#Local Authorities

[asestimationsconsultants]

How a Residential Estimating Service Manages Permit and Compliance-Related Costs

One of the critical aspects of any construction project is navigating the often complex and sometimes confusing world of permits and regulatory compliance. Whether it’s a new home construction, a major renovation, or an addition to an existing property, understanding the costs associated with obtaining permits and ensuring compliance with local building codes and regulations is essential. This is where a professional residential estimating service becomes invaluable.

A skilled residential estimating service not only helps provide accurate cost estimates for labor, materials, and other construction expenses but also factors in the costs associated with permits, inspections, and regulatory compliance. By managing these costs effectively, an estimator ensures that the project stays on budget and proceeds smoothly from start to finish.

1. Understanding Permit Costs

Permit costs vary depending on the scope and location of the project. For residential construction, permits are typically required for everything from foundation work to electrical systems and plumbing installations. These permits are necessary to ensure that the construction adheres to local safety standards, zoning laws, and building codes.

For a residential estimating service, accurately estimating these permit costs is essential. They need to have a good understanding of the local regulations, as permit fees can differ significantly from one jurisdiction to another. Some areas charge flat fees for permits, while others base the cost on the estimated value of the construction project.

Estimators work closely with clients to review local building codes and determine which permits are required for a given project. By providing an accurate estimate of permit costs, the estimator helps homeowners and contractors avoid surprises later on when they go to apply for these permits.

2. Factoring in Inspection Fees

In addition to permit costs, residential construction projects often require multiple inspections at different stages of the build. These inspections are essential to ensure that the work is completed correctly and in compliance with local regulations. The cost of inspections is typically factored into the overall budget, and a skilled estimating service will consider these fees when preparing the project estimate.

There are several types of inspections that may be required during residential construction:

Foundation inspections: These inspections ensure that the foundation is solid and complies with local codes.

Plumbing and electrical inspections: These inspections verify that the plumbing and electrical systems meet safety standards.

Framing and structural inspections: These are typically required to ensure that the structural components of the building are safe and sound.

Final inspections: Before the project can be completed and the building can be occupied, a final inspection will be performed to ensure that everything is in order.

The estimator will account for the cost of each required inspection and ensure that it’s included in the overall project budget. This helps prevent unexpected costs and delays down the line.

3. Ensuring Compliance with Local Building Codes

Building codes are regulations that define the standards for construction and design. These codes are designed to ensure the safety, health, and welfare of the building’s occupants. Residential estimating services must be well-versed in local building codes to ensure that the project complies with all relevant regulations.

For example, a project may require specific materials or methods of construction due to fire safety codes, energy efficiency regulations, or accessibility standards. A professional estimator will account for these requirements and ensure that the estimate reflects the need for code-compliant materials and techniques.

Building codes are often subject to change, so it’s crucial that the estimator stays updated on any revisions to local regulations. A reliable estimating service will regularly review local building codes and work with the client to ensure that the project meets all the necessary standards.

4. Managing Costs for Variations in Permit and Compliance Requirements

One of the challenges in managing permit and compliance-related costs is that regulations can vary significantly depending on the size and nature of the project. For example, a major home renovation may require more permits and inspections than a simple remodel or room addition. Similarly, local authorities may impose stricter requirements for projects located in certain areas, such as flood zones or historic districts.

A residential estimating service must carefully assess the project and identify any specific compliance-related costs based on the location, scope, and complexity of the work. This can include special permits, such as those required for demolition, excavation, or environmental considerations.

For example, if the property is located in a historic district, the project may need approval from a heritage board or commission before construction can begin. These approvals may involve additional costs and delays that the estimator must account for when creating the project budget.

By identifying these variables early in the planning process, the estimator can provide a more accurate estimate of permit and compliance-related costs, helping to avoid unexpected fees and delays later in the project.

5. The Role of the Estimator in Coordinating with Local Authorities

An experienced residential estimator doesn’t just stop at providing cost estimates—they also play an active role in coordinating with local authorities to ensure that all permits and approvals are obtained on time. This is particularly important for projects that involve multiple inspections or require unique permits.

For example, an estimator may help the client understand the documentation needed to apply for a building permit or navigate the process of obtaining approval for a specific construction method. In some cases, the estimator may work directly with local authorities to expedite the approval process, helping to keep the project on track and avoid unnecessary delays.

Establishing clear communication with local authorities ensures that there are no misunderstandings or surprises later in the process. The estimator helps ensure that the project is in full compliance with local regulations, minimizing the risk of fines or legal issues.

6. Managing Potential Delays Due to Permit and Compliance Issues

One of the most common causes of delays in construction projects is issues related to permits and compliance. This can include waiting for approval from local authorities, dealing with changes in regulations, or needing to modify plans to comply with updated codes. These delays can lead to added costs, especially if they result in changes to the project schedule or the need for additional work.

A skilled estimating service will work proactively to anticipate these potential delays and factor them into the overall project timeline and budget. By providing a realistic estimate that includes the time needed for permits and inspections, the estimator helps clients avoid unrealistic expectations and ensures that the project progresses smoothly.

7. Helping Clients Navigate the Appeal Process

In some cases, projects may face challenges during the permitting or inspection process. If a permit application is denied or if a project does not meet code requirements, the client may need to appeal the decision or request a variance.

A knowledgeable residential estimating service can assist with navigating the appeal process. The estimator can work with the client and the local authorities to address any issues and find solutions that meet the requirements of the building codes while still accommodating the project’s goals.

Having an experienced estimator who understands the appeals process can help minimize the impact of any delays or complications, ensuring that the project stays on track.

Conclusion

A residential estimating service plays a crucial role in managing the complex costs associated with permits and regulatory compliance in construction projects. By providing accurate estimates for permit fees, inspection costs, and compliance-related expenses, the estimator ensures that the project remains within budget and avoids unexpected financial challenges.

Furthermore, the estimator’s expertise in local building codes, zoning laws, and permit requirements helps ensure that the project complies with all relevant regulations. Whether it’s a simple home renovation or a large-scale new build, working with a professional residential estimating service can help streamline the process and ensure that the project progresses smoothly and on time.

[kazifatagar]

Local Authorities Cracking Down on Sellers in front of KLCC 

A viral photo shows that the local authorities are cracking down on the sellers that are selling their items in front of KLCC. Said location is commonly known as the main hotspot for tourists and locals in the country. Netizens appear to agree that such sellers should not set up shop directly in front of the prestigious buildings.  Local authorities cracking down on sellers in front of…

[chainreactionpodcast]

Understanding the Rising Costs of Living: Energy, Water, and Council Tax in Focus

In recent years, households across the UK have faced growing financial pressures, with energy costs, water utility prices, and council tax emerging as significant contributors. Here’s a deep dive into these escalating expenses, what’s driving them, and the steps stakeholders can take to address them. The Rising Tide of Household Costs Energy Costs Energy prices have been on a steep incline,…

[mysterioushimachal]

Tosh Village Under Threat as Landslide Creates Dangerous Natural Lake

[creativemedianews]

Local authorities are pressuring Angela Rayner to scrap the Right to Buy legislation that allowed her to buy her council property to close a £2.2billion budget gap

[townpostin]

Shops in Mangal Tower Basement Repurposed for Parking

Basement of Mangal Tower in Kadma Converted to Parking Lot Following Court Directive Jamshedpur witnessed a significant change as the basement of Mangal Tower in Kadma, previously filled with shops and warehouses, was converted into a parking lot per a Jharkhand High Court directive. JAMSHEDPUR – The basement of Mangal Tower in Kadma has been converted into a parking lot as per the directive of…

[thebibliosphere]

I've had a couple of messages over the last few days from folks saying things like, "Sorry, I can only afford to get your book through the library," and I need you to know I am gripping you by the shoulders, I am shaking you gently, and I am begging you stop apologizing for using library services.

