#how things line up so cleanly...

[sukunasteeth]

When Sukuna kisses you, it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.

You started out perched on his lap, but by now he's reduced you to a boneless, panting heap in his grasp. His arms supporting you are the only things keeping you from melting against him like liquid lust. You're desperate for a moment of solid ground to catch your breath, but Sukuna is adamant on continuously taking it away from you. His calloused hands inching their way up your shirt, brushing softly against your sides, over your rib cage, skimming the underside of your breasts, all in mesmerization at how soft your skin is.

"'Kuna..." You try to capture his attention, which has been taken by his fixation on how sensitive your ears were to the scrape of his teeth.

You're surprised when he answers with a distracted hum, "Yes, my little doe?"

"I -I need a second." You stutter, your heart is thumping wildly in your chest, despite how intoxicated and incapacitated you feel at his mercy. You were starting to forget how to breathe in his close proximity and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep your head straight with his natural scent acting like a pheromone.

You feel his wicked grin against your neck before you hear it in his voice, "Poor thing. Am I working you too hard? I rarely see you so out of sorts..." 

Sukuna doesn't even try to disguise his amusement at your complete inebriation with his kisses. His tongue presses against the nape of your throat before he follows a line of sweat up to your ear, leaving behind a cold stripe of his saliva against your burning hot skin. He holds you fast when you violently shiver against him, "It's a good look on you."

“Please…” You beg with whatever breath you can conjure for him but it comes out as more of a desperate little whimper. That was Sukuna’s favorite tone of your voice, after all. 

And desperate you were. Sukuna had been devouring you for so long, sucking and nipping and licking at whatever part of your revealed skin interested him. You could feel your legs forgetting how to operate.

You just needed a moment. 

Without his permission, you push away from his chest and manage to get to your feet in front of him. Your legs buckle, but you're able to catch yourself before you fall face first back into him. Sukuna is looking up at you, as kiss drunk as you felt, blinking slowly with a satisfied smile. 

“Give me just one sec-” You’re about to turn away. And then you see it. 

Sukuna had you so entranced with him, had your mind so far away from your body, that you hadn’t even noticed the fact that you had cleanly soaked through your panties on his lap. And there, on that oh-so-comfortable part of his thigh, that had quickly become one of your happy places, was a dark spot on his jeans from your wetness. 

All you could do was stare down at it, mortified. 

Which only has Sukuna following your gaze in momentary curiosity. 

“I-I’M…” You try to catch his attention again with the sound of your voice before his eyes can settle on the new mark, but Sukuna sees it first.

His grin quickly fades and your heart careens into your throat. You feel embarrassment shoot through you like a shot of adrenaline, coloring your already pink face a bright and rosy red. 

The clear solution to the undoubtedly awkward situation is to run, right?

“I’ll be right back-” But you don’t even move an inch before his hand snaps forward and latches onto the front pocket of your (his) hoodie, stopping you in place. 

Your heartbeat thumps in your red-hot ears and you go against every fiber of your being to meet his eyes.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going with my dinner?" The playful lilt of his tone has completely vanished and reveals a deep, dark starvation in its place.

"I work hard for my meals, you know?” 

[vamph00n]

Facial ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ᡣ𐭩 mdni! femreaderxroomatehee

ᡣ𐭩 wc: 3k

ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: heeseung as a roomate? he’s fine, as a friend? better. it’s just heeseung, just the dude who happens to watch you fold and put away your underwear, and happens to watch you change when the bathroom door is slightly cracked open. he’s just your roomate. so what if he plays would you rather with explicit options occasionally?

ᡣ𐭩 smut tags under the cut.

ᡣ𐭩 consume what you can handle

smut tags: heeseung is a creep, reader is clueless, throat fucking, bj’s, facial duh, dubcon?, mentions of panty stealing and masturbation, mentions of bodily fluids, cum, cum eating, nasty make out, uses of the word angel,

lmk if i missed anything 🫶

enjoy!!

“no, not in a million years.” is what you said in response to a slightly unconventional question. but then again there’s no such thing between the two of you.

his arms rose in mock surrender, tilting his head at the validity of your reaction. “guess that type of thing isn’t for everyone.”

and it's not , he had just hoped that maybe you’d say something different. something to get his little computer fried brain working, running off of more than just the thought of an iniquitous act but an actual idea that was based in reality. that thing you’d hypothetically be doing. it would’ve fulfilled his nightly one handed habit better than using his left one to scroll through porn. knowing you’d do it? or have done it? that’s all he needs.

although met with disappointment, in that moment as you put away your neatly folded garments, heeseung captures a look of distaste and curiosity on your face. one that reads a lack of experience, not a lack of will. your nose scrunched at the idea, but the subtle way your lips pressed in a straight line told him. ahh it makes sense now. maybe it’s not that you’ve never considered it, but rather you’ve never tried it.

at your inconvenience, he’s still sprawled out on your bed despite demanding him to keep off. at times like this, you wonder, maybe it was a bad idea to find your roommate online, because you grossly underestimated how particular you were when it came to cleanliness. it’s not that germs freak you out, it’s that you’re rooming with a man. a recluse of one at that. yeah, he didn’t go out a lot and it’s not like he was rolling in a pile of shit; but you swore he wore the same sweater for two weeks straight without washing it, and used a three in one body wash. in a small apartment with one bathroom? those exemplar instances only lead up to future disagreements.

with the ability to ignore these minor quirks, you’d say that despite your differences you managed to become quite comfortable with him. so much so, that you seemed to brush off the fact that he was always in your room when you put away your underwear, how it went unnoticed by you when he lingered a little too long in friendly hugs, and smelled your hair a little too strongly when he’d ask what shampoo you used. cause why would you? it’s just heeseung.

maybe one of the biggest things you ignored was his odd game of would you rather. which is how we’re led up to the very question the man himself finds so interesting. initially you weren’t shocked by the ask, as he was just poking fun at how extensive your skincare routine was minutes prior.

“would you rather, not put all that gunk on your face or… let a guy give you a facial?

it’s not as outlandish as some other questions he’s asked, or as scandalous as experiences you’ve told him about. you already figured that he was just socially inept and thought nothing more of it. after all, he was an acquired taste. so of course you replied, and of course you would never because it’s nasty? at least maybe you thought it would be, because you’ve never tried it.

after lingering in your room for a bit longer, still pressing on about the question, it leads into a minor dispute. “seriously? why do you need that much stuff for your skin?” the boy sighs as he stretches out on your bed. you smack his face with a nearby throw pillow, and reiterate the same things you always tell him. maybe stuff like that didn’t matter to him, but to you it does because well, it makes you feel pretty.

whenever you talked like this, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift. if he could, and it didn’t mess up the established bond between you two; he would’ve totally told you how beautiful were.

but the idea of being “just heeseung”, a friend and a roomate; it was like a free pass to act perversely.

leaving him to his own devices, you wash up ignoring that the door was slightly cracked open. yet another thing you overlook, heeseung is a man. you knew that from the way he kept himself groomed, but otherwise? not so much. he knows how to get what he wants by being sneaky, and knows when not to be. although he’s starting to doubt that it’s just his scheming nature that’s aiding his desires, it’s the fact that you overlook everything he does.

his room, located at the nice spot in front of the bathroom, let his imagination run wild. the small gap in the door you left was occasionally big enough that he’d get a glance of your boobs in the reflection of the foggy mirror. those were nice times, and when you asked him to get you a towel because you forgot? even better. he watched intently and waited as you got out and dressed yourself in those pretty lace panties he held himself back from stealing.

pushing open the door as you lathered different serums onto your face, he couldn’t help but notice a certain resemblance of your white night cream. only making him wonder what else looked pretty spewed on your features. were you absolutely just in a shirt and underwear? yes but then again, it’s just heeseung. in the midst of your therapeutic regime, he starts fiddling with a bottle, confused with its contents.

“is this like water? what is it?” he says while sloshing the liquid around.

you snatch it from his grasp and say “it’s a toner.”

he nods placing it back where it was, and you take note of his hand placement. his arms snaked behind your back onto the counter locking you between his form. it’s nothing that you're entirely fazed by, it’s the intent stare he’s giving you through the reflection of the mirror as you look at the glowyness of your face that makes your heart jump.

heeseungs eyes darken, and he leans close to your ear still staring at your reflection.

“you said all this makes you look pretty, but I know a couple of other things that’ll look much better…”

you feel your heart stutter at the wispyness of his melodic voice saying suggestive things into your ear. in that moment he draws back his hand, and laces it through your hair grabbing it into a ponytail. you try to look over at his gaze from the side, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at your reflection.

“look at yourself angel, maybe it’s the face that counts, not what you put on it.”

as you watch through the glass, his lips tug at the corners, the sight of your hair fisted into a ball in his grasp not ever being something you thought you’d let anyone do. let alone have heeseung do it. his free hand grips your hip, and now is when you start to notice how underdressed you were before him. his hand travels down your lower half, groping your ass, then he plays with the band of your undergarment. he feels the slight raise in your skin, and a look of anticipation on your face tells him all.

he released your hair, and pressed his hips against your backside, trapping you in place. he smells your shampoo, and feels the softness of your skin. momentarily, you don’t know what to feel, the only thing you know is that the man before you has rendered you compliant.

you feel his hands grip your hips, as his roll into you. hard, and restrained, you feel his length through the thin material of your panties. taking your shaky hand, and feeling it, oh man. it’s hot, and heavy. heeseungs chest rises and his body flinches, he hisses at the feeling. grabbing you in a stern manner, he spins you to face him.

the way you comply, the way you just sit before him in fear and possibly regret, he takes his hand to caress your face. maybe he feels bad because tears are welling in your eyes waiting to fall, or because he hasn’t even touched you yet, your body is tense in his grasp, scared at the mercy of him. it’s something he doesn’t want to admit turns him on. not yet at least.

for a second you find yourself staring into his eyes, a weird feeling of fear and arousal course through you. heeseung, just heeseung. he weighs his hangs on your shoulders, pushing you to the floor in which you land on your knees. he backs up, locking the door behind him.

“hey what the fu-“

then, when you tried to rise to your feet, his hands hold you down at the top of your head as you wince. without much thought, he drops his pants.

maybe you’re the creep, but you’ve seen his cock once. passing by his room late at night to get water, he had it out as he stroked it with one hand. you’ve stored that memory in the back of your mind, thinking that you were the one being perverse. or maybe he wanted you to see that, maybe he saw as you watched and let you, hoping you’d come in to help him.

with that memory playing back, it’s much bigger than you remember. looking at his glistening tip, and veiny shaft, you just admired it. the hazy feeling this situation had you thinking “no way this is real.” wondering what’ll happen when you wake up from this wet dream. for a little longer you ponder whether you’ve ever actually thought of heeseung in any way like this. no, you haven’t, but will you pass on the opportunity?

his figure casts a shadow over you, he looks down at his dick, and back at you.

“are you going to do something about it?”

this isn’t a dream.

you inch closer to his hips, and take your shakey hands to hold his member. a little shudder down his spine and an encouraging nod paired with a low moan, you wrap your lips around the head of him. tasting the large amount of dripping precum as you swirl your tongue, he throws his head back, the sensitivity not only shocking you but himself as well.

so no, you won’t pass on the opportunity.

the sounds he elicits as you work your mouth on merely the very tip of his girth, it makes you think less of how you got here; but rather how you want to draw this experience out longer. your delicate fingers caress the remaining that hang out of your mouth, feeling the grooves and patterns.

it’s tantalizing the way you tease at his vulnerable state, him becoming a mess under your control. only, you can’t tell he is, you just keep going. the vicious mix of your saliva and the filth seeping from his cock were a display that he wanted to burn into his retinas. at this point, if you kept going he might—

then, in a second a small wave of delirious ecstasy wash over him as you take hold of his neglected balls, feeling them up as you lick the little slit on his tip.

knowing, and feeling a bit ashamed he wouldn’t last long if you kept going, he pulls away. leveling with you on your slightly reddened knees, the sappy liquid seeps from the corners of your mouth, and he pulls you in for a kiss.

all you can think is how crazy this is, how crazy you are for just… enjoying it more than you thought you would. him looking that attractive, moaning out little slews, and jumbled bits of your name while doing barely anything? oh yeah, you’re right to be on your knees. it had your panties clinging to the sticky uncared for mess brewing within you, that all you could do was hope he didn’t notice you grinding back on your heel. a kiss, a nasty one at that, tied with the mix of his secretions and yours as his tongue explored your mouth; it was like a porn like.

as he draws back, you see the little glistening string of spit, and he wipes away the residue forming on the corners of his mouth. as you tilt your head, like you didn’t almost rock his world; he fucking knows your enjoying this, and wants to shut you up before you start to get too cocky.

still hard and erect, he stood and you look up. the corner of your lips pull, and god heeseung knows he’s gonna have fun with you. he gives his length one small stroke before peering at your glassy eyes stare.

“think you can take this all of this in there?” he ask rasplily, as he brushing your lip with his thumb parting them.

with your mouth wide open, insistent you can; do you ever recall being so nasty? maybe there was a time, but really, did you ever think it would be with just heeseung? no.

a more than satisfied look casts on his face, as he lets the tip of his dick rest on your togue. the way you salvate in anticipation, and him enjoying it makes your cunt wetter, and throb more than any foreplay you’ve had.

it only makes you hope this isn’t all he’ll be doing.

sliding his member slowly into your mouth inch by inch, you wonder when it’ll stop. it’s to much, in girth and length. he’s maybe half way in when you feel the salty tears form in your eyes as his tip hits your throat. the garbled gag provoked by him, makes heeseungs jaw go slack in awe.

once you’ve adjusted to the monster, that is his manhood, you find it difficult to suck. with so much he had going on, you didn’t know what to do with all of it. yet with how slow each movement is, he seems to bask in it. the feeling of your mouth being stretched, and the feeling of your teeth grazing his shaft, all of it you enjoyed. letting out small hums as you lick, and suck.

“mm, so good at sucking cock,” he moans.

his hips press forward, shocking you a bit, causing tears to roll down your face.

“shh, shh. let me” he says before your life practically flashes before your eyes.

he starts to thrust into your mouth. it being obvious you can’t handle someone of his size, he takes the lead. you sit there, looking absolutely fucked as he ruts into you, you look up at his form.

it makes you so wet, you wonder how long he’s wanted to do this. how long it would’ve been till you thought about him like this. panted breaths draw from him, as he fucks your throat. all he could think as he moved is how pretty you were, how perfect you were.

thinking about how wet you are just watching him, knowing you have to be because he saw the discomfort in your panties. just that made him write. all these months he’s wondered why hasn’t he done this sooner, and wondering if your going to let him fuck you ever after this. he doesn’t know if that’ll happen, so he treats this like the last, even though it won’t be.

his thrusts become quicker, and your throat starts to hurt. his knees feeling like they’re going to buckle, he bites back a loud moan and you bask in his weakness. hoping he’ll be this way buried in your cunt, wanting to watch him as he falls apart trying to keep his composure.

heeseung feels the rise, and force course in his dick, aching for release. pulling it out of your mouth, and stoking it aggressively above your face he asks:

“youll let me cum all over your face right? just me?”

you nod, opening your mouth and closing you eyes wating for it.

he grunts, and strokes faster, the mix of saliva and precum keeping it lubricated. breathy pants are elicited from his dry throat, and his tip rages with a blushed red color.

“shit—“

he cums all over your face, it’s hot, and all that lands in your mouth gets swallowed. his chest rises and falls, and he looks like he’s just about done, but not before he fists your hair pulling you up from your weak knees.

he faces you towards the mirror, making sure you see yourself. your face painted white, all sticky with his semen, it arouses you, it's unexpected. it hurts how much this turns you on.

heeseung grabs your chin and playfully shakes your head.

“see, look how pretty” he smirks.

you want to roll your eyes and protest but you can’t. the brain fog you have because of how much your sopping cunt hurts has hindered you.

he continues to tease “hm, so not in a million years huh?”

you can’t think of anything else, and at this point your dignity is gone, but the need you have for him is carnal.

you pull him in close, and press his chest against yours. “i need you”

and just like that, heeseung knows this won’t be the last time this will be happening.

a/n: make sure to stream XO!! 😘

[rememberwren]

A Complete Set (Whatever That Means) || 2

A continuation of Skin Deep. Part one of this sequel is here.

About this: previous warnings apply, oral sex (f receiving), alcohol, gross imperfections, not a single nipple unfortunately, an eyebrow though. For @/moody-alcoholic, I hope this manages to quench even the tiniest portion of your thirst. 1 more part left. 7k

-

“Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Are you seeing anybody else?” 

Simon looks up at you. His hair is getting long, falling over his forehead and looking nearly brunet in the dim lighting. You don’t think he’s cut it since the two of you have started dating. 

He’s been drawing for half the night, hunched over with the sketchpad in his lap, doing terrible things to his own posture and blocking his own lighting all at once. When he answers you, it’s in that dry tone that lets you know he thinks you’ve said something funny or clever: “No.” 

A knot in your chest loosens. It’s hard to believe you worried over such a question for so long just to receive such a simple, earnest answer. He goes back to sketching. 

You content yourself with this and stretch your legs out until your toes touch his thigh at the other end of the sofa. His mouth twitches, but he keeps working. 

-

Six months pass, and how do you celebrate? You climb topless onto Simon’s lap, eager and anxious in equal measure. Your nipple piercing had stopped hurting months ago (save for the time you had snagged it on a cable knit sweater and nearly seen Jesus), but you had read online that piercings heal from the outside inward, and as such you had made every attempt possible to leave the thing alone even when all you wanted to do was play with it. 

In his own way of celebrating, Simon had bought you your first new barbell: a black one with black gemmed studs at each end. You couldn’t help but notice that it looked similar to his, only with a more delicate, feminine touch.

“Will you change it for me?” you ask him. Your hands are shaking.

“Alright. Let me wash my hands.” He shifts you off of his lap and disappears into the bathroom where you hear the faucet turn on. You cross your arms over your breasts, feeling silly being half naked without Simon in the room. Your foot bounces impatiently, but you know that if cleanliness were a love language, it would likely be Simon’s. 

Not that he had told you he loved you—nor had you told him. You had promised yourself that you would wait until he said it first (the only sure-fire way to avoid coming across as overeager and scaring him off). Still, there were a thousand ways in a day that Simon made you feel as if he loved you: the way he would go out to start your car in the wintery mornings when your remote start stopped working; the way he always offered you the first bite of his food if you weren’t sharing a meal; the way he’d crack open your drinks before handing them to you. Was it wrong of you to try to read between the lines? 

Simon comes back and tugs you onto his lap again. His hands look huge compared to the jewelry through your breast as he dexterously works the ball free from the barbell. He has the hands of a surgeon: steady and calm. You close your eyes in anticipation of pain, but there is none; it just feels alien, sensitive whenever his calloused fingers brush over your pebbled nipple, even as he removes the barbell itself. 

Taking the sanitized jewelry, he carefully puts it in and screws the stud in place. 

“That didn’t hurt at all,” you say, reaching down to tug softly on the barbell. Still, no pain. 

“Great,” he says, eyes on your breasts. He grips your hips. “Up, now. C’mon, up.” 

He tugs you up onto your knees so that you’re the perfect height for him to take your nipple into his burning mouth. You shiver, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other burying itself in his hair, gripping softly to keep his mouth in place. If you had worried that getting the piercing would make you less sensitive, you were wrong. He tugs on the jewelry gently with his fucking teeth and God, holy shit, fucking hell, definitely not less sensitive.

“Been waiting to do this,” he says, nuzzling the skin between your breasts as he gives you a moment to catch your breath. “Six months of hell.” 

“Yeah?” You pant lamely, chest heaving. 

He hums. His thumbs stroke beneath your breasts along the sternum tattoo he gave you—a favorite part of you for him to touch—as his lips find your nipple again, lashing softly with his tongue. His hands have begun to tremble where they slide down the curves of your sides and to your hips, touch soft and worshipful as he brings you down to rest your weight against the hard line of his cock still confined in his jeans. The shaking says more than a thousand of his words ever could. 

“I want you,” he mutters. “Say yes.” 

“Yes, God, yes.”

Simon guides you off of his lap, kneeling down into the space between the couch and the coffee table. He pushes the table backwards with a little more force than is necessary when there isn’t enough room for his long legs and accidentally sends a cup full of charcoal pencils tipping over onto the carpet. You snort with laughter. He peels your leggings and panties off and drags you to the edge of the couch, pressing your thighs open wide. 

Getting head from partners in the past had been a fraught, mostly unenjoyable experience. Even your first few times with Simon had been tense, with him quickly moving on to something else after noticing your inability to relax. A less eager man might have counted his blessings and moved on, but Simon’s gentle persistence had gone a long way toward reassuring you that he truly wanted to please you this way. It had gone a long way toward reassuring you that you could let him. 

He spreads you apart, thumbs slipping against your slick folds, heated gaze pinpointed on your most intimate parts before he leans in and licks a broad stripe over your entrance and up to your clit. You shut your eyes (and cover your face for good measure). His warm breath fans against your pussy as he laughs. He could be mean and pull your hands away, but he lets you hide this way and you are grateful for it. 

Simon takes his time mapping each part of you with his mouth, nose brushing your clit whenever he doesn’t have his lips sealed over it. Your thighs shake, toes curled, as he pulls whines and choked gasps from your throat. 

You peek through your fingers when you feel him shifting beneath you to find that he’s worked his cock from his jeans and is jerking off, only noticeable by the tell-tale rhythmic motion of his arm against your calf. 

“Jesus, Simon,” you whine. 

He makes a little sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, shifting on his knees to change the angle of his mouth against you. Something about him so unashamedly enjoying himself makes it easier for you to enjoy yourself too, to let your hands come away from your face and thread them through his hair. 

“Can we fuck?” you breathe, aching inside deep where his tongue can’t reach. 

He nods against you and kneels up to kiss you. You still aren’t used to the taste of yourself in his mouth, but it’s growing less foreign—and nothing could ever make you turn away from one of Simon’s kisses. 

He pulls you off the couch onto your knees, his legs spread to either side of your own. You arch your back, feeling his cock brush against the back of your thighs. Two of his thick fingers slip inside you, testing your give and your wetness. He twists them; turns to hook them against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you that makes your legs shake. Simon works a third finger into you, a stretch that your body struggled to take before but which it accepts eagerly now, the sting welcome and familiar.

“Fuck. I need a condom,” he rasps. 

“Just pull out,” you say. 

You can sense him rolling his eyes. Your fondness for the (dangerous) pull-out method had been formally noted by him and thus far rejected at every turn. 

“Don’t insult me,” he mutters. He grabs your hand and guides it between your own legs. “Be good and keep yourself warm. I’ll be right back.”

He’s barely gone long enough for you to stroke your fingers through your folds, but when he returns (flashing the intact condom package at you like he always does), he watches you for an endless, lingering moment.

“I like that,” he says at last, taking his spot behind you again, condom in place. 

“Like what?”

“Watching you touch yourself.” The head of his cock nudges your entrance. He finds the right angle and slips inside you, stretching your walls to make room for himself. You groan, your fingers digging into the couch cushion. It stings a little, right towards the end, but he just softly saws himself in and out of your pussy, soothing the ache with pleasure. His words go completely over your head. 

He reaches so deep inside you, like with his every thrust his cock bullies the air out of your lungs. The slick sounds are lewd, keeping time with your moans and sighs as his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, manhandling you further onto the couch to the perfect height for him to fuck into you, your knees barely skimming the carpet.  

Your hand ends up crushed between your pelvis and the couch. You let your fingers find your clit and the touch reminds your body of how close it is, that coil deep in your belly stretched tight and ready to release. Your fingers trail down to where his cock pistons in and out of you, and at your touch he groans, slows to a smooth drag, his length slippery with your own arousal. 

“Touch yourself, not me,” he chides, his voice rough. “I’m close enough.” 

“I’m close enough,” you say.

He flops against your back, nearly crushing you with his weight to hook his chin over your shoulder and ask: “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

You can barely draw in the breath to laugh, and it’s only worse when you cum. You bury your face into the couch cushions, giggling, fingers rubbing a gentle, hectic rhythm against your clit as your pussy spasms around him. He snorts at your laughter, a soft quiet exhale against the back of your neck. Then he cums, his thrusts sloppy and hard, turning his head at the last moment to bite your shoulder lazily. 

“Sex makes you so weird,” you pant. Your face hurts from smiling. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He ties off the condom and throws it away. The two of you sit naked on the couch together, curled up. It’s a little alien to be this open about your body with someone and to have them be so open about their body in return, but it’s a good strangeness. So much about loving Simon is. 

“I need to get the other one pierced now,” you mention, toying with his unpierced nipple. “Have to complete the set.”

“I never did.”

“You’re incomplete. Don’t you know?” 

He snorts. “I feel quite fulfilled, thanks.” 

“Please Simon?” you ask. “I want to.”

“Don’t ever say please. I’ll text Soap in the morning,” Simon says, trailing his fingers up and down the length of your arm, making goosebumps appear. 

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you’d been thinking about for the last several months? Would it offend him to know that you didn’t want to go to Johnny for any more piercings? 

Whether it offended him or not, your pride couldn’t rest easily going back to the tiny room behind the curtain in Skin Deep. While there had been only a few other tense interactions between you and Johnny since Simon’s birthday (and usually he seemed to favor outright ignoring your existence), the situation had not improved. 

“Simon—I think I’d rather go somewhere else for my other nipple. To someone other than Johnny, I mean.” 

Simon frowns. “What’d Johnny do.” 

He phrases it like that—more of a statement and less of a question, immediately assuming that Johnny is at fault. 

“It’s just—it’s like I said on your birthday. He doesn’t like me much.” 

Simon turns to look you in the eye. When your gaze tries to skirt away, he lets out an irritated breath through his nose—but doesn’t fight you. Simon always lets you run. Maybe because he knows his legs are long enough to catch you. “You really feel like that?” 

“You’ve never noticed?” 

“Thought it was in my head,” he mutters. Then he says the most dreaded words he possibly could: “I’ll talk to him.” 

“No!” you nearly shout. You struggle to lower your voice to something more appropriate for indoors, your heart tap-dancing to an anxious beat inside your chest. Just trying to picture Johnny’s irritated expression at any of Simon’s potential efforts to talk to him made your stomach turn over. “I mean—don’t. Really. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. I need you two to get along. You and Johnny—you’re the most important people in my life,” he says baldly. His honesty does something to your lungs—empties them, crushes them. You only just realize the position that you’re putting Simon in, and it makes you feel about two inches tall. How could you let your petty problems with Johnny potentially get in the way of their longtime friendship? Their brotherhood?

“I’m begging you, Simon,” you plead. “Promise me you won’t talk to him. Just, give me more time to get to know him or something.” 

“Can't promise that.” He stands up and stretches, joints popping as you stare at him, your stomach tearing itself to pieces at this knowledge. This is not how this conversation was meant to end. But he disappears into the bedroom before you can gather your wits enough to say another word.

-

There is nothing like sleeping beside Simon, his arm beneath your head, your body turned and cradled against his side, a leg thrown over his thighs. His heart is as slow and steady as his breaths, his calloused thumb tracing a line back and forth on your naked side, a line which grows slower and slower as he drifts closer to sleep. 

You ruin it like this: “Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“If you got’a.” 

“On your birthday, you said that women meant for you sometimes ended up being Johnny’s. What did you mean?” 

He’s quiet for so long that you mistake him for falling asleep. You’ve resigned yourself to asking him another night when he speaks, his speech is slow and thoughtful, like it is hard to put it into words. 

“When Soap and I are in a room together with women, I’m like a ghost. He’s a fucking human being. Flesh and blood. Alive. People want to talk to him, to know him, to laugh with him, to have a drink with him. I’m not like that. I haven’t ever been like that. More than once Johnny would try to get me together with a woman who would end up falling for him instead. Eventually I convinced him to stop trying.” 

“Were you jealous?” 

He makes an ambiguous sound. “It’s hard to be jealous of Soap.” 

“Not impossible, though.” 

He rolls you over onto your back, coming to rest over you, your legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. The darkness lengthens the shadows of his eyes, but you can still feel his gaze, tangible as any touch. He braces himself on his elbows over you and lets his forehead rest against your own. “I just wanted someone who was mine,” he says. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue, those words that are building inside of you and growing harder to withhold by the day. But you say it like this and hope he can translate: “I’m yours.” 

He ducks his head and kisses you. 

-

In the morning, Simon has slipped a piece of paper just beneath the edge of your mug of tea. When you look at it, written in charcoal pencil is DARCELINA: Dream City Tattoos and Piercings XXX-XXXX. 

-

It’s one for the record books: the rain. Thick pregnant clouds carry more than eight inches of rain to your city in the course of a day. The last time it rained so much was apparently during the Civil War era. The city floods, including the basement of your apartment building, which leads to a building-wide power outage. 

Simon has you pack a suitcase, junk the majority of your refrigerator and freezer, and come stay with him. You’re giddy, feeling like it’s a semi-permanent sleepover when he gets the call that Skin Deep has flooded as well. 

