him feel how we feel!”

“You should,” you agreed, “Why don’t one of you guys go to the parties and try to seduce him and then leave him hanging? The trick with men is to withhold sex from them and they’ll be helpless.”

Everyone’s face lit up in excitement at your idea. “No, totally! We could definitely do that!” Sophia exclaimed with wide eyes. “So who will it be? Who’s our hamster?”

“Not me,” Maia objected almost instantly, “I have a boyfriend back home so no seducing will be done on my part.”

“Arabella then,” Annalise suggested, nudging the girl beside her.

“Alright...” she agreed, fiddling with the string of her bathing suit, “I guess I could take one for the team.”

“There we go!” you cheered, “You just march straight into that party, grind on him a bit to leave him hanging, then proceed to embarrass the shit out of him! Problem solved!”

-----------------------------

note: do not worry! more drama to come

chapter 2

#outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #john b obx #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx #jj obx #jj x y/n #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n

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theyanderespecialist · 3 years

Text

Outlast Gang Bang 1 (One Shot) Various X OC Sissy Mark

(marks pov)

I cover my ears the sirens blaring as the lights flash.. patients ran around as I try to find someone I knew. The priest most likely, Dr. tragger. maybe Christ. He must be scared. Then the twins, then..then Frank and then Eddie.

I walk through the halls calling their names, desperate to find them as I continue to call out for them, going into room after room as I see the priest as I ran over. "father, father your okay!"

"Mark, Mark come with me. It's dangerous."

"No I have to find the others, my patients and Dr. Tragger. I cannot and will not leave them to suffer." I say. "Do you know where they are? I need to make sure they are all okay."

(Ooofff poor mark has no idea what is about to happen XD)

"come, they are in the chapel." He said as he lead me to it, and he was telling the truth they were all there, however he shut the door suddenly

"What are you doing?" I ask confused as he locked the chapel doors.

He didn't speak as tragger suddenly walked up and grabbed me. His one hand on my waist...the other one on my legs.

"He's just ensuring you can't run anymore buddy." He said, a smirk on his face

"Run? Why would I run? I am just helping patients." I say confused.

However his hands suddenly trailed up. "You've been running away from us since the start buddy, you think I didn't notice that you'd ask to change shifts?"

"That was so I could sleep in." I say. "Why does it matter?"

I suddenly jerk as his hand went down my shrubs pants

"Wh-What are you doing!?!" I demand to know scared as he jerks my cock making it stir.

I felt odd, I was scared as I tried to back away but Father Martin held me steady.

(Man he's not beating around the bush ..but he is beating marks Meat)

(XD)

I groaned and felt him jerk me off to full hardness. I still tried to get away but their grips only tightened more when I did that. I groaned and then he moved his hand down and slip a finger over my clit. I groaned and shudder.

"So your file was right you have a cunt to~" He says grinning.

My eyes widen. "Please--" I was cut off when he pushed a finger between my lips, not deep but still was uncomfortable.

I whine softly and tried to pull away

He didn't enter any further as he pulled away, but his hands suddenly move to my chest.

"I wonder, are you more feminine or masculine under here?" He said.

"G-Guys.." I moan out.

"Tragger stop hogging her." I hear Chris say and I look at him shocked

He... wasn't going to try and save me?

"I'm not just.. examining her~" he said as he pulled my scrub shirt off as I went red in the face.

For a girl I was small.. but I'm not a girl, I'm a boy, and yes, I grew some breast tissue. Maybe a small B cup..

"Nice cut little breasts~" He says and leans down taking off the wrapping I had on them.

The wrapping fell to the ground as I blushed darkly only to cry out as he pinched the nipple. I cried out as my chest was always sensitive.

"don't you think her chest is nice...Eddie~?" Trager asked as I tried to get out of their grips as Eddie walked up.

"A bit small, but nice and perky~" He says and licks my other nipple. "They will get bigger when she is filled with my seed~"

I shudder at that knowing this was wrong and yet..

"Well don't worry Eddie buddy, her toys were an a when she came last year, and I've got some special medications of course." Tragger asaod as Eddie smirked.

"T-They aren't small.." I mutter, why that was the point that annoyed me, I don't know. A b cup isn't that small..

"They are adorable though just like my darling~" he says smiling at me it made me feel warm

However I tried to cut that thought out of my head as his hands grazed against the nipple causing me to let out a surprised jerk

"And oh so sensitive~" He purrs twisting it gently.

I let out another jerky spasm as he pulled down my pants, completely ignoring my cock as he rubbed my lips, his lips biting on my nipples. "Perhaps one day we can experiment with some nipple rings for you~" he said as I feel Mattson let go of me. I could run..but I didn't..as Christ came up behind me, I feel his large hands suddenly grasp my ass. They weren't fucking me...they were just teasing me both with their grasps and their words.

(Because you're a slut that gets off being talked dirty to and told your a whore, and that's what they are gonna do, Gott loosen you ;))

(XD Mark is a sissy slut XD)

Chris gripped my ass with one hand and my chest with the other massaging both. I couldn't help it the loan I tried to desperately to hold back came out, I've never felt more powerless..or this good. He smirked and started to kiss down my neck and bit my shoulder. I cried out and with Eddie fingering came hard from both my cock and woman hood.

He pulled away slow looking at his hands. "I'm not one for men." He said. "But I am one for making you cum~" he said as suddenly the others walked over.

"Alright alright two to start to not overwhelm him." Trager said. They weren't serious..

"We need our turn first." One twin said. Tom the one with the hair says.

"Yes we do." Tim adds

"the others don't know him as well as we do."

"Yes." Tim agree. "We known him the most and longest

They suddenly move forward as I they smirked at me. Tom bent me on my hands and knees and Tim kisses me my first kiss. I feel him grip the side of my face. The kiss was hot, passionate, and messy as he looked at me as I panted, drool still connecting our mouths.

"Mm... think I know.how to make this better." He said as he grabbed my bag as I was confused, his brother just smirking as he walked over.. with my makeup bag, roughly grabbing my face as he took out my lipsticks he seemed to be stuck between the hot pink and bright red.

They went with the bright red and he had me put it on as well as my mascare and eyeliner. After that was done I see Tim had removed his pants and tom stuck his tongue in my ass.

I let out a shocked cry as my legs try to kick him away. "g-get off!"

Tim looked at me and smirked. "Why don't you put on a show for us~? And them? If you do, we'll go as easy on you as you need." (Don't trust him) he whispered in my ear.

"L-Like what?" I moaned. back as he placed a finger on my bottom lip.

"Oh..a sultry, sexy professional who is a total sissy slut but poorly hides it." He whispered as I looked confused but I already had agreed when I humored the idea.

"O-ok--oh! N-No stop! T-That's the wr-oo~" A genuine moan slipped out as I gather my nerves once more."th-the wrong hole! T-This is unacceptable behavior towards your h-head nurse!" I snap. And part of it was how I truly felt but something in me..felt excited.

"We do what we want with sissy sluts like you~" Tim says and rubs his cock against my lips I could tell he was going to take it slow. "Now lick my cock like a lollipop head nurse~"

I almost did.. bit I stop myself.

"T-There's no way I'd lick that.. that thing." I said and I wasn't lying. "I wouldn't ever want to lick that dirty, disgusting ..huge.. thick ..cock.."

"Then we will just have to punish you~" Tom says and bites my ass and I yelp.

Tim starts to jerk off his cock occasionally smacking it against my cheeks and I moaned as he did and soon he came thick ropes of cum on my face and smearing it into my cheeks.

I let out a moan as he suddenly pushed it against my face once more.

"Come on you sissy, look at it. This is what a real man's cock is like. get a good look,because your cock will never be like this." He said smearing it against my cheek as my body suddenly shuddered, my cock and womanhood feeling weird..

"T-That's s-so cruel to say to your superior.." I said trying to not let my voice change.

(Oof mark being a superior. The only thing he's superior at is being a masochist who can cum while only sucking a cock)

(AMEN XD)

"You better star licking it or my brother here will fuck you senseless without any lube~" He orders and that made me shudder more.

"F-Fine you disgusting man~!" I say.

I look at the cock as I give a kiss to the head before licking up the shaft as I let out a moan when he brother would roll his tongue inside of mebefore he suddenly retracted as I ha e a confused look.

"Look at you, being a good slut." "You call yourself our superior, you're supposed to watch us and make sure we are safe, and here you are, taking orders from us. It's rather pathetic isn't it Tim? No wonder she dresses like a girl, she's not a man at all" he states as I kept licking the shaft as I actually shudder at the insult.

It was turning me on so damn much and I could feel my cock ache. "Her big cock is a lie to what she really is a sissy slut begging to be teased." Tom says.

I moaned as I was closer than ever.

However I tried to keep in the role but it was so hard..

"I think she's actually getting off to it and she hasn't even put your cock in her mouth."

I glared at him. "That is enough Ti-"

He cuts me off shoving his cock in my mouth. I let out a choked gag as he gripped my hair.

"sissy sex toys don't speak." He said.

"I think underneath all this is a whore who can't wait to be fucked up the ass, in nice frilly outfits, we'll even set some new rules what do you think Tom?"

"Oh I know she was born an anal slut. I agree though Tim. No standing to pee being one of them, with supervised bathroom trips just to make sure." He said as my fave burned red as I let out a whine. To have no control of how I went to the bathroom..to be told that they'd be making sure, taking any masculinity I had from me..it somehow aroused me as I only realized I was bucking my hips forward

"I think he finally wants something in her slutty ass~" Tim says.

"I agree~" Tom says with a smirk. "Ready for my cock you nasty slut~"

I look back at Tom as I couldn't help but pull from Tim's cock, giving a lick to it before answering.

"G-Give it to.me~.dont hold back~" I moan

He smirked and thrust in hard I cried out and Tim thrusts in my mouth again. They were now spit roasting me. I let out a loud moan into their crotch. Spit hung out the corners of my mouth as he would thrust in when Tim would thrust out, never lea I g me empty.

"Look at her, she's a total natural~"

"what about her sweet little bussy."

"Mmmphh,", I try to tell them no but it just came as a moan

"Nice a tight~ fits like a damn glove two sizes to small~" he moans. "Can't wait to fill it up~"

I felt so full..and it was just two fingers inside of me. I let out a loud moan pulling away from his cock as I rub my cheek against the dripping, slimey member, moaning at the feeling of being less than.

I almost could take it I needed to cum so bad~! It was all I wanted right now~

"Hm? What's this?" He asked a smirk on his face as I moan.

"I-I-I love your cock." I said as I kissed it as he smirked.

"do you think a sissy like you deserves to have such a nice cock ramming into her nasty slutty mouth?" He asked his tone making me shudder and clench around Tom.

"No but please! Give it to me! So me how much of a cock sleeve I am~!" I beg

He looked at me for a moment as he kissed me again. And although it seemed rough..it was so gentle. . Like he was making sure I didn't actually think that low of my self. He slowly pulled away only to lay his heavy, hot, twitching cock on my forehead.

"Well get to making yourself worthy." He said as I knew what he was implying he wanted me to do. "And don't forget to worship them, letting everyone hear how much you love them."

(Gag)

(Gags)

I started to lick his balls and mentally gaged I did not even kick my own balls. Why would I want to suck his but that is exactly what I did taking both into my mouth. I suck on him, feeling Tim's hand push against my clit as I moaned as I kiss and lick him before pulling up to the base, kissing, licking, biting at the shaft, smearing my lipstick.

He groaned and Then pulled back cumming on my face and I feel Tom cum on my ass I was drench in cum. "Who is next?" Tim asks and I fall to the floor they could not be serious.

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solicuttle · 3 years

Text

Toritsuka’s Guide To Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Characters: Most of the cast

A very, very self-indulgent zombie apocalypse themed post. Not sure if I’m going to add a reader to this?