After Amazon and Payhip, the quarterly checks I get from Overdrive/Libby are my biggest and most reliable source of income.

My readers have been nothing but feral in their quest to get Hunger Pangs into as many libraries as possible, and while library lending pays an exceptionally modest amount, if enough people do it (which many of you evidently are), those pennies add up.

I am guaranteed at least $20 a month in library lending royalties. That might not sound like much to some folks, but to me, that's my b12 supplements covered for the month. That's the thing I need to keep me alive paid for.

I will never resent anyone who uses libraries instead of buying books.

I'm a disabled author who lives month to month at the mercy of my medical expenses. Even though I have incredibly generous patrons and supporters, I know what it's like to not be able to afford things.

Use the library. Please.

Use it guilt-free. You're helping the library and the authors, probably more than you realize.

And if you're in the US and haven't signed up for a @queerliblib free library card yet, you should! it doesn't matter what state you're in, the Queer Liberation Library offers free access to their catalogue of queer media across the US.

And if you've got the means, maybe help them out with a little donation. They're only able to expand their collection via the support of their patrons, and the work they're doing is hugely important.

[tripsawaytours]

Book Dubai Desert Safari

Dubai Desert Safari is a popular and exciting tourist activity in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. It offers visitors a chance to experience the beauty and allure of the Arabian Desert while participating in various thrilling desert adventures and cultural experiences. Here's more about the Dubai Desert Safari:

Adventure Activities: One of the main highlights of a desert safari is dune bashing, where tourists ride in powerful 4x4 vehicles that traverse the sand dunes in a thrilling roller-coaster-like manner. This adrenaline-pumping activity is a favorite among adventure seekers.

Camel Rides: Visitors get the opportunity to ride camels, an iconic mode of transport used traditionally by the people of the desert. It's a unique way to explore the desert and gain insights into the region's rich cultural heritage.

Sandboarding: Sandboarding is a fun activity that allows tourists to glide down the steep sand dunes on a board, similar to snowboarding but on sand.

Quad Biking: For those seeking even more adventure, quad biking is available, providing an exhilarating ride through the desert landscape on powerful all-terrain vehicles.

Desert Wildlife: The desert is home to unique flora and fauna, and some desert safari experiences may include opportunities to spot desert wildlife like Arabian gazelles and camels in their natural habitat.

Bedouin-style Camp: After the desert adventures, tourists are taken to a traditional Bedouin-style campsite, which offers a glimpse into the traditional way of life in the desert.

Cultural Experiences: At the camp, visitors can enjoy a range of cultural activities, such as traditional Arabic entertainment like belly dancing and Tanoura dance (a spinning dance). Sometimes, fire shows and henna painting are also offered.

Sunset Views: A desert safari usually includes the chance to witness the breathtaking sunset over the sand dunes, providing an excellent opportunity for photography.

Barbecue Dinner: The highlight of the evening at the desert camp is a scrumptious barbecue dinner with a variety of Arabic dishes and international cuisines, giving tourists a chance to indulge in local flavors.

Stargazing: After dinner, guests can relax under the starlit desert sky and enjoy the peacefulness and tranquility of the desert environment.

Dubai Desert Safari offers a unique and unforgettable experience that combines thrilling adventures, cultural insights, and a close encounter with the mesmerizing desert landscape. It's a must-try activity for anyone visiting Dubai, as it allows them to connect with the natural beauty and heritage of the Arabian Desert.

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[chainreactionpodcast]

Understanding the Rising Costs of Living: Energy, Water, and Council Tax in Focus

In recent years, households across the UK have faced growing financial pressures, with energy costs, water utility prices, and council tax emerging as significant contributors. Here’s a deep dive into these escalating expenses, what’s driving them, and the steps stakeholders can take to address them. The Rising Tide of Household Costs Energy Costs Energy prices have been on a steep incline,…

[dastardly-imbecile]

NOTDEER

AO3 HERE

Simon nods at you. He’s tall enough that, at the angle your phone points, the slant of light only reaches his neck, face still obscured in shadow. You can make out, through the barest changes in shades of gray, the suggestion of a nose, the theory of a brow, hypothesis of the lips. Indistinct enough that you could not draw him, defined enough that you can recognize him. --- When you cannot trust your own memory, alone on a trip in the woods, what else is there to do but submit? OR the incomprehensible monster who haunts your campsite is an alcoholic

---

Wordcount: ~7.5k

Inspired by this wonderful drabble by @ceilidho. Also, mandatory nods to the 'Goatman' and 'Fleshgait' creepypastas.

TW: this is some halfbreed horror story, so there WILL be graphic depictions of violence and death! Read at your own discretion!

It starts like any good romance: a grove of darkly flowered dogwoods and a rousing campfire, a bit too much to drink and a night just cold enough that you have an excuse to huddle together. 

It starts like any good horror movie: a storm and a drenched forest, clouds blotting out the stars and the sounds of many toothy things in the realm beyond your sight. 

It starts like any story ever, which is to say a hapless protagonist and a presence that watches, that waits. 

It starts like this: you are sitting around the campfire with three of your friends, trying to spear your marshmallow, fallen into the fire. Giving up, once it grows indistinguishable from all the other lumps of charcoal. 

Darren laughs too hard at that, puts an arm around you when he goes to grab a new marshmallow. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why: Darren’s had a crush on you, ever since you drunkenly hooked up with him at a party in high school, and he’s just the right combination of too forward and too coy to be annoying. Makes rowdy, boys-locker-room jokes, sneaks looks at you to see if you laugh. Loudly talks about some new date around the group, bemoans his singleness in your private messages. 

You haven’t brought it up. No use making things awkward. No use letting him down gently, not when he’ll deny your claims, make it into some big, pick-me delusional-woman deal. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention a little bit. You’d be lying if you said the night and the campfire and the shitty beer buzzing through your veins doesn’t make any warm body look a bit appealing. 

“Hey,” Kelsey says from across the campfire, “grab the bottle.”

You’ve known Kelsey since third grade—the longest out of everyone at this circle. Were neighbors, close enough that when the fighting between her parents got bad, she’d come crawling through your window and you’d sleep in the same bed, back-to-back. She was your first kiss, during spin the bottle in middle school. Sure took that a lot better than Darren did. 

He does, changing course to reach for the beer. His arm brushes you, not entirely accidentally. You meet his eyes, smile, and the surprise that lights in them makes your grin widen.

With a bit of sloppy, tipsy incoordination, Kelsey fills her own red cup. The liquid is piss-yellow, and it tastes like gasoline, but anything is good when you’re already drunk and a hundred miles from the nearest liquor store. 

Wordlessly, Lou holds out his own cup. You don’t know him all that well, as a matter of fact, but he’s some friend of Kelsey’s from college and she insisted on bringing him along so she doesn’t, quote, get all caught up in your pining third wheel bullshit. Quiet, but the type of funny that makes you think he’s been saving all his humor up. She pours him one, and then, without needing to ask, you and Darren. 

Above, there is the distant rumble of thunder. You realize that you can’t see the moon anymore—it was full, ten minutes ago, and you suppose it’s technically still full, but out of sight, out of mind, all that. The campfire is the only source of light in the woods, that and the flashlight steepled by Lou’s feet, and it gives the whole clearing a sort of airy, unreal sense. Heat mirage, wavering light making everything a bit less solid. 

Kelsey pours a fifth cup. Sets it on the ground. Darren raises his eyebrows. “Wow.”

“What?” She asks. He laughs, like she’s being dumb—which is one of the reasons why you’ve never even tried dating him—and juts his chin out at the extra cup. 

“Going double, really?”

“What?” She repeats, looking down, then back, “it’s for Simon.”

“Who?” You ask, tilting your head. 