Then things take a turn for the worse. Simon is gone for nearly 36 hours straight making endless calls to attempt to clear the water and begin repairs, and sometime in the midst of that, the fight with Johnny happens. 

It’s an ugly one. 

Simon comes home in the foulest mood you’ve ever seen him in. It turns him positively stony as he moves around the apartment making himself a hasty meal, avoiding your eyes every chance he gets. After he eats, he sits heavily on the sofa, pulls out his sketchpad, and trashes no fewer than six entire pages before you get the nerve to ask him what’s wrong. 

“Soap,” he mutters, crumpling a paper in one strong, dextrous hand. He throws it toward the small garbage can beside the telly and misses. “He’s looking for other locations to pierce at.”

“Is the building that bad?” you ask. “You guys will have to find a new place?”

“Soap is looking for a new place. One without me.”

You gape, the shock of this news reaching all the way to the core of your being. 

“You don’t think it’s because of—?” Me. You can’t even finish the sentence, the thought upsets you so much. You tuck your legs beneath you on the couch, curling up, seeking to become small and harmless as grief and horror wash over you in wave after wave. 

“This is my fault. I tried to talk to him but he’s so fucking—he gets under my goddamn skin like he was born to do it.” Simon pauses heavily, before adding: “I need to tell you something about the night Soap pierced me.” 

Story time. Alright. You uncurl your legs, choosing to sit with them criss-crossed, your body turned toward him, giving Simon your entire attention. It’s been months since you found out that Johnny had been the one to pierce Simon, but you had been no closer to getting the story from either of them. Your curiosity was a dangerous, corrosive thing, eating away at your insides. 

“I’m listening,” you say, hoping you don’t look as eager as you feel. 

Simon looks to be at a loss for words, running his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth. When he speaks, it’s hardly the lengthy story you had been anticipating: “We fucked.”

You blink. “You and—Johnny?”

Simon sighs and shrugs a shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you were…” Simon stares, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “…interested in men.”

“You are. Why can’t I be?”

You feel a chilly pang of horror, like someone has slipped a dagger between your ribs. You rush to assure him: “You can! You—“

Simon’s mouth twitches as he rubs at the crease of one eye, and your panic fades. He mumbles: “I’m just fucking with you.”

“So you’re bisexual.”

“I’m… I don’t fucking know. I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to. I never named it.”

“Okay,” you say gently. “We don’t have to. But what does that have to do with now?”

“The day after we—y’know. Fucked. I told him it was a one time thing. Maybe it’s in my head,” says Simon, frowning. “Maybe I’m crazy. But sometimes he looks at me or says something to me and it makes me think it’s not over. Not for him.”

“Is it really over,” you ask, “for you?”

Simon looks at you, quiet. He says: “I want you.”

And you are so relieved by the obvious honesty in his answer that it never crosses your mind to think that’s not what you asked. 

-

Simon is uptown at a café holding consultations while Johnny directs cleanup efforts at the shop, and you think that now’s the perfect chance. 

Your hands shake against the steering wheel the whole drive there, nerves less like butterflies and more like great winged moths in your belly. A part of you says that this is a mistake, you should turn back and let Simon and Johnny work it out on their own. But another part of you feels personally responsible—even if Simon says you aren’t. All your life you have taken things too personally, shouldered burdens which were not your own, bent over backwards to solve problems that weren’t yours to solve. If there was any chance that you could resolve this, you would put your pride on the line to do it. 

You park alongside the street and are thrilled to find the front door unlocked. The entire place smells musty, like a basement. The wooden floors have warped a little under your tentative steps, announcing your presence sooner than you’d like. 

Johnny sits in the chair where Simon tattoos clients. Sunlight streams in through the blinds and lights him up like some kind of punk-rock angel, his mohawk freshly clipped, dark finger nail polish chipping. Sometime between now and the last time you’ve seen him, he’s pierced his eyebrow: a black barbell with studs that reminds you a little too much of the one through your nipple (and Simon’s. Was that intentional? Did Johnny pick jewelry to match Simon’s? To match yours? For some reason just the thought makes your nipples tighten). In his hands is one of Simon’s sketchpads, and he’s flipping through it leisurely. 

He glances up toward the sound of your footsteps. 

“If you’re here about the water—“ his words die out on his pierced tongue as he stares at you, gobsmacked by your appearance. 

“Hey,” you say lamely. 

“Where’s Simon?” he asks, eyes flickering toward the protective spot where Simon usually hovers just over your shoulder. “He said he wouldn’t be in today.”  

“He’s not. It’s just me. I thought maybe we could talk.”

Johnny openly grimaces. He shuts Simon’s sketchpad and sets it down (hopefully where he found it). Standing from the chair, he takes a few casual steps away from you, clearly heading towards the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Really cannot think of anything we have to talk about.”

You square your shoulders, fighting down that instinctive urge to make yourself smaller, to give in and be manageable. “I think we do.” 

“You should go.” 

“Not until we work this out.” 

“There isn’t any this, alright, just—does Simon even know you’re here?” Something guilty must splash across your face because Johnny gives a mirthless laugh, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “Tha’s great. Just great. Could you be more incriminating?” 

“Incriminating—? Look, Simon told me about the night you pierced him.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Johnny says flippantly. 

“About how you two slept together.” 

Now that stops Johnny in his tracks. It’s clear that he didn’t expect Simon to really tell you about that night all those years ago. He looks at you with a fresh caution, waiting to see how exactly you’ve taken this news—what you plan to do with it. “Aye, then. I guess he did.” 

“I’m not trying to take him away from you.” 

Johnny makes a derisive sound. His words are well-rehearsed, like he has said them to himself a hundred-hundred times: “Cannot take what isn’t mine.” 

“He was your friend first,” you say, aiming for conciliatory and gentle the same way you might approach a feral animal. Johnny stares at you with flat, suspicious eyes. They’re so fucking blue—so different from Simon’s own dark ochre ones. “He told me that you’re one of the most important people in his life.” 

Johnny’s face softens. He says: “You shouldn’t tell me that. He wouldn’t.” 

“He’s not always good with words. Please don’t leave the shop, Johnny. I think it would break Simon’s heart.”

“I didn’t know he had a heart to break,” Johnny mutters. He leans against the wall beside the curtain and sighs, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll think about it. Now out. You shouldn’t be breathin’ in this air.” 

Johnny ushers you to the door, hand hovering just above your back, careful not to touch you. Once you’re out on the street, he shuts the door and locks it audibly. Then he leans in and huffs a heated breath beneath the “NO WALK INS” sign. In the fog, he adds: “No GFs!”

You flip him off. 

He flips you off. 

On the way back to your car, you find yourself smiling. You force yourself to scowl. It’s a more appropriate expression. Giving one last glance back toward Skin Deep, you find him still standing there, watching. 

Likely just to make sure you’re really leaving. 

-

Not long after you are moved back into your apartment, you find that Simon stops sleeping. 

You’re ashamed to say that it takes you a while to notice; nothing changes on your end of things. Anytime you are sleeping over, he lays down with you, tugs you up against his chest, and holds you for ages, his body still and breathing even. But one night you wake to a cool, empty bed. And later in the week, it happens again. Until more often than not you realize that any moment when you expect Simon to be sleeping, he isn’t. 

Usually you find him sketching, shadows like charcoal smudged beneath his eyes. He doesn’t meet your gaze and tells you to go back to bed, that he’ll be there soon. Sometimes he even does come to lay back down beside you—but only long enough for you to convince him that you have fallen asleep again. Then he is shifting away from you, disappearing into the other room, shutting the bedroom with the quietest click behind him. 

You know that he’s busy. His schedule has been booked—and with deposits nonrefundable, people more often than not kept their appointments. He’s been working with a client on mock ups for a sleeve, and the various pieces and the way they all come together around the contours of the person’s body are very delicate. Johnny’s threat to find a new job doesn’t help, either. Have they talked and resolved things yet? Simon never says so. 

You can’t imagine the stress that he is under, and you’d do anything to be able to shoulder a fraction of it for him. 

That’s how you end up with drunk Johnny in your car. 

It starts with Simon falling asleep before you—for once. You can tell he is well and truly asleep by the sheer weight of his arm over you, the soft snores that he gives out against the nape of your neck. After so many nights of sleeplessness, his body has finally given in. You’re about to slip off to sleep yourself when the buzzing of a phone startles you back into wakefulness. 

Not your phone—Simon’s phone. And it goes off again. And again. And again. Who the hell could be sending so many messages at midnight?

You know you should leave it alone—if it was urgent, they would likely call—but curiosity gets the better of you. Carefully you slip out from under Simon’s arm. It’s a testament to his sheer exhaustion that he doesn’t wake as you jostle him. In sleep, he looks painfully young and relaxed, and it makes you long to reach out and brush back his hair that has fallen onto his forehead. But not at the risk of waking him. 

Sure that all you are planning to do is shut Simon’s phone off so that he can get some restful sleep, you are surprised to see that Simon has his text notifications visible on the homescreen, so all it takes is a simple tap to open them up. 

Johnny. All Johnny. 

Ghost. 

Ghost

Are you uo? 

Up* fuck my fingers 

I need a ride home

Simon

I’m at that bar on… The text is cut off. To see more, you would have to open his phone. So Johnny is stuck at some bar, drunk more than likely. Well good riddance, you think to yourself, the hurtful way he treated you still very much fresh in your brain. But then you remember your talk at Skin Deep, and your traitorous heart softens. Could you really just put the phone back now and pretend you hadn’t seen the messages?

Simon doesn’t even have a password; that’s how much he trusts you. Would he still trust you after this, if he knew that you had gone through his phone, even if it was for a good cause? 

Making a spur of the moment decision, you could only hope so. Your conscience wouldn’t let you wake Simon, and as much as you disliked him, it couldn’t let you leave Johnny stranded at some bar either. 

You open his phone as quickly as you can, swiping so that it goes straight to Johnny’s texts and nowhere else. The name of the bar is right there, and you scramble for your own phone to type it down in Google Maps. He’s not far. Probably would be within walking distance, if he weren’t drunk. You could be there and back before Simon ever knew you were gone—you hoped. 

As Simon, you send back to Johnny a simple OMW. 

There is no hint of spring in the frigid March air as you slip outside into your car. The parking lot is dim and quiet, and traffic is minimal as you follow the GPS on your phone to Johnny’s location. The pub nightlife spills out onto the pavement and you struggle to find a place to park, grimacing at the knowledge that you will have to get out of the car and go inside to find Johnny, considering you see him nowhere on the street. Leaving the warmth of your car is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially in just a thin tank-top and a pair of leggings. Gathering your coat more tightly around yourself, you rush out of the car and through the people on the sidewalk and into the warmth of the pub. 

You keep your eyes peeled for Johnny, but can’t spot his silly haircut anywhere. What if he’s gotten a ride home from someone else? What if he’s decided to walk, or found someone to go home with? You shift up onto your toes, looking over everyone in the bar when you spot him in the corner at a table with a few other men. 

Johnny doesn’t even recognize you at first—either a testament to how unexpected your sudden appearance is or how drunk he is based on how difficult it is for his eyes to focus on you. When he realizes who you are, his mouth drops. He points. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, accent so thick and slurred that you can barely understand him. 

“Picking you up. You said you needed a ride.”

“Aye but not from—oh, Jesus make me still. Yer not wearing a bra, are you?” 

All the men at the table turn to gape. You snatch the sides of your jacket closed where they had loosely fallen open, your face flushing with warmth. The table roars with laughter, but Johnny in his drunkenness doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. 

“That was mine!” Johnny shouts, elbowing the man next to him. “Did you see that? That was my work!”

“We get it, bruv,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s no ten.” 

“What’d you fuckin’ say?”

The table laughs. 

Johnny grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drags him nearly clean out of his seat. “I said, What’d you fucking say about her?”

The table stops laughing. Johnny cuts an impressive figure even when drunk; he’s easily the largest guy of the group. Your stomach drops and lands somewhere between your shoes. This is not going to plan at all. Reaching out, you try to insert yourself physically between the two of them but can only wrap your fingers around Johnny’s wrist, feeling the strength poised in the tendons. 

“Johnny,” you say, loudly to be heard over the sounds of the pub. “Come on. Let’s go, yeah? Simon…Simon’s out in the car.” 

“Simon?” Johnny let’s go of the guy’s shirt, his bad mood evaporating as quickly as it had manifested. He nudges his way out from behind the table, all politeness. Once free, he stumbles into a woman in a slinky dress who gives him a look that could melt glass. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize to her, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist and doing your best to keep him steady. “He’s an idiot, and he’s drunk. You look amazing by the way—“

“Control your boyfriend,” she snaps. 

“I will,” you promise, guiding Johnny away from her and into the crowd. 

His nose brushes the shell of your ear, breath fanning across your neck as he says with a laugh in his voice: “I’m not yer boyfriend.” 

You flush. “Thanks for letting me know, Johnny. I had no clue.” 

He says something back, some Scottish phrase, his accent so thick you couldn’t understand the words even if you knew them. 

“English, please,” you mutter. 

“Je-sus,” he groans, dragging the words out into multiple syllables. He takes your chin in his hand and squeezes your cheeks a little. “You’re just like him. ‘English, MacTavish’. Ha!”

You bat his hand away. 

“He’s been rubbing off on you,” Johnny mutters, laughing a little. Beneath his breath (though far more loudly than he likely intends), he adds: “In more ways than one, I imagine.”

Your face goes hot. “Johnny, stop talking.” 

The two of you exit the pub out into the cool night air. It seems to sober Johnny some, as he takes in deep, gulping breaths. He walks a little steadier as the two of you cross the street, and by the time you’ve made it to your car, he has shrugged you off altogether (even if he is still a little unstable on his feet). He stands outside the car for a moment before opening one of the rear doors. 

“What are you doing?”

“Rather sit back here.” 

“I’m not your cabbie.”

“Strange manner of dress if you were,” he says snidely, slipping into the backseat. 

In the driver’s seat, you let yourself have a small breakdown. You grip the wheel tightly, taking a few deep breaths of your own, searching for inner peace. You thought that you and Johnny had a tentative truce after that day at Skin Deep, but clearly he is still holding some grudge. Your search for peace turns up empty. 

“Sorry I lied about Simon being here. I just really needed you to leave the pub,” you explain politely. 

“Knew you were lying,” Johnny says from the darkness of the backseat. He sounds remarkably like Simon: brooding and irritable. “He’s got no idea you’re here, does he? He’d never let you come alone.” 

You frown. “No. He doesn’t. He’s sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“Nightmares?” 

“Huh?” 

Johnny leans forward. You glance at him in the rear view mirror. “I said, Has he been having more nightmares?” 

You didn’t know anything about Simon having nightmares. That sour feeling in your belly was back, the one that made you feel like you would never truly know Simon, not the way his friends did. 

“No,” you say, a little defensive. “He’s been working on this sleeve for a client. Staying up way too late to finish it on time.” 

“Aye. Nightmares. Anything else is just an excuse he’s telling himself—and you.” 

Done with the conversation, you turn the key in the ignition and pull out into the street. “What’s your address?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Left my keys at the bar.” 

“Goddamnit.” 

You turn towards Simon’s apartment. “Then you’re staying with us—with Simon. You can sleep on his couch and get your keys in the morning; I’m sure he won’t care.” 

“Are you staying there?” 

“Yes.” 

Johnny mutters something under his breath. You consider yourself lucky not to have heard it. For a while, the two of you drive in silence. Then Johnny says: 

“You never came for your second nipple.” 

“It’s only just been six months.” 

“So you’re due for an appointment then, aren’t you?” 

You steel yourself, gripping the wheel tightly at ten-and-two. “Actually, I’m going to someone else.”

Johnny’s seatbelt unclicks. He hovers at your shoulder bringing with him burning warmth and the scent of whisky. When he talks, his breath brushes your neck, fury tangible in every syllable. “Who is it? Who the hell is he taking you to? Darcelina? Astrid? Dusty? Whoever it is, consider the appointment canceled. No one is piercing you but me.”

“You don’t get that privilege,” you grit out between your teeth. “Not anymore, not after the way you’ve treated me!”

“Oh, did I offend you?” he breathes, clutching one hand at his breast. “Not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on?” 

“Fuck you, Soap! I wanted to be friends.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly. Suddenly the road goes blurry. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to calm down—you’re driving for fuck’s sake. You swallow past the lump in your throat, the silence interrupted by rustling as Johnny leans forward again in the backseat, trying to get a look at your face in the passing streetlights. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans. “Are you crying?”

“No!”

“You are. Fuckin’—pull over, before you get us killed.” 

Keen embarrassment only has your eyes watering more, until you have no choice but to do as he asks, pulling over to hastily parallel park and throw on your hazard lights. You let your elbows rest against the steering wheel, face in your hands. His words echo in your head, said in that stupid Scottish brogue: not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on? Are those really the things he thought you wanted? Is that the sort of impression you gave to Johnny, to Ghost’s other friends? 

The backseat door opens and Johnny climbs out. A small part of you hopes that he will walk himself home—and good riddance. But he horrifies you by walking all the way around to the driver’s side of the car and tugging on the door handle until you begrudgingly unlock the doors. 

“C’mon,” he says, trying to pull you out of the car with your seatbelt still on. 

“What’re you—?”

“Just—wouldya—so stubborn—“ he drunkenly leans over you and mashes his fingers against the button of your seatbelt until it releases. For that brief moment, he is a warm weight across your lap, bringing with him the scent of cologne and whisky. Then he pulls you out of the car—and into his arms. It’s a tight, full hug, chest-to-chest, not bone crushing per se, but all-encompassing. 

You don’t realize how badly you need it from him until you’re getting it. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan against his shoulder, sniffling.

“Aye,” he says, swaying a little on his feet, like the two of you are dancing. “But I’m right. We cannot be friends. So you’ve got to let this go, alright? Just breathe out 'n let it go.”

“I don’t understand,” you mutter. “He wants us to be friends.” 

“He doesn’t know what he wants,'' Johnny says, one hand rubbing gently at your shoulder blades. “No more crying. It’s out of your hands. Aye?”

You shake your head, hands gripping his shirt. 

But your tears slow and eventually stop. Cars pass occasionally. One of them honks at the sight of you both entwined on the side of the road, rolls down their window to let their passenger yell something suggestive, and it makes your face go hot. Johnny pulls away, nearly stumbling out into the road to give the car both middle fingers as it peels away. He slips on the damp asphalt and goes down hard on his side, taking the skin off his elbow and palm. 

“Fuck, I’m hammered,” he laughs. 

“Clearly,” you say, struggling to help him up and into the backseat. 

Once in the driver’s seat again, you feel exhausted, emptied, like a washcloth wrung out and left to dry. The drive back to the apartment is silent, and when you’re in the parking lot, neither of you make a move to get out of the car. 

You warn Johnny: “Simon’s asleep, so be quiet inside.” 

Johnny warns you sleepily: “Ghost is right there.”

There’s a tap on the glass of your window. It nearly makes you shriek—but it is only Simon, half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, bundled up outside the car door. You roll down the window sheepishly. 

“Need a little help?” he asks, taking a drag and turning his head so the smoke doesn’t touch you. His eyes are on Johnny in the backseat. 

You hold up your fingers with just a smidge of space between them. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wanting to dress my toddler in "ugly clothes".

I (35m) and my wife (35f) have this ongoing argument.

For our now 3 -year old daughter, my wife and mother in law always buy the prettiest and fanciest clothes and again and again, I hear the cry "Nooooo, the pretty dress, you ruined the pretty dress, how are we EVER gonna get it clean again". And it's not just dressing her up for weddings and stuff, she is supposed to be pretty EVERY day.

In turn, I get yelled at when they catch me letting her play at the playground or in puddles or at the beach and I don't make sure she stays clean.

And sometimes I just snap and say, she is a TODDLER, all of her friends play in the dirt, I don't always want to tell her No. It's more important for her to have fun, and for me to not go insane, than for her to wear the pettiest dress of the playground.

My wife then says "easy for YOU to say, who's pretty presents get ruined, and/or who has to then hand-wash it all trying to save it? You clean her clothes then!! This is the deal buddy, YOUR job is to keep her as clean as you can, MY job is to dress her and save the clothes if you drop the ball, but YOU just want to let it all fall on me, don't you?!"

To which I stubbornly say, I have an even BETTER idea, instead of ANY of us doing that stupid dance every day, IF we bought her toddler clothes like all the other parents around us, we could just wash and dry it all normally, this is entirely self-imposed martyrdom for no reason. And worse, again, if you get your way, our kid cannot play how she wants to.

To which my wife laments "Well all the other kids look like potato sacks, why do you want our daughter to be UGLY just because YOU are too lazy to do your share hand-washing her clothes AND too careless to keep her clean in the first place. If you were parenting properly, you would help our daughter be pretty".

Some more context, perhaps - things staying clean and intact has always been very, very important for my wife, dirt genuinely gives her anxiety. On the other hand, she also adores beautiful things. She herself also only wears clothes that either need to be hand-washed or at least cannot go in the drier. She feels that this is also what's best for our daughter and will make her happiest (in the long run), and doesn't believe that a child will miss anything if they are taught to "play cleanly". She also grew up in a big city without mud or sand, whereas we now live in a rural area.

So, AITA, for saying I would rather buy our kid "normal" clothes and let her play in the dirt, then help my wife save the pretty dresses?

Currently we live in permanent tension - the clothes are a red line for my wife, playing (by my definition) is a red line for me, and thus the frequent clashes.

[jeanbie]

HIGHER THAN HEAVEN ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: university au | warnings: sexual content, fem/afab!reader, masturbation, listening-to-the-other-fucking, sexual tension, slut/whore shaming (men being pigs), "slutty"!reader, mentions of spit | wc: 10.7k | ♬

note: why has this been a wip for like...a year? also i always like to try out new versions of levi and i feel like he'd actually be just a normal kinda grumpy guy in a modern setting so i hope u guys like my uni!levi interpretation ꒰* ॢꈍ◡ꈍ ॢ꒱.*˚

⏤ Levi wants to be mad that his neighbour keeps screwing guys really loudly. But how can he be mad when she's just so goddamn pretty?

It's the third time this week.

Levi knows what it means to let off steam, and he knows that exam season has just finished. For the last few days, the volume of noise where he lives has climbed exponentially; flats throwing parties, yelling in the hallways and laughter outside his window. 

Levi's happy, too, that his exams are over, but he has to admit, he thought there might be moral standards from the people he called neighbours. 

He sighs, momentarily tapping down the volume of his music as he hears what he thinks might be his neighbour against the shared wall. The sound is fleeting, and he almost thinks he's making it up, and then he hears her soft whimpers and two hard thuds against the thin separation between their bedrooms. Levi waits for a second, blinking, and then he closes his eyes.

He's never really met his neighbour. It's been around eight months of living next door to one another, and he doesn't think he's actually ever seen her. Once, he decided he'd try to confront her when she left her room, but just kept missing the opportunity. 

Unlike his previous three years of university, Levi had decided to bunk alone for the final climb of his undergrad degree. His friends would all be upstairs somewhere, either in studios of their own or sharing six-bed flats amongst themselves, but God knew that Levi needed the space this time around. 

In his first year, he'd shared with quite possibly the worst human beings he'd ever had the displeasure of knowing. He spent more time at Erwin's flat than his own, which is why he ended up moving in with him in his second year. Then, he took a spontaneous study abroad for his third year (spontaneous, as in all of his friends were doing the same thing, and there was no way he was staying here on his own when they were out having the greatest times in different countries), and now, in his fourth and final year, Levi just wants to know that being alone doesn't have to be a luxury. 

He needs the space, and the quiet. Granted, his studio is spacious, although it would be perfect if he wasn't on the ground floor with little to work with for a view. Eight months down the line, and he's still waiting for that promised peace and quiet.

There are two other people in this hallway, but his next-room neighbour, Room A, is by far the most interesting. He knows that the people in Room D are party animals, and during freshers week, they made that fact glaringly obvious. Room C are ghostly, silent most of the time until they remember that they, too, have music to play to block out other people's noise.

Levi likes being in Room B because it's not too far from the exit. If he were to open his door, he'd be adjacent to Room A; the space is so tight that he's not even sure they would be able to leave or enter at the same time. 

The list of what he thinks he knows about his next-room neighbour is longer than what he actually knows. He knows for certain that she's female, and that she cares about the cleanliness of her flat. If Levi's not listening to the sound of other people's mess, he can hear her vacuuming every other day, which he can respect. 

Levi knows that her name is Y/N, because he's heard it being called a few times, both for business and pleasure. He also knows that she's in her final year, just like him, because once he overheard her on a phone call complaining about her dissertation. That's about all he knows confidently. 

The rest is speculation, things he thinks he knows from listening: he thinks she sleeps with the radiator off, because he always hears the switch in the morning. He thinks she keeps her keys on her door because he hears them clink when it closes, and he thinks she mumbles to herself sometimes, because the walls are thin and if she's not on the phone, then who could she be talking to? 

Finally, Levi thinks that she might be a bit of a whore, and he means it endearingly, because the amount of times Levi has heard her fucking somebody is becoming ridiculous.

At first, Levi tried to be understanding. After all, it wasn't like she was screwing guys in the hallway. She was in her room, in her own time, and he tried to come to terms with that simply being out of his hands. The noise was unfortunate, yeah, but he could always put his headphones on for an hour or so. 

Then it just kept happening, like clockwork, like some sick joke. 

After about the sixth time, he was fed up. He'd thrown his headphones down, scowling angrily as his eyes flickered to the time in the corner of his computer screen — 1:23am. It was bad enough that he was working all night on his stupid assignment, and now his neighbour was screwing some asshole so loudly that he may as well have had no headphones on in the first place? 

At least she sounded good. 

Levi had deliberately ignored that thought for a while, until he heard her having sex with some guy a few months ago. He'd sighed, like a routine at that point, and remained seated on his couch, the remote in his hand ready to raise the volume of the football game on TV.

The noise was faint — if Levi had to predict based on the floor plans of their rooms, she'd probably be on her bed — but if he strained enough, he'd be able to hear her mewling, the even fainter sounds of slapping skin. 

He sat there, silently, listening in like a priest taking confessions in church. His silence was judgement and equal measures of fascination. Having never really listened to her before, Levi never knew she sounded like that. Submissive, but seductive, dirty and slutty. Hm.

He had learned to respect her sex life — even creating his own for a while, too, giving her a taste of her own medicine. If anything, that only made things more lively in Room A. Somehow he blames himself for it having got to this point, presently, where he sits listening to her for the third time in a week — and it's not even Friday yet.

16:34 Levi: she's at it again 16:35 Erwin: AGAIN???? 16:37 Hange: isnt this like the fifth time this week? 16:37 Levi: third

Levi turns his chair to face the other wall, looking up at the blank plaster. There's another thud against it, and he blinks, his brows raised slightly. Is she fucking someone against the wall?

16:39 Furlan: theres no way its that bad 16:40 Furlan: send vid

After skimming over the texts, Levi's eyes flicker back to the wall. Then, he rises up from his chair and walks towards it, angling his body with his ear to the noise. Now that he's close, he can't hear a thing, and he scoffs — typical — and prepares to move away.

"Mphf — damn, bitch. You're more of a slut than I thought."

Levi stops. 

Bringing his phone to his legs, Levi slumps his shoulder against the wall casually and almost cranes to listen. Without seeing anything, he feels like a fly on the wall. He hears someone with a deep voice grunting — he doesn't care about them — followed by occasional gasps, much softer, honeyed, elusive. 

"You thought I was a slut?" 

Levi hears her voice quivering, but there's little hurt in her tone. It's all lust, and he can hear the smile in her words. 

For a second, Levi hears her body thud against the wall again and he flinches backwards. She must be directly on the other side — if the bricks weren't there, her body would be up against his own. 

"Dunno what I thought," the male voice says, strained. "Wasn't-expecting-this. Shit, that's tight."

"Mm. You like it?" There's a beat of silence, and the faint sounds of breathy moans, high in an octave that sends goosebumps pricking over Levi's arms. "You like me?"

"Like your pussy. Shit, girl."

With every imagined thrust, Levi can hear her moaning, her voice raising as the pace fastens. Levi stands there, his eyes zoning out on the crack under his door and eventually, he pulls back. There's a slight ringing in his ears, and blood rushes to the tips.

16:51 Levi: phone can't pick up the volume 16:51 Levi: just trust me

It happened two more times before the weekend rolled by, and Levi thought that she must be on a conquest of bedding every guy on campus. Half of him thought it was to spite him specifically, although he wasn't even sure that she knew what she was doing was bothering him so much. 

Friday evening had been a strange eve of silence, but he still felt on edge, as if waiting for the sounds to emerge. The weekend soon enough rolled by with no more sexscapades, and he felt almost a sag of relief in his shoulders.

Levi had just gotten out of the shower when he heard a knock on his door.

"Oh. It's you."

When he pulls it open, inwards on his own room, Levi props his weight against the door and stares out at Reiner, who is holding a light board under his armpit. Reiner holds it out to him with a nonchalant shrug and holds the door open with his foot as Levi takes the board with a raised brow and plonks it onto his bed. 

Reiner stands in the doorway until he comes back, not quite daring to enter.