The world goes to shit when Toritsuka is getting his first (willing) kiss. He hasn’t seen her face yet but any girl who doesn’t run away at “hey cutie wanna smooch me?” must be beautiful.

She doesn’t seem to dislike the idea of kissing or start screaming bloody murder the minute Toritsuka leans in. It’s not as picture perfect as he thought his first kiss would’ve been-- kissing under the bleachers after skipping graduation is hardly scenic but Toritsuka’s a wise man, it would be dumb to waste this opportunity.

She’s close, so close he can feel the puffs of her breath on his face and—holy shit her breath stinks. Toritsuka stumbles back with a groan, hand clamping over his mouth to resist the urge to vomit. It takes less than two seconds to stand back up (leaning away from our first kiss is douche behavior) and he’s ready to apologize (and offer a few mints to her), “I’m so sorry—” he steps back to avoid the obvious slap he might receive; Toritsuka looks up – half of her face is a sickly green, and there’s a gaping hole where her eye should be.

He vomits on her shoe. And then runs, screaming bloody murder.

Toritsuka’s feet take him back to the school, because where else would he go?! Home is too dangerous, what if he runs into another not-cute-girl who wants to kill kiss him? He bursts into the gym – or well he tries, but Hairo’s blocking the way. The red head is built like a tank, and he refuses to budge, “What the fuck? Let me in, I’m going to be sick—”

At his words, a loud sob breaks through the room. Toritsuka stops his panic-induced struggling and turns towards the sound. It’s Teruhashi, this is a sight he never thought he’d see, but she’s curled into the corner, crying. Still as beautiful, but she’s crying. Mera and Yumehara sit next to her, Mera eating a packet of biscuits with vigor but the distress on her face is clear. Yumehara is staring blankly into the wall, scratching her arms vacantly. The blue graduation dress she’d spent ages gushing about is dirty and tattered.

The lights are flickering – they’d been working perfectly fine when Toritsuka had left from boredom – and whenever it swings and creaks it elicits another round of hushed sobs. Any words Toritsuka has dies on his throat, he goes lax in Hairo’s hold.

“Have you been bitten or scratched?”

The words come from Nendou, the weirdo sitting next to Kaidou – and Kaidou is obviously trying (and failing) to resist the urge to cry. Toritsuka mutedly shakes his head, and the redhead finally pulls him in before crushing him into a hug, “You aren’t dead! Amazing!”. Toritsuka balks, Hairo’s words cracking the tense atmosphere.

“Why would I be dead?!” Toritsuka once again struggles in Hairo’s hold, the other male not even flinching as he slams the doors shut. “Answer the question? Did the teachers find out I left after I received my diploma—”

“The teachers aren’t here anymore—” Kaidou’s wail interrupts his sentence; at the look of pure confusion on Toritsuka’s face, Kaidou adds, “You don’t know what’s going on, do you? Are you an idiot or something?”

“What’s going on?” His words have Kaidou staring at him incredulously. The blue haired male stops crying for a second, little laughs coming out. He’s in hysterics—Toritsuka would’ve cursed him out but Hairo flexes his muscles once and suddenly Toritsuka’s out of breath. Damn his hold is tight.

“You’re an idiot.” Those words have Yumehara murmuring in agreement, “The news—the news s-says that there’s a parasite and its killing people,” and that’s the most Kaidou says before he breaks into another fit of sobs and mumbles incoherently about “the doings of dark reunion”.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Hairo finally sets Toritsuka down. He gasps, inhaling that sweet, sweet oxygen that Hairo deprived him of. Kaidou is obviously a lost cause, the boy crying about the “Jet Black Wings” and Nendou’s too busy laughing at Kaidou. Not that Nendou was ever an option-- has Toritsuka ever mentioned how annoying Nendou is? A whole real girl liked Nendou before him! It’s times like this that Toritsuka truly understands that life has no balance.

A screeching sound snaps Toritsuka out of his jealousy induced reverie. Hairo’s pushing up chairs against the door he’d just come from. Toritsuka’s brow furrows from confusion, “Why are you pushing chairs against that door? There’s another one over there.”. He points at the curtains, many people forgot about that door when they hid it beneath the frilly curtains. That’s how he’d escaped their boring graduation.

Mera frowns, “There’s another door?” Her words come out muffled due to the food in her mouth.

“Close your mouth a bit Mera, some food is flying out.” Teruhashi takes a break from dabbing her eyes with tissue to kindly remind Mera. Said girl turns around, stress clear on her face,

“Eating relaxes me!”.

“Relax differently then I—” Yumehara’s words are cut off by a low growl. Toritsuka’s blood turns cold.

“Did you guys hear that sound?” Nobody gets to answer, another growl reinforces the idea that they are going to get mauled to death by something. Sure, they could exit through the door Hairo just finished blocking but that doesn’t account for whatever they could run into outside.

The curtains ruffle, the thing behind it obviously struggling. Teruhashi pales more than Toritsuka thought humanly possible—and this is the perfect opportunity to be her knight in shining armor but any thought of approaching her ends when the curtains rip at the seams. It’s a… thing.

The thing is hunched over, frothing at the mouth. It’s jaws gnash with each passing second, Toritsuka should move, should leave before the thing tries to kill him but his legs refuse to move. Is this how he’s going to die, at the hands of an ugly zombie? Even though it’s a staircase and a few tables away from them, Toritsuka can see his life flash before his eyes. He hasn’t even gotten his first kiss and he’s going to perish in obscurity.

The zombie growls, its maw opening to show a deformed set of teeth. Mera sucks on a lollipop. Toritsuka says his goodbyes.

And in the moment where he’s supposed to die—Toritsuka doesn’t die. The zombie falls down. Toritsuka’s eyes widen in surprise, the zombie nothing more than an unmoving splatter on the floor.

“Are you alright?!” Toritsuka never thought he’d be happy to hear Kuboyasu’s voice but in this very moment he could sing praises for the other boy. Kuboyasu’s suit is skewered, and tinted in red – its probably blood, but Toritsuka isn’t willing to think about why.

“Yes, I’m fine – I was about to protect the ladies,” the withering glare Yumehara sends his way shuts him up.

“Toritsuka’s still alive?” The voice is annoyed, and immediately Toritsuka knows who it is.

“Saiki!” The pink haired male stands next to Kuboyasu, dark green suit surprisingly neat and tidy. His glasses are in immaculate condition unlike Kuboyasu’s blood stained pair. “Why would I be dead?” Toritsuka sputters indignantly, “I can keep myself alive just fine.”

“Ah? You said you were going to be sick when you came in—" Toritsuka frowns, glaring at Nendou. The idiot smiles in return, and it takes all Toritsuka’s willpower to not throw a chair at the goof.

Saiki walks down the stairs, a frown etched on his face and holy hell Toritsuka has never been so happy to see him in his life—

When the thing came in, and Saiki and Kuboyasu killed it almost instantly, it hit Toritsuka: Saiki and Kuboyasu must be the protagonists of whatever horror story Toritsuka’s got himself in, and everyone knows the protagonists are typically the best people to be around. Unless you’re a woman – then you’ll become the damsel in distress, and nobody wants to be a real-life damsel in distress.

The only path to survive is obviously to stick close to Saiki (Kuboyasu’s a muscular freak so that’s a no), and the best way to do that is to let Saiki know he’s dependable!

“Saiki, I love you so much!”

“No.” Saiki’s words are the nail in the coffin.

“But without you I’ll die!”

Mera turns to face him, a chicken wing in her mouth, “I don’t think this is the time for a confession, Toritsuka.”

#the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #toritsuka reita #kaidou shun #kuboyasu aren #zombie #zombie apocolypse au #soli's imagines

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yeoldontknow · 4 years

Text

Colour Show (M)

Author’s Note: happy birthday to my heaven and heart, the music in the dark, the light of the universe, the glow of the stars - park chanyeol. this fic has gone through 4 title changes, 6 iterations in word count length, two plot changes, and about two years of insecurity and uncertainty from me. this is just a word for the wise: dont ever give up on your WIPs. they will always have a home, even if you think theyre a lost cause <3 | this work is entirely an act of fiction. it features subjects which may be uncomfortable to read, including but not limited to: non-traditional and indecent sexual acts, sex in public spaces, and themes of voyeurism. please do not read this story if any of these themes make you uncomfortable or you are under the age of 18. Creative Content Contributor: @chillingkoo who made this utterly stunning banner for my birthday because she is an angel ;~; Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: smut; public sex; DJ!au; romance; au Summary: While out at a night club, the DJ catches your eye. He’s confident, enraptured by the music he creates, and glows beneath the lights. With your eyes on him, the world begins to fade. But little do you know, he has his eye on you, too. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; public sex acts; mentions of drug use; masturbation; fingering (female receiving); themes of voyeurism; dirty talk; unprotected sex; creampie; explicit language Word Count: 10.5K

Hours in, the only thing you can truly feel is the heat.

Against your skin, it presses - all consuming and overwhelming and aggressive in its effort of making a home of you. Inside and out, even against the malleable tissue of your lungs, it lingers, the sweat of your body stinging as it rolls down your arms and your neck. Bodies are pressed together, your body against other bodies, foreign and comfortingly unfamiliar, their closeness helping you reach transcendence.

For one night, these men and women are your lovers - you see them as such, even if the technicality of semantics means it is not true. Symmetrically and asymmetrically, it does not matter, so long as you can touch them, feel them press against your core, teasing. All that matters in this moment, skin to skin contact with endless, nameless faces, their own flesh making you feel wet with life. Hand to the wall, a gentle chill spreads across your fingers, refreshing and rejuvenating the movements of your limbs. This kind of breeze is vital between the joints of your knuckles, just as is the vodka that slowly dries on your lips.

Hugging your body against the concrete, you stand with your eyes closed and lips parted, tongue dragging along the flesh to fight back your thirst. Your hips grind in time with the beat, smearing your shape and essence into the paint - you imagine the wall is breathing, imagine your sweat leaves stains and it swallows them whole, hungry for the taste of you to linger on its tongue. Beneath your clothes, your skin is slick, glistening beneath the lights, the glitter from your cheeks dotting the paint to birth constellations of ecstasy.

With anxious fingers, you tug at the fabric of your dress, the sheerness of the skirt sticking to you like a second skin. It’s been dampened, either by sweat or stray drops of vodka, clinging to your flesh ceaselessly. Wrinkling your nose for a moment at the feel of it beneath your fingers, you continue to roll it up, exposing the length of your thigh, rustling it back and forth to cool you.

Coursing through your veins is an energy, a live wire that seems to have been torn from your nerves and moved to live inside your blood, plugging into your sternum to dictate the rhythm of your heart. It’s the music that does this, the music and its hypnotic beat. From your position against the wall, you eye the platform upon which the DJ works, a lonely god and the maker of it all.

Even from this distance you can see the tips of his ears peeking out from under the headphones, the flush at his cheeks swallowing every light whole and turning him into something radiant and gold. It’s foolish to want him, foolish to eye him as though you are possessive, have been granted permission to be so, as though he might want you, and as though he is somehow yours.

From the moment you entered the building, you felt the music within your pulse, hauntingly familiar and hauntingly mimetic. Something about the way he looked, something about the way he spun records, something about the way he seemed to exhale the sound, made you needy. When you saw him, you realized it was not the music but he himself who lived inside you.

He was the one who built this version of your spirit, with practiced hands and a smirk at the corner of his mouth. He was the one who rearranged all your soft pieces until you decided you wanted him, you needed him, and little other than your sensual destruction would suffice.

He was the one that made you crave a great undoing, and for this you were delighted.

Snaking a hand beneath the hem of your dress, you ground your feet into the floor and press harder against the wall, keening against it with reckless abandon. In this kind of all consuming dark, the music drips down and deep into your soul, sugary sweet and not unlike syrup, and you release a small whimper of pleasure as your fingers scratch against your thighs. Heavy bass rolls around you, decides to make a home of your ribs, and the vibration against all these fragile corners makes wetness pool between your legs.