“Simon? Remember? Jesus, he lived on the same street as us. Remember, when Mom and Dad were divorcing, he let me stay at his house for two months because your folks didn’t like me?”

You remember the last part of that—your parents had developed an aversion to Kelsey because she dyed her hair and got a septum piercing, and they were the type to call that a bad influence—but not the first. As far as you’d known, she’d gone off to stay with her cousins for that stretch of time.

“No,” you say carefully, “who-”

Darren interrupts you, gesturing around the fire. “And where is Simon?”

“He just got up to take a piss,” she snaps, and the conversation’s getting heated, too heated, pushed along by the same things that made it fun—that being, alcohol and two groups who don’t know each other all that well and sleep deprivation—tipping over the edge of delirious entertainment to irritation. 

“Kel,” Lou says, careful and slow, “maybe you shouldn’t drink more, actually. Nobody named Simon came with us.”

She pauses. There is a strange, slow moment, where time stretches like taffy and the fire seems to freeze, and her face falls in a way that makes her look unlike herself. It’s what you imagine a doppelganger to look like—all the right features, all the right proportions, but a different person behind the eyes, windows to a different soul. 

“Sorry,” she says, and it’s back, all her spirits in the right body, “I don’t know… fuck, I’m mixing some shit up. Yeah, I don’t…”

Another peal of thunder. You look up at the sky. When you were a kid, you always had this wriggling thought in the back of your mind—that you should not look at the sky, in case something looks back, peels you open from epidermis to intestine and puts you back together wrong. 

No, you didn’t. Where the fuck did that come from?

“I think it’s gonna rain,” You observe. Darren throws back his beer, throat working in an effort to chug it, up-down-up like a ship on turbulent waves. Across the campfire, Kelsey looks at her cup with faint distaste. After a moment of consideration, chucks it into the large back garbage bag hitched to the nearest tree—Lou follows, though his cup is considerably emptier, and you as well, after a moment. 

Guess who drops his cup on the ground?

“C’mon,” Kelsey says, pointing. Darren looks at it, picks it up with a two-fingered grip like one might a piece of toilet paper on the bottom of their shoe, chucks it into the bag. 

“My bad,” he says, “Smokey the bear’s gonna get me, huh?”

“He’s for wildfires,” Kelsey snaps, “you’re just a fucking asshole.”

She doesn’t like him much. That’s also why she insisted on bringing Lou. 

He holds up his hands in a back off sort of resignation, pushes himself to his feet. You follow—as you do, a raindrop strikes the corner of your eye, teeters perilously close to falling in. By the time you blink it away, there are more—upon your arms, your legs, striking with the force of slow bullets, which is to say not like bullets at all. Shitty metaphor. Blame it on your BAC. 

When you make the trek back to your tent, Darren sticks with you for a bit longer than would necessarily make sense—it’s only when you don’t spare him a glance, while unzipping your tent, that he finally peels off. 

You turn around—the same instinct that makes you double-check the oven is turned off—to examine the campfire. Stupid, because the rain, extinguishing even the embers, but it does make you realize that Lou left his flashlight there. It illuminates the clearing, the four logs, and the absence of the fifth cup. 

Kelsey must’ve thrown it away. Didn’t see her do it, but Smokey Bear and all that jazz. 

Doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. A full day of hiking—well, insofar as hiking means trekking a case of beer halfway up a mountain, which you think very much counts, actually—has given your body plenty to be tired about. 

—

When you wake up, it’s the middle of the night. If the darkness beyond your tent does not tell you that, then a quick glance at your phone does—the stark 2:54 splayed out across the screen. 

More pressing is the pressure on your bladder. Most of you wants to stay warm and comfortable in your sleeping bag, but the rest needs out, so you shove your way free. Stumble around a moment before you manage to unzip your tent. Can’t bother to look for your flashlight, so you grab your phone, use it to illuminate the way out into the edge of the clearing and into bliss. Not really needed, in any case—Lou’s is still on, and the rain has stopped, which makes the trip remarkably clear. 

When you turn around, you almost scream. There is a silhouette in the center of the glade, made stark by the stuttering light of the abandoned flashlight. Tall enough to dwarf you in the vertical direction, broad enough to do the same in the horizontal, and the only reason you do not shriek is that freeze manages to claw a victory over flight and fight. 

Instinctively, you put your hand out in front of you, phone still in it—and, when that tinny light lands upon the figure, all the panic suddenly bleeds out of you like a punctured lung. 

It’s just Simon. You met him in the campus coffeeshop, junior year of college, because he was sitting in your usual study spot. It was a silent competition, for a few months, to see who could get to the spot first, until one day, fed up, you sat directly across from him at the table. Another month of silent stalemate, both working across from each other, until you’d broken the ice by asking why he was ordering tea at a damn coffeeshop, and the rest is history, so to say. 

He’s a good friend. Kelsey likes him more than she likes Darren, for sure, and he and Lou could spend a century in happily companionable silence. 

“God,” you groan, “scared the shit out of me. What’re you doing?”

He nods at you. He’s tall enough that, at the angle your phone points, the slant of light only reaches his neck, face still obscured in shadow. You can make out, through the barest changes in shades of gray, the suggestion of a nose, the theory of a brow, hypothesis of the lips. Indistinct enough that you could not draw him, defined enough that you can recognize him. 

“Same thing as you,” he replies, “felt good?”

You snort. “You’re so weird. By all means, the spot’s yours.”

He doesn’t move, as you step around him, though you get the sense his head is turning, keeping his eyes upon you. 

“Remind me,” he says, casual, “how long’re we staying here?”

Right. He’d been a last-minute addition to the groupchat. You’d only added him because you’d remembered him mentioning, offhand, that he did some hiking. Well, in his words, less nature walks, more hunting. 

Thank God he’s not one of those guys that poses with dead deer like they’re fish. 

(Guess who is?)

Though, maybe you wouldn’t mind too much if he was. Since you were a kid, you’ve always wanted to cut a deer open, dig your hands into its guts and pull everything out, line them up all neat on a white table like you’re playing offal-solitaire. Push a finger into its eyesocket until you touch the brain, fuck yourself on its antlers. 

You blink. “Sorry,” you say, “spaced out. Uh, three days I think? A fourth, for getting back home.”

“Good,” he replies. 

A moment where you stare at each other, and then you add, a coy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “fine if I use the kettle for coffee first tomorrow? You’ll have to wait for your tea.”

When he laughs, it’s a deep, burrish sort of rasp that digs into your sternum. “Fine by me, dove.”

—

You don’t remember making it back to your tent, but you must, because when you wake up, you’re back ensconced in your sleeping bag. The only proof you have that you went out at all is that you forgot to plug your phone back in, and it lays by your head. When you blearily prod at it, the screen does not light up, and you groan when you realize it must’ve died. 

Oh well. Get off that screen, enjoy the marvels of nature, all that. Lemons into lemonade. Water into wine. 

You’re not the first one up—that’s Lou, who’s busy heating up a cast iron over the replenished campfire, boxed pancake mix to his right. He nods at you, and you nod back, perfectly content to stay silent when it’s this early—talk can wait until the sky’s finished birthing the sun. 

You circle around to the other side of the fire, set up the kettle over the grate. By the time the water’s boiling, Kelsey is out, and by the time you pour out four mugs, Darren pushes his way into the open. 

“Hey,” you say, “where’s our teabags?” 

“Didn’t bring any,” Kelsey replies, “none of us drink tea?”

“Oh. Simon must’ve brought his own,” you reply, and the group freezes for a second. Not in the strange, unreal way from last night, but instead in the way that happens when someone’s just made a very poor taste joke. 

“Who the fuck is Simon?” Darren asks, looking up from his half-burnt pancake, “some bloke you and Kel know?”

She frowns. She hates when he calls her Kel. 