"I need one of those," Reiner offers in conversation. 

"Well, you've got a job, buy one,” Levi replies, making Reiner smirk. "If you've broke it, then you can pay for it."

Reiner throws up his hands, "Hey, they don't call me the gentle giant for nothing."

Levi's face drops into a disapproving frown, "Nobody calls you that."

"You're right," Reiner sighs with a charming grin and then folds his arms. 

Reiner and Levi know one another from one of their elective classes, and by some magical fate — or a wild coincidence — Reiner had been a mutual friend of one of his closest friends since first year. He also lives upstairs on the third floor, alongside some other guys and a girl that Levi didn't know very well, but had met once at a party and had kissed. He'd considered bringing her back to his room just to torment his neighbour but passed up the temptation.

Thinking of his neighbour, Levi's eyes quickly dash to her door, wondering if she might be inside and listening to them. Reiner doesn’t catch the look — or maybe he does, prompting him to his next sentence.

"You should come out tonight," Reiner suggests.

"Where?"

"A few of us are getting some drinks at Sonny's," he says. "Feel like I haven't seen you properly since that party, like, what, three months ago? You should get out more, have fun." Then, Reiner's smile widens and he, too, glances to his left to Room A, "Escape your sex fiend of a neighbour."

Levi might have cringed at the thought of her listening in, but to his surprise, he found a thrill rush through his body. Maybe she was listening right now, curled up to the door.

"I don't like Sonny's," Levi replies.

"Oh, you've been there before?"

"No. But I saw it on Eren's Instagram once, and it looked awful, sorry."

Laughing, Reiner shrugs his shoulders. "I don't care. It's just nice to get out. Really — what if we changed bars, would you come then?"

Just as he says that a soft thud can be heard from behind him, beyond the walls of the thin hallway that houses Levi’s room and his neighbours'. Levi almost cranes to catch the sound, half expecting his party animal hall-mates from Room D to come bounding inside, dressed in flamboyant attire to listen to loud music whilst getting ready to hit the town for the Friday deals that bars boasted of to rowdy students. 

Instead, the door just to the right of Reiner swings open and a young woman steps inside. Levi blinks — depending on which direction she goes in, Levi's life could get a little bit more interesting.

Levi knows that he’s seen her before in the common room, chatting to other friends around a pool table, or shaking a vending machine with a stranger to try and free an overpriced bottle of Dr Pepper from the machine's claws. 

Levi blinks once again, and Reiner turns at the sound of the door creaking open, and the breath almost leaves Levi's body in one giant exhale when she steps in their direction, towards Room A.

Ah. So this is Y/N.

Reiner's eyes move up and down with intrigue as she — you — step closer towards them. Judging by your almost surprised gaze, and the flit of your eyes as you look between them and the door to Room A, even Reiner knows that you are the aforementioned sex fiend, the famous neighbour who screws guys all the time and makes Levi all hot and bothered. 

Nothing is said — there is nothing to be said. For a split second, you pause, judging the space past Reiner to your door, to your sanctuary, meanwhile, the two men size you up, intrigued by your very existence. Levi feels his conversation skills run dry — what could he say now that you were here?

He has to confess, against his previous wishes, that you were pretty. Beautiful, even. He tries to downplay it by thinking about you pushed up against the wall with a cunt full of someone else's cock, but if anything the thought only makes things worse. 

As you push through the awkward silence of the hallway, Reiner slightly inches closer to Levi, as if to give you space as you stride by. To their surprise, you do so with a lifted gaze, having the nerve to look shy, guilty, friendly. 

Everything would be easier if you weren't his type, weren't Reiner's type. Levi thinks about that for a second as his friend devours the sight of you, and Levi feels his stomach dip. He's never even spoken to you before, but he feels like Reiner has just crossed a boundary somehow. 

The fact of you being as pretty as you sound, as desirable as Levi imagined you had to be to bring so many people back to your den (either irresistible or slutty, but sometimes those went hand in hand and he knew it) just makes the dull ache in his abdomen worse, his heartbeat fluttering ever so out of pace.

As you pass, you peer over at the two men, gazing at Levi in particular. You even look around him, eyeing his room. Then, when you look back at Levi, it’s as if something clicks — it was as if you registered that this man had been enduring your fucks and flirts for weeks and weeks on end, and had been courteous with not complaining once. 

You look at him, over him, sizing him up greedily. Levi moves from foot to foot in a way that looks impatient, although he isn’t sure he's fully convinced you of his indifference when you smile charmingly, your cheekbones full and round.

"Hello," you say — Levi almost buckles. He's only ever heard your voice through walls and doors, never face to face. He blinks dumbly, says nothing.

"Hey," is what Reiner offers with a wide grin, his gaze flickering to your body and then back to your face. But you don’t look back, only look over Reiner's shoulder to Levi, and then turn to your door and thrust the key into the hole. 

Your door untwists, unlocks, and in you go. After it closes and clicks with the lock, Levi hears you shuffling in your room, and then he finally looks back at Reiner. 

For once, Reiner says nothing. He raises his eyebrows and pulls a face, one that Levi rolls his eyes at, and then Reiner claps his hands together and announces his silent leave. 

Levi watches as if frozen in place as Reiner leaves the hallway, and when his own door closes with a slight tick, he strains to hear you beyond the wall, but can hear nothing.

A whole day has passed since then, but Levi can’t stop thinking about it.

He hasn’t left his room all day, to the stressed displeasure of his friends. The hallway has been frozen in a quiet stillness, with nobody coming and going at any point. Levi hasn’t heard you stirring since you walked past him and Reiner the day before, but he supposes he’s just thankful that he has no fears of being bombarded with sex for hours on end, or minutes at a time depending on which loser you lure home. 

Levi drops his plate into the sink, sighing with both hands flat on the side of the counter. To the left, he casts a dirty glance out the window, looking at the grey landscape beyond the glass. The car park to the hotel that is tucked neatly behind his building is virtually empty, and the giant lake-sized puddles ripple with rain. He felt like it always rained here. 

Listening to the rain, Levi finishes his ritual of cleaning the dishes and then turns off the tap with another sigh. It has just been too quiet today — unnervingly quiet, in a way that makes Levi feel more on edge than at ease. He's been craving this taste of silence for so long, but now that it’s here, everything just feels off. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose with an irritated exhale and moves through the thin archway to get to his bedroom, near the front door, when he hears something beyond the threshold of Room A next door. Levi stops in place.

The noise is so faint that he almost misses it. He leans his head closer in the direction of the wall, waiting for the next sound to give when he hears it again — a breathy whimper. The whimper transforms into a moan, one that Levi can hear as clearly as he would if he were in the room. There are no other voices, and Levi pulls away from the wall quickly like it's on fire.

No. It can’t be.

Levi finds it both annoying and amusing when he hears you entangled with some random guy every other day, but just the possibility of it being you, and you alone, in your room with nobody but your fingers, makes Levi’s throat tighten.

Before, it felt as though your sex life was a performance intended for Levi to listen to, but now that it’s just you, the moment feels private and intimate, and Levi doesn’t know what to do.

The moaning continues, staggered, stuttered, falling and rising in a tempo he knows only the hand of the moaner can create. By now, he’s somewhat of an expert on your noises, how you respond to whatever your partner is doing — the unfamiliarity of your pleasure tonight has thrown him off, and all Levi can do is apologise in his head and pull himself back against the wall. 

He’s come this far listening to you play with others. It would just be unfair not to hear how you really like it when you’re alone.

Levi can’t be sure what it is you’re actually doing; he’ll have to leave it to his imagination to conjure up the perfect image of you on your bed, legs spread, fingers stuffed up your cunt. He closes his eyes as he leans his head against the plaster, quite literally straining to hear every gasp leaving your mouth.

The world seems to slow around him, the sounds of your one-man show all he can hear. All of a sudden, he’s thankful for the unnatural silence of the hallway outside so he can hear it all.

What he pictures is lewd and perfect; you’re biting your lip probably, trying to contain yourself as you plunge your fingers deeper inside your pussy, curling them in a way nobody else can. The lights are dimmed, but in his mind, the picture of your body is crystal clear; the shape of your body is outlined by light, shadows cast attractively around the perk of your breasts, the glisten of crystalline sweat on your skin. 

With your chest rising, Levi watches in his mind as your thighs quiver, your knuckles pushing against your opening — if it was possible to get more of your finger in there, you’d do it.

Your fingers slide in and out covered in wetness, each plunge inside accompanied by another moan that makes him shudder. Levi’s ear is flat against the wall, his cock hardening uncomfortably beneath his joggers. 

All of a sudden, the shame of eavesdropping washes over him and he pulls away, breathing heavily as he moves from the wall to the bathroom. For good measure, he slams the door behind him, immediately turning on the tap and washing his face. What was he thinking?

Thankfully, there’s nobody to greet his ashamed walk back into his bedroom. He rubs the side of his face with a groan and glances back at the wall. For a moment, he pauses, but he hears no more sound.

Levi’s been in a sour mood since the weekend, and nobody around him knows how to solve it. 

At first, it had started with the dream he’d had; the dream where he’d shoved your head into a pillow and fucked your brains out, which woke him with a start and another guilty walk to the bathroom. Then, he’d turned up late to his class and simultaneously discovered that Reiner had, in fact, broken the light board he loaned him the other week.

After that, he received a bitchy email from the receptionist at his building about upcoming fire alarm inspections, and because he’d been too busy looking at his phone, Levi had slammed into a group of first-year girls in the library and caused one of them to drop all of her books and her coffee on the floor. Now, his wallet was five pounds lighter and his expression was sour, and no matter how hard his friends tried to coax him out of his foulness, it was no use.

“At least you bought her another coffee,” says Eren with a shrug as he watches the flustered first-year disappear out of the student café with her friend.

“Not the point, dipshit.”

“It’s probably ‘cause of the lack of sleep this man gets thanks to his harlot neighbour,” Hange suggests, their shoulders hunched as they finish up one of their handouts for their evening class.

At that, Reiner looks up from his phone and adds, “Hot harlot neighbour.”

“Is she actually?” asks Erwin. “I don’t know if I can trust your judgement in women, Reiner.”

“She is beautiful,” Levi mutters reluctantly, his face still drawn together with irritance. Admitting that fact only makes him feel worse, especially when the memory of his dream creeps back into his mind. He sighs and rubs his neck. “But she hasn’t really made any noise in a while.”

“Maybe she’s on her period,” says Eren unhelpfully. 

“Whores are on the pill,” Porco adds, suddenly reminding Levi of his presence. The blond-haired guy sits to the right with a coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of sexist to call her a whore when I know most of you probably have higher body counts?” replies Isabel. She’s crept up on the knit of friends, but contrary to normal, her being here doesn’t make Levi feel any better. Right now, there are simply too many witnesses to his misery.

Eren shrugs. “Fine. Then she’s a slut.”

“As if that’s any better,” Isabel says dumbly. “You guys are pigs.”

“But she is beautiful,” Reiner says again. “I’m telling you — it’s a miracle Levi hasn’t made his move yet. If I lived next door to someone who looked like that…” He trails off. Levi cringes. How did he end up being friends with the worst people in the world?

Reiner sells Levi as actually having enough confidence to get up and knock on her door, when the truth of the matter is that Levi is too afraid to even approach the wall when he hears a noise anymore. In the time between him listening to you finger-fucking yourself and him having such an out-of-pocket dream about you, Levi hasn’t even wanted to listen to anything he hears outside of his room, too afraid of what he might do or think if he hears you again.

Besides, what would he even do? It’s been almost eight months of sharing a wall, and he’s come no closer to knowing you or anything about you. You’re as familiar to him as any stranger in this café, but the only difference is that he’s heard the way you whimper when your cunt is stuffed with cock and you’re up against the wall, which most people would have trouble competing with.

When you know how someone sounds when they’re most likely cumming on someone else’s dick, it’s an unbeatable bond.

Levi looks up at Reiner as if to say something, but then his eyes are drawn to the doors to the café. They widen suddenly, and after watching his expression shift, Reiner follows his gaze and looks over his shoulder.

After a few seconds, he whips his head back to the group and hisses, “That’s her!”

The speed at which their heads turn is almost funny to Levi, and he might have laughed had he not been so full of mortified fear at the sight of you. 

You look pretty today — really pretty. Pretty in a way that Levi can’t even begin to make sense of considering the only way he’s seen you so far is in glimpses, in the corridor dressed in comfy clothes, or stark naked with his dick up your snatch in his head. His whole body fills with a sticky heat as he narrows his gaze on you, hoping that by staring you might disappear like a mirage and spare him the embarrassment due to come.

But nothing ever goes the way Levi wants it to. He breathes in heavily when your gaze pans across the room as if you’re searching for someone, stopping with a comical wide-eyed look of surprise when you see a group of six or so people all watching you with strange intensity. 

Levi is not at all prepared for the way your brows knit together in confusion as you assess the strangers, only to raise in acknowledgement when you finally look at him for a moment too long. 

Words are not needed to convey the silent series of events that spiral after that look. Levi knows instantly what you’re thinking and what it means. He knows that you know he’s told everybody about you — and he knows that you know he knows who you are and how often you do what you do. 

There’s no way of explaining how confident he is that you’ve cracked the code in your head — he doesn’t know anything at all, only that when your face brightens into a smile he knows he’s screwed.

So fucking screwed.

“Oh shit, you were right,” Porco says after a while of mutual silence, and Levi is strangely grateful for the distraction of his voice as he turns back to his friend. “She’s hot!”

“And you’re being fucking loud, shut up,” Levi grumbles, his face scrunched into such a tight frown that it hurts to hold it. “Yes, that’s her. So what.”

“She’s looking at you,” Hange says rather unhelpfully. They’re sitting with their elbows on their spread legs, head low as they glance at you over the top of their glasses. Their brows are so high they might as well become a part of their hairline as they say a few seconds later, “Still looking.” A beat, and then, “Still looking.”

Levi huffs quietly, trying to find something interesting on the low table in the middle of the group to latch onto. All he can find are some of Hange’s papers and Porco’s bagel wrapper — neither are particularly inspiring to stare at, but he stares anyway, acutely aware of the heavy weight of your gaze on the side of his face as you approach the coffee counter. 

“Maybe it’s because you’re all fucking gawking at her,” Levi replies stiffly. 

To their credit, the group does their best to mask their very obvious staring, but Levi already knows that their hanging mouths have caused irreparable damage. He makes it a point not to look back over at you, and based on how his friends try to busy themselves with random things, he guesses you’ve reluctantly looked away from them and are currently buying something.

After today, Levi will never come here again — he’s just suddenly remembered that you’re real, and the notion of seeing you out in public just became his next biggest worry.

“Maybe you should go and say hi,” Isabel suggests, her mouth full around a bite of brownie. 

Levi looks at her with an incredulous look. “And why would I do that?”

“She’s your neighbour,” Isabel replies slowly. “It’s polite. And friendly.”

“I’ll go and say hi, if you want,” offers Reiner. When Levi throws him a dirty look, he says, “What? She smiled at me before. I might be her next conquest.”

“Not much of a challenge for her,” Levi mutters. Besides, you weren’t even looking at Reiner back then — but as soon as the thought comes to his head he immediately exiles it. He’s not going to stoop as low as to fight Reiner on it; it will only deepen the hole he’s dug himself now that he's opened his mouth and told people about you.

After around four minutes, Levi has exhausted all possible resorts of interest around the table and anxiously rubs the back of his neck. Reiner still has his head looking up towards the coffee counter, but the others have mercifully ceased their curious staring. He levels his breathing and takes a quick swig of his tea, all before absentmindedly turning his head to look over his shoulder.

Your back is facing everyone, your head thrown back in laughter at something someone next to you is saying. Levi represses the urge to bristle at his own thoughts of what you might be laughing at, what possibly makes you laugh and smile — what coffee did you order, or maybe you are a tea person? Hot chocolate? Levi’s face falls into a narrow look of horror — Jesus Christ, he’s in so deep and over what? The sound of you?

Levi decides that he’s possibly gone insane after a long four years in academia and rests his cheek on his shoulder for a minute, gaze low. His friends are right, to a fault; he could just talk to you, scratch the itch until it’s gone and he can relax and live like a normal human being again. But that would involve taking initiative and actually confronting you, which in the grand scheme of things seems like a terrible idea. 

He’d rather just forget about the delusional display of heated fantasies he’s conjured up after getting just a peek at you.

“Oh, shit. She’s looking again.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly Levi looks back at you without even thinking about it. 

Sure enough, you’re looking back at the group, a cup of something steaming in your hand as your friend leads the way through a cluster of tables towards the double doors leading out onto the wide front courtyard. The screaming voice in his head is commanding Levi to look away, but he just can’t. 

He watches you as you look back at him, mapping out every detail he possibly can while he has the chance to just look without any consequence, and feels his breathing constrict when you smile, so softly that it knocks the literal wind from his lungs, and raise your free hand in a wave.

And he doesn’t even move.

Somewhere behind him, Levi hears Reiner snigger and the brawny guy lifts his own hand to wave back at you, a grin plastered on his face. Your eyes barely move to look at Reiner in acknowledgement before locking back onto Levi with an almost hopeful look, and now would be a great time for Levi to move or do something in response, but he doesn’t. And he doesn’t know how to respond when your smile deepens into a smirk, almost like that was exactly what you wanted him to do.

“Why does she look down bad?” Eren asks quietly, making Porco cackle with a laugh that makes you look away and slink after your friend. Levi affords himself the time to watch you go, watching the way your ass moves in your jeans, the way your breasts bounce in that shirt, the way your waist looks and the way your hair moves and the way your smile widens—

“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Porco says, shaking his head with an amused look on his face. “If I lived next to someone who looked like that, and looked at me like that—”

“Well, you don’t, so fuck off,” Levi snaps. Wrong answer: the boys in his group laugh even louder, and Levi wants to shrink to the size of an ant and drown in his tea.

God. Levi realises with a gigantic sigh that today has been a long ass day.

Levi rubs his hair with the towel and glares at his reflection in the mirror. He stares, long and hard, and frowns at what looks back. For a guy who is to be considered “grown”, he cannot believe how stupid he's being, how stupid his brain is.

He has never once had a crush on somebody he’s never even met before, and only actually seen properly about two times. In the long four years of being in this city, Levi has never entertained an interest in anybody, mostly because he felt he didn’t have the patience for a relationship nor the time, which is why the way he’s feeling now is all the more bothersome — and even worse when the person he’s having trouble understanding his feelings for is someone he’s barely met, never talked to, and knows likes cock more than the air they breathe.

It is simply outrageous that he likes you so much. And he’s not even sure if what he feels would qualify as liking you. 

Levi has never spoken one word to you and has never made any effort to do so, but alongside the audible archive of moans he has of yours in his memory and the mapped-out beauty of your face, Levi can distinguish that the pooling pit of desire in his tummy is closer to a crush than it is just general appreciation. And this feeling sucks.

Suddenly, Levi thinks back to seeing you in the student café and physically cringes at his reflection. All that for what? A smile? He is pathetic — Levi cannot believe that he has become such a strange man, and it is entirely your fault for being so pretty. And sounding so fucking sexy.

Levi hangs his towel on the small heated towel rack and washes his hands, hoping that in a metaphorical sense, it will wash away all of the terrible thoughts he’s having. Then, he shakes them dry and flicks off the bathroom switch, striding back into his room with a sinking feeling of emptiness. 

He makes his way to the kitchen and looks longingly at the kettle. A cup of tea would do wonders for the creeping headache forming in his skull, but like the idiot he’s suddenly turned out to be, Levi instead leans up on his toes to grab a bottle of whiskey from on top of the fridge and finds an accompanying glass to pour himself a drink. 

It’s been a long day, and he needs something strong. Quite frankly, Levi thinks he also deserves it.

For most of the evening, Levi entertains himself with his whiskey bottle, a glass and whatever the hell his TV can pick up in the black spot he calls home. He’s not sure how many glasses he’s had by the time he hears the corridor door swing open with its alarmingly loud squeal, but judging by how the room seems to tilt on its axis, Levi would wager a guess as to believe he’s had at least more than six glasses. 

He feels his heart in his ears, pounding like a war drum, and he immediately reaches for the remote and turns down the volume. Like a cat, he feels his ears prick at the slightest sounds, and quite quickly, it’s as though stones are weighing down his stomach when he hears a boyish kind of snigger in the hallway, followed by the sound of keys in Room A’s door.

Please no. Not right now.

Not when Levi’s trying to come to terms with the unnatural feelings he’s somehow garnered for you.

Levi hears you shush the guy of the night and push open your door, its hinges moaning with relief when both of you stumble inside and it closes with a click. It’s almost embarrassing how quiet Levi has gone in an effort to eavesdrop — as much as he dislikes the idea of you being fucked by some random guy, he has to admit that he’s come to find some enjoyment in the vision of you being destroyed, in the music made by your pleasure. It took a while to admit it, but now that he has, it’s like a weight being lifted.

Once again, he is left to wonder what you’re doing when he can no longer hear your moans or the guy’s stupid voice muttering: Levi’s imagined you stumbling through the narrow passage past the bathroom and towards your bed, arms snug around the guy’s chest. You’ve probably sat down, and the guy is between your legs holding your face with his hands.

Only you haven’t. Levi hears a familiar thump against the wall and his eyes widen excitedly.

“Get this shit off.” Levi hears the guy grunt unhappily, and, hey wait, when did Levi suddenly end up listening so close to the wall?

“You don’t like it?” you ask, your voice so quiet through the thin layer of brick separating you from Levi’s ear. 

“Like it better when it's not on,” the guy groans, and a few more thumps against the wall sound along with a strange dragging noise that Levi presumes might be your back. “God, you’re so hot.”

Well, that they can both agree on.

Levi closes his eyes as your voice begins to rise, foolishly high and breathy and in a way that makes Levi’s dick harden under his clothes. He pictures your face in his head, thrown back in a twist of pleasure, and fights the urge to grip his cock with his hand — he loses the battle and curses as he grabs his dick and begins to pump his wrist.

Levi leans his back against the wall and dips his head low to his chest, his eyes unwillingly fixed on the sight of his own cock hardening in his hand. Levi acknowledges that jerking off to his neighbour having a shag is a bit weird, but it could be worse, and as long as you can’t see him, he doesn’t care. 

He tightens his grip around his dick and drags his hand up and down, biting down on his lip to keep his satisfied groans from eliciting any unwanted attention.

On the other side of the wall, you feel the brick behind your head as the stranger lifts one of your legs up over his shoulder, falling to his knees like a beggar and lifting the bottom half of your skirt up over your hips. At some point during your ungracious entry into the bedroom, the man managed to slip down your panties and now has full, unrestricted access to your cunt, and wastes no time pushing his head between your thighs. 

Feeling the man’s tongue running flat up your slit, you moan breathlessly and stare up at the ceiling. You’ve fucked so many men it’s impossible to remember all of them, but you never get bored of the feeling of someone’s tongue up your pussy. Your heart stammers in your chest as you peer down at the stranger; his face is pushed between your legs and hidden from view, leaving you with nothing but dark locks of hair to gaze at, hunched shoulders and a pale hand pressing into your leg.

Admittedly, the only reasons you picked this stranger to approach in the bar had been because of the way he looked, and you close your eyes and let your jaw hang open in pleasure, all while your thoughts linger on who you pretend is between your legs instead of him. 

“You taste amazing,” the guy groans into you, and you smile pleasantly. Everybody likes being complimented, don’t they?

“Yeah?” you ask, smoothing one of your hands up around your tit, “It’s all yours.”

The guy groans, as does Levi, who’s listening so loyally that he might as well smash a hole in the wall and look through. Nothing is left to imagination anymore; it’s as if you’re narrating your night just for Levi’s sake.

“Yeah. You’re right. This pussy’s mine,” the guy laughs, nipping his teeth against your inner thigh and making you squeal unexpectedly. 

“Come on,” you rasp, worming your fingers through his twirly locks of hair with a slight grip. He winces and looks up at you from over your stomach, eyes dark and wide with the pain of your fingers tightening around his curls. “Fuck me, big guy. I want your cock.”

Levi’s wrist quickens. He blames the whiskey for the strangled little pathetic sound that burns in his throat, but there’s no way you heard it. Although these walls are so thin that he can hear every sound you make, there’s no way you can hear any of his noises. The logic defies Levi at that moment.

“God damn, you really are a needy girl, aren't you?”

No, you’re not, Levi thinks. Only you are — you grin down at the handsome man removing himself from between your legs and shuffle closer to grab a taste of yourself from his lips. He groans into your mouth, one hand on your ass and the other around the back of your neck. 

With his arms around you, the man guides you towards the end of your bed and ungracefully drops you down, groaning when you bite your bottom lip and stare up at him with an expectant look in your eyes. Levi could only dream of what makes the stranger growl like that as he strains to listen in. You open your legs to invite him in, watching as he pulls a condom from his back pocket and takes his jeans down to his ankles.

Levi’s cock is throbbing, the tip an angry shade of red as he swipes his thumb and smears a slip of pre-cum across the curved edge. Levi inhales deeply, feeling his whole body stiffen as he pulls his fist up and down, the fingers on his other hand grazing across his balls with a sensitive flush. He hears you moan outrageously loud and his wrist trembles — he must have slipped it in.

You tighten your legs around the stranger, pulling him and his dick further into your cunt, the wetness of it slippery and inviting and divinely powerful. Every man you’ve had up there has made a comment on how good it feels, and as the guy moans loudly and tells you it’s the best pussy he’s had, you think of your neighbour; his surprised expression when he saw you in the café, the way his friends threw him looks when you smiled. 

You know he’s been listening (if he hasn’t, then he’s admirably unbothered or deaf), and the thought excites you wildly.

You look beyond the man and to the wall, imagining your neighbour staring at the brick with a blank expression. Maybe he’s angry that you have another man over. You hope he is. 

Biting back a laugh, you moan for good measure and match every thrust with a sound. The guy stuffed inside of you mutters a string of curses, chest puffed with pride, oblivious to the vision you have in your head of your neighbour snug between your thighs, his face steeled into his usual displeasure. 

“Mmf, yes,” you whine, a little louder than you usually would. “Right there.”

“Say my name,” the guy growls, slapping your thigh rather sharply, “like a good girl.”

You flush, knees practically bent over to your chest as he folds you in half. For a second, you can’t even think of his name, don’t know if he ever even told you. Instead of wounding his pride, you drop a few girly moans and hope it distracts him, which it does. You wonder what would happen if you were to moan out your neighbours name — if you even knew it, that is.

“Oh, god,” you moan genuinely and close your eyes as the man sinks his cock in further. Thank goodness this man’s dick is long, you think, feeling the tip brush against a weak spot inside of you. The mattress beneath your spine is shaking uncontrollably, and the man peers down at you with a glint in his eye.

Levi’s head leans back and a breathless groan escapes — fuck, he thinks, but there’s no time to take it back, and certainly no chance he’s been heard. 

Unbeknownst to Levi, your ears prick up curiously. The man snug inside of you looks at your face with an equal amount of curiosity, his hands wide against your skin as he fucks you at an unmeasurably quick pace. It’s as if he has somewhere else to be than here, but the pressing wrinkle in his forehead deepens as he fucks you harder, nails digging into your skin, spit flying from his mouth to your breasts.

“My friend said your pussy was good, but I didn’t think it would be this good,” the guy says, his voice raspy. All you can currently focus on is the squelch between your legs, and for a hopeful sound of annoyance from your neighbour.

When nothing comes, you opt for staring up at the guy with wide eyes, as if the thought of being passed around a few friends shocks you. In actual fact, you could care less, just as long as you both feel good.

His next few thrusts knock the wind out of you, and Levi clings to those pitched sounds like they’re his new lifeline. Pumping the length of his cock with his hand, Levi clamps his eyes closed and tries not to become self-aware of what the fuck he’s doing, instead focusing all of his energy on the twisting ache in his stomach and the dull groan of his wrist bones.

What Levi does next horrifies him. His hips jerk suddenly, his breathing laboured as he imagines himself in your room between your legs. Just the thought of looming over you, chest bowed over yours, your legs over his shoulders as he sinks himself into your cunt. The look of pleasured joy on your face, that stupidly beautiful smile lifted so high. 

In the swirling darkness of his closed eyes, Levi conjures up images of you flustered and naked, covered in sweat and cum and as your breasts bounce the shine on your body curves — fucking hell, he’s in so deep, he’s so fucked.

“Oh! Oh, there, yep, there — hmpf!” 

Levi hears you so loudly that it’s as if you’re panting it in his ears. He fists his dick almost furiously, feeling the creeping heat move across his body like a wildfire. The phantom illusion of your body underneath him pulses, the feeling of your cunt wet and squishing around him feels so real he might believe it if he weren’t uncomfortably self-aware of how screwed up he is, fantasising about a girl he’s never even talked to before.

Even through the wall, Levi can hear your bed rattling against the opposite wall, each slap of skin as the stranger fucks himself into you; Levi zeros in on the sounds and produces the perfect scene in his head, one that makes his dick twitch in his hand and his feet slip slightly across the wooden floor. 