Biting your lip, you turn and open your eyes to watch the DJ, watch the way his hands fervently make the world, powerful and paradoxically delicate. Everything about the noise of him is synthetic, records spinning with knobs and computers, and yet he remains the most authentic thing about the space.

Around you, people have made themselves into the shapes of people they wish they could be, that they would like to be. Tonight, they have made armor of tight clothes and painted lips, but he exists beyond their orbit. Black shirt and jeans, he’s simple, hiding in plain sight and making sure that he is noticed.

He makes sure he is wanted.

And you want him. Oh, do you want him.

Watching him feels like kissing candy, sweetness without the purity, and you drag your tongue across your lips once more as your hands tease the line of your underwear. Briefly, your lip curls to reveal your teeth, a threat of wanting to all who dare approach you, before they clamp down, cheeks twisting your expression into a pleasurable sneer.

You’re wet, soaked just from the sight of him, but you can see his hands from this angle and that makes it easy to pretend it’s his fingers that slip under and drag along your slit. It’s his fingers that seek your heat and learn you, know you, become a master of you.

Again, you whimper at the touch, smile impishly and keep watching him, glad your sighs are being swallowed by the music. No one can hear you, no one is even paying attention to you, and it makes you feel like this space belongs to you.

Like this, this space and this man are yours.

Across the room, atop the stage platform, Chanyeol watches your display in his peripheral as he works. Pursing his lips, his tongue laps eagerly on the lollipop sucked between his teeth, imagining the sweet wetness on his tongue is yours. It takes concentration not to let his gaze wander up your legs and thighs, to where he can see the dark outline of your hand. He’s drawn to it, to your center, starts to think of it as a golden ring of purpose, and lets the blood rush to his groin as he imagines his fingers joining yours.

Thoughts race through his mind at a speed he’s not used to experiencing outside of a high, the adrenaline rush of wet lips and wet fingers enough to make anyone feel drunk.

He wonders how wet you are, wonders if your fingers are slick already or if you’re merely teasing. He wonders if you’re high, if you’re only this brave because the molly or the angel dust have made you feel limitless or if this is just another Saturday for you. Are you used to being hungry for skin and flesh, or is this all his? Are you hungry, just like him, for something a little more? Something a little more alive?

He’s got a lot of questions, and he grits his teeth on the lollipop stick to keep himself focused.

At this distance, he can see the way the light plays on your hair and skin, the smooth expanse of your chest glistening and glowing. Part of him feels envious of how liberated you are, remembers how he too used to come to clubs to get fucked and get high until he decided to make a home of it. Now, the thrill has started to fade, wet women and coke covered teeth too common to really seem dangerous. Now, he works through it, totally sober and drunk only on the bass he makes himself, gets hard beneath the narcissism of it all and doesn’t feel ashamed.

And, if he’s honest, you’re the first exciting thing he’s seen in months.

It’s when you bite your lip that he finally lets himself smile, doesn’t care if the expression is a give away because you’re too lost with yourself to really notice. He’s sure your fingers are in deep, to the knuckle judging by the way your hand seems to disappear and your eyes fall closed. This is when he calls you a chameleon, thinks the way you subtly take on the shades of the lights is something unnatural, something bewitching, a power you keep locked within your core. Turning up the treble, twisting the knob with the same affection as he’d curl his finger inside of you, he decides you were made for this: for the dark, for the sweat, for the music, and, thus, you were made for him.

Lots of women have fit this role, but tonight the bill is yours.

You look good like this, wanting and waiting and fucking your hand. Still, he thinks you’d look better on top of him.

A hand claps him on the back, sending his body arching forward slightly, though it does not interrupt his rhythm. Mostly, he finds he is upset he has been interrupted in his astute observation of your display, irritated that he has to look away.

‘It’s two, mate,’ a gruff voice shouts, pulling one of his headphones off. ‘My turn.’

Chanyeol simply nods, let’s the beat run and closes his laptop so Joel can take over. He doesn’t bother to pack up his things, knows his manager will take care of it, knows that his manager is probably used to this behavior - the detachment that follows him from one club to the next, and the way he seems to find himself a warm, pliant body the moment he steps off stage. He does not dwell on how his manager feels about this, about the bodies and the bumps of blow that seemingly line his bedroom, and he does not particularly care. Tonight, all he cares about is the warm flush on your chest and the way your body arches in time with the music.

Tonight, all he thinks about is how it will feel to have the whole length of his cock buried inside you, and little else.

Chanyeol takes his time approaching you, slows his steps and orbits around you like a lonely, hungry moon. Tucking the lollipop into the side of his cheek, he shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the opposite wall, having his fill while filling himself with thoughts. You appear to be his age, wearing the number like a badge of honour in the corner of your eye; old enough to be in command of your body, in command and beautifully aware, but still young enough to get off on the risk.

Greedily, his tongue swirls around the lollipop, lapping at the flavor with vigor, and he imagines his tongue pressed between your folds, sucking at you with the same intensity. With your head thrown back, your fingers probe at your center, doing what his tongue does not, ass pressing back against the wall in an almost violent swivel before you run a hand through your hair. Your fingertips hit someplace deep inside, some unfathomable depth buried in the center of your core, and your lips pull into an ecstatic smile, laugh swallowed whole by the roll of bass and the timbre of an electronic drum.

At the sight of you in pleasure, he feels lonely, a heady need taking over, creeping down his spine and pushing his shoulders back. He’s used to this, used to the way desire puts tension in his neck and makes the base of his spine start to ache. To prying eyes, hollow eyes that move over him slowly through the haze of cocaine, he’s animalistic in his advances towards you, but to him, he’s simply under your spell. There’s a strength and purpose to his steps he usually forgoes for a casual grin and an impish glint in his eyes, but then, he assumes, you’re different if only because you’re bold - if only you ignite in front of him like a match.

The lollipop falls slightly from his lips as he watches you pull your hand away from your core to smell your fingers. Lips parted with wanting he watches you, tongue wet and mind filled with visions of sucking at your clit with the fullness of his lips. Coloured lights move over the slick shimmer of your fingers, and he imagines you to be sugar sweet and bitter at the root.

Chanyeol doesn’t hasten his steps, rather he takes his time moving towards you, waiting to see if you’ll taste yourself for him. He expects that you will, is delighted when you do, and knows that he will likely taste just as good to you.

He bites down on the lollipop, chewing the candy as he tosses the stick to the floor. The lollipop dissolves, but it’s sweetness remains.

Acutely aware that you are being watched, the delicate hairs on your arm stand on end at the feeling of a body approaching, thick lidded eyes opening only slightly to see the tall shadow of a man come into view. You don’t pause for him - if you’re being removed from the premises, you at least want to come before you leave. But the stranger doesn’t speak, just looms over you with a lopsided grin, one that is neither accusatory nor satisfied, simply luxuriating in your show.

Recognizing his ears in the dim glimmer of the lights, you smirk, silently pleased that you have become a magnet, that you have somehow lured him from the pedestal your desire, and your pussy, placed him on. Drawn to one another, you angle yourself towards him, an open display of interest. Cocking your head to the side, you smile, but do not stop the motion of your fingers. You want to make sure he sees.

Somewhere in the distant haze of your kind, you wonder if he’s drugged, high on something other than music or blow, something hard enough to make his posture so sure and confident. It doesn’t take long before you realize he’s simply drunk on lust, much like you. There’s no bloodshot tint to his eyes, no lazy gaze that wanders from one warm body to the next. Even with his dilated pupils, you know he’s been blown wide open by longing, by a hardness at his center his jeans that begs to be touched.

‘I could see you all the way up there,’ he comments, gesturing vaguely towards the stage, though his gaze on you does not waver.

You smile, impish and glorified. ‘Good.’ He smiles back, welcomed by this response. ‘I wanted you to.’

He steps closer, aware now that your focus on him is a mirror of his focus on you, consensual, open, and welcoming. The lights from the club highlight his features, cutting mercurial shapes as they nestle beneath his cheekbones, but even in the dim lighting you can see him clearly. The glaze in his focus is neither empty nor wired, simply hungry, trapped in a state of perpetual craving, and you like the way the slick feel of it makes your skin feel like gold. You like this feeling, the way his eyes mean to unmake you, as though he is peeling back your skin to live inside your ribs.

You like this feeling, find that it turns you into a kind of phoenix, and so when he stands fully in front of you, illuminated and combating the shadows, tall and just as hot to the touch as you, you let your hands settle at his hips, cocking your head to the side coquettishly. In kind, his hands move to yours, swaying idly, assuming you mean to dance with him. He’s being polite, and you wish he would tighten his grip, let his fingers press bruises into the flesh with intent, but you remind yourself not to rush.

So often, you spoil the moment with your natural prosperity for impatience.

Still, the motion and movement of his hips is invigorating, encouraging in its closeness. Strengthening your grip, you press against him, grinding into him, slow and unblinking. On contact, he lowers his head, and you take this as an invitation, letting your lips fall to his ear, breathing hot and wet against the shell.

‘I liked your show,’ you murmur, hoping your voice carries above the heavy drum and bass, reaching right down to pull at the intimate pieces of him. ‘You made the beat sound alive.’

Tilting his head to the side, his lips and nose graze along your temple as he speaks, a heady combination of amusement and surprise lacing through his words. ‘I could say the same to you,’ he teases. ‘I’m surprised you were listening.’

The low rumble of his voice catches you slightly off guard, deeper and richer than you would have imagined it to be, powerful in a way that commands your attention. It drips, not unlike chocolate and honey, down your tongue, making a home in the center of your ribs, the warmth of it settling in your belly and making your thighs clench around nothing. You feel your breath hitch, lungs constricting at the gravel in the underbelly of his tone, the thickness and the vibration resonating suddenly making you feel parched.

‘I felt it,’ you say, curling your lips into a pout that gently touches the lobe of his ear. ‘Isn’t that more important?’

It’s an honest statement, one that makes him start without pulling away completely. Instead, his grip on your hips tightens, drawing flush against his groin, keeping you in place. Something about your words had an effect on him, enough for him to mumble a small growl of possessive vulnerability. This close, you can smell him, the music of his cologne delicately kissing the crevices of your tongue. Over time and through the night, it’s mixed with the natural scent of his sweat, enough to briefly make you lightheaded by the force of it, moaning at the intensity.

Pieces of you ache as you pull back slightly, regarding him with heavy lidded eyes; pieces that long to be touched and long to be near him, his mere presence making the air feel thick. Beneath his skin, you imagine the blood moving in his veins like wildfire, exhilarated by your words. It fascinates the way you don’t just merely see the corner of his mouth turn upward, devilish and playful in its slow reveal of his desires, but you feel it. All over you, you feel it.

The heat of his smile walks down your spine, building a wetness between your folds that makes you bit your lip. His own gaze wanders over your skin, over your cheeks, down your neck and shoulders, to where his hands linger at your hips. Matching his smile, coy and coquettish, the knowledge his gaze as lowered, as best it can, to the curve of your ass beneath the hem of your dress makes you feel emboldened. And so you grind against him, slowly, handling your hips to rub over the hardened bulge beneath his jeans.

Licking his lips in approval, a tight moan rumbling through his sternum like thunder, he lets his eyes wander back up to yours, lingering momentarily to admire the plump fullness of your lips.

Moving one hand from your hip, he comes to cup your cheek, easing your head to the side with a gentle and careful touch. It’s his turn to offer delicate attention to your ear, the touch of his lips barely there, whispers on the wind of primal desire. When his lips move, the softness of the skin sends shivers down your nerves, the strong, confident diction in his voice an erotic experience of its own.