“I…” you say, glancing at her. Past her, to the line of tents, to the four tents, not five. “I swear… I talked to him last night?”

The last words are uncertain. Did you? You remember him, of course, tall and broad, but now, if you try, you cannot see his face in your mind’s eye. 

“...I think Kel freaked you out,” Lou says, “must’ve been a dream.”

“I think they’re fucking with us,” Darren says, and you shake your head, though you can’t tell whether it’s to deny him, Lou, or yourself. 

A dream makes enough sense—went out to piss, sure, forgot to plug your phone back in, had some tired-drunk-hallucination midway through. Kelsey’s little thing messed with her head, and maybe she’s the one fucking with you, and it worked a bit better than intended. 

When you think back on college, in that coffeeshop, you find that you don’t remember a single thing about a hulking man in the corner of the place. Makes less sense the more you think on it—why would he be there, not a student? Why would you talk to someone like that? Back then, at least, you were timid enough that you wouldn’t correct a waiter on your misheard order, let alone sit yourself down across from a stranger. 

Weird dream. You scrub a hand over your face. 

“Sorry,” you say, “must’ve… I don’t know.”

“Maybe lay off the alc, huh?” Darren asks, like you’re not only attracted to him when you’re drunk. You nod anyway. 

The day passes as lackadaisically as any day with four twenty-somethings alone in the woods can go, which is to say, easily. You while away a few hours in the morning just strolling through the desire paths that circle your clearing, listening to the birds sing overhead, the squirrels bouncing through great leafy branches. Even see a deer at one point, as it leaps over the path, and it dredges some quiet, half-grown memory from some quiet, half-there part of your mind, a dream within a dream within a bender. 

Lunch is canned ravioli, and the afternoon is a few rounds of poker played with sticks and rocks. Darren suggests—a few too many times for it to be funny—to turn it into strip poker, until Lou starts taking his pants off, and then he shuts up. 

“There’s a lake a few miles from here,” Kelsey says, consulting a map as dusk conquers the horizon, “we should go tomorrow.”

“Didn’t bring swimsuits,” you observe, “or fishing rods.” 

“We can skinny dip,” Darren suggests. 

A moment of silence, to emphasize that he’s being ignored, and then Lou says, “scenic hike, then.”

It’s settled. When night is fully upon the forest, Darren walks to the cooler, and as you once again lose a marshmallow to the flames, he yells back to you. 

“Who drank everything?”

“What?” You call back. A moment of silence, the sound of rustling and the clinking of glass bottles. 

“All the beer! We brought a 12-pack up, and we had nine after last night, and there’s only seven now.”

“Jesus,” Kelsey drawls, “you were counting? Alcoholic, much?”

“It’s not counting, it’s common fucking sense. Three bottles last night, so there should be-”

“Maybe it was Simon,” Lou says. The way he’s leaned towards you implies that it was a comment meant for your ears only, but he’s a bit too loud or everyone is a bit too sensitive, because they stop their argument immediately. 

Your eyes fix upon the marshmallow in the fire, past the point of softening and edging into char. When you were in third grade, a firefighter came to your school, gave a presentation in front of the class. You remember he described a burning house and a woman who wasn’t able to get out. Hid in the bathtub instead. When they went back inside, she was melted into the porcelain. Human lard, he said, smiling, smells just like Sunday morning. Anyone like bacon? 

Yum. Your tongue prods at the back of your teeth, and you try to remember what you ate for dinner. 

A tense moment, nobody sure how to respond to that, whether to brush it off or to play in it. Eventually, it’s Darren who half-laughs, half-groans, “shut up.”

He lumbers back to the fire, carrying two bottles in his hands. 

“So,” he says, handing one to you and one to Kelsey to pour, “again, who is he? Some neighbor kid?”

“No,” she says, staring at her hands, “I think I met him… somewhere else.”

“I think I met him in college,” you blurt, and she brightens immediately, meeting eyes with you. 

“Yeah, me too! That’s it.”

“I think,” Lou says, “the problem with that is that you went to different colleges.”

Darren snorts. You consider passing him the cup, but rapidly change your trajectory to Lou. “Woah. Can’t even get your story straight.”

A new furrow has worked its way into Kelsey’s brow, and she tilts her head. “Did he go to our high school, then?”

“I’d know him,” Darren says, and she shrugs loosely. Looks like it takes a conscious effort to clear herself up, to smooth out the tension in her skin and reach down her throat with a hand and wring her kidneys out like bloodsoaked rags. 

“Dunno, then. Maybe he’s one of my mom’s friend’s sons. She introduced me to a ton of those, back in high school. Or maybe I am messing with you.” She smiles impishly, but you don’t have to examine her eyes to know that she’s lying, that she’s trying to cover. 

The topic passes, eventually, but the mood it sets does not. Lou’s some massive horror buff, apparently, and he regales you with the type of story that takes you back to ten-year-old summer camp. Even Darren gets into it, and you’re reminded why you came on this trip with him in the first place—when he’s not being horny or being an asshole, he’s surprisingly funny, good at setting the mood. 

“...drip, drip,” he says, “and you’ll never guess, what she sees when she’s looking at the trees above the car-”

“Oh my god,” Kelsey moans, “it’s way too fucking dark for this. I’m going to bed.” She points an accusing finger at Darren, “and if I catch you dripping water over my fucking tent-”

“Would never,” he says lightly. She giggles as she stands, staggering to her feet, out from the dome of the firelight and off to the dark lumps of the tents beyond. 

After only a minute, Lou follows, yawning and murmuring a quiet, “night.”

And then, there were two. You glance over at Darren, and through the haze of tipsiness, in the flickering light, he looks almost good. Firelight is better than a diet—it casts all the planes of his cheek in chiseled levels of light and shadow, cuts off the extraneous until all you can see is the shape of a person. 

He must notice, because he grins. 

“You scared too?”

You return the grin. It feels like slipping on someone else’s skin. “Maybe.”

“I can think of something to help that.”

You swat at him, laughing. “And that is?”

“Come to my tent. Find out.”

“God, you’re corny. Fine.” You point at the campfire, “you go ahead. I’ll put out the fire. Smokey Bear, you know.”

He chuckles, and for a moment, you almost think this might not be a mistake. 

The fire’s almost entirely burnt out already, but you give it a few more minutes as you go fumbling about for the shovel. Must trek all the way to the cooler before you find it, buried under a tarp, and by the time you return, there is someone sitting on your log. 

Simon, you know instinctively, from the hunch of his back, from the rasp of his breath. You grin as you come up behind him. 

“There you are. Thought we scared us to sleep, and you were just too chicken to tell us.”

He laughs. It’s deeper than Darren’s, sends a tremor rattling through your chest. 

Carefully, you sit down next to him—he left your space free—and stare into the fire. You don’t feel particularly like looking at his face right now. Maybe you’re afraid of what the firelight will do to it, how the shadows will cut him, shave away the flesh to expose the bone. 

You’ve known Simon since high school. He wasn’t a part of you and Kelsey and Darren’s group—new student, transferred in sophomore year, bit of an outcast, from arriving late in the game and for being generally offputting. Dark clothes, dark eyes, unspeaking. 

It wasn’t until you started talking to him, after being assigned to tutor him in maths, that the wider student body warmed to him. Still, Darren’s never liked him—sees him as competition—and Kelsey’s never liked him—still thinks he’s a bit weird—and Lou, you’re pretty sure, doesn’t like him either, though you can’t say why. 

“Can’t believe you drank the beer,” you say, “and didn’t tell Darren.”

“Wasn’t v’ry good,” he replies, “prefer bourbon.”

You cast him an askance look. “Who’s bringing bourbon on a camping trip?” 

He doesn’t respond. Eventually, you add, “next time. For you,” and he huffs out a muted bolt of laughter. 