His chest rises and falls heavily, his hands trembling, his balls so sensitive he’s resorted to clinging to the wall like a rock climber with one hand while he pumps his cock with the other. Listening to you being fucked stupid is going to make him cum all over himself, and for a split second, that seems fine. That would be okay.

“Goddamn. You’re tighter than I expected,” the guy says, which sends Levi over the edge. 

He groans softly at the floor and feels his whole body trembling as the coil in his stomach suddenly releases, and a string of cum shoots from the end of his cock. Levi keeps pumping, cum falling down his hand and to the floor in a grossly filthy manner, one that he’s trying his best not to stress over as he focuses all of his energy and thoughts on the hand wrapped around his cock and how badly he wishes it was your pussy gripping him instead.

When he does open his eyes, Levi blinks away the blurry tunnel vision and tries to catch his breath, now uncomfortably aware of the sticky mess covering his hand and the floor around his feet. For a second, he feels complete bliss — until the ringing in his ears subsides and he hears you whining in that pretty fucking voice you have, and the shame washes over him like a bucket of cold water.

Levi forces himself up off the wall and stares back at it, almost as if it might transform into a window for you to gape at him, the dirty eavesdropper who just had an orgasm over a daydream and the sound of his neighbour fucking some random guy. He blinks in horror.

The guy screwing you groans like an animal — a dying animal, Levi thinks bitterly, until he realises that he’s the first person to have orgasmed in the strange threesome and he isn’t even in the room. 

Although guilt is consuming him, Levi can’t commit to pulling away yet. He might as well see it through to the end now that he’s become a part of it all.

Your cunt clenches around the guy’s cock like a vice, coaxing whatever last reserves of self-restraint he has before he grunts out a loud, “Fuck!” and slams his hips into you one last time, filling the condom with cum.

You feel the warmth bulging inside of you — lucky for someone to have gotten off in this exchange. Your pussy throbs and you squirm unhappily, hoping he might keep going.

“More?” the guy asks, breathless and shocked. “For real?”

“Mm. More, I need more,” you tell him, your walls fluttering around him. “Please, please give me more—”

No, no, no, Levi thinks in a panic. Please no more! As if being subjected to listening to some guy cumming after being in your pussy was bad enough, Levi wants nothing more than for it all to be over so he doesn’t have to listen anymore. He knows he could easily put in earphones and tune you both out, but that’s not the point. 

Still, he feels a sudden rush of bitter hatred when the guy slaps your skin and makes you whine, all before laughing and pulling out. Levi hears nothing for a moment until he hears a drawer pulling open and slamming shut, and he thinks in a hot flush that he’s about to have a terribly unhappy night listening to you getting screwed again.

You watch the stranger shake his cock for a moment once the old and used condom is off, and he quickly puts on a new one while he’s still hard and admirably shoves himself back inside. Your wet warmth welcomes him back encouragingly, and there’s no trouble keeping him hard once you’ve gripped him back inside. The man shifts himself inside of you and moves in and out, his eyes trained carefully on your face as if assessing your enjoyment. 

He creeps a hand between your legs and thumbs the hood of your pussy, and your eyes flash open with surprise at the feeling of his thumb on your clit.

“My god, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he comments, and Levi curses.

This can’t go on! Levi feels his mind reeling and he refuses to take responsibility for what his body does next; he wipes his hand on his joggers and glares at the door. Taking a few strides towards it, Levi forgets the cum on the floor and grabs one of his jumpers, pulling it over his head as he grabs his five seconds of courage by the balls and swings his door open. 

The sound of you being fucked is made even more pronounced in the hallway. Levi’s never admired his other hall-mates until now, because he knows they’re all either listening in the same horror as Levi used to or they’re out somewhere missing all of the drama. Still, Levi feels his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he raises his fist, and without thinking any of it through, he bangs his hand on your door three loud times.

The sounds cease.

Levi hears a flustered “fuck!” and a confused moan, each one from a different person, and now that he’s knocked, Levi knows if he does a runner, you’ll only know it was him when his door shuts in the now uncomfortable silence. Standing in the hallway, he knows he has to live out his embarrassment and see it through. 

The stranger pulls out of you in a fluster, staring down at you with surprise. “Should we answer it?”

You crane to listen, half-hoping it was a knock on someone else’s door and not your own, but you reluctantly glance up at him in shock and pick yourself up off the bed.

“Um…” you start, flustered and scanning the floor for something to put on. You spot your dressing gown slung over the chair at your desk and reach for it, giving the guy a pointed look as he scrambles for his underwear. You hoped it wouldn’t have, but the vibe is killed rather cruelly by whoever is banging your door so loudly. 

Tying the cord around your waist, you pass by the guy with a sheepish smile and smooth a hand across his chest. In a way, the stranger is surprisingly handsome, especially considering you only picked him out for the way his hair looked. He grins after a while and grabs his shirt, holding it in his hand as he leans to kiss your lips and slither past you.

“Lemme get it,” he suggests, already making his way to the door. You let him go without protest, simply standing to the side as he reaches the door, twists the handle and pulls it open. The map of muscles in his back tense when he sees Levi standing outside.

“Levi,” he says dumbly. Levi blinks in confusion. How does he know this guy, and more importantly, how does this guy know him? The stranger seems to pick up on his blatant confusion and shifts uncomfortably, “It’s Samuel. I live in Isabel’s flat.”

Levi visibly grimaces.

This city is just too small and he hates it so much. Why the fuck did the guy fucking you have to be someone in close connection to one of his closest friends, and why the fuck did it have to be the guy involved in the sex Levi has just jerked off to?

“We met?” Levi decides to ask.

“Not officially,” mutters Samuel.

Levi ignores him and glances back into the darkness, schooling his features into disinterest with all of his strength when he sees you standing in the shadows.

The revealing V of your dressing gown attracts his attention, his eyes trained on the curving line of your breasts pushed together by your folded arms. He looks up to your neck and face, shining with a thin sheen of sweat, and then finally acknowledges your face. 

Your makeup is smudged in a way that makes Levi’s cock twitch again, but he refuses to feed in to the pleasure he so badly wants to seek at the sight of you, fucked-out and equally surprised to see him standing like a loser in your doorway. You take a single step forward in what looks like wonder.

“What…are you doing here?” Samuel asks hesitantly.

Levi remembers he’s there and glares at him. “I live next door.”

“Oh,” says Samuel.

“I don’t care that you’re fucking. Trust me, I don’t.” He’s lying. “But can you be quiet about it?”

His voice cuts deep, making Samuel flinch, but in Levi’s peripheral he sees your face twist into an amused smile, your feet shuffling across the wooden floor to arrive by Samuel’s side.

“She’s not that loud,” Samuel attempts to say, in a pathetically unenthusiastic voice. Even he must know to an extent that you’re actually extremely loud.

Levi’s brows raise. “It’s not her I’m bothered about.”

“Oh,” Samuel says again. He turns to look at you like a deer caught in the headlights, but when his face drops at the look of amusement on your face, something tells Levi that Samuel may have expected you to defend him the way he just tried to defend you. 

Samuel’s eyes narrow and he snatches himself away from the door to find his shoes and phone. “Whatever man. She’s a slut anyway, you must be used to it by now.”

Levi hums, his eyes on you as you look back at him, unmoving, unbothered. Your eyes drop suddenly to his bottoms before pulling back up with your brows raised. After looking down with reluctance, Levi spots the cum he wiped on his joggers in a smudge across his thigh and he pauses.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t think of any other words.

Samuel slips his shoes back on and levels a dirty look in your direction, but you just smile sympathetically and wish him goodnight. He mutters something rude under his breath and barges past Levi on his way out, and Levi makes a point of watching Samuel go whilst trying to pretend that neither of you has just spotted what is drying to a crusty stain on his joggers.

Levi continues to stare down the hallway even when the door has slammed shut and Samuel has disappeared, but the sound of your feet shuffling on the floor makes him look back. He must be a good actor, because your brows furrow for a moment when you lock eyes, as if you aren’t sure whether or not he’s angry.

Of course, Samuel had been right. You were a loud fuck, you were a bit of a slut, and Levi is very familiar with the guests coming and going from your bedroom. But none of that matters at all now he’s here, looking at you hidden underneath a dressing gown, your lips parted with hesitance.

Levi stares at you for a second, wondering what he could possibly say to you now that the chance is right there. He should have known he’d say something stupid — Levi copies your facial expression and clicks his tongue: “I know you can actually do better than that.”

His words take you by surprise, but he watches as your wide eyes soften and your smile twists — his stomach churns, thrilled, enamoured. If he was stupid, he’d push himself into your room and kiss you, but luckily, he’s exhausted his daily dose of stupidity and fallen back into his usual state of normalcy.

“Oh, really?” you ask sarcastically. This is the first time he’s heard you talking since your shy little hello a few days ago, and without a wall between you and some dude’s dick up your pussy. 

Levi hums, weaker than before. “Him, of all people?”

“Well, I don’t pick them for their personality,” you tell him, and he blinks as he realises that you’re actually discussing the people you bring back to your room. Levi lets it sink in until it does, deep in his stomach, and he feels his neck burning.

Suddenly, Levi is uncomfortably aware of how aware you are; you know you’re loud, and you know Levi can hear every moan and cry and whimper, every thud against the wall, every gasp of breath, every boy. And something tells him that none of that is accidental.

“...Thank god for that,” he drawls finally, his gaze hardening on your own. This time, you hum, mockingly, and tilt your head while you look at him.

Levi doesn’t know how long he stands there for. All he knows is that the tension between you is so thick it’s almost choking him. He doesn’t even know if you can feel it too — the unimaginable jolt of sexual tension coiling around his body like a snake, his whole body vibrating excitedly. 

It would be so easy to move forward towards you. Levi doesn’t even think you’d refuse him. The sultry look in your eyes is inviting, enticing, and he lets his gaze wander back to the slip of skin above your breasts before he snatches his gaze back.

“I’ll be more quiet, if that’s what you’d like,” you say after a while.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you for a second, weighing his options. Then, his gaze softens and he grunts — no. Be as loud as you want.

You seem to understand, for the smile widens into a pleased grin. “Alright. Sorry, Levi.”

He prays that you didn’t just see his body flinch as you said his name. Levi grunts again and waves his hand dismissively, turning for his room before the excitement of everything makes him become stupid again. He’s done enough stupid things today, thank you!

“Night, Y/N,” he says through clenched teeth, and if he had looked back, he would have seen the smile widen to a degree he could have never even expected, the confirmation you needed being your name on his lips, a name he would have only heard had he been listening.

Levi refuses to give in to his dumb urges and leans his back against his door when it shuts closed, listening shamefully as you hesitate before closing your door behind him. Finally, he lets out an exhausted breath and closes his eyes again.

For fuck sake. He’s a moron.

A moron who wants to fuck his neighbour, and is pretty sure that you know it.

Would you let him?

Levi stops himself from groaning like a pathetic loser when he thinks of you again, this time opening your door and letting him in, slipping the gown down your arms so that your breasts fall out for him; his hands grabbing them, pushing you back on the bed you were just being fucked on; his dick slipping inside of you, your cunt clenched around him, lips on his hands, cum filling you up like a cake, pooling out of you—

Levi feels his cock twitch again. He sighs loudly. 

He’s going to need another shower. Preferably a long cold one. Hopefully cold enough to send him into shock and kill him, just to spare him from the humiliating reality that Levi Ackerman has become an infatuated sad fuck with a raging hard crush on his stunningly sexy neighbour. 

Levi groans again. Fuck.

[moondirti]

Who from the 141 speaks the best arabic do you think? From one arab girl to another, it’d be so hot if any of them were fluent 🫠

if my memory serves me correctly, we get a bit in the first campaign from price. to me it seems to be a basic knowledge. a few sentences he picked up on the field and memorised to make his job easier. evac orders, cardinal directions, how to ask for water, food, medicine. that kind of stuff. pure utility, though that’s his approach to most things.

i like to believe (call it bias or whatever) that gaz is fluent. this ties in to my headcanon that he’s the only member who attended and graduated uni, but he strikes me as someone intensely curious about everything. introducing him to something, be it language or cuisine or a skill he hasn’t mastered yet, is like knocking down the floodgates. it’s his time in urzikstan that does it. hearing the way it rolls off farah’s tongue (let’s ignore doumit’s canon pronunciations), or how she’s able to translate a long, winding, clumsy sentence to something short. beautiful.

there’s a word for everything, he finds. one for the state of gossiping with your friends over morning coffee. one to congratulate someone on their cleanliness after a haircut. one that means may you be the one to bury me, for it would be unbearable to live without you – that is used so casually in conversation, kyle is stunned when he learns the true meaning. it doesn’t hold the same expectation, the same trepidation, as it does in english, though it retains its weight all the same. he wonders what makes a language so special that its intrinsic devotion has found a common place within its cultures, and he sets to find out.

this turns into a thing. more rambling under the cut.

the largest learning curve is the alphabet. the sounds that don’t exist in his mother tongue. he’s especially hard on himself when it comes to enunciating them properly – half the beauty is in the way words flow together, and there would really be no point in indulging in arabic’s more lyrical aspects if he’s off pitch. he gets the hang of it eventually, of course, one too many vocal exercises later.

the weathered dictionary he picks up at a second hand store teaches him that most words have three letter roots, and that it isn’t so easy as to look them up alphabetically. picking up new vocab becomes infinitesimally harder, then. for twelve million choices, the distinction between some words comes down to diacritical marks. necklace, decade, contract, held, complicated, and knots are all spelt the same way, yet pronounced ever so slightly different — a fact he learns the hard way when he tells the cashier at the kibbeh place he frequents that he likes her decade.

reading. reading is what helps him get over that.

(he probably should touch on basic grammar first — nouns, verbs, particles, sentence structure, that sort of stuff — but figures he'll pick it up as he goes, basing his methodology on an inability to remember any rules for the english language. he grew up hearing it, reading it, watching it, surrounded by it, so it just is what it is now. why work so hard on task books made for kids, then, when he can just get right into the meat of the matter? acclimatise through force.)

he picks up stacks of books upon books upon poetry. naguib mahfouz. ghada al-samman. al-mutanabbi. mahmoud darwish. it takes him a month to get through the first, and another month for the second. which only means he really takes his time with them, roving over the same line until it's etched into his memory. the cadence, the beats for pause, the way a word he has to punch from his throat is followed by one that lilts, all sing-songy. eventually, he starts to (inadvertently) mimic that sweeping manner of speech, employing it in contexts which certainly don't call for it.

the cashier — the very same one whose age he mistakenly stressed, despite the fact that she couldn't have been much younger than him — is far too nice to say anything about it, smiling instead, endeared, while he waxes poetic about meze.

farah calls him out immediately the next time they catch up.

apparently, no one speaks in classical arabic anymore, go figure. it would be like talking in shakespearean english, she tells him. he imagines it, iambic pentameter and all, and cringes, newly determined. his own research unearths (though it wasn't really a secret) the fact that there are roughly 25 different dialects belonging to different regions — and while some are pretty similar (syrian and lebanese), others could classify as a whole other language on their own (moroccan).

reddit tells him what he already knows; that the best way to learn is through exposure. there are no dictionaries for patois. and farah, despite her total enthusiasm at his interest, is far too busy of a woman to help.

(really, it just gives him an excuse to finally do what he's been meaning to.)

the next time he's craving kibbeh, he's fixed on not making a fool of himself when he asks the cashier out to lunch.

[ratsummer]

Shhhhh shhhhhh I'm getting carried away here, but...

Y'all ever think about Phantom being unphased by griminess when he's first summoned?

Or maybe not unphased, but he just doesn't make cleanliness a priority. Like this guy has been roaming the circles as best he can on his own, more concerned with finding food and shelter and the reluctant ally here and there than with personal hygiene.

Summoning as a general rule isn't a very tidy affair, so no one really notices that first day. Omega and Aether give him the typical, cursory wipedown to remove the worst of the summoning... goo... before bundling him up in soft, loose, flowy robes while his skin is still sensitive. And of course, when they show him where his room his, they introduce him to the baths and let him know he has the rest of the day to clean up and settle in.

Well, morning rolls around and Dew arrives to the breakfast table, ushering a very sleepy little quint along in front of him. Cirrus scolds him for so obviously waking him up before he was ready, but Phantom insists it's okay, please, I asked him to make sure I was awake for breakfast! Don't get angry at him!

And while Phantom explains that Dew stayed up late with him to help him find and organize snacks in his room, Cumulus comes to the table, yawning wide and clutching Aether's arm. She was so excited to greet Phantom and Aurora at their summonings, hugging them tight (despite the goo) and welcoming them into the fold. She's just as excited to see them at breakfast, purring and pressing a kiss into Aurora's hair first before shuffling over to do the same for Phantom.

He can't help but flinch a little as she approaches. Old habits die hard, and he immediately rushes to apologize when she stops in her tracks and frowns. But Cumulus is used to skittish ghouls - she typically accepts boundaries gracefully. No, what's caught her off guard is-

"Phantom, sweetheart, didn't Aether show you how the bath works?" Cumulus' voice is soft and warm, but she's got Aether pinned with a disappointed glare.

Phantom curls in on himself a little, squirming and wrapping his tail around his fingers. "He did... why?"

"Little bat, you've still got... goo... clumped in your hair. That can't feel very good."

And while Phantom is squirming and explaining himself, that he was focusing on getting used to his room, Cumulus starts looking him over more carefully.

She notices his claws, broken and jagged in some spots, dirt and goo clumped around them. Little scrapes, scratches, and bruises littering what little bit of his bare skin is exposed. Hair dry and frizzed up, with tangles and knots all around the base of his horns. And his horns... dried out, brittle, chunks missing near the ends.

Well, Cirrus doesn't call her Fussy Lussy for nothing.

"Oh darling, it's okay you didn't have time last night. I'll tell you what, I was going to have a little spa day today, I've got so many new things I want to try out. How about you come along with me and I'll help you figure out all the knobs in the tub and you can try out some of my soaps!"

Phantom looks a little wary and unsure as Cumulus extends her offer, maybe trying to figure out how to say no, until Aurora gasps and starts kicking her feet excitedly.

"Oh! Phantom! Cumulus helped me wash my hair last night and her soaps smell soooooo good! You're gonna love it!"

So, that's how Phantom ends up reclined neck-deep in deliciously warm bathwater not an hour later.

Cumulus is humming quietly, sitting next to him and lighting all the candles she lined up along the edge of the tub. "These candles are always here," she explains, "And the matches live in that jar tucked over there, so you can use these anytime you want if you like them, alright?"

Phantom just hums a little to let her know he's at least kind of listening. He rubs his toes through a little pile of what Cumulus called epsom salts, enjoying the way the grains crunch and swirl around his feet as they slowly dissolve. He can't remember being so comfortably warm and relaxed, maybe ever.

"Alright, sugar, I've got so many good things to try out. Are you ready?"

Phantom loses track of time quickly, but it must be hours that they soak together. Cumulus grooms him meticulously, and it stirs up achingly precious, half-lit memories from his kit days, when he still had his parents to look after him.

She scrubs his hair thoroughly with a sweet, sudsy shampoo. Her claws scratch deliciously over his scalp, sending goosebumps down his back. She works something called conditioner in next, using her fingers and a comb to tug and tease all the knots out of his hair. Not once does she pull hard enough to hurt.

She rubs a creamy, buttery substance between her palms until it melts into a sweet-scented oil. She massages it over his horns, cooing about how it's adding so much depth to their night-blue color. His claws are next, and Cumulus patiently explains what each of her little tools is for as she goes about trimming, filing, and oiling each one. She even rubs a cream into what she tells him are his cuticles, apparently to soften them or something.

She uses the softest cloth he's ever felt in his whole life ever to wash him thoroughly with a mouth-wateringly scented soap. She's thorough, getting behind his ears and between his toes. While she washes him, she tells him they should talk to Rain later about trimming up his hair so it doesn't fall in his eyes so much. She checks in with him constantly, asking if he's still okay with her washing him or if he'd like to take over.

Once they're out and dry, she helps him put on a creamy lotion before handing him big, soft clothes to pull on. She helps him roll the sleeves and cuff the pants, having stolen them from Swiss.

"He won't miss them, sweetie. That ghoul has the comfiest loungewear and he's always happy to share."

Cumulus insists that the most important part of their spa day is to immediately crawl into her nest to snack, snooze, and watch movies. It's called beauty rest for a reason, Phantom!

It's with a full belly and a clean, relaxed body that Phantom snuggles down under Cumulus' fresh, soft blankets and promptly passes out. It's the deepest, most restorative sleep he's had in ages.

And while he sleeps, Cumulus pets his hair, rubs his back, and generally fusses over whether the blankets are covering him properly. Her entire heart has totally melted for this sweet ghoul who's seen too much hardship, and she vows to make him the most rotten, spoiled little brat the ministry has ever seen.

[luveline]

hello jade! you are so talented and i love how you handle Miguel, so here comes my request: miguel overworking himself and tinkering on stuff and fem!reader pretending a accident happened, just to lure him away and force him to rest, while someone else takes over

thank you!! and thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader x boyfriend!miguel

Miguel's eyes are the kind of dry where you can actually physically tell from the edge of the platform you've just yanked yourself onto. His undereye area is sunken and dark, and his lips are pressed together tightly as he breathes in. He has some strange technology in his hand, a screwdriver in the other. It's unusual to see him working with physical tech these days, and whatever it is has been keeping him busy. 

"Hey, Miguel," you say finally, breaching the quiet. Margo looks up from her desk at the sound of your voice, and something in her gaze says, Oh, good, you're here. Fix him. You nod tightly. "Miguel?" 

He looks up for a split-second, if that. "What?" 

"What are you doing?" 

"Calibration." 

He doesn't explain the tech beyond that. You're a Spider, you should be able to guess what it is that he's working on. You've created web-shooters yourself with extremely complicated and delicate makings, but the longer you look at it the more confused you feel. 

"Do you need anything? Water? Something from the cafeteria?" You edge into the room, footsteps measured. "A nap?" 

"Nope." 

You frown and approach his side. He's sitting down, so there's that. The most important thing is that he's resting in some capacity, but the second most important thing is that his hair is in hand's reach. You put your hand on his shoulder to test the waters. Miguel doesn't react. Pleased, you push your fingertips into his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. His hair is a little dirty. He isn't taking care of himself, and this deep into a project it's unlikely he will be anytime soon.

You decide it's morally okay to lie. "I need a favour," you say gently. 

He looks up, finally noticing your hand in his hair. His head tips into your palm, his eyes softening, his crows feet wrinkles erased ever so slightly as he asks, "What do you need?" 

"I smashed the window in my room, and it's really, really cold, and I can't find a vacuum," you say, setting a false shame into the line of your mouth and eyes, your brows pinching up at the starts. "I'm really sorry, I don't know what to do." 

It's your apology that finally tugs him out of work mode. He lets the doohickey he'd been tinkering with plink flat onto his workbench, a rare but not uncharacteristic kindness in his voice. "Don't be sorry. We'll get it fixed. I know where everything is." 

"I know where everything is," Lyla says. 

"S'what I said," Miguel says. You know he laughs to make you feel more comfortable, and the guilt for lying to him festers. 

That guilt quickly wanes on the walk to your room. He's yawning and blinking the entire trek, big hand over his mouth to hide it. The Spider Society is really shaping into something amazing, and more and more Spiders arrive everyday. They've started construction on a dormitory for worldly visitors and refugees, but you've been lucky enough to get your own room near Miguel's. It's hard work for him to undertake such a huge project. He doesn't realise he's not doing it alone.

"How'd you break your window, anyway?" he asks through another jaw-cracking yawn. 

"You know me," you say, laughing nervously as you open your door and reveal a lack of both a broken window or smashed glass. 

Miguel squints through tired eyes at the room's cleanliness. "The smashed window?" he asks. 

"What do you mean?" you ask. 

"You know what I mean, the– you smashed a window? You wanted a vacuum?" 

"Did I?" you ask. 

"She lied," Lyla says, blinking in and out of view.

"I gathered that, thanks." 

"Okay, I'm sorry, I did lie. I just want you to take a break," you say, sitting at the top of your bed in what you hope is an enticing display, hand rubbing the empty space beside you. "Come and sleep, Miguel." 

"I can't," he says gruffly, then less so, "I can't, I have things to do." 

"Just for a bit," you say, eyes wide and pleading, your very best approximation of puppy dog's. "Please, baby. Just for an hour." 

Miguel stares at you for a moment, his shoulders sagging, before he closes your bedroom door and wastes no time in lying down next to you. You're startled at his willingness to do as you asked, but then you notice his flushed cheeks, tanned skin darkened by a rosy blush. 

You open your mouth to say something smug. He senses it, and says, "I can't sleep if you're talking." 

Your lips snap closed. 

Miguel lays motionless for a while. His breathing evens out. Sure he's asleep, you lay down beside him and dot a chaste kiss against his temple. 

His lips flicker. Not smiling, but almost. 

[risuola]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈 ⋯ now you are my favorite.

contents ✤ archangel!satoru x demon!reader, religious topics mentioned, blood and slight violence, wc. 2649 ⋯ reader discretion is advised series masterlist

“What’s on your mind, angel?” Your voice is gentle and yet it cuts through the silence like a knife. There’s a taunt hidden wrapped tenderly into a silky sound leaving your mouth right before it presses against Satoru’s spine – he feels the words on his skin, they’re warm and right between two marks gracing his scapulae.

He watches you in the mirror, your long-clawed hand snaking around his torso, touching his body, prodding his flesh. There’s something possessive in a way you hold him each time and yet, he feels good. It’s unfamiliar, he’s still getting used to being graced so intimately, to feel things so intensely but he likes it. And it scares him too — how easily he accepted the sin once the stains of it sunk into the pure canvas of his soul.

“Nothing,” he lies and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards when he catches himself lying again. Is that what he became? A liar? You hum, giving him time, and move your lips along his shoulder blade, paying special attention to the sensitive spots from which his wings come out. Shiver runs down Satoru’s spine as you kiss the proof of his heavenly heritage and then, he sees more of you when you slowly shift to press your lips to the peak of his shoulder. “I’m still struggling.”

“I know,” you make your way between his body and the bathroom counter, he feels your hot breath fanning over his throat and you kiss him again, your mouth tracing the arcs and edges of his collar bones and neck. You need to encourage him, place his hands on the curve of your waistline before he allows himself to touch you. You feel the squeeze and then he lifts you onto the cold marble, sitting you at the edge of the sink and you purr when his large palms brush along your spine and sides.

Satoru’s eyes are glued to the mirror, he sees your back — bare and silky underneath his fingertips. He sees the scars that adorn the peaks of your shoulder blades, two vertical lines that slice cleanly through your flesh, surrounded by a dark pattern of veins. It’s smooth when he touches it and you like when he does, it makes you tremble.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he breathes in the scent of your hair and you hum. Your thighs wrap around his hips and he lifts you again, you feel his strong arms around you as he carries you towards the bedroom.

Seconds, and your back meets the bouncy mattress. “So,” you muse, invading Satoru’s personal space as much as possible the moment he lays beside you. “How it went? Will you tell me?” You’re curious, you’re right up his business and he hums. What else is new?

“How what went?” He looks at you, the eyes filled with heaven itself focus solely on your pretty face and he swears silently, that you will, one day, be the end of him. A demon beautiful enough to turn even the greatest believers into sinners. First time Satoru heard one of his brothers say this about you, he scoffed, brushing it off as if his own nature was superior to everything else what’s prone to your influence.

“You know what,” you smirk, running the tip of your nose along the column of his neck — he feels your breath fanning over his sensitive skin and your warmth seeping through his bones.

“It went… alright.” It didn’t. The angel lets out a deep exhale as his eyelids drop.

It didn’t go well at all.

In all honesty, Satoru didn’t expect to see God at all after he has decided to stay with you. Truth is, he didn’t want to, ashamed of his own body, he wished for nothing else but to hide from His sight forever. ‘You have fallen, my son’ — father told him before he managed to scramble a word out of his mouth. Maybe abandonment wasn’t the cause of his dread after all. ‘You’ve fallen so miserably, it’s a shame.’ He felt ashamed, that’s for sure. Satoru has never known a feeling such as this one, a poisonous mixture of regret and… was is really regret? But the look of disappointment stung deeply into his very existence, it brought tears to his eyes and made his head hang low.

And his brothers, the archangels, were present too, watching his misery without a word of support and with disapprobation. There was a volume to it, so thick in the air, Satoru thought he’ll suffocate from the sheer pressure of it. ‘An angel stained with disgrace no longer has a place in Heaven.’ And he cried. Down on his knees, he cried from remorse, his pristine white hair covering his watery eyes and his knuckles white from the force with which his fists were clenching against dirt. ‘The devil tarnished your pure soul. You’re damaged, Satoru, stained.’ It felt like punches to his gut. “I have given you everything and look what you’ve become.” Was he truly damaged? You surely aimed to break him, but did he feel broken?