‘There’s a lot I can make you feel,’ he breathes, hot and heavy and smirking at the way you seem to bend beneath his touch, malleable.

Proving that he means it, that he means everything he says, he pulls back just enough to keep his gaze trained on yours, serious and heated. As though waiting for your denial, he inches closer still, pressing a knee between your legs to part them. The tease of feeling him between your thighs forces a sigh from your lips, and he smiles, knowing. Leaning to drag his nose along the slope of your neck, the even exhale of his breath cascades down your spine and into your core, making your walls clench in arousal.

You don’t hide the way this makes you laugh, the sound loud enough to be heard over the drum and bass. ‘You’re terrible at pick up lines.’

It’s a half-hearted comment, a truth nestled between a lie. Yes, he is terrible at pick up lines, but he is exquisite in execution.

Unfazed by your teasing comment, he joins you in laughter, the deep richness making you terribly aware of the wetness between your thighs. ‘Most of the time, people can’t hear them. They just want to be handled.’

He hangs onto handled as if the word itself is a tactile experience, a physical contact that makes the world around you bend. It seems unfair he should hold so much of you, so much and so tightly, and so you glide your hands along the waistband of his jeans, toying with the hem of his shirt.

tilting your head just enough to let your lips graze his ear, you scratch your nails into the soft skin that lingers beyond his belt. It's soft, warm, supple, the sweetness of a man so unlike the way his hands clutch at your body. He whimpers slightly at the contact, lips parting to release a small, barely there sigh. Smiling to yourself, you continue your ministrations, hoping this will entice him enough to handle you.

Forming your lips into a pout, kissing at his ear as you speak, you whisper, ‘Then why are you taking your time?’

A dark chuckle rolls through his chest, his grip tightening possessively.

‘Because you’ve been greedy,’ he states, leaning back to regard you with a dark, hungry stare.

Stepping forward until you are pressed flush between him and the wall, he considers you, gaze dominant and commanding. With slow, teasing rolls of his hips, he guides the hardness of his erection into your mound. Eyes on your skin, he watches the flush of desire that blooms across your chest as he does this, mesmerized by the way it smears itself across your neck, contagious enough to make your skin burn hot. Something about his gaze pierces you, makes the nerves along your skin feel sensitive, stimulated to the edge of a precipice and lingering on anticipation.

‘And I’m selfish,' he finishes. 'I want to feel you first.’

He guides his hand between your bodies, the base of his palm massaging deftly at your core. With the sudden direct pressure, your hips roll up into his hand, a current of electricity wandering down into the base of your spine. Naturally, your legs part wide, feet sliding across the floor just enough to make room for him where you want him most.

‘Can I touch you?’ he mumbles, cocking his head to the side as he watches pleasure morph your expression. The force of his palm increases, echoing his sentiment of how badly he wishes to feel you first. 'Can I feel all of you, on the inside?'

Anyone else, anyone less magnetic or compelling as him, and you imagine you would have laughed at the turn of phrase. On a boy, such questions of permission would have made you laugh, aware that you were dealing with someone who did not know how to read a woman. On him, his politeness and quest for permission feels liberating, placing you in a position of control - leading your pleasure with the power you deserve.

Nodding, unable to form words, you simply hum, whining at the loss of his hand, lonely and needy for his touch. He keeps his eyes on yours as he lifts his hand to his mouth, sliding two fingers inside, all the way to the knuckle. Not once does he blink, hollowing his cheeks, gaze heated, as he sucks and sucks, gaze piercing. The sight of his lips, pulled down to a soft, full pout, mixed with the anticipation of the strong bone of his fingers, puts a wetness at your core that makes you feel as though you are dripping with eagerness for his touch. Hot to the touch and feeling volatile, you arch your back against, lifting slightly from the wall to let your breasts press against his chest.

Smirking at your impatience, he pulls his fingers from his mouth and eases his hand beneath your dress. With his thumb, he guides the waistband of your underwear to the side, teeth coming to bite his lip on contact and feeling how wet you are - how wet you made yourself for him during the course of his set, and how wet he will soon make you, teasing your folds apart to make room for his hand. Leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, he guides his middle finger into your core, one long stroke against your walls that has you gasping.

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him and ensuring you are caught beneath the umbrella of his warmth, stimulated and aware, now, by and of nothing but him. His finger continues its slow, deep caress, and you roll your hips into him, the solidness of his finger a bliss you had craved from the moment you saw him perform. Reaching your own arm between your bodies, you cup your hand and rub the base of your palm over the erection trapped beneath his jeans. Growling, he tilts his hand just enough to let his thumb press a slow circle against your clit, appreciative and teasing.

‘Tell me your name,' he whispers, the roll of his voice a live current that cascades down your neck.

Consumed and swallowed by him, you smile. ‘Y/N.’

Your name is a gasp on your lips of pleasure, his thumb pressing at your clit in time with the thrust of his finger. Clutching him a little tighter, you roll against him once more, desperate for the fullness of his touch.

Almost sweetly, he returns your smile, though the seduction of his intent nestles aptly between his words. ‘Isn’t it nice hearing the sound of your own name like that?’

‘Tell me yours,' you mumble, tongue rolling across your lip to moisten the flesh.

Distracted, his eyes trace the motion of your tongue and offering you the brief delight of witnessing the thickness of his eyelashes as red and blue lights swirl overhead. ‘Didn’t you see the show?’

Chuckling at the almost innocent egoism of the sentence, you make to speak before he curls his finger in your core, hitting a new angle that steals your breath. Furrowing your brow, you lick your lips once more, gathering the strength and focus to speak. ‘People don’t come to clubs for the DJ.’

He smirks at your coy teasing, presses his thumb against your clit in a firm circle while his index finger comes to settle between your folds, his fingers making a light v shape.

'Funny,' he mumbles, alluding to the obvious pun but does not say it. Instead, his focus settles on your features as he thrusts both fingers inside you, your moans coming in light bursts. 'My name is Chanyeol,' he clarifies. 'Do you want me to take you home?'

Biting your lip, cup his erection beneath your palm, pressing in time with his thrusts into your folds. ‘Are you a shy boy?’ you question, teasing though not altogether sincere. A pink flush rushes to the tip of his ear, and you pull your hand from his groin to let the tips of your finger gently caress the tip.

On contact, his eyes flutter shut, lips parting on a sigh. ‘Not really,’ he manages, eyes opening once more fixing you with an impassioned stare. ‘Do you want me to fuck you here?’

His free hand moves from your waist, knees bending to pin you against the wall, as he rests his hand against your throat. Like this, he tests your boundaries, watches you with an erotic, eager fascination as you bend and give over entirely to him, your walls starting to clench around his fingers, willing him to remain inside.

Feeling your skin flare and your gaze darken, possessive and possessed, you swallow thickly. ‘I want you to fuck me.’

Leaning down, Chanyeol captures your lips with a wet, light kiss, his tongue escaping behind the kiss to lap sweetly at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to let his breath tickle your cheeks. ‘Do you want everyone to see?’

The sugar from his kisses settle between the thin crevices of your lips, your tongue flicking out to gather them.

‘You’re used to being seen,' you counter breathlessly.

You grind into his fingers hands coming to grip at his shoulder blades as you feel your orgasm start to settle at the base of your spine, the coil in your belly threatening to tighten behind the fire he has put into your blood.

Humming in agreement, he adds a third finger, slipping inside you with ease, your wetness coating his palm. ‘Are you?’

Shivering and stimulated by the size and thickness of his strong fingers, you simply nod, clutching to him as your grind into him, desperate. Taking this as a sign of your oncoming orgasm, Chanyeol increases the pace of his thrusts, his thumb tapping at your clit in time with his fingers, forgiving and almost apologetic for keeping you on edge for so long. With the new, invigorated force of his thrusts, your moans come louder, his hand lingering softly at your throat as he bends down to swallow your sounds, kissing your lips deftly and with a deep intensity that provides encouragement.

Around his fingers, your walls clench, thighs tightening as your heart begins to battle against your chest, the burn of your orgasm making your thighs and legs sting with the effort of keeping upright. Sensing this, Chanyeol removes his hand and replaces it at your waist, his hold strong and comforting. Held tightly against him, his breath all over your skin, his fingers curling at your core, knuckles gliding roughly at your walls, the thickness of this penetration, you find yourself consumed by him.

Your head rolls onto his shoulder, wet gasps of breath panting into the skin, stimulated and driven to an edge of pleasure that makes your muscles ache.

'I'm -' you gasp. 'I'm going to come.'

The clenching of your walls comes without your control, the intensity of the pleasure unmaking your semblance of reality as he thrusts and thrusts his hand into you, a promise of something larger, thicker, and heavier.

Gently, he eases your head back, and you whimper, eyes squeezed closed as you rest against the wall, readying to let your orgasm take you.

'Eyes on me,' he commands, voice rough. The thunder clap of his words as your eyes opening, vision blurred by pleasure. He smiles. 'Eyes on me when you come.'

The heavy arousal on his voice is what sends you over the edge, your brow furrowing as you choke on a gasp from the force of it. The lights of the club paint his features into kaleidoscope of pleasure, his smile the focal point as sound drowns and the rush of your blood fills your ears. Shuddering, the waves of pleasure course through your muscles, walls clenching tightly around his fingers, the shudder of pleasure rattling your bones until your feel weightless, burned into nothingness by the force and prowess of his touch. Your back arches forward, sending your chest into his, still as you keep your gaze on his, seeing without seeing, the world little more than smears of ecstasy.

Chanyeol holds you tightly, clings to you - the only tangible form your nerves can discern. His grip on you is reassuring and unwavering, keeping you secure against him and the wall as your limbs struggle to regain their strength. Your walls continue to clench around his hand, the aftershocks of your orgasm still igniting along your skin.

'Beautiful,' he whispers, tucking your head against his shoulder and mumbling into your hair. 'I knew it would be beautiful.'

You cling to him, the air in your lungs little more than a burning ache as you struggle to catch your breath. Against his strong frame, your mind swirls with the tactile feel of him, the smell of his cologne clouding your senses until your world is comprised of nothing but him. Anchoring you against him, you feel safe, comforted, his fingers stilled inside you, ensuring you remain tethered to him.

He's careful as he pulls them out, delicate and fast enough that he does not cause you pain. The affection of this action catches you off guard, makes you nuzzle into his neck, your feet feeling the earth return once more as your bones reform beneath your skin. Not once does he relinquish his grip on you, almost greedy with his touch and holding you close until the strength in your hands returns, pressing into the muscles of his back and shoulders.

Slowly, the world recreates itself around you both. The heavy bass from the speakers, Chanyeol's breaths against your skin, the throng of people as they talk, yell, dance, clink glasses, the world a cacophonous resonance beyond his arms.

'Better?' he asks, kissing against your hair as he speaks. 'Can you stand?'

Nodding, you pull back from him, breathing heavily and feeling dazed. The smile on your lips makes your cheeks hurt, painful in the way it seems locked in place, and you’re unsure how long it has been pulling at the skin.

For a moment, you simply regard one another, Chanyeol flushed and warm, looking pink and heated even under the purple and blue lighting that hits him. He, too, breathes heavily, lifting the hand that had been inside you to his mouth, sucking the fingers once more. Eyes falling closed, he moans at the tastes, hollowing his cheeks to suck them clean. The sight of him pools new wetness between your thighs, whimpering at how sensitive yet needy you are.

When he pulls his fingers from his lips, he keeps his gaze on yours, heavy lidded and pupils dilated to a blackness that makes your breath hitch. Slowly, he drops to his knees, delicately grazing his fingers up the outside of your legs. Falling back against the wall, his barely there touches make you bite your lip, gazing down your body to him as he watches you with intent. His hands find the band of your underwear, thumbs dragging along the skin of your hips and making you tremble. Gripping the band, he guides them down your legs, nudging at your ankles to ease you out of them.