“You gonna fuck him?” He asks, after a moment. You chew on your bottom lip.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” 

You dated Simon briefly, senior year. Your hookup with Darren was a rebound of a sort, in that way, and you don’t think he took it very well—to this day, he still glares at him, still clenches his jaw when he makes some stupid comment. Earlier, when Darren made that joke about strip poker, he looked like he was going to launch across the clearing and pummel him. 

Crash to the ground, break his nose, dig his fingers into his eyes and crush his chest. You remember a factoid—something about lungs, when spread out, something about the length of a tennis court. You bet Simon would do it, slowly unpeel every nerve from the walls of his chest and string them up around the trees like he’s toilet-papering a neighbor’s house.

Your heart beats a little faster. You bite down harder on your lip. 

“He won’t make you cum,” he says, and you shrug loosely. 

“Then who will?”

He tilts his head like you’re asking a really stupid question. You suppose you are. 

When his hand clamps down upon your upper arm, it startles you—for some reason, you haven’t been expecting him to be solid, are not used to the feeling of his fingers on your skin. He’s cold, despite the fire. 

Wordlessly, he yanks you to your feet, drags you to your tent. You don’t necessarily mean to pull your feet, to resist a tiny bit, but it feels right—makes it righter when he yanks open the zipper to your tent, near-throws you inside. It’s spacious enough that two people can fit, low enough that he must duck, and Simon hunches his back in such a way that the shadows obscure his face, paint him in broad strokes of gray. 

You hardly have a moment of peace on the ground, back against your sleeping bag before he’s kneeling, putting a hand in the nexus of your thighs. Such an insistent pressure that you scrabble to tug your pants off, leave long scratches down your stomach with the clumsiness of speed. The cold air almost stings against your bare sex, but before that’s too much a problem, Simon’s lowering himself. There is a brief moment in which his face is in the light, but you blink, and you miss it—and, by the time you’re looking again, his tongue is hitting your cunt, and stars bloom in your vision. 

His hands were cold, but his mouth is warm, and he licks a long stroke to your clit. Focuses on that, for a moment, sucking on it gently, which is enough for your legs to wrap around his back in half-greed half-gratitude. 

When he bites down upon it gently, the brief nip of teeth, you moan. When you were a kid, your neighbors left their bedroom window open one night, and you watched the husband fuck the wife upon the bed, intertwined as closely together as the friendship bracelet Kelsey gave you. After he was done, he peeled off the wife’s skin and ate her whole. Started with the toes and ended with the eyes, shoved her bones down his throat like a fire-eater. 

How does one eat an elephant? 

One bite at a time!

You laugh. Simon knows you well enough that he doesn’t ask you why. 

Instead, he brings his mouth down to your hole, circling it with his tongue, as his hand goes up to rub at your clit. You push forwards into his face, desperate, greedy, and he strokes his hand down your thigh. He’s warm now, warm as you are. 

“More,” you manage to pant, when he extends his tongue into your opening. If anything, he slows—teasing bastard—and now, it’s with a luxuriating sort of tension that he inserts a single finger into your cunt. Follows, a moment later, with another, curves them down and uses his thumb to spin a slow circle over your clit. 

It’s enough to send you over the edge. Your body shakes, walls clenching in on a gaping nothing, and though the climax leaves you limp-boned and hazy, it’s clear that this is only the start for Simon. He rises to his feet to shuck his pants off, followed by his underwear, which does much to reveal that he’s already hard. 

Good. You’d be insulted, honestly, if he wasn’t. He kneels, and you reach out a hand to run over his cock, feeling out the shape of the veins, stroking a single finger over the tip and smearing his precum about. He places a hand upon yours, gently shifting it off, and the other goes to your waist. Without what seems like an effort at all, he flips you from your back to your stomach. Now, you are facing the wall—he may as well have no face, no body, just a pair of hands and a dick. 

“Eager dove,” he murmurs, and you arch up towards him, wanting to be filled, to be contained and released, but all he does is stroke a slow, almost reverent hand over your ass. “Had my eye on you, you know? Ever since I saw you.”

“Please,” you half-moan half-snap, and he finally obliges with a thrust forwards that takes the breath from your lungs. There is an immediate burn. It is not given time to fade, time to adjust, before he’s pushing himself deeper—you shudder, clenching with the effort it takes to accommodate him. The hand upon your ass, he brings up, brings back down again, a sting to distract from the pleasant ache within you. Less a slap and more the way a man thuds a new car, more possession and less the intent to hurt. 

“Not leaving,” he says, and you don’t quite process what the words mean. Simply nod—you’d not if he told you to break your phone and slit your throat with the glass, you’d nod if he asked if he could cut you chin-to-clit and crawl inside your body. He bends closer, close enough that his chest is pressed to your back and his chin notches into the crook of your shoulder. 

You’re already sensitive from his previous workings, and with this—him, hitting spots inside of you that you do not think anyone else could, not in any sense of the word—it does not take much to bring you over once again. A full-body shake that stars from your core, expands outwards like ripples in a lake, violent enough to make you click your teeth together. Warmth, seeping inside of you, and when he tenderly pulls back, it gushes out in a stream that might as well be blood. 

There is movement behind you, shuffling, and by the time you regain the wherewithal to turn back around, sit up, he’s already pulling his pants on, back to you. 

“You’re leaving?” You ask, trying not to sound insulted. True love you did not think this was, but he could at least stay the night. 

“Some business t’ take care of,” he grunts, “I’ll be back soon.”

It’s a good enough excuse that you let your head fall back upon the pillow. You don’t hear your tent zipper being pulled open, but when you look back up, he’s gone. 

—

Kelsey screams. Once, again, again. 

You wake up. 

She screams. 

It spurs you into action, and you leap from the warmth of the bag, fumbling with how quickly you unzip the tent. Burst into the open air—see, from your peripheral, Lou doing much the same thing. 

Once you’re out, it’s not hard to see why. 

Hanging from a tree directly above the campfire, by his wrists, is a man. Is Darren. His chin is tucked into his chest, and he is naked, stomach cleaved open. 

Strangely, there’s no blood, no puddle. You stare at it, some yawning emptiness that might be horror opening inside of you, look down, then up, then down again. 

His dick is cut off. You think, in some ironic world, that would be funny. 

Lou reaches Kelsey first—she stands at the edge of the log circle, looking up, face ashen and eyes wide. It reminds you of, when you were in seventh grade, when you walked into her house after school and found her Mom dead in the kitchen, a knife embedded in her neck. It was her Dad. They never found him—Kelsey’s always been scared that he’ll find her, someday, do the same thing. 

Your hand twitches. It was you. You killed her. She never found out.

You rub your forehead with your hand. Maybe you’re getting a migraine. You can’t remember what you were thinking about. 

“We have to go,” he says, after a moment, voice high with panic, “c’mon, don’t… don’t stay for anything, we have to go.” He whirls around, meeting eyes with you. “Hey! Where’s Simon?”

Silence. Kelsey, after a moment. 

“You’re joking.”

He hesitates, face suddenly as stricken as hers, all blood drained out. “I…”

She whips around, face almost nose-to-nose with his, “you’re fucking joking, who the fuck is Simon, what-”

“I was with him,” he swears, backing away a step, head swiveling around—like Simon will materialize at any minute—“I… he came into my tent, told me he couldn’t sleep. We played poker and he took all my rocks.”

“No,” you say, distantly, like your voice is not your own, “he was with me.”

With me seems like a better word than fucking my brains out. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kelsey says after a moment, half-sobbing, “whatever- whatever the hell he is, let’s leave.”

“My phone,” Lou says after a moment, dashing towards the tents. You follow, and when Kelsey catches up to you, her hands lock onto your arm. They’re warm. You place your hand over hers, and wonder how long it takes to make a corpse feel real. 