“Did it?” Your soft voice feels like balm on his troubled mind. A velvety embrace grasping all of him, piecing him back into one. You are the gold that for centuries held shattered porcelain together. His mouth open, but you’re quick to shut him, running the pad of your thumb across his lower lip. It’s dry, you know he’s been crying a lot lately. “Seems like you shed some tears.”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He turns his head towards you and there’s a smile dancing on his lips. It’s soft and barely reaches his eyes, but it���s enough. You cup his cheek with your hand and he sighs again, savoring the cold feeling of your palm against his delicate skin. It’s soothing, like aloe on a burn.

“You were not made to lie, Satoru.”

“I know I wasn’t,” he whispers, closing his eyes. You watch his white eyelashes flatten against the very tops of his cheeks, contrasting with the reddened, rough skin over there. “Sometimes it feels easier to lie than to say the truth.”

“I might not understand what you’re going through, but I will try,” you promise, meeting your forehead with his. He looks so broken in your palms, you wish to put him back together and keep him safe. "Did you cry for forgiveness?"

"I don’t know.” Maybe it was relief? Satoru couldn’t tell if what he felt was just fear of judgement.  The moment he faced God, after being so thoroughly involved with you, the angel didn’t fully understand what the feelings bubbling inside him were. “Part of me wished for His blessing. But then, I thought of you and caught myself wondering what if God decided to forgive me? Would I break his trust again and go back to you?” His words are quiet, but you hear every sound. His shaky breath, the pauses between syllables, the uncertainty. “I think I would.”

‘You are naïve,’ God was accusing him, displeased eyes looking down at the angel’s curled form. ‘It’s not love, demons don’t have feelings. They have urges, they want to break, they want you to sin. And you have sinned.’ But you didn’t seem to be an emotionless monster his Father was describing you as. What you showed him was real, it felt real. Every caress of your hands, the warmth he shared with you at nights, when tangled together you slept through the darkness — all of it was natural. It didn’t feel staged, it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. ‘Nothing about that demon is real.’

“Do you still pray to him?”

“Sometimes. Not often.” The response is a little distant, but a soft smile dance on the angelic features. He has to admit to himself that the prayers he’s been directing at the Lord weren’t hundred percent honest. He didn’t mean to ask for forgiveness, he didn’t mean to apologize and there was no going around the fact that you were at the back of his mind every time he tried to cancel it. God knows he craves your closeness more than he craves flying back to Heaven.

“You hope he’d take you back?”

“I’m curious if he’d still listen. I was his favorite,” he turns and looks towards the window lightheartedly. The dark sky holds the city captive in the shades of night and Satoru finds it ironic how humans tend to confuse the space above them with Heaven. Now he looks up whenever he thinks of his past life too.

You hum, “of course you were,” and you run your long, clawed finger down the curve of his bicep. “Now you are my favorite.”

“I can live with that,” he breathes out, tightening his hold around you and everything feels right again.

“Are you struggling too?”

The question catches you off guard few weeks later. You look up from the plate of nothing but chocolate pieces and once your eyes find the angel, they settle on his face. Satoru moves slowly, pushing the chair next to you a little to the side and sitting on top of the table. It forces you to tilt your head back.

You scoff. “With what?” And you’re reaching for another bonbon when his fingers grab the side of the plate.

“With everything,” he says, calmly but you can tell he tensed. You can tell he’s nervous because you feel it. It’s warm in your hand, scented like iron, you can almost taste it on your tongue. You’re tensed too, you realize, a little too late, when your eyes fall down to where you keep a hold on his forearm. Your long, sharp nails dig into his skin with force enough to break it, you watch for a moment how the crimson drops follow the pale contours of his wrist.

He bleeds again. Your angel bleeds again. You hurt him.

Again.

Your fingers snap open and you allow him to take away the plate of treats.

“I’m not struggling,” you mutter, scanning the lines of your palm, now accentuated by the drying red.

“You are,” he’s persistent. “You were not made for loyalty and happiness. Your soul craves evil and you compensate it to yourself by being gluttonous. Lustful. Insatiable,” he points, and your eyes roll in annoyance. “You’re angry. Too prideful to admit that you’re checking the capital vices off the list like tasks. Look at me,” his tone softens and you smell his blood again when he reaches to your chin, grabbing it gently and pulling it upwards. “Being with me is against your nature too. It’s okay to struggle—”

“Spare me,” you snap, springing up from the chair. Wood falls to the ground and bounces with impact, the dull sound hanging in the thick atmosphere between you and the creature made by God himself. “I’m not struggling.” Too prideful. “Fuck.” Angry. “Fuck…”

And you take few steps back. He’s right and you hate that he’s right. You crave him, your very soul craves him, aching for each and every second of time and attention he’s willing to give you but it fails to conceal what’s underneath the sheer desire. You want him but you also want to sin. The joy of turning believers into religious weeds has run dry, leaving an empty shell pestering for something, anything. But you can’t have him and the misdeeds. You can’t cause mischief so freely as you used to do and then expect his arms to be open to hold you.

“Seems like you are, demon,” he calls you by the name and it makes you chuckle. You can’t tell how many times you teased him in the very same manner, replacing his name with a playfully mocking angel when you watched his breakdowns and savored his tears. But his words are not taunting. There’s care in them, and warmth and love that you know there’s no lifetime and universe that you would deserve. No one deserves to have an archangel to themselves.

He’s moving towards you and you flinch. “Stay back,” you warn but he’s deaf. “I will hurt you.” You try, but he shakes his head before his hands find yours. Your clenched fists rest on top of his open palms like heavy rocks on clouds and he hums, coaxing your grips open enough so that he can slide his long fingers in the spaces between yours, threading himself within your lines.

“If blood is what you crave, take mine. You always tell me how sweet it tastes,” he’s calm and you hate the way his scent fills in your nostrils. The muscle inside your chest races uncontrollably, you’re mad at it, it won’t listen.

“I will hurt you.” You growl. It’s low, it’s threatening. Your eyes glint with red as they burn holes in his beautiful face and it hurts you to keep your own hands loose enough to not squeeze his too tightly.

“Then hurt me,” he whispers, inching even closer. He’s tempting, you feel the warmth of his chest against you, his quickened breath. It’s odd, it’s not in his nature to entice. “Feed off my pain. Feed the evil inside you before it gets out of hand.”

“I can fucking control myself,” you’re sneering and as you roar, the walls tremble. It feels hotter, you’re tensing as you look up into his eyes — the blue doing nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. You hate it, it hurts, it eats you from the inside out. It burns as if the flames of hell had suddenly exploded inside every cell of your very being, bubbling with wrath and boiling.

“Clearly you can’t.”

And you’re pushing him away, taking another step back but he’s right after you. Your arm swing, the claws slide across his chest leaving long marks that open in an instant. The light fabrics of Satoru’s clothes, now cut into pieces, quickly soak the blood that’s oozing from the wounds. Red doesn’t suit him.

He winces, it hurts him, you know it hurts him, but he doesn’t fight it. And it feels good. You hate it, you hate how good it feels. The sweet, delicious scent of pain breaking through the metallic smell of blood, the way you can see his heart struggles to keep up with what’s happening. You take a deep breath, it fills your lungs, shots through your spine. Not a thousand of sinners could match the intensity of an archangel breaking. It’s ecstatic.

But then, you’re on your knees. The sweetness turns bitter as your lips press tender kisses to the angel’s knuckles. The taste of iron coats your tongue, it’s no longer hot as it dries against his skin. The euphoria of what just happened lasts no longer than seconds before it catches up to you that you hurt him. Again.

“Forgive me,” you ask and the words feel foreign in your mouth. Apologizing is as against your own as kindness and love would ever be, yet you find yourself muttering quiet sorry’s into his stained skin. But he knows that it’s not an angel that you’re addressing, absolution is not a thing you wish for. So he kneels down himself, wrapping an arm around your trembling form and pulling you flush to his wounded chest.

“Is it better now?” He asks, his voice soft and caring right at your earlobe. You’re nuzzling his neck, hiding in the safe space between his ear and shoulder as his fingers trace idle circles at the expanse of your back.

“Yes,” you whisper and hold onto him. You melt, molding yourself to the curves and edges of his shape, letting his kindness envelop and calm you. “But your pain wasn’t what I wished for.”

“I asked you to hurt me,” he coos. “It will heal. It’s fine.”

taglist: @dcvilxswish @erenjvegerrr @crywolfix @wildheart03-blog @elliotsbeigeguitar @mi-mosaa @miizuzu @shvnkaidou @kirashuu @nanasukii28 @tojideckmuncher @madaqueue @wisteriaflowersss @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @li7wakwnsekzebby @vanshoe @myahfig4 @suguruscousin @ressyshi @ay-hazie @lryvttbnc @rosso-seta @soyalovestoyap @shuuji71 @nishloves

[pedgito]

𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐲 ➶ 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: based off of this post by poppy-metal, my beloved. eddie's a popular camboy, along with your best friend steve. one lucky introduction manages to turn your life upside down, arguably, for the better. a special mention to nyxoz's amazing camboy edit.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), modern au, camboy!eddie, camboy!steve, bestfriend!steve, steddie (friendship but definitely consensual sex talks), innocent-ish!reader, lacks a lot of positive sexual experience and eddie is a wonderful helper, fingering and first time orgasms, mentions of oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (pulling out), slightly dom!eddie, masturbation, voyeurism (consensual), a lot of unnecessary backstory because i couldn't help myself, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 9k — part two

Your relationship with Eddie was nothing short of unorthodox. It was a winding, ridiculous tale of how you met, how your relationship flourished, and how things ended up where they were now—but it should be noted first, you were well aware of Eddie’s profession. You’ve never knocked him for it, it was fascinating more often than it wasn’t, how easily he drew in a crowd and kept them captivated. It was something you’d never be capable of, you knew that. Eddie’s confidence oozed from him, on camera and off, despite his conscious humbleness—he knew what he had and he worked it well. It was his means of living, after all.

Steve shows you a picture of him on a busy Friday night almost three years prior, out at a packed bar, tucked into a tight corner away from all the music and sweaty bodies. 

“He seems—“

“Intimidating?” Steve finishes with a laugh, letting you swipe through the few pictures of him and Steve, arms thrown around each other—they seemed close, and given their similar line of work, you could only assume how close. “He’s not, I promise.”

“I’m not trying to date anyone, Steve.” You remind him adamantly, pushing his phone back toward him. 

Eddie was cute, handsome even—you could admit that at least.

“Oh, no—no,” Steve panics, shoving his phone into his pocket, “that’s not what I was implying.”

“Then what?” You ask with a soft laugh, “Are you trying to tell me I need more friends?”

Steve shrugs halfheartedly, “Not so much you—more him.”

“Fine, I’ll meet him.” You agree with hesitance, “On one condition.”

Steve rolls his eyes in amusement, a subtle smirk pulling at his features. “I’m not giving you free content—you’ve gotta pay up like the rest of the world.”

“Ew, fuck no—“ You reply in disgust, never appreciating the closed door policy in your shared apartment more than right now. “I was going to say you can cook dinner for the rest of the month—I don’t need to see any more of your dick than I already do.”

“Hey, that was one time—“ Steve defends weakly, “and I wasn’t even in that line of work yet."

“That’s worse!” You tell him, “That’s why we have rules, Steve.”

Despite that, Steve’s still one of the better roommates you’ve had and cleans up after himself better than you, most of the time, but what he makes up for in cleanliness, he lacks in spatial awareness—eventually he learns to keep the door closed.

He brings Eddie back to the house the next night, busting through the door with giddy excitement, in the middle of an animated conversation when Steve catches you on the couch, scrolling through an endless list of movies with no idea what to watch.

“See, I told you she’d still be up.” Steve tells Eddie, closing the door behind him as they both hurled toward the couch, squeezing you between them. “Have you eaten?”

You grimace at the overwhelming smell of body wash, the obvious post orgasmic energy radiating from both of them.

“No,” You sigh, resting your hands in your lap and fiddling with your fingers idly, nose scrunching up in irritation, “—god you two smell like you drowned each other in a tub of fucking green apple.”

“I need to buy some,” Eddie says, “it’s all Steve had with him.”

You nod slightly, “So, how was the turnout?”

The both break out into a grin, clear that it was nothing near disappointing. “Someone sent in like five thousand, I think—something around that. Not to mention all the new people it brought in since Eddie’s fanbase grows by a thousand every fucking day.”

“I can’t even wrap my own head around it.” Eddie admits honestly, eyes flitting toward his bare knees that showed through his ripped jeans. “Anyways, it’s nice to official meet you.”

Eddie turns to you then, sacharinne smile on his face.

“Oh, right,” Steve remembers, “yeah—this is Eddie.”

“Should this feel weirder?” Eddie asks, “I feel like I kinda just busted in here—“

“And I wouldn’t expect anything less,” You look over toward him briefly before glancing back at Steve, “not when you’re friends with this idiot.”

“Hey—“ Steve retaliates in defense.

You chuckle softly, forcing yourself up from the squished space between them.

“Wait, where are you going?” Steve asks, leaning up from the couch like he’s going to follow.

You step to your phone, reaching for it from where’s resting on the counter, tossing it into Steve’s hands, his reflexes impeccable as he catches it with ease.

“You two can celebrate your record breaking sex tape by buying me dinner,” You smirk, “I’m feeling—“

“Chinese?” Eddie suggests, both of you glancing over toward a mortified Steve.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.” 

Eddie’s never been more instantly intrigued by someone in his entire life—he’s seen pictures, heard about you through Steve, but nothing prepared him for actually being in your presence.

He had to learn everything about you.

Steve can’t admit his jealousy, but it’s there—definitely.

It doesn’t take long for you and Eddie to click, and when it happens, it’s impossible to seperate you both. Eddie streams a lot, more than half of the week and similar to a full-time job, and it seems just as exhausting as a regular nine to five—and Steve’s been kind enough to support you through your own hardships, both with the money of his parents and his, it’s made life easy for you and a lot less stressful as you navigate through your final year of college. You had great friends and there was no doubting that, but it blows your mind just how much money Eddie makes in a month—hell, even a weeks time.

You don’t argue when Eddie tries to pay for meals or nights out, knowing he would string things into a full-blown argument if it boiled to that point—not out of frustration and Eddie would never realize his voice out of tone, but he had more money than he knew what to do with, so spending it on and for the people he cared about seemed like a good enough reason. It becomes tradition—Eddie starts taking Sunday’s off, a day designated for the both of you; time to relax and check-in.

It usually ended up with you two sprawled out on his couch or his bed—this time, his bed—talking about whatever came to mind. You were always curious about his job, whether it be the things he did, the people he encountered, and Eddie never had any qualms about answering.

“What about stalkers?” You ask timidly, playing with the cuff of his sweatpants, delicate fingers dragging over the curve of his ankle. “Steve had one once—it got really bad.”

Eddie shakes his head, body curled around his pillow as his fingers rubbed against his blanket. “I guess I’ve dodge that bullet so far.” He admits, feeling appreciate that he’s avoided the creeps that well. “But, you always get the occasional weirdo who pays for a private showing—those are always tricky.”

“Can’t people request those whenever?” You ask, glancing over at his sleeping computer, his expensive camera covered for—well, reasons. Despite living most of his life online, he was still paranoid to some degree—and maybe it would be easier to not have his setup in his bedroom, but he enjoyed his small apartment and it didn’t make sense to uproot himself, not when he felt safe here. Plus, he was closer to you, and that’s all he really cared about. 

“It depends on my availability—they usually schedule it around what I have set up but sometimes I do surprise and I typically charge more for those, but I haven’t done one in a while.”

You sit up slightly, turning over onto your stomach until you’re beside him, head propped up in your hand as you looked at him. “Why?” You ask curiously.

Eddie laughs weakly, “Well, I use to do them on Sundays.” It dawns on you then, mouth forming into a soft “Oh.” 

“Yeah, so I don’t do them anymore,” He shrugs, “I mean, they were good money—like, really good. But, the more people are willing to pay, the weirder things get.”

“How weird?”

Eddie looks away briefly, racking his brain for all the odd encounters he’s had, “Uh, there’s a lot of feet.”

“People showing you their feet?” You ask incredulously.

“No, no—“ Eddie interrupts with a chuckle, pressing his hand against your cheek gently, thumb soothing out the furrow in your brow, “mine and the other person usually gets off to it—“

“Like, men?”

Eddie shrugs, “Usually—my audience is predominantly male but there’s a good mix of everything, it makes no difference to me as long as they’re not being excessively creepy.”

“This is fascinating.” You mumble to yourself, noticing Eddie’s smug grin. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you—do you wanna watch one?” Eddie asks boldly, there’s a tinge of hesitancy in his voice that maybe you’ll decline—not that he would be offended, but he knew how curious you were about all of it, even from the little of it that Steve has exposed to you.

You don’t immediately say no, “Won’t that be weird?” You ask, “I think part of me has avoided all of it because I respect that part of you—“

“I don’t need respect, sweetheart. It’s my job.” He says with a smile, tapping his ringed pointer finger against the tip of your nose. “So, whaddya say? Free of charge.”

“Sure, I’ll bite.” You giggle softly, letting him climb over you clumsily to settle himself at his desk.

“Go sit over there,” He motions toward the book of his bedroom, a cozy corner with a fuzzy chair that looked way too expensive. You took a seat, pulling the decorative pillow over your lap as you crossed your legs, watching as Eddie typed away furiously at his phone before placing it against the top of his desk, pressing at his keyboard until his computer came to life, “—I’m trusting you to be quiet, okay?”

You make a motion of zipping your lips, earning a subtle head shake from Eddie, his hand reaches up in a grabbing motion.

“Pass me that lube.”

Your eyes switch to the table quickly, noticing the small bottle of clear lube, sitting there, out in the open. It was his bedroom, you couldn’t judge. You pick up the bottle carefully, pinched between your thumb and pointer finger, tossing it in Eddie’s direction.

“It’s a new bottle,” He tells you, catching the bottle in one hand, “and I keep my stuff clean.”

“I believe you.” You respond, hands held up in defeat as you settled back into the chair.

It doesn’t take long for him to find a willing customer who had nothing better to do at ten o’clock on a Sunday night—he snaps into the persona easily, a more rambunctious, showy version of himself. You laugh quietly, catching the way his hands rub over the front of his sweatpants absently—you can only assume it’s to assist himself in getting hard. You’re not a prude either, by any means, so it’s not shocking or outrageous to watch, but it feels slightly invasive.

And it wasn’t that you didn’t find Eddie attractive—you did, tremendously, but things have never tipped past the point of typical friendship; he hugs you longer than necessary and sometimes kisses you on the cheek or forehead, but outside of that, it’s normal. Eddie also loves to cuddle, but that’s not even necessarily reserved for you, because you’ve caught him doing it with Steve too—but their dynamic was so vast and complicated that you didn’t want to try and dissect it.

Eddie starts off slow, a kind greeting and genuine smile, attempting to connect with the person on the other end. Eddie’s never judged people and the way they attempt to make connections, whether transactional or not—it was his job and he enjoyed, even the more awkward and strange ones.

You watch on with a faint smile, thumb tucked between your teeth as you chewed gently at the skin—to Eddie, it was like you weren’t even there, but deep in his mind he felt it; pensive eyes and anxiety of his next move, maybe he had taken things too far. But, there was no turning back now. 

It ramps up rather quickly, his hand slipping from palming over his sweatpants to his thumbs tucking into the fabric to pull them just under his ass, his half-hard cock in view now, slightly obscured by the arm of his chair. 

It’s astonishing, the fact that you haven’t seen Eddie’s dick until now, in such a nonchalant manner. To him, it was a normal day—knowing that thousands upon thousands of strangers already knew what his dick looked like, his ass, practically every part of his body—yet you’ve only been privy to what he’s shown you. His face, his chest, and maybe a glimpse of him in his underwear at most—littered in tattoos from head to toe, constrasting against his pale, milky skin. 

You can’t hear the person on the other end as much, let alone see them at this angle, looking at an oddish angle from the corner—you can’t see Eddie’s face fully, but it’s flush, cheeks reddened from exhurtion. He snaps open the bottle of lube from below the desk, expertly squirting into his hand before tossing it to the floor carelessly, hands switching positions with ease. His left comes under to cup his balls, right hand covered in lube as it wraps around his cock, pulling gently at the shaft, thumb rubbing over the slit at the tip tenderly, moaning some outlandish remark to the person on the other end—their name or maybe their username, you muffle the small laugh that escapes with your hand.

Eddie can hear it too and it breaks his concentration slightly, open mouth pulling into a faint smirk, releasing an obnoxious moan into the air, mostly for the sake of teasing you. It’s effective enough, shutting you up for the remaining duration of the show until Eddie’s coming into his hand harshly, eyes squeezed together in concentration as he squeezes the head of his dick in an effort to stop that painful throbbing—it never felt as good when it was forced like this. It was all for the customer’s sake. But, you still couldn’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at the sight of Eddie’s hand covered in his own come or the way his dick looks absurdly good in the low light, shining and sticky with lube. 

Eddie shuts off his camera soon after, letting out a long shaky sigh as he uses the towel at his desk to wipe himself down.

“So, thoughts?” Eddie asks curiously, peering up from his chair, head still downturned as he wipes at his stomach.

“Pretty tame.” You shrug, though you’ve never really expected to mark consensual voyeurism off your list of things to try at least once in your life, let alone with Eddie. 

“They’re not always crazy,” Eddie says, pulling the band of his sweatpants back over his groin, allowing himself some decency as he turned to you, swiveling in his chair playfully, “—was that…too much?”

“Oh—me, watching you?” You stammer, shaking your head furiously. “I didn’t—I mean, it’s like work for you. But, it was…interesting.”

“You’ve never watched someone masturbate before, have you?” Eddie asks with a hint of teasing.

The boldness of the questions were shocking—Eddie was egging it on and you couldn’t be bothered to stop it. 

“I—no.” You decide on, feeling inclined to offer up an embarrassing secret, considering the situation, “I don’t do it, either—I’ve never tried it.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie huffs a laugh, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped together as they press under his chin. “You’ve never even—like, not even with a partner?”

“Oh, yeah—I just, don’t do it, you know?” It feels like a redundant question, so Eddie doesn’t answer. “Sex is…kind of an afterthought to me, it’s never really been that great. I only ask a lot of questions because I’m nosey—“

Eddie snorts at that, nodding in agreement. 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never even snuck off with one of Steve’s mountain of sex toys? Just out of curiosity?”

Another shake of your head. 

Eddie clears his throat, the gears in his brain working tirelessly. He feels the need nagging at him, unspoken—it was deservice to you, having never felt what a good orgasm could be like and Eddie was a pleaser, after all.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping by asking—“ You brace yourself, squeezing at the pillow tucked between your legs, “—do you want to?”

“Masturbate?” You ask with a faint laugh.

“Yeah, but—like, I could help?” 

Eddie isn’t even sure what he’s asking, but it clicks in your brain immediately.

“You don’t find that weird?”

“I literally jerk off in front of strangers for money and fuck my friends for the exact same reason.” Eddie explains, shrugging his shoulders. “Plus, everyone deserves to feel good—look, the offer is there if you want to—“

“Okay,” You answer quickly, quick enough that Eddie’s eyes widen slightly in shock, “but, maybe we can smoke a little first?”

“You don’t have to be nervous about it—“

“No, I know—I just thought it could be more fun that way.”

It was definitely the nerves, but Eddie agrees regardless.

“This is ridiculous.” You giggle, shifting between Eddie’s spread legs, bare from the waist down. “Isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says comfortingly, rubbing at the underside of your thighs as he settles behind you, your back resting against his bare chest, “we can try a vibrator if you want—or if you feel more comfortable just using your hand—“

“Hand is fine,” You reply airily, letting his palm cover your hand without question, “if it doesn’t work we can try something else.”

“Oh, it’ll work.” Eddie replies confidently, forcing down the chuckle that rises in his chest. His mouth falls open in concentration as he pulls at your hair gently, pushing it to one side as he peers over your shoulder, “here, rest your head.”

You lean back slightly, glancing up to him briefly. His smile is warm, brimming with excitement and temptation at the idea of doing something so contrasting from your normal behavior. 

“Which feels more comfortable?” Eddie asks, switching between your two fingers—pointer and middle then middle and ring.

“Uh, the second one?” You reply hesitantly, switching between the two briefly, “Wait—yeah, definitely the second one.”

Eddie laughs again, the tingle of his high settling in.

“Okay, we’ll normally I would suggest lube but spit works just as good,” Eddie says, nodding toward your mouth slightly, “—just lick your fingers—yeah, like that.” Eddie watches with intensity as you bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking in the two fingers briefly until Eddie pulls them away, pressing them against your core. “A lot of people can’t come from just penetration so that’s why it’s important to pay attention to everything else—I don’t know how you usually do it—“

“Uh—I’ve never really,” You linger around the words, feeling silly for not allowing yourself to say it, you giggle softly, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper orgasm before—I know the feeling but it’s never hit me, if that makes sense?”

“You’re telling me this now?” Eddie asks with a pitched tone, eyebrows disappearing under his bangs. “God, okay—I’ll just lead you through what I usually do and let you take over when you’re comfortable.”

You nod slowly, feeling the faint press of his fingers against yours, dragging up your cunt slowly, grazing against your clit.

“I can’t believe you’ve never even came before—“ Eddie mumbles, not necessarily to you, more of an unfiltered thought, “who the hell have you been fucking?”

You sigh softly, his fingers leading yours in slow, loose circles of the tight bundle of nerves, “Doesn’t matter.” You reply carelessly, “You said you’d help, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie answers quickly, his other hand settling on the inside of your thigh, keeping them spread open, calloused fingers resting against your soft skin. He circles your clit once more, picking up the pace slightly, you jump at the motion, eyebrows knitting together. “There we go,” He coos, noticing your change in expression, “see how good that feels?”

You nod lazily, free hand circling your entrance, fingertip grazing against the opening—it’s not a new feeling, it’s just never been your own hand doing the work. The first finger dips in with hesitancy, Eddie’s pace slowing slightly at the sight, not wanting to overstimulate you too much. 

It feels lackluster and the angle sucks, your fingers not filling you out as well as you thought they would, you curl them desperately, sneaking in another finger in hopes that it might help, but it’s nothing but frustration on your end.

“Hey, hey—“ Eddie interrupts, noticing the stress of your lip pulled between your teeth, “let me do it, you focus on the other half, yeah?”

You nod in agreement, his guiding hand leaving you suddenly. He slips his rings off his fingers wordlessly, dropping them in his bedside table, the clang defeaning in the silence of his room. 

“I’ll keep it slow,” Eddie tells you, “just communicate what you need.”

With another nod, his first finger breaches you slowly, the stretch different from your own fingers—wider, larger, more filling than your own. “Oh,” It slips out involuntarily, hand shooting over your mouth at the sound, “—sorry, I’m not trying to make it weird—that just feels so—“

“Good?” Eddie asks with a laugh, tongue peeking out between his teeth as he grins, “It’s fine—make all the noises you want, I wasn’t really holding back earlier either.”

“Okay.” You reply quietly, your fingers dragging over your clit testingly, fingers slick with saliva, creating an intense, breathtaking sensation as you fall into an easy pace, Eddie’s fingers matching that rhythm.

The sound of your own wetness as Eddie’s fingers move within you is enough to make your body go hot with need and embarrassment, feeling his finger curls against the soft, sponge nub inside of you.

“You hear that?” Eddie teases, “That’s all you.” His finger crooks again, pulling a broken whine from your throat, body curling forward slightly at the sensation. “There she is.”

You laugh softly at his choice of words, feeling less intimidated that Eddie could make light of such a situation, having just as much fun as you were. 

“Another one,” You tell him steadily, stopping momentarily to watch him push another finger inside, free hand resting against the curve of his wrist, feeling every movement as he worked his fingers inside of you, “fuck—that’s really nice.”

He smiles into the side of your head, face buried in your hair.

Your fingers pick up quickly, rubbing harsh and intense alongside his relentless fingers, pistoning inside of you with  an objective, determined—Eddie couldn’t live with himself if he let you leave empty handed.

“Shit—okay, I feel it.” You tell him honestly and he feels it as you clench around his fingers, your breath picking up quickly, soft moans becoming more and more desperate and Eddie could feel himself being drunk on the sound. Eddie hears the sharp whine from the of your impending orgasm, his fingers pulling away quickly to spread your thighs open wider, having flagged slightly from your desperate movements, hips searching for relief. 

“Keep going,” He encourages, gentle squeezes into the underside of your knee as he holds you open, “I know you can.”

And you’re not sure why his words help, but they do.

You gasp sharply, fingers swiping over your clit in desperate circles as you come, an intense sensation the rushes throughout your entire body, moaning wantonly through the euphoria. Eddie’s hand slips under your chin, pulling your face up to look at him—you can barely keep your eyes open, but he’s staring at you intensely, nodding and speaking unintelligible words that you’re thankful you can’t hear, knowing it would wreck you even further. It feels like you’re underwater, fingers finally slowing as Eddie releases you, hips aching at the relief of it.

“Holy fuck,” You curse, falling back against Eddie in exhaustion, throwing you both into a fit of unexpected giggles, “that’s—oh my god—“

“Sweetheart, that’s nothing.” Eddie assures you, devilish grin overcoming his features. 

“You have to show me more.” You practically beg, face lightening up in joy, “Seriously.”

Eddie’s never agreed to something faster.