Licking your lips, you watch as he rises to a stand once more, his own mouth parted. For a brief moment, you see him not unlike a kitten, someone who has been so close to the strong scent of desire, they've opened their mouth just enough to swallow it whole. Bunching the cotton into a ball, he places it in his pocket, and cocks his head to the side, waiting, perhaps, for your words of protest.

It's a possessive thing to do, an action no one has ever done with you before, and while you aren't entirely certain what to make of it, you admit you are relieved the soaked fabric has been removed from your core. The light breezes that makes its way up your skit is refreshing, liberating, and, for this, you are grateful.

‘Come home with me.’

This, you realize, is not a question. Chanyeol keeps his eyes on you as he speaks, asking to be polite, just like always, but, this time, knowing that you will follow. Wordlessly, you regard him, eyes glassy and feeling yourself still drifting into the world that he has built, just for you. Reality clashes with the universe he has made, a universe of light and bliss and pleasure; a world that smells of wanting and delivers ecstasy, while the world as you know it lingers outside - beyond your reach.

Cold, is how you have come to see it, now. Empty of wonder without his hands to pull it from your bones.

‘I told you I’m selfish,' he continues when you offer him no reply. ‘I want all of you, and I want to be the only one who sees.’

It does not go unnoticed by you that, for two people so enraptured and aroused by sound, music, and sight, the drive to his house is altogether eerily quiet. But this, of course, does not mean the longing has dissipated.

Confined in the limited space of his car, the world seems to narrows, arousal and longing seeming to seep from the pores of your skin. The leather of the seat, initially, was cool to the touch, but the heat of your body has warmed it, made the flesh of your thighs feel moist with wanting. Your legs remain spread on the seat, aware that your wetness will drip onto the fabric, wanting him to miss you and smell you long after you have departed.

Chanyeol grips the wheel with a white knuckled determination, eyes trained on the road as you keep your eyes trained on him. Even over distance and time, the fullness of his erection has not reduced. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the road while your eyes study the tent in his jeans, wanting to feel the thick, veined heat of his cock pressed against your tongue, mouth and soul full of him. You wonder how he would feel, just as forceful and commanding as his hands; how he would sound, your shy and sweet boy, vocal and loud and yours, begging for release.

‘I can feel your eyes on me,' he announces, words clipped and voice thick, full of a gravel that makes him rasp.

At the sound, your walls clench around nothing, the ghost of the memory of his hand returning once more, aching for his cock, his tongue, his essence, to fill you. He, too, has parted his legs wide, making room for the heaviness of his cock and balls, uncomfortable while remaining steadfast in his urgency to get home.

‘Do you like it?’ you ask, enunciating the syllables of your words, ensuring he hears the wetness you hold in your mouth, reminding him the wetness you carry between your legs.

Almost imperceptibly, he nods, swallowing thickly as your eyes trace the motion of his Adam's Apple. ‘You’re making me so fucking hard.’

Impish and almost cruel, you spread your legs wider, knowing he will see the motion from the corner of his eyes. Legs spread, you lift the hem of your dress to reveal the fullness of your core, leaning back into the seat with a prideful grin.

‘God, I can fucking smell your cunt,' he mumbles, eraser ting his grip on the wheel to keep himself composed.

Cocking your head to the side, you let your hand fall between your legs, running your left index finger over your folds, gathering the wetness. Chanyeol's shoulders tense, aware of this motion, a grin of gleeful pride tugging at your cheeks as you lightly gather more. Carefully, you reach over, letting your finger glide along his bottom lip, smearing your juices over the skin.

A hungry growl rumbles through his chest, his tongue coming to lick at your fingers he sucks it into his mouth. The wet muscle laps circles over your finger, pulling a light, breathy moan from you as he licks it clean. When he releases it, your hand falls to your side, muscles feeling limp.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers, words drenched with lust, the full force of your wetness on his lips making him breathless. ‘The smell and taste of you is going to drive me crazy.’

A fire blossoms in the pit of your stomach, grounding you in the iron core of his words. It’s rare for you to want someone this way - enough to go home with them, enough to let the pleasure extend beyond a single moment of your own pleasure, enough to want to feel more of him. But it seems fair, you think, the resolute notion that he made you this way, used sound and vision to move you in a perpetual state of cosmic need.

He did this, and it’s only right that he finish it.

The stairs to his flat are crooked, framed by a dimly lit hallway where the shadows on the walls are impossibly tall, lingering seductively on the paint. You’re sure you’re making noise as you climb, awkward and fumbling against his body as you hold him or he holds you, or perhaps you hold each other, soaked and stained now with the essence of one another, and blended into one cosmic whole. You’re sure you are loud but you do not hear your footsteps, ears ringing from the sound of the music and the sound of his hot breath.

Chanyeol trips on the last step, both of you laughing at a level neither of you can discern but you watch the way his chest heaves as he laughs, watch the way his cheeks turn pink and feel yourself begin to float. Outside, dawn is kissing the sky, painting it gold and blue, but inside, against his door, Chanyeol paints the world in a kaleidoscopic myriad of beauty. It reverberates along your skin, vibrating down to your core and making your thighs clench with wanting. Like this, he is a bright spot, a sun trapped against the frail magic of bones, and the risk of being burned by his hot hands does not outweigh the burn of his tongue against yours.

The peephole for 6B is rusted, the wood tarnishing from age and neglect, but his door has been painted black, and even in your stupor you fight to suppress a laugh, recognizing his Rolling Stones reference.

This is usually where people apologize or make excuses - for the state of their flat, for the unexpected arrival of you in their lives; the implication that they always assumed they’d be lonely and longing, all of these things a lie but somehow reassuring in their simplicity. Excited, and therefore encouraging. But Chanyeol doesn’t apologize. You’re aware that he does not need to, that he wears your juices on his lips and fingers, yet you imagine that he doesn’t ever.

Chanyeol operates outside of expectation, and therefore likely never apologizes for the state he is in when he receives pleasure.

Upon entry, you are acutely aware that the flat is small, a studio, and it strikes you that this space could barely contain him. It's small, small enough that you cannot fathom the breadth and reach of him would have room here, the full length of his wingspan likely larger than the square footage of the space, but he turns you, pulls you to his chest and steals your lips in a hungry kiss, silencing any further thought in your mind. Languidly, he moves his mouth over yours, cupping your cheeks with hot hands, a fervor that makes his skin hot. In kind, you wrap your arms around his neck, fisting your hand in his hair, rough and hard and needy.

He’s gentle in the way he walks you backwards, does not move his lips from yours, simply moans over your tongue as he wastes no time in guiding you to the mattress and box spring in the back corner. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, his hands move to your hips, pulling you firmly against him, the hardness of his erection pressing into your belly. Even through the fabric of your dress, the heat from his fingers radiates onto and into you, spreading like a fever through your blood. Chest flushed and tight, mind fogged and consumed by the flavor of his tongue as it glides over yours.

The backs of your calves bump against the mattress, staggering you into him just enough for the kiss to break, both of your sighing in discontent. Your vision blurs at the edges while Chanyeol regards you with half lidded eyes, lips pink and swollen. Arousal pools between your folds, dripping over to smear your thighs at the sight of him, trapped in a blissful state of arousal, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. His tongue comes to run across his lips, breathless in the effort of learning to breathe without your mouth on his, and you lean forward, capturing the pink muscle with your lips to offer a brief, gentle suck before pulling away.

Chanyeol raises himself to his full height, and for a moment you find yourself overcome, awed by the length and the power that is carried in the steel of his spine. He’s strong, rigid, and so impossibly soft - warm to the touch yet immalleable beneath your hands, the muscles in his arms and back solid enough for you to consider him your anchor in a storm. Emboldened, he lifts his hands from your hips and grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it over head. Eyes on yours, gaze unwavering, he drops the shirt to the floor, the red smears of desire burning beneath his skin. And, just as slowly, he moves his hands to the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with a hungry, euphoric stare.

You follow suit,fingers guiding the hem of your dress lightly over your thighs, revealing more and more of yourself to him, a thrill of provocative seduction racing over your synapses as you watch him swallow thickly, captivated by the slow reveal of your skin.

‘This is unfair,’ you murmur, whispering your dress just over your core, delaying the pull of the fabric overhead. ‘I’m wearing so much less than you.’

Chanyeol laughs, a deep rumble that would go unnoticed if your attention had not been entirely tuned to him. Rolling back his shoulders, he cocks his head to the side, considering your words and the state of you - already missing underwear, wet enough to want and need him again - guiding your shoes off with a smile.

‘The shoes count, right?’

You keep your voice innocent, soft and sweet and so unlike. you, a game that you have learned to play and know that he will continue willingly, if only because he has already felt you come around his fingers, unafraid of being witnessed and found.

‘Of course they do,’ he replies with a slight nod, his own voice a gentle caress that raises gooseflesh along your skin. ‘But you didn’t give me a chance to catch up.’

With that, he thumbs his zipper down and flays the jeans open, your gaze dropping to the muscles that lightly carve his hips and the soft patch of hair that leads down below his briefs. Mouth running dry, the muscles in your thighs tighten, body parched and starved for the graze of your teeth over his skin. Your grip around your dress tightens as he eases his jeans down his legs, your focus torn between the erection that springs to full attention and the length of his legs, strong and powerful, hands already imagining the feel his ass beneath your palm.

Chanyeol steps out of his jeans, kicking off his own shoes in the process, thumbing the band of his briefs as he regards you, lips falling into an expectant pout.

‘I believe it’s your turn.’

Running your tongue over your teeth, you smile, eyes locked on the fire that lingers in his gaze, pulling the dress over head. He hisses at the sight of you, no underwear and the lace of your bra sheer enough for the delicate circles of your nipples to be seen. Slipping his hand beneath his briefs, he nods in encouragement, gripping his cock and easing it over his length, pumping himself as he watches. Emboldened and unshy, you let your dress fall to your feet, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

You’ve done this before - countless times with men and boys and people who never really understood how to handle you. But something about Chanyeol’s possessive, unwavering stare makes you feel comforted, secure, empowered. He pumps his cock slowly, admiring you with a focus that speaks of learning, of witnessing the person before you, rather than rendering the curve and shape of their body to a mere tool of pleasure. With his eyes on you, the colours of the world seem to come into full focus, brightened by being the center of his attention.

Your spine straightens, desire laces itself around places you did not think to associate with wanting - your hips; your breasts, aching for the firmness of his touch; your neck, desperate to be held; the backs of your knees, imagining the gentleness of his caress as he wraps you around the sharp angles of his body. These new aspects of your warning and of your body restructure your perception of yourself, your womanhood. With Chanyeol’s eyes on you, you feel important, sacred, and you chuckle to yourself, a muted, almost reticent, sound he does not seem to notice, bemused that it is in the quiet, morning grey of his apartment that you should feel so alive.

As your bra joins your dress on the floor, he nods to the bed, hand still stroking his cock without urgency.

‘Get on the bed,’ he commands, gently. ‘Show me how you touch yourself.’

Again, something about this feels unfair, his words slithering through your ribs and into your core, still wet and tingling with the memory of his hand. ‘What about you?’

Almost too sweetly for an encounter such as this, he speaks, the weight of his words a contrast that pulls at your nerves. ‘I’ll get mine when I’m inside you.’

You’re aware the smile you offer him is lewd, wet lipped and tongue heavy as your body instinctively puts the sensation of his cock between your walls. Clenching around nothing, you moan at the thought, emboldened and enticed, finding yourself altogether too impatient to take your time.

Easing yourself back on the bad, you keep your eyes on him as you move, settling on the center of the mattress and spreading your legs wide. Resting on your elbows and cocking your head to the side, you let your left hand fall your core, the pads of your middle and index finger almost leisurely in the tender way they spread your wetness over your slip. Biting his lip at the sight, Chanyeol uses his free hand to guide his briefs down over his hips, pulling his cock free as he pumps himself, enticed by your display.