When he emerges, phone in hand, there’s little hope upon his face. 

“Dead,” he says, “flat-out dead, not no service, dead.”

“Mine’s dead too,” you say, recalling that first night, forgetting to plug it back in. You haven’t remembered to do it since. 

“We need to leave,” Kelsey repeats, “no point in checking.”

You don’t need any further reminding. The path that led you to the clearing is easy to find. It’s significantly lighter, going down, with not even a pack upon your backs—makes the journey feel quick, even if it’s agonizingly slow. You do not stop for anything—not food, not water, all done with a numbness of your feet and the strange fog in your mind. 

“I should’ve known better,” Lou says, as the sun reaches his zenith—it comes out with the certainty of a thought that’s been stewing for hours—“I’ve watched a thousand horror movies, obviously. You both think of a man that doesn’t exist and you get confused when we prod you on it, and we’re in the woods, oh my god.”

“Don’t start,” Kelsey snaps. Her voice has stabilized from earlier, but she still has that wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look. 

“It was so obvious,” he repeats, “and of course, Darren dies first, because he’s the confident asshole, and…”

That feels a tad insensitive, but you suppose the charitable part of his brain has short-circuited.

“And what the fuck does that make you?” Kelsey asks, “the meta guy? You die next. You’re fucking Randy Meeks.” 

“I know,” he replies, and that quiets her. It puts you on that line of thinking—that of horror movies. Logic dictates something along the lines of a final girl, unless your filmmaker is avant-garde or a sadist, so it could go either way for you. 

You don’t realize you’ve turned back around until you’re short of breath—until you realize that somehow, you have made a 180 on the trail, and are now going uphill. It takes another five minutes before Lou notices, before he stops in his tracks, and says, “we… we got turned around.”

“What?” Kelsey asks. He points up the slope. 

“We’re walking up. I recognize that tree! We just passed that rock! Oh my god.”

He puts his head in his hands. She stares dully up the trail, as if uncomprehending, before slowly turning around. 

“Let’s go.”

There’s not any hope in the words. Another bit of time—you don’t have any way to tell, but you think it might be an hour—before, once again, you are climbing up. 

“There’s not really any point,” you observe. 

“No,” Lou says, and he turns again. 

When the sun begins to sink below the horizon, when the sky darkens like a bruise, you break back into the clearing. Logs to one side, tents to another. 

Darren is gone. You look up at the tree, and see not even a rope mark—and, without the puddle of blood, there is no sign that he was ever there at all. 

“Fuck,” Kelsey says. Turns, kicking out at one of the logs, screams the word, then collapses to her knees, sobbing. Lou kneels by her side, rubbing a hand along her back. Looks up at you, after a moment. 

“We’re sleeping in the same tent tonight. All three of us. He seems… he seems to only get one of us at a time. There is no Simon.”

“There is no Simon,” you breathe, digging your fingernails into your palms. No Simon. You did not meet him in college, did not meet him in high school, he was not in your tent last night and you have never felt his hands upon your skin. 

When you were a kid, you’d repeat that mantra to yourself, there is no, there is no there is no there is no there is no there is no there is. 

When you were a kid…

You blink, and you are in the tent. Must be Lou’s—cramped, with all three of you, but you and Kelsey are sharing a sleeping bag, and Lou is in his own. You stare at him, sleeping, and then crawl out into the cold air. Sit for a moment, in the tent, look at the darkness around and the things beyond it that you cannot see. 

Quietly, you unzip the flaps, pull yourself into the open. Walk a slow circle around the camp, half-contemplating, half enjoying the cold air. 

On your third loop, you see Simon, sitting in what used to be Darren’s tent. Your heart stutters briefly in your chest, but you relax just as quickly. He’s so familiar that it hurts. 

You’ve known Simon since first grade, when he would chase you around the playground, and make you kiss him when he caught you. Kelsey���s always hated him. So has Darren. Even Lou, from the first moment he laid eyes on him. When you told them that you were bringing him along on the trip, Kelsey dug her fingers into your neck and strangled you until your nails were bloodied from scratching at her skin. 

“Hey,” you say, ducking down to sit next to him. You didn’t think to bring a light with you, on this trip, so he’s shaded in darkness, but you can hear the movement of his body, feel the soft brush of his lips as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. “Mourning?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he replies, “Lou thinks he can get you out?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “he’ll try again tomorrow, I bet.”

He laughs. You wonder if he has a mouth to laugh with. 

“Not gonna work, Dove. You know that.”

You shrug listlessly. “Makes him feel better.”

One heavy, warm hand settles around your wait, tugs you closer, until you’re half-onto his lap. You nestle your head on his shoulder. He smells like blood. You dig your nose into his chest, inhale deeper. 

“I love you,” you say. His fingers dig in, the tiniest bit, pinpricks of sensation down your side. 

“I know. Love y’ too much, sometimes.”

“Is that possible?” You ask. He laughs, and you swear you can smell it, swear you can taste it. 

“Guess not. I’d just do anything to keep you. Anything, y’hear?”

“Anything,” you whisper. You’re so close to his heart that you swear it goes straight through, you swear you can dig your teeth in and tug it out and speak to it directly, mouth wrapped around his aorta. 

—

When you wake up, you’re sprawled on the ground outside of Darren’s tent. Stumble to your feet, steadying yourself with a hand upon the flimsy material, walk around listlessly until Kelsey pushes her way free of last night’s abode. She looks around, surveying the space, before her eyes lock on you. 

“Where’s Lou?” She asks. You blink once, taking in the tender hope, the wish—she wants you to say, bathroom, or in my tent, or, over there, behind that tree, peekaboo!

You swallow once, and whisper, “I don’t know.”

It is like some invisible wall collapses, making her suddenly smaller. “What do you mean-”

“I mean he’s gone,” you reply, running a hand through your hair, pretending it’s someone else’s, someone you never knew and someone you know as intimately as yourself, “I mean he’s… he’s dead, probably.”

“No,” she says, “no, we were all together- he couldn’t get us, it’s not possible, I- where were you? Why are you out here?”

“I saw him last night,” you whisper, “Simon. I… I went outside.”

“No,” she repeats, “why the fuck would you do that? Is it you?” The accusation comes with the force of a slap—you’re half-surprised one doesn’t accompany it. She backs away a step, pointing, “is he yours? You’ve- you’ve seen him the most, haven’t you, and he fucking killed Darren because you hated him, and he killed Lou because he was trying to get us out, and, oh my God.” 

Another step. She turns, still staring at you over her shoulder—like you will pounce, like you will come for her—begins a halting run down the path. Accelerates to a sprint, by the time she’s out of your view. You place a hand to your chest, and feel the beat of your heart, and wonder what’s wrong with your legs. 

Not ten minutes later, you spot her over the horizon, still running—if at a flagging pace. She turns, when her eyes meet with you, but it’s short order before she’s back in the clearing, collapsing on the log before you. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say, not turning towards her. Almost surprisingly, your voice wavers, and some animal instinct buried in your hindbrain twitches, caught in the throes of death. “He… it… whatever he is, I didn’t summon him, I didn’t ask for anything. I see him, and I know him, and what am I supposed to do?”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Pushes herself up to a sitting position. 

“Tell my Mom that I love her. And my Dad.”

You can’t remember having a family. You can’t remember being a kid, can’t remember meeting those people that were once your friends. Again, you think of the doppelganger. Maybe you’re the clone, maybe you’ve slipped into the skin of whoever used to inhabit this body. 

“I don’t know if I’m making it out either,” you reply. She laughs. 

“What, he’s gonna kill you? Please.” Again, a peal of laughter, and she can’t seem to contain herself, one hand wrapping around to cup her stomach. 

“I didn’t say I’d be dead.” 

That sobers her. 