From that point on, it’s a dangerous game that you and Eddie fall into without any fear of how easily they could damage your friendship—but that’s where the trust in each other lies, you’ve never been more open and comfortable with someone than Eddie, aside from Steve—but those were completely different situations.

And what starts as innocent lessons in sex and teaching you what and how things should feel, according to Eddie’s expansive experience, quickly turns into mindless and self indulgent pleasure—and no one’s ever gone down on you until Eddie. Ever.

It quickly turns into one of his favorite things—and after his bad days and streams that put him into a bad mood, he’ll bury himself between your legs and devour you until you’re panting his name, gripping his sheets so hard they might rip. 

Eddie initially thinks you’ll be disgusted by the idea of him being with other people from time to time, but it never really crosses your mind as odd—you normally sit in on his sessions now, when you’re not busy doing your own thing, but you usually opt out of watching his streams with others—even when explicitly invited, not that any of his friends cared.

Steve jokes about it once and you can’t believe it.

“It was only a matter of time,” Steve tells you both, having sensed the change in energy weeks ago, but only bringing the knowledge to your attention now. You and Eddie were still very much friends, just with the extra benefits, “—hey, the audience is always talking about how we should add a third—“

“Absolutely not.” You reply quickly, drowning out Eddie’s similar protests. “I’d rather watch you two fuck each other, and that’s already enough to melt my brain.”

“Hey, you gotta give Steve some credit,” Eddie defends playfully, “he’s a great bottom.”

You snort loudly, watching the betrayal cross Steve’s face.

“And you’re a selfish top.” Steve snarls back, kicking his feet up on the table.

You suddenly remember Eddie’s similar answer to the idea of a threesome, curious of why he agreed so quickly.

“Wait—why did you say no?” You ask.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be on camera.” Eddie replies—it’s a logical answer, but not nearly in the realm of being correct. You could care less, it was just a lack of opportunity and genuine want to do it—if served the right circumstance, you might—but a threesome with those two, it sounded like your worst nightmare. “Plus, you treat Steve’s dick like it’s a disease so I used context clues.”

That and he really didn’t feel like sharing. 

“Steve never told you, did he?” You ask with a weak laughs, glancing over toward Steve. “He doesn’t know?”

Steve shrugs, earning a pillow to the face from you.

“What?” Eddie presses.

“I was Steve’s gay awakening.” You admit, “It was literally that bad.”

It did stunt your sex drive for a while, but you didn’t blame Steve—you had enough problems to work through, but Eddie had been a big help to change that. 

“Hey, I love you, though.” Steve tells you earnestly, meaning every word. “I’m glad it was you rather than some horrible interaction with someone I barely knew.”

“And look at me now,” You arms thrown up dramatically, “I’m literally surrounded by sex, everyday—it’s really is my destiny, I think.”

It’s a horrible joke, but it was your current reality. You yank Eddie into the privacy of your room soon after, falling onto his lap with ease, feeling the hard outline of his cock through his thin pajamas pants, earning a subtle eyebrow raise from you.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, “I didn’t stream today and we’ve been around each other, I can’t help it.”

You smile at his raw honesty, grinding down against him pointedly.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He teases, gripping tightly at your hips.

You two still hadn’t crossed the threshold of sex just yet—you hadn’t even had his dick in your mouth, but you’ve seen it plenty of times thus far, just never in the context of when he was doing things with you, the pleasure being so focused on you that he never even took the time to care for himself, besides, he was getting enough fulfillment in the acts he did for money—at least that’s what you always assumed. So, when he finally asks you that question, you’re not sure how to respond.

“You,” You shove a gentle finger at his chest, before turning to point to yourself, “want me, to have sex with you—on your stream?”

Eddie nods with assurance, the fingers gripping your thigh digging in slightly, grinding you against him teasingly.

“Why?”

It wasn’t a simple question, or even a simple answer, but Eddie tried to explain his reasoning as best he could. 

“People get tired of the same thing,” Eddie says, “not that I’m trying to use your for content, it’s like when I do stuff with Steve, a lot it’s just for fun with a little technicality mixed in—we obviously plan some stuff out but for the most part it’s just improv.”

“Yeah—but we don’t do that stuff,” You say pointedly, “are you trying to suggest that the first time you want to fuck me is on camera?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Eddie tells you, you stop his movements with a hand on his chest, eyeing him down, “we could play it up, obviously.”

You make a face, feeling slightly confused. 

Eddie laughs, taking a moment to find the best way to express what he’s trying to say. “Like, we do scenarios sometimes—so since it’s your first time, maybe—“

“You want people to think I’m a virgin.” You deduce.

“Yeah—I mean, they won’t know, but people love that shit.”

“And what am I getting out of this?” You ask timidly, other than the idea of mind-blowing sex with your bestfriend—you had no doubt Eddie was capable of whatever he needed to do to make it all worth watching and taking part in.

“Half profit of whatever we make,” Eddie says, “and, I’ll take you that really nice place over on the west end that you’ve been talking about.”

“But, the place costs a fortune.” You protest but Eddie shakes his head vehemently. “Are you sure?”

“I actually expected you to say no,” Eddie laughs, “was that all it took?”

You shrug indifferently, “I’m easy to please—besides, I’m curious.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it.” Eddie smirks salaciously, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you down over him, burying his face into the front of your chest, forcing a squeaky laugh from your chest. 

“You can stop fidgeting.” Eddie laughs, throwing a few random items on his bed; some lube, a condom, and a small piece of fabric that you can only assume is a mask. You grab it, holding it up without question. “Oh—for anonymity, if you want.”

“I don’t care,” You reply, tossing the material to the side, your fingers sift over the other items, grabbing the foil package, “—we talked about this, Eddie.”

“I have multiple partners in a month,” Eddie says, “I don’t want you feeling like your health might be compromised—“

“You get tested every two weeks, don’t you?” You ask, trying to reaffirm what he’d told you days earlier. “And I’m on birth control—Eddie, I thought we figured this out.”

Eddie leans his hands against the mattress, shoulders flexing with the movement as his necklace jostles against his chest.

He sighs deeply, “I know—but when the camera goes on I can’t really switch out of it until after, and even that takes a minute, I just want you to feel comfortable.”

Your finger loops into the chain of his necklace, pulling close enough that your noses touch, his hands scrambling to hold himself up. 

“I can handle it.” You tell him steadily, eyes locked on his own.

He nods, swallowing audibly. “Uh—well, consider this me apologizing in advance for anything I say.”

You laugh softly, “I think I can handle it.”

And it was a total lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

When the camera turns out, Eddie switches into it easily, your gaze downtrodden and avoiding the lens, terrified to make eye contact with any of the messages in his chat. Eddie’s already naked for the most part, sans his loose sweatpants that weren’t leaving much to imagination, his cock swaying freely beneath the fabric. He leans into the camera, the viewers flooding in by the masses. 

“I know, I know,” Eddie soothes the viewers, “you’re probably wondering what’s going on—I’ll explain, but my friend here, she’s a little shy.”

He reaches behind himself, rubbing a comforting hand along your thigh, eyes connecting for a brief moment.

“She’s never been on camera before,” He smiles, glancing back at the screen, “but she’s also never been fucked before.”

There’s a flurry of messages that even Eddie can’t keep up with, “Crazy, right? And she’s bestowed that honor upon me to rectify that situation—and you all get to be a part of it.”

He’s eating it up, you can tell, taking a moment to turn away from the camera to laugh quietly, trying your best to keep it together. 

“So, be nice,” He warns, “and make sure to leave some very kind words and tips on her behalf.”

There’s a moment where he cuts his camera off, transitioning it to a brief pause screen, giving him the chance to move around the room freely, coming to kneel on the bed in front of you. His fingers tip under your chin, eyes softening at the sight of him. 

“You ready?” He asks softly.

“Mhmm.” You hum, offering him a shy smile.

Kissing Eddie isn’t as weird as you anticipate it to be—it’s lips against lips, wet and sloppy, but it’s still better than anything you’ve experienced so far. Eddie kisses with enthusiasm and wandering hands—the screen switches over out of the corner of your eyes before you realize that Eddie’s holding a small remote in his hand, likely to control the different cameras he had set up, before placing it on the blanket beside you both, hidden from view.

Eddie pulls back slightly, letting you chase his lips eagerly. He leans back further, just out of reach, before dragging the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, letting out a deep chuckle. 

“Look at her,” He speaks to the audience, “so fuckin’ needy.”

And you get it now—he was enticing to watch, off camera and on, but being a willing participant to it, it was the type of thrill you never imagined being able to feel. 

“Want that pretty mouth around my cock,” He admits, thumb rubbing at your bottom lip, “what do you think, sweetheart?”

“Please,” You speak softly, feigning a sort of innocence that Eddie knew was mostly for show, but it still sent a twinge of pleasure straight to his dick, “can I?”

Your hand reaches up tentatively, rubbing his hardened cock over his pants, not entirely new to you, but knowing that things would escalate from here had a surge of confidence running through your body. 

His hands squeeze at your jaw, forcing your mouth open slightly. “I’m not sure if you can fit all of it, but we’ll try.” He comments, earning a subtle eye roll from you. He reaches his hands under his sweatpants, shifting them down far enough that he can pull his dick out, the waistband settled snug under the curve of his ass, his hand palming at himself sparingly. “Open.” He instructs, guiding you up by your jaw onto your knees until your ass is resting on your calves, legs spread wide for show, your hands settling on his upper thighs from where he’s towering over you on his own knees.

Dick’s aren’t supposed to be pretty—they weren’t usually and you’ve seen your fair share, but there was something about Eddie’s. It could’ve been the contrasting black ink of the tattoo etched into the skin right about his groin, highlighting his assets in an unconventional way, or just the confidence that oozed from him in sexual situations. Either way, your eyes were drawn to his cock, his thumb rubbing over the slit at the tip of his dick, milky drop of precome smearing over his fingers, shining in the overexposure of his lights.

“Wider,” He instructs, your tongue lolling out slightly, “good girl.”

Your eyes flutter shut at the word and Eddie realizes he might’ve hit the motherload, shoving that away for later. 

He taps the tip against your tongue, ruddy and wet, pulling at the length of his shaft slowly. “Lick it, sweetheart.” He smiles, “Get it real wet.”

Your tongue drags along the underside testingly, circling his tip with hesitancy. You’ve given enough blowjobs to know the basics, but it’s never felt so magnified, knowing so many people were watching. And Eddie’s not sure what to expect either, but he’s more than hopeful. 

Your mouth waters at the prospect, gathering enough saliva to spit out over his dick before your hand comes up to replace his own, spreading it all the way down. Eddie curses, arms outstretched lazily as he watches, keeping himself together well despite how insanely turned on he was. For a brief moment he thinks that this is a terrible idea, not sure how well he could keep himself together.

“Fuck, let’s see how deep we can go, okay?” He suggest, his dick breaching your parted lips, pushing into your mouth slowly, you breathe deeply through your nose, letting him push as deep as he wants—he’s budging against the back of your throat and there’s nothing, which surprises you—you feel like you should gag, but the actual feeling never happens. It’s a surprise to you both, your eyes widening in disbelief. 

“Holy shit.” It’s an honest statement, you can hear it in his tone. “That’s right, sweetheart—love seeing you take my cock so well.” And maybe that is too, but you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. Eddie pulls out slowly before plunging back in with a similar intensity, using your mouth for his own selfish need and feeding of your reactions, soft gasps for air, eyes tearing up as he picks up the pace, pulling back suddenly with your head grasped in his hands, one hand tucked snug under your chin while the other holds your hair back, gripped tightly in his fingers. 

His breath is just as baited, staring down at your red, irritated lips—having been stretched uncomfortably and shiny with spit.

He pulls at you roughly, maneuvering you onto your knees until he could reach your face, pressing his lips to yours hungrily and using it as an opportunity to whisper to you quietly. 

“You didn’t tell me you don’t have a gag reflex.” He says in a hushed tone, sounding slightly upset.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know, I swear.” You say defensively, his mouth sliding against yours in an effort to mask the conversation. “Eddie, I’m not lying.”

“No more surprises, please.” He begs with a soft laugh.

You nod slowly in understanding, letting Eddie avert the situation by asking a redundant question.

“Yeah? You want to give them a little show?” He asks with a sneaky smile, glancing over to the camera.

The tips had started flowing in instantly and Eddie hadn’t bothered to even look at any of it, too focused on the task at hand. 

Eddie shifts on the bed until he’s positioned behind you, hands resting low on your waist—you’d put on some gaudy, expensive lingerie that Eddie had bought you for this particular occasion. It was white, intricate lace with sheer material doing nothing to cover you up—it was perfect for the situation but so far from your own taste, but for Eddie you swallowed that pride. It made up for it with the grin that covered his face when you walked out of his bathroom earlier that night.

Your face sucks away from the camera, eyeing Eddie’s hand as it flattens out over your stomach, dragging along the skin delicately. “Do you need help?” He asks sweetly, peering over your shoulder and up to the camera. You nod slightly, letting his hands roam the full expanse of your body, over your breasts, down your stomach again and cupping your cunt in the fullness of his hand, his fingers grazing against the obvious wetness that had pooled there—he wasn’t sure how well this was working at first, but that small bit of evidence affirms it for him. He grips slightly, fingers digging into the fabric near your entrance. 

“Fuck,” He curses, the feeling causing you to gasp involuntarily, mouth dropping open in response, “are you gonna let me play with this pretty little pussy for everyone watching?” 

You nod dumbly, rocking into his grip subtly. 

“I’m not even sure you can’t take my fingers, sweetheart.” He lies, pushing the fabric with his fingers over your hole, your ass nudges against his still uncovered cock and he bites back a quiet groan, and you can assume that definitely isn’t for the camera. “Let’s take this off,” He suggests, fingers dragging along the curve of your breast, “show off those beautiful tits to everyone.”

Eddie pops the clasp easily, dragging the straps over your shoulders slowly until there’s nothing left for the material to snag into, falling from your chest and to the floor, round tits and soft buds that are squeezed between Eddie’s grip showing my, kneading the flesh until you’re keening into his touch, head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers pull at your nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers.

He can see the chat going wild, more and more generous donations flowing in by the second, he leans over to whisper into your ear, hands still working diligently.

“See?” Eddie points out, “They can’t get enough of it.”

You nod subtly, letting his hands drop for your breasts to slip into the front of your lace panties, fingers stretching against the fabric. 

“You’re not so innocent, are you?” He asks teasingly. “Do you want to play with yourself while everyone watches?”

Again, you nod, letting Eddie manhandle you down gently toward the bed, a similar position to the first time he guided you to an orgasm. 

“She’s pretty naughty, isn’t she?” He asks and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to his viewers rather than you. He pushes the thin fabric down your legs, dropping it to the floor lazily. “And naughty girls like the attention, don’t they?”

He glares down at you, his hands spreading over the inside of your thighs to hold you open, cunt on bare display for thousands to see. 

“Show them how you touch yourself,” He instructed, “—how badly that pussy of yours is begging to be filled.”

Your fingers tease lightly, drifting over your clit with a severe lack of attention, two fingers dipping inside of you with ease. 

You were rushing it on purpose, hoping Eddie would take over and make it all a little less embarrassing. He does, taking the opportunity to make a sly comment.

“Someone’s a little eager.” He laughs, chest rumbling at the motion. 

“It’s not enough,” You pout dramatically, peering up at him with soft, half-lidded eyes. Eddie didn’t expect you to play your part so easily and so well, breaking his persona for half a second as he stared back at you, nodding deftly. “Can I have your fingers, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” He smiles softly, swatting your hand away gently to replace it, his larger hands able to cover more area, joining in with the other as he wastes little time, a large finger pressing inside as he circles your clit. 

It’s the first genuine, unrestrained reaction you give all night—hands grasping at his forearms desperately, gasping sharply at the overwhelming pace he sets.

“We have to be sure I can fit, baby.” He coos and you feel your heart skip at the word, having never heard it fall from his lips until just now—it was addicting. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Eddie waits until you’re a moaning mess, hair mused over your face and cheeks hot from the action of bringing you to the brink so many times, cutting you just short of a glorious orgasm—he was holding it off for the finale, his dick straining just as hard from where it was tucked snug between you. 

When the time finally does come, Eddie’s positioned you over his lap from where he’s resting on his heels, the stretch of his larger thighs enough to seat you comfortably. He’s got a loose hand around his cock, rubbing it against your core teasingly, sparing a few looks in your direction as his eyebrows pull together in concentration. 

“First cock inside you and you’re letting me go in raw,” Eddie comments idly, more for the viewers sake than your own, “I’m honored, sweetheart.”

“Want it so bad, Eddie.” You plead, “I want you to be my first.”

Eddie very nearly breaks at that, turning his face to cover his full-faced laugh, and you’re feeling a little slighted at how easy it was for him to break with how hard you were trying to play up the idea that he initially came to you with—there were a million other creative directions he could’ve taken it but that was what he chose. You pinch him in the side briefly, controlling his facial expressions and focus back to something more appropriate.

You cant your hips up, the wetness of your cunt gliding over his dick until it clips your entrance, sinking down over him slowly with no warning. You gasp involuntarily—the stretch is real, nothing painful or out of the norm, but it’s been a while and you can’t deny the sting at being filled, satiating that urge you didn’t know you had. Eddie groans out brokenly, looking as wrecked as possible in the moment as he watches his dick disappear into you slowly, using the hold and momentum he had on you to force you to wait, moving his hips in small thrusts until you adjusted to his girth and size. 

For a brief moment, you forget what all of this is actually for.

Eddie lifts you slightly, watching your face contorted in pleasure, the warmth of your inner walls like a vice around him.

“Oh fuck,” He comments through a huffed breath, “squeezing my cock like a good girl, aren’t you?”

“It’s so big,” You reply breathlessly, “you’re so—“

Eddie shushes you, the hand that’s not wrapped firmly around your waist rising to brush your hair away from your face, giving the watchers a clear view of your expression, eyes locked on the place where you two were joined together so intimately.

You expected it all to feel weird—and maybe the acting was a bit much, considering Eddie wasn’t nearly as raunchy outside of this, but you’ve never felt more comfortable with someone, and if you were to do something so risky with anyone in front of a mountain of people, you were glad it was him.

And you feel that ache deep in the pit of your stomach, the primal need for release, aiding Eddie in his movements to fuck yourself back against his dick, leaving him no choice but to let you take over—his legs give out and he’s scrambling until he’s seated on his ass, giving over full control to you as you rode him with fervor, hips bouncing eagerly on his cock until he’s nothing but an incoherent mess of praises. He’s never folded underneath someone so quick, distracted by his own building orgasm, the pressure building at the base of his dick.

“Fuck—I’m gonna come.” You warn, pressing your palms against his chest desperately, your movements less concise.

“You know the rule,” Eddie breathes out, voice shot, “ask nicely, sweetheart.”

You nod desperately, head thrown back in ecstasy as your mouth falls open on a soundless gasp. “Can I come? Please—need to come, fuck, I can’t—“

“Can I touch you?” Eddie whispers intimately, earning a subtle nod in return, forgetting everything but the desperation you felt. Eddie’s fingers only manage a few short, quick circles before you’re clenching down on him, coming with a strained moan as you ride out through the intensity of it—Eddie’s holding off, hand gripped tightly at the base.

“Fuck, good girl,” He says softly, “—can feel you dripping down my cock.”

You nod lazily, feeling Eddie tap at your thigh in an effort for you to move. You switch positions quickly, his face scrunched up in concentration as he kneeled over you, tapping at your face until your mouth fell open. It wasn’t something you initially discussed beforehand, figuring that he would probably just finish inside of you, knowing that’s what people really wanted.

But he couldn’t help himself, because it was what he wanted at that moment, his eyes pleading as you nodded in agreement. He rested the tip of his dick against your tongue as he tugged furiously, using his other hand to hold your mouth in waiting as he groaned loudly, coming over your tongue in long, forceful spurts, his eyes falling shut from the force that it hits him, jaw slack. He rubs tenderly at the joint of your own jaw, tugging at his dick until the feeling finally fades, the ache in his stomach slowly dissipating. You make a show of closing your mouth, swallowing the mouthful of come that sat on your tongue, finger dragging at the corner of your mouth where a small amount had started to dribble out, sucking unnecessarily on the finger until Eddie can’t help but look away, feeling oddly shy considering the situation.

Eddie finishes out the stream in his normal fashion, pulling his sweatpants over his waist lazily as you disappear offscreen after Eddie lands another open-mouthed kiss on you, tasting his own come as your tongue sneaks into his mouth without warning, chuckling softly at your antics.

Eddie discloses that he wouldn’t be doing any private shows afterwards, mostly because he was exhausted—but he also just didn’t feel like it, which was entirely normal for him, but he knew that aftercare was important. It happened with Steve occasionally, after a few rougher scenarios, and he couldn’t imagine leaving you alone after something like this. It also dawns on him that he really just wants to spend time with you. 

Once everything is finished up, he peeks into the bathroom as you’re stepping out of his shower, towel wrapped tightly around your body, wet hair dripping on his tile floor. 

“How was I?” You ask with a lilt to your voice, fishing for compliments—even though you knew you didn’t need to.

Eddie smiles warmly, coming up behind you, staring over your shoulder into the mirror—it was contagious, forcing you to smile too. 

“You’re a natural.” He says honestly, his hand winding around your front to tip up under your chin, head tilted slightly to look at him from a more comfortable angle. “But, I never want to do that again.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Eddie interrupts quickly.

“I can’t hold it together with you like I can with others.” He admits, “I can disconnect from it, but you—it’s so hard.”

“Eddie,” You say softly, “are you trying to say that you have a crush on me?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, letting you go almost immediately, not willing to deal with your teasing so openly. 

“You do,” You call after him, “—I want to hear you say it.”

“It doesn’t—“

You follow after him in nothing but your towel, shoving him against his bed weakly, his knees hit the edge and force him to sit. 

“Say it.” You push, forcing your knee between his outstretched legs. “Or I’m not testing out my severe lack of gag reflex on you ever again.”

“Hey, that’s uncalled for.” Eddie protests petulantly, avoiding the teasing finger you point his way, his hand shoving yours away gently. “Fuck—fine, I like you. Why does it matter?”

“Because we could have been fucking this entire time. I thought I was just your little passion project—“ You tell him, laughing at the thought, “not that I cared—but I just figured you wanted to stay friends, that’s why I never crossed that line until you asked me.”

“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs, pulling at the underside of your thighs until you’re seated carefully in his lap, not caring that the water was probably soaking his cotton sweatpants.

“Are you forgetting who our mutual friend is?” You ask, “I’m not that bad, Eddie.”

“Close enough.” He smiles, earning a soft hand to the side of his face as you shoved him away and hopped off his lap, trodding away toward the bathroom again. 

Eddie was enamored, with good reasoning, and he couldn’t help himself. He’s never done relationships or even half-assed sexual centric friendships, it was all very new to him. Still, he couldn’t help but want everything you had to offer and give everything he had in return. 

There’s a few pings from the bathroom, your phone nearly vibrating off the counter.

“Hey,” Your voice carries, earning a soft “Huh?” in response.

“You should probably call Steve—I didn’t really tell him we were doing this.” You say quickly, hoping that Eddie could be the one to break the news. “He’s probably losing his shit.”

And surely enough, the rest of the night was spent shoved together on the couch of your apartment, listening to Steve ramble on about how betrayed he felt.

“A word of warning would’ve been nice—I’m just trying to support a friend and then I see one best friend fucking my other best friend—I can’t unsee that.”

“So you watched the whole thing?” Eddie asks with a chuckle he can’t force down, glancing over at your horrified expression.

Steve shrugs, “Yeah—it wasn’t horrible.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You retort, “You’re just jealous that people liked me more than you.”

“Not even close.” Steve lies horribly.

Eddie watches you two with amusement, head switching back and forth between your endless banter.

“Well, it’s not happening again so you have nothing to worry about—people still love you.” Eddie defends, earning a supportive nod from you.

Steve smirks, “Yeah—that’s what they all say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve shrugs without answering—he knew you both well enough, and despite Eddie’s protest about keeping real connections offline, it was a damn good marketing idea.

“I give her three months,” Steve says, elbowing Eddie in the rib, “You—one, maybe two.”

It didn’t matter what you two thought—Steve knew there was some truth to it and it was only a matter of time.

[a-b-riddle]

I'm just going to ask this because I need to get it out of my head. This is all in regards to your Poly141 x Reader series going on. I'm just going to recap things first.

-Price got verbally eviscerated because of all the times he got short/snapped at the reader because he came into their bookstore that they bought with their own money, put their own blood, sweat and tears into fixing up and had THE AUDACITY to call them immature for trying to break things off cleanly like a MATURE adult in a space that's RIGHTFULLY THEIRS because he couldn't be an adult admit how he shouldn't of been treating the reader like one of his men.

-Soap showing up trying to apologize and then thinking with his dick because of how the reader got dressed up for a dinner date and got a taste of his own medicine when the reader just hit it and quit it without so much as a thank you, or a goodbye kiss and basically told him to clean up, get dressed and kick rocks.

-Gaz shows up after weeks of just flaking out of any dates and just being a ghost (ironic considering Ghost's callsign) trying to talk to the reader in person when the reader had tried for months to just get a glimpse of him only to be told he couldn't right now but could another time. Then the reader just tell him, 'yeah sorry no. I don't have time for you and your mates nonsense at the moment, just swing by to get your stuff when it works for you'.

-Ghost showing up whenever the reader is in trouble and getting them away from danger only to disappear shortly afterward and give the reader radio silence. The one time that the reader tried to seek him out for just a SHRED of comfort and he just told them, 'You're only good for what's in between your legs love, you knew what you were getting into. You should've known better.'

With all this mind, I want Ghost to have everything and the kitchen sink thrown at him. I want him to be told in no kind words that his words and lack of realizing how fucked up the things he said to the reader were was the straw that broke the camel's back. I want the reader to hurl everything that they didn't say to Price to Ghost. I want him to realize in no unclear terms how if he didn't fuck up so royally and had actually attempted to give the reader a fraction of what he was being given, things would be so much better. And for some extra salt on the wound, have the reader tell him that they suppose that when it comes to his line of work, he's pretty good at breaking anything and everything he touches. It's just a shame that for anything that involves a softer touch, he winds up breaking it beyond repair.

I just love narrative/reflective irony and can't wait for the next part and wish you well for making it to the end of this ramble. 🥰

I'm throwing up.

I am so happy that y'all got it without me having to say it. YES! She is giving everything back that they gave her. John's outbursts, Johnny's lack of aftercare and Kyle's flakiness.

I will say this which I think is interesting. Simon said something hellllla shitty and unforgivable. Like it was mean and something once you say you can't take back. I will ask this and feel free to go back and re-read.

What else did Simon do? Before the phone call, what else did Simon do to reader? We know Simon wanted to hurt reader. Why? Did he plan

Spoiler below, read at own caution

Or was he just sick of being the only one out of the four guys to actually contribute to the relationship and knew he needed to be the one to drive it home that there isn't a future with them? Reader refers to Simon several times as her body guard or guard dog... But never a boyfriend or partner.

In flashbacks, we see that Simon only ever came over at night. You'll find out why in the next few chapters, but as much as I love y'all hating on Simon, I cannot WAIT for y'all to get to the why.

And remember kiddos, hurt people hurt people.

[somerandomdudelmao]

a question for you, Cass, should you feel up to answering. How do you just... Stop at the sketch level before posting your comics?

don't get me wrong, love the look it has, and love the whole damn thing... but I cant seem to post everything until its cleanly lined, coloured, shaded, and properly backgrounded.

So like... HOW? Do you have any secrets or tips on getting past an irrational need of perfectionism?

Uh, I don't think my way is worth repeating to anyone. Basically, I used to be a total perfectionist. Line, coloring, shading, I forced myself to do everything perfectly. And got really mad at myself if I got something crooked or unfinished.

Spoiler - it was crooked and unfinished a lot. Perfection is a bad bar that is kiiiiinda hard to reach haha

I had to go through a huge burnout to realize that art should please specifically me, not the stereotypes I had set in my brain about "quality" art.

Here. One of my old fanarts. Just as an example.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Outing Trip pt. 3, ft. tripleS Xinyu, Dahyun, Nakyoung

tags: deepthroat, creampie, squirting, first time anal, anal creampie, cheating (again), FFM, girl-on-girl (just a bit)

word count: ~9k

author's note: this took a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I hope it's satisfactory nonetheless. I plan to write another tripleS fic based on one of the ideas in my inbox, please look forward to it.

-

You’re ready to send Xinyu back to her room after giving her a shower and making sure that she’s presentable should anyone see her on the way back. “I’m glad I didn’t mark you; it’d be awkward if someone saw you running around with hickeys on your neck”, you comment as you comb her hair. “I mean, I have concealers”, she says, “but I get your point”.

You go in for a quick good night kiss before she leaves. “Can I ask what you’re doing with the video?”, you question her. Xinyu shows you a cheeky smile, “you’ll see soon enough—I promise I won’t leak it, oppa”. You make her do a pinky promise before sending her away, “I love you, baby—we’ll be going over their essays tomorrow morning, okay? Good night”. Xinyu waves at you as she’s leaving the room, “love you more, oppa. Good night”.