The sight of his hardened length makes you feel empty, hollow and hungry and restless, a keening whine escaping from the back of your throat as you slip your fingers between your folds, wanting something as solid as his cock to keep your satisfied. You take your time easing your fingers in and out, pressing your knuckles against your walls and spreading your folds apart for him to watch, and he matches your pace, running his thumb over the purpled head of his cock as he watches your core spread.

No one has ever asked this of you, asked to see the way you make yourself in pleasure and cared enough to remain poised in the act of witnessing. Neck red and ears burning, Chanyeol works at keeping his composure, and so to do your nails drag along the black cotton of his sheets, keeping yourself calm and keeping yourself from calling his name. No one has ever asked to learn you this way, not with such intensity, the glistening of precum on his tip enough to reassure you that he yearns for you, just as badly as you yearn for him.

Picking up your pace, you press the base of your palm against your clit, applying pressure without offering too much stimulation, wanting his hand, his fingers, his mouth to be the thing that bring you over the edge. Head rolling back, you feel your fingers get coated with more juices, imagining the way his mouth would feel at your neck, the way his breath would feel on your breasts. Biting your lip, your skin begins to feel taught, nerve endings starting to flare in anticipation of his biting kisses.

With the ringing of your ears beginning to dim, you hear the way he gasps between the slick sounds of your juices, his breath coming in uneven exhales and your own exhales pulling soft whimpers from the center of your core. Like this, his apartment becomes alive with both of you, the quiet loudness of these sounds enough for you to drown, your hips rolling into your hand, desperate to be full of something far longer than the delicate smallness of your fingers.

Without warning, the speed of his strokes increases in pace, his grip tightening as he watches the way your pleasure builds and builds at your core and along your neck, nipples hard and pink and painfully ignored. The threads of your orgasm pull at you, tightening within your thighs, your toes clenching and unclenching against his sheets as your own pace begins to increase. It remains distant and far off, a promise demanding to be kept, and you close your eyes, focusing on the erratic, electric shiver it offers you.

‘Stop,’ comes Chanyeol’s voice, tight enough to break.

When you look at him, he stands at the foot of his bed, hand off his cock though it remains beautifully hard, eyes full of lust. He crawls onto the bed, a prowl that has you staring him onward and into you, your legs instinctively widening to welcome him home. Wrapping each arm under your thighs, he pulls you to him, keeps his eyes on yours as he uses his nose to guide your hand away, lowering his face until he is close enough to press a kiss to the center of your slit.

It’s the only warning you have before his tongue glides into your core, the hot wetness of it tearing a moan from the marrow of your bones. His fingers tease slow circles at the sensitive skin of your groin, his tongue curling inside you and making sweat build at the base of your neck. Falling back on the bed, you feel your back arch as he hums against you, letting the low baritone of his voice vibrate into you, rattling loose a pained, needy cry that echoes off the walls. Pulling his tongue from your core, he removes one of his arms and eases two fingers inside you, stretching you wider than he had at the club, his lips wrapping around your clit at offering a powerful suck.

Crying out, your hand falls to his head, your hips rolling up to ride against his mouth messily, carding your fingers through his hair. The same way the dawn between to peek, gold and purple through the window beside the bed, so too does your orgasm, your hips feeling tight and your toes curling into the sheets once more. Your hand falls to your breast, massaging what you can, aching to be consumed and pressed and full, clenching around his fingers.

Feeling the force of your walls around his knuckles, he swiftly removes his fingers and lowers his mouth back, letting his tongue return to your core, drinking you down with an eagerness that makes you feel soaked. You’re dripping - with him and into him, thighs smeared and sheets stained - dissolving beneath the intensity he delivers to every choice he makes, this time your pleasure being his sole focus. His fingers press at your clit and you tremble, shaking and feeling yourself begin to be unmade. Somehow, he has learned your cosmology, learned its genetic make up and learned how to shatter it, his tongue and hand at your core enough to burn you to ash.

Feeling your orgasm build, no longer threads of a promise but the scorched tattoo of desire within your veins, you swallow thickly and gather your voice. ‘Cock,’ you announce, a whimper mixed with a moan.

Pulling back, Chanyeol stills his fingers and regards you, black eyed and wet lipped, licking you from his lips as he awaits further command. The sight of him, so consumed by you, painted by you, makes you gasp, a thirsty sound that makes you feel impossibly small.

‘Cock,’ you repeat. ‘I want you inside me. I want to come around you.’

Nodding, he swallows you down and moves up your body, nestling between your legs until his chest is pressed against yours. Breathing deep, he lets his hand caress your cheek before he tilts your head back against the pillow and captures your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue tracing the curved inside of your mouth, ensuring your taste yourself on his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you grind up into him, his cock trapped between you as you suck at his tongue, drinking what you can while your fingers etch their prints into the soft silk of his skin.

Reaching between you, he grips his cock and positions it at your entrance, tiling his head back enough to watch you with concern. Furrowing his brow, he runs the tip over your slit, a whimper of frustration splintering between your ribs, a pathetic sound that you don’t bother to hide. Chanyeol eases himself inside you, slowly, taking his time to make sure you feel the full length of him, allowing himself to fill you completely as he watches the way the pleasure of this stretch morphs and contorts your features.

Buried to the hilt, he remains there, keeping still and letting you adjust while he angles himself down, cupping your breast in his hand and sucking your nipple between his teeth. The sudden stimulation as you clenching around him, your eyes widening at the sudden eroticism of the action, and he releases the nub, his eyes squeezing shut.

‘Fuck,’ he chokes out. ‘You’re so tight, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to last.’

Smirking, you roll your hips upward, encouraging him to move, kept on edge for along you fear you may come apart on impact, clenching as you do so. Both of Chanyeol’s hands come to your hips, stilling your actions with a fierce stare that moves directly into your core, hot and severe and so desperately sensual.

‘Is that how you like it?’ he whispers, regarding you with an impish smile.

He does not wait for your reply, simply guides his hips back, pulling himself out before thrusting back into you in one swift motion. Choking out a moan, your fingers press into his skin, nails scratching hard enough to leave marks as he sets a brutal, unforgiving pace. Burying his face in your shoulder, he pours his moans into your skin, your own moans the shattered, broken gasps of intense pleasure, his piercing thrusts deep enough to send the mattress roughly back into the wall.

The smell and feel of him makes you feel dazed, your focus narrowing to only him - the wetness of his breath, the force of his thrusts, the press of his thumbs into your hips, enough to leave bruises that will leave you aching for him for days. Legs shaking, your eyes begin to water, your concept of reality starting to dissolve into nothing but the feel of him inside you, the almost painful way he drives himself into you, pleasure burning beneath your skin, mind numb with nothing but the desire to come.

Widening your legs to take him in deeper, you angle your head back and feel him press against your spot, mouth opening on a silent gasp. In this single moment of ecstasy, you watch the dawn fully break through his window, the first golden beams of morning light spilling over his skin, and for a moment, you feel as though you are fucking the sun, holding fire and gold and magic in your hands, eyes watering as tears of lust and love and pleasure build in your eyes.

‘Can I come in you?’ he asks, biting at your skin after he speaks, his thrusts unrelating in the pace they keep. ‘Can I come - I want to come inside you.’

His words smear into nothingness, reaching through the haze of your fogged mind, high and drunk and alive on the pleasure each snap of his hips delivers. The way he asks, the way he blooms, the way he knows how to keep you wired on nothing but him, for a moment you feel not unlike the moon learning how to collide with the stars, seeking their light.

Tightening your legs around his waist you nod furiously against his skin. ‘Come in me,’ you affirm, breathless and lost in space and time and pleasure. ‘Come in me.’

Once more, he moves his hands between your bodies, finding your clit with ease as he swirls his fingers in messy circles, tapping in patternless coordination. Gasping for breath, the universe blooms behind your eyes, your orgasm a colour show that brightens the sun, the dawn, the sky. Chanyeol comes alive beneath you, your thighs trembling as you feel wetness spill from you, smearing him and yourself, drenched by the force of your pleasure. Against his chest, you tremble, shattering by the force of his touch and his thrusts.

Inside you, Chanyeol spills, his thrusts shuddering with a violence that feels sinful, the heat of his come spilling into you, warming you, much like the beams of the sun in the morning haze. He moans as he comes, long and thunderous, a storm that breaks against your skin, cosmic and unyielding in its force. Your name echoes off your bones, off the clouds, into the distance as he thrusts and thrusts, slowing with each move of his hips until he stills inside you, panting for breath as you cling to him, feeling vulnerable and so impossibly alive.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, breathing with one another, stroking his hair as he kisses at your neck. Over time, your breaths align, breathing together in a unison that feels harmonious, musical in its cadences. Chanyeol softens inside you, mumbles a soft curse as he pulls out, rolling onto his back not before he pulls you to his chest, keeping the same even rhythm of your breath as you watch the day bleed and break, dawn turning into early morning much too soon for your liking.

Eyes feeling heavy, you feel yourself begin to doze when he inhales sharply, taking the opportunity to speak.

‘I’m gonna think about your face when you come for a week,’ he announces, still gazing up at the ceiling as his fingers stroke idly down his spine.

Smiling, you glance up at him, lifting your hand to trace along the hard edge of his jaw. ‘If you take my number, you won’t have to only think about it.’

Taking his turn to glance down at you, you smile at one another, letting the morning and the light carry you. And, in your hands, you hold the sun, the morning, and the music, the waves of the universe vibrating, lovingly, beneath your fingers.

#chanyeol smut #chanyeol x reader #exosnet #kpopwonderlandtag #exo smut #chanyeol romance #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol au #chanyeol fanfiction #chanyeol scenario #exo romance #exo au #exo scenario #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #park chanyeol #tw: public sex kink #tw: voyeurism #chanvember 2019!

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angstyaches · 4 years

Text

Song and Dance

Wow, this is the first emeto fic I’ve posted in a while. Please enjoy, and stand by for the next fic to see what’s going on with Charlie and Shayne.

CW: emeto, nausea, anxiety, conflict, blood

Swallow the World: The Ouija Board, Pt. 5

“I’m sorry, darling,” Felix said as he finally found his voice.

Elliott steered with one hand on top of the wheel, the other scrubbing absently at the stubble on his chin. His eyes were obscured with his sunglasses, since the sunset was almost directly ahead of them, and his gaze didn’t move from the road. He was clenching his lips down, but Felix could tell he was hiding lengthened fans under there. He never could seem to control them when he was worked up.

We could have played it off as a coincidence, even with Shayne there to recognise me, Elliott had growled when they were still at the park, though Felix had known if he wasn’t worried about the others overhearing, he would have been yelling. Felix had been too tense to say anything back there, his stomach sitting high in his throat as Elliott had scolded him.

I can’t believe you cracked so easily and told her. Everything’s got to be a big song-and-dance with you, doesn’t it? Another episode of the Felix show.

“Elli,” Felix whispered in the passenger seat now. He put a shaky hand on his boyfriend’s thigh, which he often did when they were driving on long, straight roads. “I said I’m –”

Elliott batted the hand away, and Felix sank back miserably in his seat. It felt horrible, not knowing if Elliott was even going to attempt to forgive him for running his mouth. It just felt wrong to let the sweet, oblivious Rin believe it was all a coincidence that she’d found a seller with a certified Ouija board so easily, when really the Aldridges had sought her out with it.

“If there’s trouble with Nancy and Ryan, I’ll make sure they know this was all my fault.”

“That’s not the point, Felix.”

Felix’s belly clenched at hearing Elliott use his full name. “What else is there?”

Elliott face tilted up towards the rear-view mirror, but Felix knew he wasn’t checking the road. He was checking on the three passengers in the back seat. The pretty, red-haired Rin and the blonde boy with the possession scar had been taking turns letting Shayne rest his head on their shoulders or laps. Felix had also noticed the two boys holding hands every time he’d looked back there.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Elliott said.