The sun falls across the horizon. She walks to the cooler eventually, digs around in it. Comes back with a single bottle of beer. 

“Go fucking figure. Only one left.”

She opens it, takes a swig, holds it out to you. You oblige, turning it about in your hand, take a cautious sip. It brings you back to the firelight, to the time of hours ago, to the life that you cannot be sure you lived. 

You see him before it’s fully dark. Behind Kelsey’s back, in the treeline, face hidden by the drooping leaves and the curve of the shadows. 

“You should go,” you tell her. She stares at you. 

“Yeah? Where?” 

“Let her go,” you say. If there is one favor you can give to your former life, then it’s this. If there is one favor he can give to you, it’s this. 

You don’t see him nod, but you push her anyway, urge her to her feet. 

“Go. Quickly. You’ll… you’ll make it.”

You don’t know if it’s any kinder, honestly. Deer chews its way out of the snare, must live the rest of its life with an amputated leg. Still, she gives you a single, wide-eyed stare, before she jerkily walks to the path, takes to a jog in the dying light. 

There is nothing between you and Simon, not anymore. You stand up, walk into the trees, and he comes towards you in the same measure. Keep walking, until your chest is bumping against his, nose pressed into his chest and legs arranged between his, some half-dissolved hug. 

You have known Simon for as long as you’ve known yourself, and where your skin meets, you can’t quite tell who is who, which limbs you can control and which limbs you cannot. 

“They’ll come looking,” he says. You say. 

“Is that a problem?” You reply. He replies. 

“No,” he whispers, hand coming around to sink into your back, “good hunting.”

“Good hunting,” you echo, and it feels like you could stand here forever, as still as the trees around you. 

You look up at his face. Meet his eyes. 

When you lean up to kiss him, it is the only thing you have ever been certain of.

[veronicaleighauthor]

[nick-knackwrites]

Levi NSFW Week Day 7: Marking

This is the first time I've ever written anything spicy so please tell me what's good and what's not 😳

Paring: Levi x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.8k

Content: Modern AU, Jealous Levi, Marking, Vaginal Fingering

AO3

“You know, as posh as this party is, I don’t think they sprung for diamond-encrusted glassware. You squeeze that glass any harder and it’s bound to shatter.” 

You had never seen Levi look as aggravated as he did currently, scowling at the entirety of the ballroom with shoulders tensed and teeth nearly bared in a snarl. He cut a fine figure in his neatly pressed and perfectly tailored black tux, cut to accentuate his broad shoulders and narrow hips. On another man, the fearsome look on his face might be considered hideous but on Levi’s delicate features, it could only be attractive. 

The reason for his upset is clear: Your dress. It’s a beautiful piece. Deep crimson fabric with a daring v-neckline that ends just above your belly button before flaring out into a full skirt with a slit on the right-hand side that climbs all the way to the middle of your thigh. You feel beautiful in it and despite his grumbling about it now, you know that Levi thinks so too. Heat floods your cheeks at the memory of how he demonstrated his admiration of the dress the previous night. 

No, the problem wasn’t really the gown itself, it was the attention it brought to you. 

This wasn’t the first of Levi’s work events that you attended on his arm but it was the most formal. While his coworkers had interacted with you plenty of times in the past, they had never seen quite so much skin and you were drawing a great deal of appreciative stares from your boyfriend’s male cohorts. Appreciative stares that Levi did not appreciate at all. 

You’d even caught Erwin, straight-laced and morally upstanding to a fault, stealing a glance below your neckline. Unfortunately, Levi had caught it too. You thought he was going to pop a blood vessel. You’re still not sure that he won’t before the night is through. 

A disgruntled, “Tch”, is all you get in response to your comment. 

You breathe a sigh and gently unwind Levi’s fingers from where they’re wrapped around the champagne flute in death grip. “I’m serious,” you set the rescued glass on the bar behind you, “You need to relax.” 

“I’ll relax when we get home where no one is appraising you like a damn piece of meat and I can get that infuriating dress off of you.” His voice is low and dark and he’s actually pouting. 

“Well,” You intertwine your fingers in his now free hand and wrap your other arm snugly around his bicep, pressing your mostly exposed chest to his arm. “I certainly hope that you don’t feel too relaxed when you're taking my clothes off.” 

He huffs your name and rolls his eyes. You’d tease him further but you don’t get a chance. You’re being approached by the next target of Levi’s glare: A tall broad-shouldered man with wavy blonde hair and a scruffy beard. 

“Fuck off, Jaeger.” 

Zeke laughs, a full-bellied fake thing that makes your skin crawl. Of Levi’s associates, Zeke is by far your least favorite. “Ever the charmer, Levi.” Zeke flashes a smile at you and winks like you’re in on some joke together. “Apparently charming enough to trap this alluring creature on your arm. Who knew you had it in you? Hard to imagine how you can be so bitter at work when you're coming home to something so sweet.” He turns to face you fully. “You’ve certainly got this room in a tizzy. Levi should bring you around more often. Especially when you’re dressed like that.” 

“Zeke, I swear-” 

“Mr. Jaeger,” you cut your boyfriend off smoothly. “I’m flattered. Levi helped me pick this dress out. He has great taste, doesn’t he?” You run your hands down the length of your abdomen and Zeke’s gaze follows. You swallow the bile it elicits. 

“Well I can’t argue that when he’s chosen you as your date. Though I do feel that yours may be in question.” 

Zeke’s eyes - bright blue and intelligent - sparkle with mirth behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Yeah, I think you could.”

Levi is vibrating with anger under your touch but you give his bicep a squeeze to placate him before speaking, “Oh? You think I could do better?” 

You give Levi an appraising look, scanning him from head to toe. You ignore the fierce side-eye he gives as you do so. “Hmmm. I suppose it’s something to consider, Mr. Jaeger.” 

A feral grin slowly spreads across Zeke’s face. “I’ll be here waiting once you’re ready to move up, sweetheart.” 

You cock your head and furrow your brow, “I’m sorry but you will be waiting?”  

The smile slips from Zeke’s lips like oil through the cracks in the pavement. “You look like a sweet little thing but I’m beginning to suspect that you might be just as sour as your man here.” 

“Most certainly.”

“But, Mr. Jaeger, I thought the idea was to be moving up, not down.” 

“Yes, well, appearances can be deceiving. After all, you look like a gentleman with your rented suit and your cute little pocket square but here you are, behaving and reeking like a pig.” You wiggle your nose for effect. “Goodnight, Mr. Jaeger” 

You steer Levi away gently to find a seat at a table on the outskirts of the dance floor. Your feet are aching in your heels and you’re still annoyed by your conversation with Zeke so you really just want to sit down but Levi grabs your wrists before you get the chance. He pulls you against his body with bruising force and it’s almost indecent the way the lines of your bodies press against each other in this open public space. You have half a mind to push away from him but the thought flees your brain when Levi presses his lips to yours. The kiss is demanding and rough and you melt into it immediately. It stops all too soon and then Levi is cradling your face in his hands as he husks, “I fucking love you.” 

The dry statement breaks the sexual tension and you laugh. “Alright, down boy.” You earn another eye-roll. “I’m going to head to the bathroom to fix whatever havok you just wreaked on my lipstick. Behave yourself, please.” 

“Don’t take too long. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.” The gruffness is back and so is the pout. You kiss it softly before turning to walk away. 

As you do, you catch the tail end of a conversation between two men who are far too old to be looking at you the way they are. All you can make out is something about a “fine piece of ass” and a “helluva display”. You wince when you hear one of them clap Levi on the shoulder and say something about “sharing the goods”. That can't have gone over well. 

You push it down and march to the bathroom with your head held high. It's mercifully empty and quiet and you breathe a sigh of relief. Leaning against the cool marble counter, you check your reflection in the mirror and swipe at the lipstick that Levi smeared across your lips in his aggressive reclamation of your attention. You think about how frustrated he's been tonight and feel a little guilty for putting him in this position no matter how unintentional it was. Maybe having you out of the picture for a few minutes will give him a chance to cool down. 