-

You woke up at 4 am, way before your alarm had the chance to buzz. You feel refreshed even though you didn’t sleep as much as you usually do, and you have Xinyu to thank for that; “sex is the best thing to do before sleep, oppa”, she said some time ago. You decide to spend the time by exercising, maybe do a shootaround if you’re lucky. As you enter the resort’s gym, you see a basketball sitting on a rack by its lonesome, and you’re tempted to skip warmup and mess around with it, but you don’t want to risk getting a cramp. You decide to take the ball with you to make sure no one steals it from you.

You start the treadmill at the lowest speed and walk on it for 5 minutes before increasing the speed and repeating it until you reach your walking speed limit to make sure that your body is fully awake before you do anything else. You then get off the treadmill and lift some weights, adding the weight after each two eight-count reps until you reach 80 kg.

“Surely that’s enough warmup; time to have fun now. What do you guys think?”, you ask the empty gym and get no answer, “great minds think alike, hey?”. You feel excited to be able to play basketball after not having played for months; “I hope I don’t miss too much; that’d be embarrassing—not that there’s anyone watching”, you utter. “I’m watching”, a girl says behind you, and you almost pass out from the shock. “What the fuck are you doing, Dahyun-ah?”, you ask her. “I always wake up around this time, oppa—what are you doing?”, she points at you. “Just trying to move my body a bit; we’ve been sitting a lot, haven’t we?”, you shrug, “how did you know I’m here, though?”. “I was on my phone when I heard your door open and close again, so I decided to check and sneakily followed you here”, she says, “please, start doing whatever you came here for”.

You stand on the free throw line and take your first shot, making it go through cleanly with the help of muscle memory. “Whoo!”, Dahyun cheers you, “more, oppa!”. You’d be lying if you said that her cheers don’t excite you, as you’re smiling like a kid after making each shot from the same spot. After consistently making a handful of shots from the line, you move to the top of the key and attempt the first long range shot of the day. Time seemingly slows down as the ball leaves your hand and makes its way to the rim, your eyes locked on to it the whole time. The satisfying sound the nylon nets makes when the ball goes through the rim makes you feel like you’re about to bust, and you’re met with Dahyun’s loud cheer. “My God, you’re such a do-it-all, aren’t you?”, she says.

You pick up the ball and looks at Dahyun with a smile. You see that she has ditched her jacket and undone the first few buttons of her pajama top; her cleavage exposed for you to see. You pretend to not see it, but Dahyun bends backwards just enough to make you drool; “I thought you’ve promised to not do this again ever? Do not betray Xinyu, boy”, the angel on your shoulder warns you. You try your hardest to shake off the thoughts and focus on playing basketball again.

-

“Oppa, you’re so fucking hot”, Dahyun says as you walk up to her, your T-shirt drenched in sweat. “I smell, though”, you sniff your armpits, “oh, God, that is foul”. Dahyun gets on her tippy toes right in your face, getting dangerously close to you, “I haven’t had your cock in my pussy, oppa; when will you give it to me? Do I not deserve it, oppa?”. You take a deep breath and think about your options. That is, until you hear a familiar voice in your head; “go on, son; give her what she wants”, the devil says, “you don’t want to waste this opportunity, do you?”. You take a few seconds of silence and wait for the angel to make a counter argument, but you hear none—he’s probably busy trying to find the biggest hammer to smack you in the back of the head with; “okay, fine; you want it? Come get it”, you say to Dahyun.

You take off your soaked T-shirt before sitting down on the bench next to Dahyun. She then moves to straddle your lap and comes in for a kiss. “We need to talk as soon as we leave this place, sweetie”, you say to her. “Mmh, sure”, Dahyun says as she moves to kneel between your legs, “give it to me, oppa—please, I can’t wait any more”. You take off your shorts along with your boxers, and your cock jumps out and smacks Dahyun in the face. You mutter a soft “sorry” to her, but she dismisses it, “getting hit in the face with a cock is my favorite pastime”.

Dahyun parts her lips and wrap them around your cock, making you let out a low moan at the first contact. You pet her head softly as she’s busy taking your cock deep, “good job, sweetie; keep going, okay?”. Dahyun, hearing your approval, goes straight down and stuffs her throat with your cock without gagging; an incredible feat, all things considered. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you, sweetie?”, you say to her between moans. Feeling suffocated, however, Dahyun removes your cock from her throat with a sharp gasp and falls backwards onto her butt. “Holy fuck, oppa”, she says, her chin painted with spit, “I can’t; I’m sorry”. You pull her into your lap and peck her cheek, “it’s okay, sweetie; you tried your best. Let’s catch our breaths for now, okay?”. Dahyun nods and tucks her head under your chin as she tries to compose herself.

“Oppa, can I put it in?”, she asks you after getting herself together. Your heart rate instantly spikes thanks to her question, and you’re not entirely sure if you’ll let her do it. Dahyun, seeing you be unresponsive, asks again, “please, oppa; I’ll make it worthwhile for you”. You look at her right in the eyes and see her genuine desperation, so you agree to her request for sex. “We need to be quick, though, sweetie”, you say to her.

Dahyun lifts her butt off your lap just enough so that she can put your cock in her pussy. She lets out a long moan as she slowly sits down on your cock. “S-so big—ah-ah, fuck”, she says when your shaft is fully inside her. “Come on, sweetie; let’s do this”, you whisper to her ear, and she replies to you with a nod. You hold Dahyun by the waist and thrust up roughly, making her yelp loudly in surprise. “Oppa—ngh, fuck—yes-yes, I love it”, she chants softly into your ears. Dahyun’s ability to control her volume during sex is admirable—Xinyu would just scream as loud as she could if given even the slightest chance.

You keep bouncing Dahyun on your cock until Dahyun calls for a timeout. “Oppa, please—angh-ah—stop for a moment”, she says. “You okay?”, you ask while panting, exhaustion finally catching on. Dahyun pants a few times before answering, “I-I’m so close, oppa”. You’re confused; if she’s so close, why would she want to take a break? Wouldn’t it be better to keep going until she reaches her orgasm? “I want to make sure if you’re close too; I-I want to cum with you”, she says. “Aha, that’s why”, you think to yourself, “if you can keep gripping me like this, I’ll cum soon”.

You stand up from the bench and hook her legs with your arms. “You ready? We’ll cum together, sweetie”, you say to Dahyun. She gives you a nod, thus you start smashing your cock into her pussy roughly to get yourself and Dahyun to the finish line before people start waking up. The rough fucking, combined with the unfavorable position, makes Dahyun scream loudly—you silently wish you had another hand to cover her mouth and stifle her screams with.

“I’M CUMMING!”, Dahyun shrieks before biting her lips to mute the sound. Dahyun’s body starts shaking violently as orgasm takes her to the sky, removing your cock from her pussy in the process. You hear the slosh of her juice hit the wooden floor underneath you. “Do you always squirt, sweetie?”, you ask her. “Ngh, fuck—o-only when I’m with you”, she answers, “I-I don’t squirt when I touch myself”. You free her from your arms and have her stand up next to you so that she doesn’t step in the puddle.

You move her hair that is covering half her face before giving her a peck in the forehead; “I’m glad I can please you”, you say to her. Dahyun smiles in gratitude before coming in for a fleeting kiss. “What about you, oppa? You didn’t cum”, she asks, seemingly concerned about your pleasure. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie; I’ll figure something out. I’ll see you after your team building, okay?”, you say to her. Dahyun tidies her clothes and leaves you alone in the empty gym. You wipe Dahyun’s little puddle with the dry part of your T-shirt; “people should think this is sweat”, you say to yourself.

You text Xinyu as you’re leaving the gym, telling her that you want to have a little bit of morning sexbefore essay review. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there”, she replies.Xinyu is standing in front of your room when you arrive. Seeing that you’re shirtless, Xinyu bites her bottom lip sensually. “God, you’re so hot, oppa”, she comments as you drag her into your room.

Guilt starts creeping up on you as you watch Xinyu take off her clothes, “I can’t believe I called Xinyu to finish Dahyun’s job—fuck”. You’re lost in the sea of thoughts until Xinyu throws you a lifebuoy, “oppa, are you okay? Thinking about something?”. “I’m sorry, love”, you deflect, “something came to mind—it’s okay, though; it’s not important”. You pull Xinyu into your lap before expressing your love, and you’re trying your hardest to maintain your boner despite the surge of guilt and uncertainty.

“Oppa, you don’t seem to be in the correct state of mind for this”, Xinyu says, “talk to me, please”. You decide to tell her about your relationship with Dahyun without revealing too much detail; “Dahyun-ie has been chasing me around, Xinyu-yah. She’s said multiple times that she likes me, a-and I don’t know how to act”. You close your eyes and brace yourself for a hard slap from Xinyu, but it never lands. “Is that why you cried in front of Professor Kim, oppa? Because you didn’t know how you could please us both at the same time?”, she asks, her tone soft as silk. You answer her question with a nod, “I wasn’t sure if I could talk to you about it, so I kept it to myself. That is, until Dahyun pressed on and proposed to be my side chick, and I didn’t know what to do”. Xinyu holds your head with both hands and kisses you, “we’ll talk about this again soon, okay? Do you still want to have sex?”. You let Xinyu go from your embrace wordlessly, and she starts putting on her clothes again. “There’s nothing to worry about, oppa; I still love you and will continue to love you”, she says.

Xinyu pulls you into bed and lies down on your body, “let’s cuddle until breakfast time, oppa”. She is really doing her best to comfort you and remind you how much she loves you, and despite knowing that she means well, it makes you feel more and more guilty for giving Dahyun even the smallest chance to be with you—cock-in-pussy sex isn’t small, though; let’s be for real for a second. “Oppa, say something, please”, she says while poking your stomach playfully. “I love you, baby”, you say to her, “I love you so much”. Xinyu looks at you and shows you her cute smile, which you adore so much, “I love you too, oppa”.

-

After having breakfast with everyone at the resort’s restaurant, you head back to your room with Xinyu and invite Nakyoung and the ministers over for essay review. “Welcome, guys”, Xinyu greets them as they enter the room. Aecha immediately hugs Xinyu and starts sobbing, “my brother’s platelet level is dropping, Xinyu-yah, and-and I-I want to go home—let me go home, please”. Xinyu looks at you over her shoulder and you nod to her in approval. “Of course, Aecha-yah. We’ll find you a bus after this, okay?”, Xinyu says.

Everyone sits in a circle on the floor to review project ideas the recruits have come up with yesterday. Aecha says that she has chosen her top 2 and hands them to Nakyoung—Aecha has always been the diligent one, and the fact that Jaehwan is sick motivated her to work faster so that she can leave sooner. Xinyu whispers to you and asks for permission to take Aecha for a walk. “Go on, baby; try and make Aecha feel better, okay?”, you give Xinyu your approval.

After Xinyu and Aecha leave, you and the others start going over the essays on your laptops and tablets, breaking them down one by one and determining if it can be implemented in the future. You hear Nakyoung laugh as she reads an essay. “This one is similar to the project that made Xinyu cry back then”, Nakyoung tells you, “surely you won’t approve, right, oppa?”. “Let’s put that to the side for now; I need to hear Xinyu’s opinion before we can decide if want to throw that into the bin”, you say to her.

-

Xinyu ended up not returning to the meeting, knocking on your door about an hour after the review had finished. “Hi, oppa”, she says in a low-spirited voice, “Aecha is on the bus heading to the city”. “No wonder you two didn’t return—thanks for taking care of her, baby”, you say to her. Xinyu drags you to the bed and sits on your lap, “Aecha was quite adamant about going home, so I thought I might as well help her go home”. You peck her forehead in praise, “you did very well, baby; I’m proud of you. Did you check on the others, by the way? Are they done with team building?”. “Actually, I talked with Dahyun-ie”, she reveals, “I know about your little romance”. “Ah, fuck”, you say in your head, “I’m so fucking dead”.

“Yah, are you listening or not?”, Xinyu gets off your lap and calls out to you, snapping you out of your silence. You dare not look at her in the eyes, “y-yes, I am, baby”. She slaps you with all her might, and you hear a sob after. “Don’t call me that, Jung Jisung—you fucking lied to me”, she says as tears run down her cheeks, “sightseeing? Really?”. You can’t come up with anything else but an apology, and you know full well that it isn’t enough. “Tell me what happened on the ferry—go on, lie to me again; I fucking dare you”, she threatens. “I, um, I got a blowjob from Dahyun-ie”, you confess, still not looking at her in the eyes. “What happened to your honesty, hm? Did you throw it into the sea or something? Did you send it down to her throat along with your cum?”, she asks in disbelief as she breaks down in tears. You try to approach her slowly, but Xinyu retreats and looks at you in disgust. “Baby, I’m sorry” is the only sentence you managed to come up with. “I don’t want to talk to you; I’m leaving”, Xinyu says as she walks out of the door, leaving you alone to simmer in regret and shame.

You hear some rapid knocks on the door, and you see through the hole that it’s Nakyoung, seemingly mad about something. She slaps you in the cheek forcefully as soon as you open the door. “Fuck you”, she says after the slap, “you broke her heart, you fucking asshole”. If this were any normal situation, you’d be hurt by the manner of her speech, but considering the events prior, you’re more shameful than offended. “I’m sorry”, you say to her. “I don’t want your apology, but I want you to be a man and fix this mess—are we clear?”, she delivers her demand while pressing her index finger on your chest, her eyes fiery. Seeing that you’re not answering, she asks again if you understand her words. “Yes, I understand”, you say, letting out a depressed sigh after.

Nakyoung leaves after delivering her demands, slamming the door as she does. You feel your phone vibrate a few times in your pocket as you’re getting back to bed.

[🍒] I’m sorry I ruined it for you I’m so sorry I’ll leave you two alone from now on I’m sorry for everything

No matter how much Dahyun feels guilty, you’re still the one at fault for falling for the devil’s deception and hurting your beloved girlfriend who, quote, “has been with you through storms and tranquility”. “Ah, fuck, I’m so fucking stupid”, you slap yourself in the forehead, “fuck, Xinyu, I’m so sorry, baby”. “The audacity to call her ‘baby’ after all this bullshit you’ve pulled”, the angel returns with an insult, and you hope that he has found a sledgehammer to smash your head in with.

You muster up the courage and text Professor Kim, hoping that she’ll allow you to talk to her and ask for counsel. She calls you a few minutes after you sent the text. “Hello, president. You want to talk about something?”, she asks. “Hello, professor”, you greet her, “um, Xinyu has found out about my little stunt and now she’s livid—I’ve taken two slaps in the cheeks, professor”. “No hard feelings, Jisung-ah, but I think you deserve it”, she says, almost in a mocking tone—one that you deserve, “I’m guessing you’re now wondering how you can fix this”. You involuntarily shed a tear, “yes, madam, I am; any clues? I’ve apologized, by the way”. The professor sighs over the phone, “well, I suggest letting things run their course for now; I imagine Xinyu needs some time before she’ll allow you to approach her again—what about the other girl?”. You tell Professor Kim that Dahyun has apologized over text and promised to leave you alone, and it presumably satisfies her. “Yeah, just give Xinyu some space for now. That’s all I have to say”, she says. You thank her for letting you call her and hang up the phone after.

You’re now lying in bed, using all your brain cells to come up with a plan to make it up to Xinyu. One brain cell suggests giving her flowers, and as tempting as it sounds, you’re not sure if a bouquet wrapped with a big ribbon saying “I’m sorry” will convey your feelings properly—the last thing you want is for Xinyu to think that you’re taking this lightly, which you are not. You look around the room for ideas, and you see a small piece of paper and a pencil next to it sitting on the table. “Ah, I should try writing a letter to Xinyu”, you say to yourself. You sit at the table and start stringing words together thoughtfully using two of the oldest tools known to man.

“Dear Xinyu

Hello, this is Jung Jisung

Before I begin, please allow me to call you by these names for now as I don’t know if I’ll get to do it again.

I’m sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. I understand that I did such a horrific job of being the man in this relationship; lying to you and hurting you    by yearning for something that was never appropriate for me. If you, my love, were willing to forgive me and take me back in your arms, I would be more than grateful—more than mere words can express—but considering how hurt you are because of me, I dare not hope, no matter how much I want to.

I love you, and I’m sorry for hurting you.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Yours always,

Jung Jisung”

After writing the letter, you fold the paper in half and write your signature on the cover and a small heart that you fill in with pencil. You put the letter on your chest and pray that Xinyu can sense the sincerity and honesty in the words. You then start walking out of your room and towards Xinyu and Nakyoung’s on the other side of the corridor.

You slide the letter through the bottom gap and knock a few times. Seeing that you get no response after standing in front of their door for a minute, you turn in the other direction and start walking back towards your room. You’ve taken around a dozen steps when you hear a door swing open behind you and feel someone crash into you and wrap their arms around you while crying. “Oppa”, the quivering voice steals your attention, “I love you—fuck—I love you so much, oppa”. Hearing the familiar voice makes you shed a tear, and you turn around for a hug. “I love you too, Xinyu-yah. I’m so sorry for hurting you, my love”, you say as tears start running down your cheeks. You and Xinyu cry in each other’s arms, showing each other how real the feelings you have for each other are. You finally compose yourself after a few minutes and invite her to your room for privacy. Xinyu agrees to your idea, so you carry her in your arms and rush towards your room.

You sit down in the middle of the bed with Xinyu in your arms, and you fire all the “I love you” and “I’m sorry” bullets in your magazine. “I’ve been waiting for you to knock on the door for so long, oppa; I was sitting behind the door when you slid that letter, you know”, she says, her voice trembling from the emotions. “I’m so sorry, love; I was so busy trying to come up with an apology”, you say to her before pecking her head, “I’m so sorry, baby”. Xinyu bursts out crying again, seemingly overwhelmed with feelings, “please, please don’t hurt me like that again—I’m begging you, oppa; I don’t want to hate you”. “I won’t, baby—cross my heart”, you deliver a promise to her, one that you plan on never breaking as long as you two are alive.

After regaining composure, Xinyu moves to sit on your lap and puts her hands on your shoulders. “Oppa, why did you lie to me? You, of all people, lied to me, oppa—I thought we agreed to be honest to each other?”, she says, her tone heightening in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, love; the only answer I can give you is that I was thinking with my penis and not my brain”, you give Xinyu the frankest answer you can think of. “If-if by any chance you were bored with our sex, oppa, you could’ve just told me and I would’ve come up with something to spice it up. I-I’ll do whatever you want me to, you know that, right?”, she says. You shake your head in denial, “I promise you it was not about sex at all, love; I’m always satisfied and happy with what we usually do. I just happened to let lust fill my head and control my actions, which is never acceptable for a man to do, and for that I sincerely apologize”. Xinyu seems to be satisfied with your answer, as she rewards you with a peck on the lips before tucking her head under your chin. “I love you, oppa. Don’t lie to me again, please; being lied to fucking hurts”, she says.

-

You ask Xinyu if she wants to go to the restaurant and get some food after she has regained calmness, and in typical Zhou Xinyu fashion, she accepts your offer without thinking twice. You see Nakyoung outside her room as you’re walking towards the restaurant together with Xinyu. “Oh, hey, look at you, holding hands like a happy couple—you’ve sorted out your dissent, haven’t you?”, she comments with a smile of relief. You smile and nod, “yeah, Xinyu was kind enough to forgive me and give me the chance to redeem myself”. “That’s nice to hear”, Nakyoung says, “so where are you going now? I know we have some time to kill before announcing the essay winners”. You tell her that you’re going to the restaurant, and Nakyoung asks if she can tag along. “Like you’ve never done that before, Miss Secretary”, you say in playful mockery, earning a light smack of annoyance from Nakyoung.

Xinyu and Nakyoung say they want to have crispy chicken steak and fries, so you get the same thing as them to save time. “Oh, wow, look at that!”, Xinyu excitedly claps her hands when she sees the waiter set the food on the table. Seeing Xinyu be happy brings joy to your heart and reminds you to stay loyal and honest to her. “Haha, Jisung-oppa is smiling like a dummy”, Nakyoung teases you. Xinyu smiles at you softly while reaching out to hold your hand, “I love you, oppa—please don’t lie to me again”. You know that speaking will make you emotional, so you reply to her with a loving smile and a finger heart.

-

You head towards the hall with Xinyu after the lunch-dinner—petition to call it “lunner”—while Nakyoung opts to take a walk around the resort. “Oppa, wait”, Xinyu calls out to you while looking at her phone, “Chanwoo just texted me; he said that Jungwoo-oppa just fought someone again”. “Shin Jungwoo?”, you sigh, “we’ll call him later, babe; let him catch his breath for now—did Chanwoo say anything about the other guy, though?”. Xinyu shows you her chat with Chanwoo, “he fought a bully, oppa. Apparently, Professor Bae knows about this as well”.

You sit in the front row with Xinyu next to you, sharing laughs and giggles with her, rejoicing in the mended relationship. You make a joke that Xinyu finds to be exceptionally funny, causing her to laugh out loud while clapping her hands in amusement. As you wait for her laugh to die down, you see Dahyun open the door in the corner of your eyes. You turn your head slightly to make eye contact, but Dahyun evades it and disappears behind the door. It’s unfortunate that it had to end like this, but you’d like to think that this is the best possible outcome as you’re now in Xinyu’s arms again, as self-centered as it sounds. You silently promise to make it right to Dahyun and cut your ties properly—possibly tearily.

Nakyoung takes the stage after everyone has gathered in the hall. “Good evening, everyone. We will be announcing the 3 teams that have come up with the best ideas and those 3 teams will do a presentation right here, right now—we’ve asked you to prepare for a presentation, haven’t we?”, she says, her voice heard through the speakers. Nakyoung then proceeds to announce the top 3 and congratulates each team as they come up to the stage. Nakyoung tells them to do rock-paper-scissors to determine the order of presentation before giving up her spot on the stage and sitting down.

Reading is cool and all, but it doesn’t allow you to hear the rationale behind every word that is written. An idea that might look uninteresting on paper can turn out to be exciting when you know the thought process behind it, as proven by the number 2 team, who has come up with a seemingly mundane idea of visiting an elementary school nearby and participating in teaching 1st and 2nd graders. They had read this journal that spoke of increasing student’s learning stimulus in class and decided that they wanted to try it out themselves. “The university might get positive publicity, but more importantly, we aim to be able to help the teachers and students, since we believe that education—especially in elementary—should not be dull”, the speaker says. The speaker and friends look at you, hoping that you’ll say something positive, and honestly, you’re already sold on the idea. You don’t want to jump the gun and ruin it for the next team, opting to start collective claps with the audience instead.

You’re struggling to focus on the last team since the second one has already managed to steal your heart. “I need you to pay attention on this one, baby; I’m already sold on the previous one”, you whisper to Xinyu. She pinches your thigh in annoyance, “you can’t be biased like that, oppa”. You want to make a counter argument, but Nakyoung pinches your other thigh firmly, forcing you to focus back on the presentation.

Not only does time fly by when it’s spent with your loved ones, but also when you’re not paying attention to your surroundings. One minute you were (loosely) listening to the presentation, next minute you see Nakyoung end the session and send everyone to their rooms. “I swear, initiation trips did not used to go by this quickly”, you say to Xinyu. “Yeah, well, we were the ones doing these assignments back then, and now we’re the ones sitting back—the cycle never ends, oppa”, she says. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So, what now?”, you ask the two girls in front of you. “You said that we’d call Jungwoo-oppa”, Xinyu reminds you of your promise from earlier. Nakyoung, who used to have a crush on Jungwoo, asked in curious worry as to why you’re calling Jungwoo. “He fought someone earlier, Naky-yah; we need to check up on him”, you explain briefly to her.

The three of you rush to your bedroom and sit on the floor in a circle. You find Jungwoo’s name on your phone and call him, and he picks up after two rings. “Good evening, this is Shin Jungwoo”, he says over the phone. “Good evening to you as well, this is Jung Jisung. Where are you, man?”, you ask him. “I’m at a burger shop with someone—Yooyeon-ie just left, by the way”, he says, “can I help you, president?”. You proceed to ask him about the rumors, and he explains that a group of freshmen has been bullying a fellow freshman and that he fought one of the bullies. “We can’t keep defending you, man”, you say to Jungwoo. Impatient, Nakyoung steals your phone from you and cuts off Jungwoo mid-sentence, “oppa! Oppa, are you okay? Are you hurt? You need to stop fighting people, seriously”. Jungwoo doesn’t recognize Nakyoung’s voice at first, thus making Nakyoung seemingly irritated. Jungwoo then promises to talk about this again when you come back and bring the victim, a girl named Kim Suyeon, along and introduce her to you.

Nakyoung starts letting out tears as soon as Jungwoo ends the call, her old feelings for him resurfacing after being buried for nearly two years. “I’m proud of him for standing up against bullying, but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t let his fists fly so easily”, Nakyoung says as she wipes her tears. Xinyu hugs Nakyoung from the side and offers comfort while you hope that Jungwoo would stop fighting bullies, no matter how big of an example he’s made of these assholes. You also sympathize with Nakyoung, who used to have a crush on Jungwoo and only “leaving” him because she got scared after seeing him knock someone out with her own eyes. “Let’s convince him to become an advocate against bullying instead of a fighter, okay?”, you pat Nakyoung’s shoulder softly to calm her.

Nakyoung jumps off the bed and leaves your room, citing that she needs some fresh air. Xinyu turns to you in confusion, “u-uh, sure; I-I’ll see you later, Naky-yah”. You sigh in exhaustion as one more huge wave crashes into you. “I need to lie down; my head hurts”, you complain. Xinyu climbs your body and sprays your face with kisses, “oh, no, no, no—headache, leave my Jisung-oppa alone!”. You chuckle at her little aegyo, “you’re so cute, baby”. Xinyu covers her cheeks to hide her tomato cheeks, “aw, please don’t say that; I-I’m just trying to help”. You get up to a sitting position with Xinyu on your lap; “I’m so thankful for you, baby. I’m so sorry for hurting you”, you say to her, sounding as sincere as possible. “I was going to forgive you regardless of whether you’d apologize or not”, Xinyu says as she grabs something out of her pocket, “this letter helped me, um, get over it, I guess”.

You put a hand on Xinyu’s nape, and she immediately goes in for a kiss to tell you that she has forgiven you and accepted you in her arms again. “Hurt her again and I’ll smash your penis and balls with this hammer”, the angel delivers an ultimatum, and you dare not ignore it. Xinyu breaks the kiss with a gasp, “fuck, I can’t take it anymore”. You look at her with raised eyebrows, and that is when Xinyu pulls her T-shirt over her head and throws it away, “take me, oppa—please, I’m desperate”. It’s crazy to think how Xinyu relies on you heavily for everything, from assignments to sexual pleasure. You reach behind her back and unlatch her bra quickly before palming her tits.

Xinyu seems to be very impatient, as she humps your crotch even though the both of you still have joggers on. You pinch her nipples in response, “you need to be patient, love”. “O-oppa”, she says, throwing her head back in thirst and frustration, “please, make me yours again”. You lay her down on the bed and take your clothes off swiftly. You grab the waistband of her joggers and see the wet spot on her crotch, “horny much, baby girl?”. She wants to express with words how horny she is, but since her head has been taken over by lust, she only manages to come up with unintelligible sounds.

You get in between her legs after taking off her panties, ready to plunge into her warm cavern. “Baby, I’m going in”, you say to her, and Xinyu closes her eyes in response. As much as you’re tempted to tease her with your fingers, you don’t want to wait any longer, resulting in you diving deep into her right away. “Oppa, kiss me please”, she says, her arms reaching out to hug you. Xinyu uses her long limbs to secure you in place as soon as you lean forward for a hug and a kiss. Despite being stuck in a love lock, you’re still able to move your hips and fuck her at a consistent pace, earning soft bites and moans from Xinyu.

 “Oppa, I’ve missed you”, she says between her soft moans, “I’ve missed your cock”. You laugh internally considering that you did in fact had sex with her yesterday, but you don’t want to ruin the mood thus replying to her with a deep groan. “You’re so warm and tight, princess—so fucking good”, you praise her as you start fucking her faster. “Yes-yes—oh, fuck! Please, oppa, fuck me; I’m your good girl”, she says, her voice shaky from your fast thrusts. You gather your strength and use it to fuck her deep and fast, aiming to make her cum in the next few minutes.

Your plan works, as she announces into your ear that she’s about to explode. Xinyu tightens her grip on your cock, squeezing you hard, as if trying to milk your cum out of you. As a result, you blow your load into Xinyu with no prior consent from her. “I came as well; sorry, love”, you say to her. “N-no”, she deflects, ”I—fuck—I’m glad we came together, oppa”. You put your lips on her forehead as the both of you ride the high of orgasm together. “Oppa, my lips are down here”, she says softly with a chuckle. You reply to her chuckle with your own as you move down to kiss her passionately.