Felix bit his lip. He didn’t know if he could last until later. How much longer could he realistically sit here with this guilt? It felt like a physical thing, pressing on his lower windpipe, making his eyes sting and his heart race. After suffering from indigestion and feeling vaguely queasy all day, his stomach was extremely upset, worsening now that he started pay attention to it. Waves of nausea crawled up his chest, gurgling in the back of his throat and threatening to wrench open his jaw.

On any other occasion, Felix would have started kicking up a fuss straight away, begging Elliott to pull over as quickly as he could, shoving the door open before the car had even come to a complete stop. But the tension in his windpipe was keeping him quiet, keeping him low in his seat.

“Darling,” he said. “I feel sick.”

After a few seconds, he realised Elliott must not have heard him, because he didn’t hear the indicator being flicked, didn’t feel the car being directed off the road.

“Elli, I’m going to throw up,” Felix said, his voice only slightly louder than last time. He glanced up to see that Elliott had turned his head to look at him, but had already gone back to focusing on the road. His hand didn’t move towards the indicator.

Felix sank a little further forward in his seat, rubbing his belly gently in the hopes of settling it. He swallowed against a burp, not wanting to annoy his boyfriend any further, or alarm any of their guests in the back of the car.

Another episode of the Felix show –

He sat forward a little, resting his head against his hands, hoping it would centre him, but his head was spinning. What else had he done, exactly, to make Elliott this angry? Would his frail nerves and even frailer stomach really hold out long enough for him to get Elliott alone, to get him to explain his failure to him, to tell him how he could fix it?

Everything’s got to be a big song-and-dance with you, doesn’t it?

Felix’s belly tightened painfully as Elliott took a wide bend a little too fast, making him gag. If he was, indeed, a ridiculous drama queen who over-reacted, then this was his boy-who-cried-wolf moment, for sure.

He tucked his head even lower, chin towards his chest, as part of his sketchy roadside lunch came up with a gurgle. It crashed into his lap and stuck thickly on pale blue denim, run through with streaks of red from his lollipops. He cringed at the sight of it all soaking into his favourite skinny jeans, but it was better there than on the floor of Elliott’s car.

A tearless sob rattled him as he lifted his face to ask Elliott if he wouldn’t mind pulling over now, but before he could, he saw Elliott’s fingers flick the indicator on, heard the soft clicking of the light.

Felix held a hand over his mouth, waiting for Elliott to finish braking before undoing his seatbelt and opening the door. He closed it fully before walking five or six paces past the back of the car, tears blurring his vision, retching with his mouth wide open. He heaved several times onto the side of the road, spattering the tarmac with blood and Diet Coke and questionable sushi until his insides stopped shuddering. In the back of his mind, he miserably wondered if Elliott was going to come and check on him; he also wondered how he was going to clean his jeans off before getting back in the car.

When he heard a door open and close behind him, his heart lifted slightly, but he could instantly tell it wasn’t Elliott by the footfalls. Elliott’s were so distinct to him now, as distinct as his voice or his sonic call. His second preference would have been Rin, since she’d been so nice to him earlier.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the blonde boy, whose name Felix hadn’t exactly caught, lingering by the side of the car. Felix felt like he should say something, like sorry for making the car stop while they were trying to get their friend home.

Instead, he jumped in surprise as the blonde boy grabbed his own head with both hands and leaned forward. He retched loudly, and although nothing came out of his mouth, Felix could tell that that whatever was happening was painful.

“Oh, gosh, are you okay?” Felix choked out.

The boy nodded wordlessly, gave another dry retch, and extended one hand towards Felix. He was holding out a packet of tissues, and he flapped it a little impatiently, indicating for Felix to take it.

“Oh! Thank you,” Felix said as warmly as he could with his throat tied in a knot. He stepped a little closer to take the tissues. “That’s really nice – gosh, I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s –” The boy pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, frowning slightly. “It’s Charlie.”

“Hi, Charlie,” Felix said. He pulled out a tissue and started trying to mop the sick off his jeans. “Sorry if the puke is making you feel sick too. If you see any blood; I swear it came from a donor.”

“That’s good to know, actually, but it’s not that.” Charlie gave a weak laugh, running a hand across the side of his head. “I think I just needed some air.”

Felix scrubbed a tissue down one thigh. “Does – does he even care that I’m throwing up?”

“Oh, um… Elliott?” Charlie glanced back towards the car. “He sort of screamed into his hands and put his head on the steering wheel when you got out.”

Felix’s belly clenched again, and he took a break from cleaning his jeans to focus on not bursting into tears. Elliott had a lot of moods, but when he got in a mood where he simply did not want to deal with Felix, that was when Felix got scared. Elliott had been putting up with him for so long; was he finally fed up, ready to reject him?

He scrubbed at his jeans again, whimpering in distress, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do.

“I think you’ve done all you can here.”

Felix looked up at Charlie, wondering if he’d been reading his mind. “What?”

“Your poor Tommy Hilfiger’s.” Charlie grimaced, pointing towards Felix’s jeans. The scrubbing seemed to have gotten to the stage where everything that was going to come off had come off; the rest was already soaked into the pale denim.

“I’m afraid you might be right,” Felix said.

“I’ll get you something to change into when we get to my house,” Charlie offered. “We’re about the same size, though you might have to roll up the ends.”

Felix blinked in surprise, pulling out a fresh tissue to wipe his face down with. “Why are you being so nice? You might be in a lot of danger because of me.”

“Maybe.” Charlie’s face was a little sickly-looking. His smile seemed to be wound so tight, Felix thought it would snap right off. “But right now, all I care about is getting Shayne home, and I’m don’t think giving us a lift back was Elliott’s idea.”

Felix shook his head. Elliott had been very, very against it, in fact. Convincing him to do it anyway was probably one of the reasons he was so mad.

“Thank you, Felix,” Charlie said. “How do you feel? Your face is getting some colour back.”

Felix touched his cheeks self-consciously. He wasn’t exactly excited about getting back in the car with Elliott, but he’d already delayed their journey enough already. He wished he could work up the nerve to ask Charlie to swap seats with him, but he reckoned Charlie would want to stay near Shayne. Plus, Felix wouldn’t have felt right, forcing someone else to deal with Elliott in his current mood, especially when it was his fault.

He kept himself low as he got back into the passenger seat. As Charlie climbed into the back, Shayne peeled himself away from Rin and reached for him. Elliott’s knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel.

Felix jumped as he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He twisted around to see Rin holding out a little packet of mints. She smiled and shook a couple of the tiny white sweets as Felix lifted his palm.

“Thank you, Rin,” he whispered, blushing when she winked at him and sat back in her seat.

“Everyone good?” Elliott asked flatly, staring through the windscreen. This prompted a muted round of affirmative grunts and nods. Those were the last sounds before the last quiet twenty minutes of the journey, at least until Charlie sat forward to politely give Elliott directions to his house.

---

“Are you okay?”

Felix flinched. Charlie and Rin had gotten Shayne from the car to the front door with combined effort, and Charlie had told them to wait while he got Felix a change of clothes.

“Yep,” Felix said, staring at the dashboard. He rubbed at his neck and stared twirling his hair as he felt the weight of Elliott’s gaze on him. His heart jumped when he felt Elliott’s hand rest against his tummy. He sensed his boyfriend leaning over the gap between the seats, and he was fairly sure he knew what was coming.

“W-wait,” Felix mumbled, feeling his face flush. Elliott tugged on his chin, making him look up. “Darling, my mouth probably still tastes like –”

Felix’s eyes fell shut as Elliott’s lips brushed against his, pulling back with a soft pop.

“Just tastes like mint,” Elliott said.

Felix opened his eyes, the residual nausea in his belly melting into something soft and fluttery as he saw the worried look in Elliott’s eyes.

“Usually when you’re feeling sick you pretty much leap out of your seat. What happened?”

“You were so angry.” Felix swallowed. “I was trying to behave more like – more like someone –”

“Normal?” Elliott rubbed playfully at Felix’s belly. “I don’t want normal, Fee. I want you.”

Felix broke into a shy grin, turning his head to burp quietly as the gentle pressure on his stomach stirred it up.

“I thought we were on the same wavelength earlier, and then you went off-script,” Elliott said steadily, using his free hand to smooth some hair behind Felix’s ear. “It felt like a betrayal, and that’s why I was angry.”

“Elli, I’m sorry, I –”

“Buuut,” Elliott said, softly tracing his fingers across Felix’s stomach. “Now, I’m glad you weren’t on that wavelength with me. Because you did the right thing, Fee, like always. It’s stuff like that that made me fall in love with you.”

Felix smiled, squeezing Elliott’s leg. “You still want to keep me?”

Elliott’s gaze was intense and serious as he nodded. “I’m sorry if I made you doubt that for a second. ”

#felix #elliott #elliott and felix #my ocs #swallow the world #nausea #emeto #tw emeto #carsick #anxious sick #angst #charlie

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snezfics-n-shit · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 31: Halloween

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: [2001 Half] Gregory Edgeworth, Raymond Shields / [2021 Half] Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Trucy Wright

Notes: Two Halloweens, Two Defense Attorneys, Two Decades Apart. Last day so we’re going to town. Two whumps for the price of one! In the first half, you’ll find some Gregory content. For the second, you’ll see everyone’s favorite disbarred hobo dad. It really is Real DILF Hours this fine Halloween.

--October 31, 2001--

“Thank you again, Mrs. Wright. You kids have fun!” Gregory watched the group of trick-or-treaters go on their way. It felt almost like a dream to know his son was in that group, trick-or-treating with real friends. For past Halloweens, Gregory and Miles would stay in and read something together until deciding to watch It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown together before usually falling asleep on the couch. While he was more than proud of his son making friends, Gregory felt a little sad when his son told him he would be out.

It was only when Gregory woke up the morning before with a persistent tickle in his throat that he was actually grateful to be the only one at home for the holiday, for at least a few hours. For a moment, he assumed it was simply the doing of Fall allergies, and perhaps some of it was, but the steadily rising feeling of malaise started to tip him off. By the time he was seeing his son off with his group of friends, he was more than ready to turn in for the night at 6:30PM.

Gregory closed the door slowly so he could triple check that the group was traveling safely. Despite having kept a close eye out on his surroundings, he failed to notice a familiar face approaching his home. He thought he could easily resign himself to some cold medicine and an early night until he heard the turning of a doorknob.

“Miles? Is that you?” He called as far as his hoarse voice could reach.

“No, it’s me, Mr. Edgeworth!” Ray twirled a keychain around and bit into a chocolate bar. “You gave me your spare key, remember? When I helped you bring in that big bag of dog food? Or was it when you had shingles? I forget.”

“Neither.” Gregory shook his head. “I gave you the spare key that time you watched Miles when I had that date.”

“O-Oh, right. How did that go, by the way?”

“Not great. The movie was awful and she demanded a refund after it was over. I don’t think I’ll be going out with anyone on the PTA again.” Gregory coughed a few times in his elbow before noticing what Ray was eating. “Where did you get that?”

“From your candy bowl.”

“Did you take just one like the sign said?”

Ray shrugged as he pulled about four more chocolate bars from his coat pockets.

“You should really be handing out the candy to prevent this kind of miscommunication.”

“I’m coming down with a cold, so I think I’ll pass.” Gregory took Ray’s coat to hang on the coat rack, if only to prevent more candy smuggling. “I’m surprised you’re not trick-or-treating.”

“I wanted to spend time with you, Mr. Edgeworth. You said you’ll be staying inside alone this year.” Ray helped himself to the living room couch, pleased to greet the pomeranian lounging there. “Hey, Missile!” He made kissing faces at the pup. “I guess not too alone.”