The door slams open with a bang. Or maybe not, you think as you see Levi standing in the doorframe, face flushed with fury. He crosses the room in two stomping strides allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

“Levi what are you-” you don't get any further before his lips are on yours. While his kiss earlier was hungry, this one is ravenous. He crowds you back against the counter as his tongue plunges into the cavern of your mouth. He tastes like the champagne you’ve both been drinking and you think you could get drunk off of his kisses alone. You’re not sure how long it has been before you finally break for air but it must have been a while because you find yourself gulping great mouth-fulls of air. Levi apparently does not feel the same need for oxygen and simply moves his ministrations to your neck and clavicle. You moan raggedly when he sucks a mark under your ear and it seems to push him over some ledge you hadn’t known he was standing on. 

His hands band around your waist and he lifts you onto the counter with a low grunt, keeping his mouth on your skin the whole time. Blood roars in your ears at the sensation and your legs automatically wrap around his waist when he steps between them. 

The new position puts your chest directly in front of his face and he dives into your cleavage, laving the exposed expanse with his tongue. His hands rise to knead and grope at the covered mounds on either side of his head and your own head thumps back against the mirror at the sensation of warmth and wetness that Levi trails across your skin. 

“Levi,” You try again, sounding breathless and ruined, “What - what are you doing?” 

“All these fucking pigs, undressing you with their eyes.” His voice is muffled by your tits and almost drowned out completely by the high-pitched keening sound you make as he deftly rolls a nipple between his fingers. He pulls away to give you a lust-laden look that makes heat pool between your legs. “I’m giving them something to look at.” 

His hands continue their near-brutal assault on your chest, his mouth working steadily at a spot in the center of your cleavage. It will bloom dark the instant he’s through, proudly displayed for all to see. You distantly think that you should maybe be ashamed, maybe stop him, but you’re so turned on that the only truly coherent thought in your head is more. 

You arch into him, desperate to be closer and he groans into your skin before turning his head to suck a new mark on the inner side of your right breast. He continues like that for what feels like hours, alternating sides and leaving shades of red and purple in his wake. Your hips begin to rock into his and you can feel how hard he is through the layers of clothing still covering you both. You want them gone. Fumbling hands struggle to undo his belt before he yanks them away and pins them to the mirror above your head. His lips find your neck again, tongue expertly tracing over every vein. 

“Levi,” Your voice comes out in a thready whine. “Please I need-” You cut yourself off with a gasp as he bites the junction where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Got you.” The words ghost across your skin and his hands roam down the length of your body. He soothes the bite with a sensual drag of his tongue and then keeps his lips busy while his fingers move under your dress. You are so delirious with pleasure that you don’t quite understand how your lace panties are suddenly no longer on your body but are being tucked into his pocket instead. His hands slide up your thighs in a slow drag, bringing your dress with them. You suck in a breath as the cool air hits your drenched pussy and make another weak attempt to reach for his belt. He swats your hand away without looking away from your soaked folds. “No time.” 

Your lip trembles and the fire you attempt to put into your voice is doused by the desperation that you cannot keep at bay, “Bastard. You can’t,”  -hiccup- “you can’t leave me like this.” 

A wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Oh I’m not going to leave you like this. I was just saying that I don’t have time to fuck you the way I want to.” He sucks another mark into your neck and thrusts against your center, drawing a high-pitched whine from your throat. “The way you deserve to be fucked.” Another mark and another thrust. You think you’re going to go mad with lust. “That will have to wait.” This time he moves his hips slowly and deliberately, rubbing against you in a way that allows you to feel every thick, throbbing inch. “But there’s plenty of time for this.” 

Without any further warning, Levi moves his hips back and slides his fingers through your slick before plunging one into your wet heat. You gasp at the intrusion and your whole body curves up obscenely, pushing your chest towards Levi’s face. You feel his lips move against your cleavage as he murmurs, “That’s a good girl, so wet for me.” 

His point is enunciated by a squelch as a second finger joins the first. You throb as molten heat spreads through your core. His fingers move in tandem with his mouth, pushing and pulling, sucking and soothing. Your own mouth stutters over cries of “yes”, “please”, and, most frequently, “Levi”. 

You’re certain that there is not a single spot left on your chest that has not been marked and it becomes sensitive as he licks and sucks over the freshly formed bruises. A whimper of pain escapes and Levi responds by adding his thumb to the fray, brushing over your clit in decisive swipes. The pleasure washes out the pain and you are close to the edge within seconds. 

“Oh,” Your head knocks against the mirror after a particularly forceful thrust but you are too overcome to register the fresh pain. “Levi, I - please - I can’t - don’t stop-” You can’t finish a sentence but that’s okay, Levi doesn’t need you to. 

His fingers curl against your walls and he strums his thumb over your clit in tight circles. Your name comes out in a rasp against your left nipple as he commands, “Come for me.” 

Your orgasm is instantaneous and all-consuming. Blinding pleasure spreads through your body and you lose control of every muscle as they are engulfed by the sensation. Your legs spasm against the counter, shaking so hard that your left foot escapes the confines of the straps on your high heel. Cold glass chills your head as it rolls against the glass behind you and you stop breathing for a few precious minutes as your mind is wiped clear of all thoughts except one: How good Levi looks cleaning your come off of his fingers by popping them into his mouth and swirling his tongue around them - slowly and purposefully. You close your eyes to give your heart a chance to get back under control and when you open them again, Levi is staring at your tits in open admiration. He gently brushes his fingers between them and you wince at the feeling. “How bad is it?” You ask him in a voice that sounds nothing short of debauched. 

Levi sucks in a breath. “It's. .  .” He kneels to fix your heel and gently lifts you from your perch on the counter. You stumble into his chest as he sets you on your feet and he smiles softly, kissing your forehead. “Take a look.” 

He spins you slowly to face the mirror, keeping his hands securely on your waist. “Levi!” you scold, though the effect is somewhat marred by how broken your voice still sounds. Your chest is a riot of color. Every single inch of skin is littered with red kiss-marks, some already beginning to bloom into shades of purple and blue. Your neck bares his marks as well, though they are more scattered up there. Your boobs were very obviously the preferred target here and Levi very clearly did not miss. 

You sigh as you straighten your dress and attempt to put your hair back in order. Levi helps smooth a few of the flyaways and once you look somewhat put together - You definitely still look like you got railed in a public bathroom but at least your tits aren’t hanging out of your dress - you stretch a hand out to Levi, palm-up. “I’ll need my underwear back, too.” 

Levi looks at you thoughtfully for one moment, then ogles your tits for two. “No.” He states, patting his pocket. “I’ll think I’ll hold on to that for now.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, well, good thing we’re going home, then.” You step close to him and gently cup him through his pants, “We have some things to take care of, after all.” 

Levi smiles and moves your hand from his throbbing cock to intertwine your fingers with his. He’s still staring openly at your chest when he says, “You know, I’ve had a change of heart. I think we should stay a little longer and enjoy the company. I did give them quite a view, after all.”

[sunflowertoonz]

Ao3 author curse🤝Roblox game dev curse

One causes horrific tragedy

One causes horrific scandal

Both fuck you up

[random-cockroach]

I tell with all seriousness that after watching Cyberverse the first thing I wanted to do is reread Local Trains au by @ryuki-draws

I think every time I will be rewatching specific moments in Cyberverse I will go and just read this comic again....

[harrywavycurly]

I am begging y’all to hit reblog on fics you like. Leave a comment if you’re comfortable. Tell the author how you feel about it in the tags, in their inbox, or anything because too many authors are leaving because they don’t feel appreciated.