Xinyu releases you from her strangling limbs and you immediately fall to the side in exhaustion. “I’m spent, oppa; take care of me, please”, she says as she moves to hug you from the side. “I came inside you without asking, love”, you say to her in an apologetic voice. Xinyu palms your limp cock and strokes it softly, “that means I’m officially yours again, oppa. Thank you for taking me back in your arms”. You peck the top of her head and tell her that it was supposed to be your line. “I love you, oppa—we didn’t catch the cum drip on video, though”, she says. You ask her what she’s doing with that video, but she refuses to answer properly, saying that you “need to be patient” and that you “will find out soon enough”. You’re not entirely satisfied with her answer, but you hope that it won’t end up terribly for you and Xinyu.

-

You were half asleep when you heard two different voices near you, presumably discussing something. “Are you sure he consents to this?”, one of them says. “I’m 99% sure”, the other says. You slowly open your eyes and see two figures standing side-by-side in front of the bed. “Who are you?”, you say as you rub your eyes. “Why, I’m your girlfriend, of course”, Xinyu says, confirming her presence in the room. The other person greets you, and hearing it sends shock throughout your body. “Kim Nakyoung? What are you—yo, I’m naked; cover your eyes!”, you say, your tone high in disbelief. “Respectfully, oppa, I like the sight—never seen you like this before; damn, you’re so hot”, Nakyoung says, letting out a giggle after.

“Nakyoung-ie has been longing for a man’s touch, oppa”, Xinyu explains, “I figured you could help”. “Are you sure?”, you ask her, “you didn’t forget what had happened earlier, did you?”. “I consent this time”, Xinyu answers, “please, oppa, help a girl out, please”. Xinyu even said “please” twice, probably without realizing it, and you can only let out a sigh. “I’m only doing this because Xinyu consents, just so we’re clear—I’ve hurt her enough”, you say. Xinyu claps her hands in excitement, “you’re the best, oppa!”.

You get off the bed and stand in front of Nakyoung, “what are we thinking?”. Nakyoung takes a few steps back and starts undressing herself. Xinyu, who has always had the image of someone who plays for both sides, proves her “open-mindedness” by kissing Nakyoung’s neck until Nakyoung pushes her away. “Don’t mark me, Xinyu-yah”, Nakyoung says. You pinch Xinyu’s cheek lightly for her clumsiness before turning to Nakyoung to peck her lips. “I need to hear your explicit consent”, you say to her. Nakyoung puts her hand up like she was testifying, “I, with no doubt in my mind, consent to everything we’re about to do tonight”. You chuckle at her words, “everything, hm? Let’s see how far you think ‘everything’ is”.

You hold Nakyoung’s hands and pull her into your lap as you sit on the end of the bed. You see in the corner of your sight that Xinyu has found comfort on the armchair, watching the both of you like a cuckold. Nakyoung takes your hands and guides them to her bare breasts, “what do you think of them, oppa?”. You take her tits in your hands and softly squeeze them, “so soft, Naky-yah; I like it”. Nakyoung looks at Xinyu quickly before looking back at you, “ac-actually, I-I want to be called by pet names, oppa”. Her words sting your heart; you used to call Dahyun by pet names behind Xinyu’s back, and now Nakyoung wants you to do the same in front of Xinyu. You glance at Xinyu and see her nod in approval. “Alright, sweetie”, you comply to her request, “are you ready for this?”.

You lie down in bed after Nakyoung shows you the green light, your cock pointing to the ceiling in front of her stomach. “That’s so fucking big”, she comments as she starts stroking your cock. The softness of her hands makes you think that maybe she has put on some lotion or the sort, “your hands are so soft, sweetie”. Nakyoung smiles shyly, “um, Xinyu gave me a bunch of tips before this, and this is the result”. “Before this? How long have you guys been planning for this?”, you ask, bewildered. “Been a while, actually—the cum video was my idea, by the way”, Nakyoung reveals, her hands still busy stroking your cock. You turn your eyes towards Xinyu, and she winks at you while smiling.

Nakyoung moves her head, hovering centimeters over your cock. “Oppa, look at me, please”, she says. You make and maintain eye contact with her as she parts her lips and slowly go down on your cock, choking halfway to your pelvis. The little mishap causes her to remove your cock from her mouth, gasping sharply as she does. “Fuck, how does Xinyu manage to do this all the time?”, Nakyoung comments. “It took her a few months to get used to me, Naky-yah; I don’t mean to overstep but if you want to be like her, you’ll need a lot of practice”, you say to her. “I can be your side girl, oppa—if Xinyu allows it, that is”, she says, replicating Dahyun’s line from some time ago. You’re stunned; you’re not sure how much Nakyoung and Xinyu know, thus you’re unsure about how to respond aside from a fake groan to deflect her proposal.

Nakyoung returns to the task at hand (literally) and take your cock in her mouth again. She seems to have made it her goal to reach your pelvis, as proven by how she keeps going down, fighting her gag reflex in the process. She finally reaches the bottom of your cock after trying so hard; her spit is leaking everywhere as her jaws are wide open to accommodate your girth, and she’s making this very sensual gurgling sound. “Fuck, that’s a good girl”, you and Xinyu say at the same time, causing the both of you to chuckle. Nakyoung finally goes up after a few seconds, falling backwards onto her butt as she does. “H-how did you two say that at—hah, fuck—at the same time? Great minds think alike or something?”, Nakyoung says as she wipes her mouth. “I say good girl a lot to Xinyu during sex”, you explain, “I guess she’s fond of that line”.

Nakyoung looks at Xinyu and asks for permission to put your cock in her pussy, and Xinyu shows her approval by getting naked, ready to touch herself while watching; “go on; I’ll watch”, Xinyu says. “Oppa, I hope you consent as well”, Nakyoung says as she hovers over your cock. “I do, but can I ask if you’re okay doing it raw?”, you ask. “You’re my third, oppa, and I know that Xinyu was your first so it should be fine—I get tested regularly, by the way”, she says. Nakyoung proceeds to lower herself until your cock touches her entrance, letting out a gasp at the first contact; “I’m about to get ripped in half”, she murmurs.

She lets out a long, pained moan as your cock gradually fills her pussy. “Ngh, fuck—so fucking big”, she says as she feels her muscles stretch to contain your shaft. Nakyoung finally manages to sit squarely on your lap after struggling with your size for a while. She then plants her hands on your abs before she starts fucking herself with your cock. You’ve never seen Nakyoung make this sort of expression before, and you find it to be arousing—Xinyu used to make this face during the early days of your relationship, as she also struggled getting used to your cock. “Go on, Nakyoung-ah; show us what you can do”, you challenge her. She accepts your challenge and starts going up and down on your shaft rapidly while letting out moans which volume is making you concerned. You glance quickly to the left where Xinyu is sitting and see that she has her legs spread and rested on the armrest while her hand is vigorously rubbing her pussy.

Nakyoung has found a decent pace after getting comfortable with the stretch, and you find the sounds of her and Xinyu’s moan to be very arousing. You look at Xinyu again and summon her to you by moving your index finger, and she obliges immediately. Xinyu knows what you want and sits right on your face, her lush thighs serving as noise cancelling headphones. You can’t see what’s happening up there, but since you don’t hear anyone moaning, you assume that they’re tongue wrestling as they ride different parts of your body. You start working on Xinyu’s pussy with your tongue from below, holding her down by her thighs to make sure she doesn’t wiggle around. A light nibble in the clit makes Xinyu jolt but she doesn’t stand a chance against your strong arms that are gripping her firmly.

This threesome of yours has been going on for God-knows-how-long when both girls announce that they’re coming. You feel Nakyoung lift off your cock at the same time as Xinyu leaves your aggressive tongue. They cover their mouths and spray their juice all over your body; “holy fuck, I made them cum at the same time”, you think to yourself. They both fall limp next to you, hugging each other as they savor their high.

You get off the bed and head to the bathroom to wipe their combined juice and your sweat off your body. When you return, you see them kissing while playing with each other’s tits, seemingly busy in their own little world. “Excuse me, girls”, you interrupt them, “which one of you is going to make me cum?”. Xinyu breaks the kiss with a giggle, “I’d like to use my authority as vice president and delegate the secretary but there is a condition”. “That is?”, you ask, trying to figure out where she’s going with this. “Nakyoung-ie will take you in the ass”, Xinyu says, biting her bottom lip naughtily after. You are dumbfounded, “excuse me?”. “T-take my ass, oppa”, Nakyoung says, “take my anal cherry”. You are dumbfounded again, “are you sure? Have you even put anything in your ass before?”. “Y-yes, I-I’ve put a dildo in there some time ago”, Nakyoung shyly confesses.

Nakyoung rolls off Xinyu’s body and onto her back, “please, oppa”. Since she has decided to be naughty, you use this opportunity to match her; “that’s daddy to you, Kim Nakyoung”, you say to her as you get on the bed. You fold Nakyoung’s legs over her body and tell her to hold them. Since you don’t have lube, you decide to use Nakyoung’s pussy juice to coat your cock before entering her ass. You plunge quickly into her pussy for a couple of thrusts before pulling out, stroking your cock after to make sure that it’s coated entirely. “I’m not asking again, Nakyoung-ah”, you warn her. “Take me, daddy; I’m ready”, she says, nervousness clear as day to see.

You put your tip on her rear entrance, and Nakyoung gasps at the first contact. You see that her fingertips have turned white as she tries to hold her legs in place. You then start moving forward and stretch her rectum with the first few centimeters of your cock, forcing Nakyoung to furrow her eyebrows in pain. “Deeper, daddy; I-I can take it”, she says. You keep pushing into her ass until she begs you to stop, “s-stop, daddy; it-it hurts—fuck”. You look down and observe the situation; she has managed to take half of your length in her ass—that’s way more than Xinyu, considering that you’ve never had anal with her.

“Fuck, sweetie, you’re so tight”, you praise her. “Fuck me, please; make it hurt”, she says. You grant her wish and start moving your hips back and forth slowly, impaling her rear with your big cock. “It hurts, it hurts”, she chants, “fuck, it hurts so good”. Noticing that she’s reacting well to your length, you pick up the pace and fuck her harder. “Fuck, such a good girl”, you praise her, “keep gripping me like that”. Nakyoung bites her lip sexily, “Xi-Xinyu doesn’t let you in her ass, does she, daddy?”. Even with your cock in her ass, she still manages to tease—this naughty (and sexy) cat’s mischievousness knows no end. Xinyu seems to be ticked with Nakyoung’s words, and she starts rubbing Nakyoung’s clit rapidly to stimulate her further. “Oh, fuck, you two are going to make me cum again”, Nakyoung says with troubled breaths.

You maintain your pace and depth of your thrusts and notice that Nakyoung’s pain has subsided and been replaced by pleasure. You also notice that your cock isn’t just halfway in her ass, no, no, no; you’re fully lodged in her rear hole now. Xinyu hasn’t let up her work either, still rubbing herself and Nakyoung passionately. Xinyu has a different idea, however, as she dives into Nakyoung’s pussy and starts licking her clit from the side. Nakyoung tries to scream, but she manages to stifle her voice before it leaves her mouth. “Daddy, mommy—fuck, you’re going to make your baby cum”, she says. You’re astounded by how naughty she is in bed, and it fuels the fire of lust in your heart—she even calls Xinyu “mommy”, what the fuck?

“Sweetie, I’m cumming in your ass”, you say to Nakyoung, whose eyes are almost entirely rolled to the back of her head. “Cum in my ass, daddy—fuck, fuck, fuck—please, cum in my ass”, she chants as she savors the sensation of first time anal. You lodge the entirety of your shaft in her ass and blow your load deep into her guts, letting out a very deep groan as you do. Xinyu leaves Nakyoung’s clit and grabs her phone, “pull out, oppa; I’ll get it on camera”. You slowly retreat from the intense tightness of Nakyoung’s ass as Xinyu records from the side while making sure that no one’s face is caught on video. Nakyoung’s asshole struggles to return to its original shape, and Xinyu aims her camera straight at it; “oh my God, look at that gape!”, Xinyu comments with a gasp. You see through Xinyu’s phone and pay attention to how your cum drips out of her anus, “fuck, that’s crazy”.

Xinyu ends the recording after a few seconds and mutes the audio before throwing her phone away. “Take my ass next, daddy”, Xinyu begs. “I’m sorry, love, but I’m spent; I’ve blown a load inside you earlier, remember?”, you try to reason with her. “Ah, you’re right—next time, I guess”, Xinyu says. You free Nakyoung’s legs from her hands and put them down on the bed, “you did so well, Nakyoung-ah. Thank you very much”. Nakyoung’s pussy squirts out another load of juice belatedly, surprising both you and Xinyu. “Fuck, oppa, that was so fucking hot”, Nakyoung says, her pants deep and heavy.

You look over your shoulder to see the time. “It’s 2 am, huh? We’re leaving at 7, aren’t we?”, you ask your girls—yes, your girls. “The-the bus—fuck, I’m tired—the bus will be here at 6:15, oppa”, Nakyoung says. You lie down in bed with Xinyu and Nakyoung on each side, “how was it, Nakyoung-ah? Did it hurt?”, Xinyu asks. “Fuck, my ass was literally on fire, Xinyu-yah—Jisung-oppa is so fucking big, you should be grateful”, Nakyoung answers, “if I were you, Xinyu-yah, I would ask him to fuck my ass at least once a week”.

Xinyu contemplates her choices for a moment before turning to you, “please fuck me in the ass regularly, oppa”. You nod in agreement, “sure, love, but I want your clear consent written on a letter”. Xinyu tells you that she’ll write it on the flip side of your letter and hand it to you next weekend. “Alright, let’s get some z’s before the sun rises, okay?”, you say to the girls, and they each say good night before shutting your eyes. You imagine that both the angel and the devil are scratching their heads in confusion, wondering how you ended up fucking two girls in one night—one of them in the ass—but truthfully, you are as clueless as they are.

[nebuladreamerrr]

Chicken wings| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: A small forgetfulness forces you to have to turn to Kylian to buy you some things, without knowing the confusion it will create.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and I got the inspiration through various TikToks that had been in my fyp. 

You had been grappling with menstrual cramps for weeks, but recent stress had sidelined them from your attention. At work, tensions were high with the onset of the new summer season and negotiations with prominent designers to boost sales. Additionally, your impending departure from the country with Kylian had triggered a flurry of packing at home, as you prepared to store away memories and swiftly transform your new residence into a comfortable haven. Despite your financial ease, you couldn't avoid the tedious task of deciding which items should remain in Paris until the season's end – your computer and attire for scheduled advertising campaigns – and what to leave behind until you settled into your new abode.

The flurry of events had caused you to overlook purchasing a box of pads and tampons. Since childhood, your periods have been lengthy but thankfully not too painful. Knowing the possibility of your period's imminent arrival, you understood the importance of being prepared to prevent any unwanted mishaps.

As you woke up this morning and felt something slick between your legs, you immediately grasped what had occurred. Hastily, you rose to prevent any further mess, relieved to find the pristine white linen sheets on your bed untouched. Seizing the opportunity while Kylian was at training, you swiftly changed them and tossed them into the washing machine. Despite their cleanliness, the lingering discomfort prompted you to make the switch.

After completing all these tasks, you made your way determinedly to the bathroom within the master bedroom, only to gasp at the realization of your oversight. You had forgotten to purchase your feminine hygiene products, leaving you feeling almost resigned to waiting until Kylian returned from training and noticed the situation. Yet, barely fifteen minutes had elapsed before you acknowledged the impossibility of remaining idle for so long.

You reached for your phone in an attempt to reach out to some friends, but they were all occupied with work or away from Paris. You even tried contacting your mother-in-law, attempting to downplay the situation due to the embarrassment it caused. However, Fayza had to inform you that she couldn't assist you, as she was attending Ethan's match. Despite her willingness to come over if necessary, you didn't want her to miss her youngest son's game. Grateful for her offer, you politely declined before ending the call and opting to message your partner instead.

You were aware that he likely wouldn't check his phone until an hour later, once training was over, especially if they had an early session that day. So you began composing the message, struggling with how to phrase it, as every attempt seemed too embarrassing. You and Kylian were quite close, but you had never asked him to purchase a box of sanitary pads for you. You were almost certain he hardly knew the model or brand you preferred, as you kept them tucked away in the same cupboard where various soaps and spare shampoos were stored, along with his beard shaver—items he typically paid little attention to. After much contemplation, you settled on this message:

"Hey baby, I forgot there were no pads and tampons left. Can you stop by the supermarket after training to buy tampons and pads with wings. Thank you so much, je t'aime".

You waited anxiously, attempting to distract yourself by experimenting with various nail polishes that had been sent to you for collaboration—an opportunity you hadn't yet had time to explore. "Make the most of the time" you reminded yourself, striving to find a silver lining in the situation. However, your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a notification from your partner: "Perfect, darling, I've just finished. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Fifteen minutes later, the sound of the door opening and footsteps ascending the stairs caught your attention. Yet, it was the soothing tone of your boyfriend's voice that truly lifted your spirits, pulling you from your reverie. Politely, he sought permission to enter before gently presenting you with the pads and tampons he had purchased, his greeting marked by a tender kiss. With a considerate gesture, he then exited the bathroom, affording you some privacy. Though accustomed to seeing each other unclothed countless times before, he intuited your desire for a moment to freshen up and alleviate the mild discomfort you were experiencing.

You were surprised to find wingless pads, but you guessed that Kylian might not have been able to find them and felt too awkward to inquire about their whereabouts or your preferred brand. After a lengthy, soothing shower and making yourself comfortable, you made your way to the living room, relieved to finally stand up. There, you found your boyfriend flipping through TV channels in search of something engaging to watch. His expression suggested he was having trouble finding anything appealing, so your arrival seemed to brighten his mood.

"Everything alright, mon amour?" asked your boyfriend as he tried to decipher your expression.

"Yes, thank you very much, darling," you replied as you settled down next to him on the couch.

"I was surprised you asked for wings, as you usually hate greasy food when you have your period. But I left the bag defrosting, assuming that's what my girl would like for lunch," he explained as he snuggled into your arms.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn't help it when you realized how confused Kylian had been. Your sudden startled reaction prompted him to ask, "What's wrong, sweetie? You're scaring me."

You felt embarrassed, knowing that Kylian wouldn't let the topic go until you explained. So, reluctantly, you decided to address it.

"Sweetheart, I didn't ask for chicken wings, I asked for pads with wings. But it's okay, honey, the wingless pads worked just the same," you explained, trying to downplay the situation.

"What? I'm so sorry, I thought you were asking me for three things, I wasn't quite sure where..." But you interrupted him with a kiss because you knew it wasn't either of your faults.

"It's all right, Kyky. Let's look on the bright side - we already have food for today."

OMGGG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT. I know that this story is shorter than usual but it was the best I could do in the amount of time I had. Remember that requests are open in case you want to send any ideas but dw cuz I got a lot of ideas written down for when I have more time.

❤️❤️❤️

[creaman]

Hi there! I apologize for taking up your time, I am just so curious: When you tackle a comic, what does the process behind it look like?

Asking because I found myself scrolling through your blog once again and couldn't help but marvel at all the beautiful effects you use, at how flawlessly the structure guides the viewer's eye across each page, how the graphic weight seems to always be in just the right places…, and wonder how you learned doing this. Everything you put out looks incredibly professional and I aspire to reach your level of skill 😌❤️

Thank you Finz!! You're no bother at all, I'm an open book. This is such high praise for a guy that really doesn't have a set process, I feel like a hack. Ha. Rest assured my style is still developing. Besides the referencing of the linework and composition of official comic books, (practicing by redrawing panels for fun), explaining the process makes me feel like a serial killer but I will do my best.

(WIP Riddler panel, scrapped Scarecrow composition)

My comics usually stem from a single panel or concept — I like to focus on/emphasise particular panels of my pages, the heavy hitters, the main piece that catches your eye. I know I'm not a profoundly technically proficient artist so I prefer visually interesting elements and formatting, i.e. drawing characters outside their frames, negative space, notation, perspectives etc.

(Kung Fu Panda 4 sketch god I hate Kung Fu Panda 4)

I like to establish 'main focus' panels, the bits of the comic that really, well. make people want to chew on it. This is where the technical effort is concentrated, really, and the rest of the comic is generally build around these concepts.

('Restaurant Balthazar' focus panels)

Textures and effects are done on individual panels first, then the entire page as a whole to even out the unity. Generally, blocking in shadows, hatching for visual interest + middle tones, then textures/half-tones, then highlights.

(Script excerpt WIP)

I'm not a writer per se, but having a vague 'script' in your pages helps with pacing and direction. Comics are a versatile story-telling medium. I only really do scripts for comics longer than 2 pages. An optional but recommended strat is to send your script to a friend for a second opinion.

(Script excerpt — 'Restaurant Balthazar', annotated by @vincepti0n I don't know why he drew a face in the middle)

With the script crudely slapped together, I rough out the thumbnails and composition with the text, prioritising coherence and clean integration of previously mentioned 'main focus' panels.

Settling on a composition sucks the hardest. Drawing is fun, thinking makes brain hurty. Variety is good! Close-ups, wide shots, visual metaphors. Every panel is its own artwork.

The text bubbles are usually added in post, yes, but I'm just one guy and I don't have a writer to call me a good boy for doing things correctly. Bite me.

(Early 'Restaurant Balthazar' drafts)

In addition, keeping the text graphics in mind help create a sounder composition wherein even if the panels don't read cleanly left to right + top to bottom, the text can stagger and create the same reading order effect.

Panels and concepts are constantly tweaked, and my comic process is still highly experimental. A lot of industry standard comics aren't illustrated to their full potential due to deadlines and such — I strive for visual epiphany by treating each panel as its own artwork, and every page as a a bit of a mural.

(Old art hurts the soul)

Constantly experimenting allows you the insight of looking at your current art in comparison to your older works. In more recent works, I've been blocking in more shadows wiht lineart with thinner lines and more line weight, and learned to integrate the subject characters with less plain, abstract backgrounds.

TLDR: I have no idea

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ Mrs. Norris (nee. Piastri) - LN4

After everything that's happened, Olivia expects life with Lando to be easy. Stress and overthinking get to her, when all Lando wants to do is take the next step.

lando norris x piastri!oc //(marketing ploy continuation one shot)

warnings/notes: overthinking/misunderstandings, Lando being a huge fucking softie, i like this better than the ENTIRE original mp storyline. oops.

Lando’s been weirdly avoidant and Olivia’s not sure why. The seasons not currently going on, winter break giving her and Lando a few weeks to decompress and be together. Except for when Olivia had to stay with Red Bull late most nights, crunching numbers, testing adjustments. She'd asked Oscar multiple times about how Lando felt with her being so late all the time or why Lando was being so secretive, but between doing stuff with Lily and training with McLaren, Oscar had never gotten back to her.

Which, she thought was stupid because Oscar was working with Lando. But she didn't press. She just threw herself into stress over it.

The shared Monaco apartment is breezy, a few of the windows cracked open to let out the nauseating level of cleaning supplies smell emanating from almost every surface. Olivia was a stress cleaner today, usually that role fell to Oscar, and yet here she was scrubbing down the fucking base boards. It had been almost a year into this relationship and if this was the first time he'd stressed her out this much (other than the whole... almost stopping the fake dating thing, which really was her fault) she'd be able to live with Lando forever.

As she stands up from finishing cleaning the last speck of dirt from the last corner of the house, a big breeze rolls through. With it, the scent of the Monaco air swells in and sways the curtains along the room. Olivia sighs and grabs her mess of cleaning supplies and tosses it away in the trash, washing her hands after before retreating to the bathroom for a much needed 'everything shower.'

And when she's clean, the house is clean, and dinner had been cooling on the counter, Lando finally comes home an hour later that expected while still on the phone.

"I understand--" He groans when the person on the phone keeps talking as he takes in the cleanliness of their apartment and his heart strains. Oscar had warned him he had to do it before she got to the point of stress cleaning the entire house and it seems he had been too late to notice.

"I gotta go." He says into the phone and hangs up, kicking his shoes off and shoving his phone in his pocket. Once hanging up his jacket, bag, and shoes in the right spots, he slowly makes his way into the small balcony where his girlfriend sits curled up in the sun. She looks like the epitome of peace with a book on her lap and headphones over her ears. Though, the longer Lando admires her from the doorway, the more stress lines he can see.

"Ollie, baby," He croons, making his way over to where she sits. Olivia perks up and smiles, taking one headphone off as she holds out her arms for a hug. Lando does one better and plops down on the couch next to her and lays in her lap, letting her hands naturally fall to combing through his hair.

"Long day?" She asks and he just nods, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her stomach.

"Sorry for being so... bleh." He says softly, the weight of the apology and Oscar's short scolding the other day boring down on him, "I just have been so exhausted from work.."

"It's alright." Olivia says, a bit too quickly for his liking.

"No," Lando pops up, leaning to press a soft kiss to his girlfriends lips, "it's not alright, I've been avoidant and ignorant and it's not right of me. Oscar's told me off twice for it."

"I told him about it because I was scared you were mad at me." Olivia hums softly, closing her book and setting it aside, Lando shakes his head practically crushing Olivia under his weight as he leans on her to press a kiss to her jaw.

"I could never be mad at you..." Lando sighs, "It's just... McLaren were looking at bringing in a new driver as our third to work with Pato and so I've been so been busy trying to get to know her--but shes gonna go with Ferrari anyways so--"

"Dhanishka, right?" Olivia hums, watching Lando's jaw flex as she cuts him off--and then he sharply nods.

"Charles was asking me about her, apparently she used to be dating Logan." Olivia looks down at her book as she marks it and then sets it on the table next to her, "Oscar knows her pretty well, they raced together for a few years."

"Yeah, but, I..." Lando huffs, sitting up now so he can cup his girlfriends head in his hands as he swallows, "I should've told you but there was just... never a good moment. But I should've made a moment, because I love you and it's stupid for me to neglect you and I'm sorry but--"

Olivia leans forwards, connecting her lips with her boyfriends softly. It's like every thought leaves his head, and he blinks at her as she laughs at his empty eyed look.

"I love you too, Lando. I also should've asked if you were okay instead of just ignoring you." She murmurs against his lips before pressing another soft kiss to his skin. Lando blinks and then gets up, dragging Olivia into the kitchen with him. She laughs softly at his spontaneous movements before he hoists her up to sit on the counter.

"Wait here." He pokes her collarbone and then disappears down the hall before Olivia can ask a question. She shrugs, kicking her feet idly as she hears him rooting through his work bag, eventually she hears a soft 'aha!' and Lando nearly slips in his socks as he runs back into the room fumbling with something in his hands.

"Okay, I had like this whole dinner and beach walk and little romantic thing planned!" Lando starts explaining quickly, waving his hands in exclamation, "but, but, but! I--here!"

And he slides a small princess cut diamond ring on Olivia's finger. She blinks at it, then up at Lando's nervous smile, then back down at the ring and the gasp that leaves her is so sharp she starts to cough.

"Lando Norris!" She shouts once she's recovered from her fit, nearly whacking her boyfriend in the side of the head, "are you--what the fuck?!"

"You are not as calm as your brother is."

"I got all his emotions," she deadpans, then stammers, "now explain?!"

He grins, blinking at her, "I was so worried you'd say no, or I'd say it at the wrong time, and I realized-- there's no time to wait for the right time if its just gonna make you stressed. So. Marry me?"

All Olivia can do is stare at Lando. His big eyes are full of childlike wonder, sparkling like the diamond that weighs down her left ring finger. His smile is infectious, once her shock subsides, and she finds herself laughing.

Because nothing with her and Lando was elegant or planned. It had always been messy, mushed together, rushed like this. And that was what felt right for them.

But she's still so shocked she can't form words, so hopefully a kiss to her boyfriends already parted lips will do. And if his hand firmly creeping up her thigh isn't proof, maybe his soft giggle is as the pull back and smile against each others lips.

"I wish you had a middle name so I could shout at you to properly express my emotions right now." Olivia whispers.

"No shouting," Lando murmurs, pulling her closer to him by her knees so rtheir chests are flush as he plants his hands on the counter besides her, "only kissing."

"Fine, fine." Olivia obliges, letting her hands tangle in his curls, feeling the still drying sweat on his hairline under her palms as he dips his head down to place a firm kiss to her collarbones.

"You know I have to Facetime half the population to show them this, right?" Olivia gasps, breathless, then she feels something sharp and whacks his shoulder, "Lando! Teeth?!"

"Just in case the ring didn't make everyone know you're mine." He smiles with his stupid amount of boyish confidence Olivia fell for last season and she huffs at him, but can't stop the smile on her lips.

"I hope Oscar yells at you for it when I call him." She teases and pushes Lando aside so she can go grab her phone and he whines behind her as he trails like a puppy.

"No..! All he's been doing is yelling at me for being a pussy and not asking you!"

But Olivia's mischievous laugh makes him grin double in size before he reaches out to grab her waist, pulling her back to his chest as he purposefully sloppily kisses at her neck to make her squeak, trying to squirm away.

"You can wait to call him, I wanna be with my pretty wife." He complains, "and if he's gonna yell at me, I'll give him something to yell about."

and after another playful nip, Olivia shouts with a loud giggle escaping her chest, "I have work tomorrow, you fucking vampire!"

And all is warm once again in the Piastri-Norris household, just as it should be. Hodge-poged together.