“Don’t let him lick your face while you have chocolate all over.” Gregory called the dog over to him. “You can rinse your face in the bathroom, and could you bring me the cold medicine from the cabinet?”

“Of course, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Thank you.” Gregory stole Ray’s spot on the couch and let Missile hop on his lap. Just sitting down was more rest than Gregory had let himself have all day. He looked up to watch Ray return from the bathroom, somehow having gotten his hands on a lollipop.

“How come you’re not using Coldkiller X?” Ray tossed the requested medicine into Gregory’s lap. “It’s been flying off the shelves since it came out; it’s a real hit.”

“I prefer my usual NyQuil. I’d rather sleep through my colds.”

“You do look like you could use some sleep, Mr. Edgeworth.” Ray wiggled the lollipop stick around in his mouth. “Also, I think it’s really cool you put candy all around your house for Halloween.”

“What do you mean?” Gregory furrowed his brow.

“These lollipops in your bathroom.” He pulled out the stick to reveal a purple teddy bear pop. “It kinda makes my mouth feel funny, though. I think I’m allergic to something in it.”

“Raymond, that’s--,” Gregory sighed and put his head in his hands, “medicated. It has an anesthetic in it.”

“Oh, huh.” Ray stared at the lollipop before offering it to Gregory. “Do you want it?”

“No, thank you.” Gregory found the offer to be both amusing and repulsive. “I think I’ll be fine just having some tea.” He ushered Missile to direct some affection towards Ray so he could stand up. “Do you want any?”

“Just water is fine.” Ray rubbed his tongue against his front teeth. “I don’t think anything else would taste good right now.”

“At least that means you won’t be stealing any more candy.” Gregory chuckled as he proceeded to start the stove under the kettle. “I also shouldn’t have to tell you that you shouldn’t be eating things from a medicine cabinet.”

“Got it. ‘Don’t eat candy from the medicine cabinet.’” Ray read aloud from his notepad before eating the page he just wrote on.

“I feel like I should be concerned that you needed to write that down.” To say nothing of Ray’s paper eating habit, which Gregory stopped questioning after six months into Ray working part-time at the firm. He wanted to say Ray had matured since he had hired him, but it was likely more familiarity with his antics than anything. “Do you want any ice in your water?” Gregory opened the refrigerator door and leaned forward, reaching for the pitcher of water.

“No, that’s fine.” Ray answered, not looking away from Missile, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Who’s a good boy?”

“I’d like to think I am.” Gregory laughed before standing upright again. Having his head at any angle outside of a very specific range when he had a cold always gave him a head-rush. “AE’SSHHOOUH! Eh’KXNT...chooh” He stifled the second one so Ray wouldn’t say anything about trying to scare him. With it being Halloween, the potential for comments like that was abundant.

“Bless you, Mr. Edgeworth.” In truth, Ray was hardly paying enough attention to really say anything; he was too busy scratching behind Missile’s ears. “You’re such a cool dad, keeping this cutie.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘cool’ before, at least not sincerely.” Gregory tugged a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter and gently held it under his nose.

“R-Really? Not even about all your Star Wars stuff?”

“That stuff is exactly--,” Gregory used the tissue to muffle some coughs, “exactly what made me not cool. I only had one friend in high school, and that was Miles’s mother.” He always felt some pain in his chest bringing her up, but he was too caught up in the memory to stop himself. “She was homeschooled before she transferred, so she didn’t really care if I was ‘cool’ or not.” He dropped the tissue into the trash bin before he opened a cupboard and grabbed two plain blue mugs. Cold water in a mug wasn’t a faux pas, was it?

“Are you feverish enough to finally tell me about her?”

“This cold’s only just started, so no.” Gregory shut off the stove once he saw the steam leaving the kettle. As nice as it would be to have savored that, he didn’t want to keep Ray waiting for his water. “But I guess I can’t avoid talking about Marie forever.” He coated his own mug’s base with honey before topping it with a tea bag. He had no idea exactly what kind of tea it was; he only bought the types his son wrote on the grocery list in skillful handwriting absolutely not inherited from Gregory.

Naturally, when Gregory returned to the living room with both beverages, Ray had reclaimed the seat he had rightfully stolen. He set Ray’s drink on the coffee table in front of the sofa before finding himself a new seat next to him.

“So, what was she like?” Ray took a long sip of his water, hoping to wash out the anesthetic.

“Well, for starters, she was my best friend for over ten years.” Gregory moved the tea bag up and down by the string. “She transferred to my high school just after her parents separated. She moved with her dad all the way from the middle of nowhere, so we were both in the same ‘no friends’ boat.”

“Did you two realize the one you loved was right in front of you? Like in a movie?”

“Ah,” Gregory didn’t look up from his mug, “just one of us did. She didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“B-But you guys had a kid together! There had to be something there.” Ray’s jaw dropped when he saw Gregory shake his head.

“I only realized I loved her after we, uh,” Gregory coughed awkwardly, “you know. I told her and that just ruined everything we had. The last time I saw her before she died was the day she dropped off Miles.”

“Oh, huh.” Ray felt himself tearing up. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that much of a tearjerker, I promise. I have a son I couldn’t be more proud of. I wouldn’t trade him for the world, even if it meant having Marie in my life for a few extra years.”

“Wha?’ Ray wiped some tears from his eyes. “I’m not that sad. I just, uh, lost an eyelash. Let me find it so I can make a wish.” He grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table to pretend he was searching for that ‘eyelash.’

“Hey, it’s definitely not the time to waste those.” Gregory scolded in jest before taking his own tissue for actual use. “E’kXTT… chuh.” That particular stifle made his head pound.

“It’s Halloween, Mr. Edgeworth. It’s okay if you startle me.” Of course. Why did Gregory think he could get away so easily? “I don’t know how you can hold those in. It was pretty impressive when you did ten of those last month.”

“I wasd’t about to let you bake jokes for the rest of your shift.” Gregory blew his nose forcefully, displeased at the amount of time it took to really feel any benefit.

“To think I just called you cool.” Ray teased. “I still think you’re cool, though. You made your son’s costume, didn’t you? Signal Red?”

“Indeed I did.” Gregory nodded. He figured his drink had cooled enough to chase down the cold medicine Ray retrieved earlier. “I stayed up all night making it.” He cleared his throat and made a face in reaction to the unfavorable taste of the medicated liquid. “Two nights, actually.”

“No wonder you’re sick. You work too hard and never sleep.” So was that why Ray seemed immune to colds?

“Once this kicks in, I’ll be sleeping like the dead.” Gregory leaned back. “You can watch TV if you want. Take the remote or a VHS.”

“Woah, really?” Ray made himself at home in front of the VHS shelves with Missile following behind him. “You wanna help me pick out a movie, boy?”

“Just not any movies about a dog. Otherwise, he’ll bark at the screen.”

“Aw, that’s cute! Let’s watch Air Bud, then.”

Thank god for NyQuil.

-------------

--October 31, 2021--

Phoenix was woken up by the sound of footsteps on the entryway’s tile floor accompanied by the excited listing of various candies. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to take a look at the wall clock. 9:30PM. Miles and Trucy returned an hour late, but it sounded like they had a good time.

“Daddy! We got so much candy! Are you feeling better? Papa Miles said you should eat something healthy, but I won’t tell!” It was as if Trucy didn’t even need to stop to breathe while speaking.

“Trucy, your father needs to rest.” Miles, who had at least stopped to leave his coat on the rack, needed to catch his breath. “Sorry to wake you, love. I hope you got some sleep since we left.”

“I slept great, yeah. Did you two have a good tibe?” Phoenix looked up at Miles with glassy eyes and a tired smile.

“We had a wonderful time, but we missed you. It’s a shame you were too sick to come with us.” Miles glanced at the empty bowl and mug on the coffee table. “So you finally ate something?”

“Does that mean Daddy can have some of our candy now?” Trucy lifted her heavy pumpkin shaped basket. “He ate something healthy!”

“Not tonight, I don’t think. Why don’t you change into your pajamas and get ready for bed?” Miles pointed at his watch. “We already came home late.”

“Aw, okay.” Trucy pouted and dragged her feet walking to her bedroom.

Phoenix watched her leave and then frowned at Miles.

“What’s that look for?”

“You’re doh fud.” Phoenix sniffled.

“You were the one who wanted me to be more authoritative with her.” Miles was right; every time Trucy wanted something, she would go straight to him if she thought Phoenix would say no. Phoenix found it funny at first, but it got out of hand when Miles rented some ponies for Trucy’s previous birthday, ponies that needed to be cleaned up after. “It’s a school night.”

“I dod’t thigk she’d be up too late just shari’g a couple chocolates.” Phoenix reasoned. The couch made a squeak as he turned on his side.

“Do you think you could even taste them with you being that congested?” Miles peered into the tissue box on the coffee table, finding it empty. He wasn’t pleased to hear Phoenix blowing his nose into a tissue he had definitely used before.

“Aa’SCHOOUuh! HT’TCHUUUh! Ah, dabbit.” Phoenix cursed at his effort to clear his nose being undone so quickly. “I guess I should just go to sleep.”

“That’s a good idea.” Miles kissed Phoenix’s warm cheek. “Are you coming to bed or staying on the couch for the night?”

“It’s probably a better idea to sleep here.” Phoenix blew his nose again in the crumpled tissue that left the skin it touched sore and red. “You have a trial this week, right? I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’ve already accepted that as inevitable.” Miles picked up the living room waste basket to dispose of the tissues that had accumulated on the couch while he was out. “Though I can’t blame you for staying here if you intend on sleeping under more used tissues.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been out since about an hour after you and Trucy left for trick-or-treating.”

Miles winced as he pictured just how many times his boyfriend had reused tissues while he was gone. No wonder his nose was so red Miles could think of a few costumes it would enhance.

“I’ll take another box from the hall closet for you. Do you want something to drink? I could heat up some apple cider so you can feel festive.”

“That would be great.”

Miles gave Phoenix another light kiss before heading to the kitchen. He took mental notes of what counters would need cleaning in the morning, particularly where it was undeniable that Phoenix tried refilling his own tea but was too out of it to keep the mug steady. As much as Miles wanted to spend the rest of the night personalizing Phoenix’s cider, it was getting late and Phoenix had no objections to just heating a mug in the microwave.

While the microwave was doing its job, Miles made a trip to the hall closet to deliver a fresh tissue box to Phoenix.

“I hope this lasts until morning.” Miles tore off the cardboard covering the opening. “Maybe you could take something so you can sleep easier and use less of these?”

“Yes, please.” Phoenix coughed with his fist pressing against his mouth.

The microwave beeped just as Miles went to retrieve the mug. On his way back, he made a stop at the bathroom to pick up a pack of NyQuil capsules. He blew lightly over the steaming mug to cool it off a little before he brought the drink and medicine to his boyfriend.

“Here you go, love. Let me know if it’s too hot or not hot enough.”

Phoenix popped out two capsules and washed them down with a large drink of cider. It burned his throat a little, making him tear up, but at least that part was done and over with. It was better than taking the medicine as a liquid, that was for sure.

“Thanks so much, hon. I can’t wait to get some sleep.”

“I’m looking forward to you getting some sleep as well.” Miles picked up the empty bowl and mug from the coffee table so there was only the mug of cider to worry about. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night.”

Miles washed the dishes thoroughly but quickly enough for him to turn in at a reasonable time. He kept silent as he stopped to watch Phoenix finding a comfortable position to sleep in and stayed still for a while in case Phoenix needed anything.

With a quiet yawn, Miles began his trip through the hall, only to stop suddenly with a hitch of his breath.

“Hh’sshhooh!” He sniffed. “Oh, of course.”

#whumptober #whumptober 2020 #sickfic whumptober alt #sneezing #snez #snz #sneeze kink #snez attorney #thanks for putting up with me this month

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